McHanzo: Sex Therapy

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Rating: explicit

This one is dirty, short and sweet ;) is inspired by some incredible art on tumblr. Enjoy!

"That is ridiculous, Genji. What kind of man do you think I am?" I spat at my ridiculous brother,

"Hanzo you don't understand! It's completely normal, you'd be surprised how popular it is becoming among men these days." Genji alluded, mindlessly bantering on about his foolish idea,

"I'm not so desperate I need to pay for pleasure." I crossed my arms against my chest, it was offending that he thought I couldn't find pleasure without paying for it,

"It's not just for that, it's for relaxation, stress relief and all that." Genji groaned, exasperated, "These guys are professionals, they know exactly what to do."

"I'm not in the market for any kind of stress relief, I am far too busy." I realized how contradictory of a statement that was after my mouth had already finished, nonetheless, I would sink to the level of hired sex workers,

"Hanzo just consider it, give it one session and it'll completely blow your mind." I rolled my eyes, his offer was preposterous, "Here." He said, shoving a business card towards me, "Call then when you change your mind, they're very discreet, no one has to ever know."

His smile was sincere as I took the card, but I was not. I planned to throw the card away as soon as I arrived home, if someone ever found this on my I'd lose all respect. Bring a Yakuza boss had its perks, but it definitely also had large shoes to fill, I could make no mistakes that would jeopardize my name. Even if that meant forgoing any kind of pleasure for the time being, I hadn't been with anyone nor touched myself in months, but I had no time for such minuscule things.

_____

I had no idea what I was doing, I had called the number on the card in a drunken rampage and booked an appointment the following morning without thinking about it in the slightest. Now I sat on the edge of my bed, barely lucid through my hangover, knowing a stranger would be knocking on my door any moment to pleasure me for money. This had to be some form of prostitution. Was this even legal?

I had no time to question it, I had to dress myself and look presentable so I could kindly tell the woman at my door it had been a mistake. Perhaps she would be nice and understanding, leave quietly and discreetly, never telling a soul of my mistake.

I drank my tea in the quiet light of the morning, I don't know why my drunken self had scheduled it at all, let alone this early. It was barely 7, they were to be here at 7:15. I prayed they would be prompt, I did not enjoy waiting. I was tense and anxious, a knot in my neck due to fatigue to match the knot in my stomach due to nerves, I wanted to get this over with so I could burn the wretched business card. I had crumpled it up in my fist, the ink smearing from the sweat in my palms.

The knock at the door made me jump, almost dropping my mug and shattering the expensive glass. Luckily I managed to set it down and move swiftly to the door. I slid it open and at first saw no one, then I glanced to the right and saw a figure leaning on a post protruding from my porch.

His grin was large and confident as he rested, arms lazily crossed atop his chest. His hair was choppy and messy, almost reaching his shoulders in brown locks. The stubble on his face was untamed, unruly, no rhyme or reason to the shape. His eyes were crisp, large and inviting. His attire was a wrinkled navy shirt and matching navy trousers, they almost looked like the kind of thing you wear in hospitals.

Although his appearance was unkept and messy, he had a sort of coolness about him.

"Good morning Mister Shimada." He drew, the American accent surprising me but interesting me all the same.

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