Authors: Cupideros
“If I answer, yes, you’ll just reject me, Megan.”
“We’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“Women are the weaker sex because they’re not the weaker sex. They are different, although men should do most things like the heavy lifting and holding down the job in the rough and tumble dirty outside world. Women are strong cooks and child raisers, too.”
Leaf Erickson smiled at me.
“I’m afraid you just confirmed my suspicions. You’re looking for a help maid, not a help mate.”
“But I cook for myself—for now.”
I pushed myself up from my chair. “Thing is when your parents are all dead and you don’t have anyone to cook for you, life is a drag.”
“I’m sorry you’re troubled and lack a cook. If you want a real man just to feel like a real women,” Leaf winked. “Just call me.”
“Maybe,” I quickly added.
Before the next man stepped over the threshold of potential marriage, I said, “I’ll be back in just a second.” I went and opened the adjoining room wide enough to see inside. Then I went back and let the next guy in.
* * * *
“I love women in black,” the short African American said as he walked into my apartment. “I see you’ve rejected a lot of men. That’s good. I kept my fingers crossed.”
“Good because you may need to cross them again. See, James Wilson, I’m really a vampire.”
He sat up startled. He crossed his fingers. “I don’t know about dating no vampire. And you looked so good on that bus poster. Especially those droopy used condoms. I don’t want any children.”
“I love children. Mine just come after I bite their necks.”
“Surely you’re kidding.”
I pointed to the coffin in the other room, a picture layout for a funeral advertisement.
“I got to go. No vampire is making me her child. I’m a man.”
* * * *
After the vampire stunt, more men flitted away like bats seeking a cave. I actually found vampires rather sexy myself. It’s always the bad characters they make sexy. Your average, nice guy they make boring and dull as cake mix drying next to caulking sealant.
A boring, conservative man wearing a black top hat came next. His thick English accent gave him an edge. I rarely heard a live English accent.
“How do you do, Megan, the Treasure Spiller?”
“You’re the romantic. I’m fine. How do you do?”
“I’m doing rather well. Lucky for me I’m not afraid of vampires. Nor do I have a criminal record. My reputation is spotless.”
“Is that because all your business occurred in London? Or because all your living experiences were left in London?”
“Neither of the two. I’m simply a chap who saw your ad in Horsemen Today’s Magazine.” He paused, parking his top hat slowly to the kitchen table. “May I?”
“Sure. I love a man with manners.”
The conservative gentlemen continued, “Over here there is a considerable lack of manners.”
“Thieves, criminals, whores and pickpockets who settled this land wanted to forget everything we knew before in England. Reducing the passenger loads made the ships sail faster.” I tried hard not to crack a smile.
“Those days carried the burdens of a growing industrialized society.”
“Materialized society. But I really, really want to see if you constitute marriage material.” I crossed my arms over my chest and sat up straight. I sure he got mixed messages. I, too, realized I was sending them to myself. I had done so well so far.
“I have done so well so far,” said my English Conservative suitor, dressed in his Victorian attire.
“Don’t take it too serious. I wanted to see if you had a sense of humor.”
“I don’t see why.” He paused. “What would it mean if I had one?”
“I don’t know, but every girl and woman on the planet wants a man with a sense of humor. Although,” I sat upright. “It does seem that even those men with a sense of humor still beat their wives and girlfriends. The marriage numbers suggested that. I really want such terrible violence to stop. Stop yesterday. Stop today. Men should be more mature don’t you think—”
“My name is English Shelby Lauser.”
“Don’t you think so, Mr. English Lauser?”
“I quite agree. I’m interested in a woman who loves to travel. Is intelligent and capable of serving meals to a large compliment of the social guest I meet on a monthly basis.”
“You’re offering me a job as a caterer, Mr. Lauser?”
“No. I’m afraid I’ve confused the situation.” He sat back and turned and looked at the closed door of the adjoining room.
“That’s the vampire room. But I’m not one of them.”
“Yes. Thanks for answering that question. There would be quite a scandal if you arose in the night to bite one of the many laudable guests in my castle in Wales.”
“What exactly do you want, Mr. English Lauser?”
“In a mate or a caterer?”
Maybe both, I heard myself thinking silently. He was about forty years old. His hair graying at the temples. His blue eyes seemed alive with information and scenes of places from around the world. However, he carried a gold cane and his expensive watch really sent the common butterflies in my stomach all a fluttering in alarm.
“In a mate first?” I finally voiced out loud.
“Very well.”
“I’ll start off with a question.” I unfolded my white sheet of paper. I perused the questions already checked off. Then I matched the remaining some ninety question to the personality of Mr. English Lauser. “What would make you happy Mr. Lauser?”
“Happiness. What could cause happiness to stir in my soul?” He pondered and rubbed the little tuff of black and grey pointed beard on his strong chin. “Love. Yes. If I could find true love.”
“I’m looking for true love.” I offered because it was the responsible way to play this game. I couldn’t pull the rug from under him. He seemed right in some ways. Not too young and dangerous; not too old and retiring. “But what is true love? What are its qualities?’
“The woman would be kind, gentle, and soft, a bit on the sexy side. She’d love a bit rumble in the hay as it were.”
“Only a bit of rumbling in the hay?” I questioned. It sounded like he wanted some girl who screwed only when he wanted to screw. “I have sexual needs. Would it make you happy, if I approached you for sex?”
“Yes, of course. But there are times when the man should take the lead.”
“I don’t mind that as long as I get my chance to lead as well.”
“Two leaders in a castle sounded like ruin. Not that the fairytales expressed that explicitly.”
“No the fairytales do not express that bluntly. But that’s true happiness, in the fairy tales, a woman who waits on her man to make love to her?”
“That brings me true happiness.”
“What about my true happiness?”
Mr. Lauser replied, “Your happiness, logically would spring from my own.”
“What if my happiness originated below my belly button, Mr. Lauser. Does that put things out of sync?”
“Heaven’s, no. Many a man responds well to a fiery female in the bedroom—on rare occasions.”
“How many rare occasions would she have, this woman you love? Two a year? One a month?”
He turned slowly this way and that as if some dust landed on his top hat.
“I’ll make it easier for you, Mr. Lauser.”
“Do so. This is a rather delicate line of inquiry.”
“Would it make you happy if you could just fuck me once every day?”
“Gosh. Heavens no, that’s way too much.”
“Would it make you happy to fuck me once a week?”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“And would it make you happy if I approached you, wanted to do you sexually once a week?”
“I supposed that depended on the time of day.”
“Let’s say it is in the morning. I’m sure you rise early in the morning,” I insinuated his wonder tool under his belt.
“That might be fine.”
“Would it make you happy to fuck and not love me?”
“No, I think I should love you, Miss. Bedrosian.”
“Would it make you happy to have a big meal after this erotic activity?”
“That’s superb. Yes.”
“Would it make you happy to cook that big meal—after the erotic activity?”
“Well, I don’t know how to cook?”
“Would it make you happy just to fuck me?”
“That would be happiness somewhat?”
“Would you then just like to fuck me for a fee?”
“I didn’t come here for a trollop. I came for marriage, Miss Bedrosian.”
“Well what if I wanted to just fuck you for your accent? It’s really attractive.”
“I’ve never heard of that before. I don’t talk much during sex.”
“It would bring me happiness if you did talk during sex”“
“I supposed I could perform that too during—”
“Or would it make you happy to just fuck me for $1,000 and no strings attached. No talking requested.”
He responded. “Can a man find happiness from paying for sex?”
I waited for Mr. Lauser to answer his own philosophical questions. Because he really was like any other bloke. He saw my bus poster ad. That I was a single woman and thought I needed a good cock. But in reality, I just needed someone with a cock to act like they might want to marry me so I could fulfill the obligation to Olivia’s social tradition. I’d never told this to him, I fumed. Because in the end, he just wanted to get in my pants.
He squirmed about looking at the dust on the table, and there was none. His expression went blank. His eyes lifted up. “Prostitution flourishes all over the planet. Men seem happy enough without love.”
“Are you happy—would you be happy just to fuck me and I give you $1,000?” I paused. “Just for your English accent, but you have to talk during the dirty dealings.”
“No I can’t take money for sex. I give it—”
Mr. English Shelby Lauser caught himself. “I did just say I’d pay for sex. One thousand doesn’t seem like a bad price. You are very attractive. Would it make me happy to just fuck you for that price? Yes. There I said it.”
“I’m afraid. I don’t fuck for English pounds, dollars or whatever currency is in your rich tail coat pockets. So I think this little meeting is over.”
“That is a shame because I really learned to love you more and more.”
“I’m sure you did. Mr. Lauser.” I stood up and escorted him to the door.
* * * *
I wanted to say next, but that might give the impression of giving quickie blow jobs for pay. Or of an incredible Bitch Boss who wanted the eternally perfect employee. So I quietly repeated my act of slowly opening the door and smiling at the next guy, in his plum pants, sage dress shirt buttoned down to the third button, to come in. The muscular guy behind my next suitor offered, “He’s gay, Megan.”