The M.I.L.F. Man

Barbara

Byron's smile faded as I sat down at the table of a somewhat famous foodie restaurant not far from my loft. And he got downright stony faced when one of the waiters gave me a little wink as I sat and asked for "the usual to drink, please, Todd. Thanks."

Before turning back to Byron and saying, "Quite an adventure..."

He reached for his "something on the rocks" and said, "She was what you asked for, wasn't she? Quick and dirty."

"She was indeed," I said. "And we got on well. But I'm not supposed to book long term yet, right?"

He sipped again, eyes on the glass, not me. Something had not gone as planned...

"You're still a trainee. Probationary. So...you could ask, but..."

He reached for the menu I'd tossed aside and started to flip through it. And asked me about the "technicalities" of the encounter as if he were ticking off all the required steps.

There weren't very many, truth be told. I'd arrived well dressed, well groomed, condoms (they gave us Skyn and Champ) on hand.

But we handled no cash or cards. Clients paid online in advance and as "independent contractors" our shares showed up in our bank accounts as payment for "services" from a company with a nondescript name.

However, I wasn't actually surprised that he didn't ask me anything more about the "encounter" he'd arranged to help me "dip my toe" in.

Let me tell you what happened. And why that question had irked him so.

The client, Barbara O'Connor, was at the reception desk signing documents of some kind when I arrived.

And upon my entrance, she finished another signature, closed the file folder containing said documents and told the receptionist, "You can leave now, Bernie. I may make the meeting, but you know how I feel about these damned workshops."

And the plump young woman got right up, retrieved a huge purse from a drawer in her desk and left somewhat red faced but with no response.

Barbara's office was a remarkable old greystone house in a row of same. Most beautifully preserved by several prestigious law firms, though there were also and even more appropriately two prominent architects on the street, too.

Byron told me some of the richest families in the state had lived on that street, which was still considered a prime location.

"Barb's considered a prime client, too," he'd added. "One of Katherine's business BFFs."

And I thought I understood why he'd chosen her when I heard that. Another little curve ball meant to throw me off my game.

She walked me briskly into her spacious office at the rear of the house. Where she shut and locked the door and went to sit in a huge chair behind a desk almost as long as the wall of windows behind it.