4 black filing cabinets.

1 black stapler.

2 black paper trays

1 black touchscreen.

14 black Armani suits of 10 different cuts (all gifts from his father).

Blaine Anderson was surrounded by a color that most people find morbid.  He just sees it as the color of normality and perfection.

He sits in his (black) office chair behind the deep mahogany desk he had purchased four months ago when his third six-digit paycheck had come in so many months.  What good was money if you didn’t use it for something? he figured.

In this case it was for the appointment he had just had.

His eyes flicker to the touchscreen in front of him, google calendar open, packed with appointments until 7pm.

It was now 7:09.

Blaine felt like it may have been the longest period of time that his father had gone without inadvertently dehumanizing him.  Thank god for small favors, Blaine thought as he straightened the binder clips that were already impeccably neat and pawed through the small pile of binders for the next day.  

8 black one-inch binders.  Each with a white label announcing the person who needed his financial prowess.  At 24 he was the youngest executive in his company.  He had earned it, had a reputation at Princeton in the Mathematics department when he transferred over to finance for his Masters and had been hired out of college to earn a six-figure salary - per month.  He had settled in, nervous and wondering if he could do all they had hoped he could...and had come out on top three months later with a reputation earned by both his brains and his charismatic air.

He is jittery; nervous.  Blaine is usually so in control of everything he is and does but today he has done what he set out to do when he was 12 - impress his father.  Now that this one goal - this solitary goal that he had doggedly been driving himself toward for 12 years - is complete he doesn’t know where to focus his energies.

Well.  There is one thing he has been worrying over but he keeps telling himself that it isn’t for him.

One small, little, minute thing that he wants to try out...that he had never really done in college.  He had had one long-term relationship then and had broken it off two weeks before graduation, cleanly, so that the connection would not “impede his social and professional progress” (his father’s words) and he had enjoyed it while it had lasted.  He may have even been in love but...well he wasn’t sure about that.  Relationships were so damn messy, you know.

Blaine reaches into the top drawer of his desk, eyes raking over its contents.

15 black Bic fine point pens; caps all in a line.

4 bottles of white-out, laying on their backs.

2 boxes of extra staples, corners crisp.

3 rolls of spare tape, stacked.

1 business card; white with red roman lettering.

He removes the card and traces the edges with his fingers, mouthing the word and turning it over in his mind.

Desiderate

He knows the address is on the back of the card as much as he knows he won’t need it.  He has read it hundreds of times since obtaining the card - secretly and quite by accident - at his office welcome party three months ago.

The “men” of the office had taken him out after the party to their “local bar”, which turned out to be a swanky gentleman’s-only club down the street from their 35th story office.  Blaine had inspected his surroundings and breathed a sigh of relief.  Every encounter with any of his father’s friends had prepared him for this setting.  He would be fine; even if it wasn’t even close to the kind of place he be caught dead in.

They had had quite a few drinks, asking him question after question ranging from his breeding to his girlfriends.  Blaine had skirted this question by answering, “Oh, boys.  My longest relationship was 16 months in college - but that’s over now.”  

They had guffawed and answered with choruses of “She wasn’t worth it,” and “All of ‘em just want your money, man!”  

Blaine simply smiled knowingly at them.

It was when they were leaving that Brad - that guy from the 33rd floor - slipped him the card.  He had whispered, “Hey, in case it’s been awhile...try it out,” before sweeping away with the other men, cigarette case out, smile plastered on.

“Wha- what is it?” he had tried to ask but Brad was already out the door.

Blaine pulled himself from the memory, making up his mind.
He gathered his briefcase, coat, and keys and, glancing around to be sure things were just so, made his way out of the office in search of an address.

***

Upper West Side.

Blaine glances up and down the block.  Red brick buildings, turrets, and black trimmed windows.  There is nothing special about the door he is looking at.  It is black trimmed as well, and made of multiple panes of glass that has black script numbers lacquered on the uppermost edge.

235.

Blaine looks down at the card, inhales the city air, and moves to the door, reaching for the handle.  Before he can pull, however, a man is there, pushing it open, eyeing him questioningly.  He is tall - at least a foot taller than Blaine - and is wearing a dark blue tailored suit.  He could obviously make short work of Blaine if he chose to pick a fight...but that isn’t why Blaine’s here so he waits.

“May I help you, sir?” asks the Blue Man (this is what Blaine is calling him, having no point of reference).

Blaine considers for a moment before offering the Blue Man the card with scarlet letters.

“I received this a few months ago and I...I’m curious.” Blaine offered, voice betraying nothing of the nerves fluttering through his bones.

The Blue Man took the card, examined it, and then returned it to Blaine’s waiting hand before opening the glass door wide and extending his arm.  “By all means, come in.  Please, make yourself at home.  Clara will see you in a few moments and,” he finished, “Please.  Call me Andrew.”

Blaine faltered but a moment before entering the red brick building, changing his life forever.

***

Please answer the following questions completely as we want to be sure to meet your every need.

1. Please describe, in as much detail as you can, the exact kind of sexual activity you are looking for.
2. Please describe, in as much detail as you can, the exact kind of sexual partner you would want in said activity.

3. Choose one:     Public      Semi-Public     Private

4.  Please describe, in as much detail as you can, what you DO NOT LIKE OR WANT in a sexual encounter.

5. Will this be a one-time engagement?

6. Are you willing to have your blood tracked for 3-6 months (depending on the timeline of your experience)?

7. Why are you here?

That last one made Blaine pause.  He knew about all the others - Brad had been most forthcoming the next time they had gotten drunk (“The best sex you’ll ever have, man, and no strings!  Everything you want and no worries...just..try it one time.”) and had told Blaine everything he needed to know.  He thought about it for a moment, the pen cap at his lower lip, then leaned down to respond.

***

Clara sat in the high-backed leather chair opposite Blaine, her eyes focused and forehead creased in concentration as she read over Blaine’s application.  Despite the war raging within his chest Blaine appeared calm, waiting patiently as she picked through his deepest fantasies, answering her occasional questions.

“Hmm...someone stronger than you but doesn’t look the part?  So - can he be taller?”

Blaine’s stomach coiled and skin prickled at the pronoun.  None of the men at his office had asked; not for months.  But Clara, having known him all of 45 minutes, knew.  And with that knowledge she could make or break him.

He couldn’t find it within himself to care.  Blaine knew the risks.  He knew that he was laying himself bare here before this beautiful woman (with whom, Blaine knew, many of the men he worked with would love to spend time with).  For some reason, though, he believed she could do it.  Perhaps it was her demeanor or the fact sheet she had produced upon his arrival (“98.538% success rate as reported by clients”, “110% money back guarantee”, “Your privacy is our Livelihood”).  It might even be that Blaine simply wanted to believe that this could happen.  Whatever the reason he was committed to doing this...to finding out if what he desired was as much of a want as it seemed.

“Yes, that’s fine.” he replied, voice heavy with thought.

Clara studied him.  “And the blood monitor?  That will be fine?  It is not only for your safety but the safety of our matches.  If at any time you are responsible for compromising one of them your privacy clause will be forfeit.”

Blaine considered this for a moment before replying, “Yes.  I am aware of the implications and I am willing and able to submit to these procedures.”

“And you do realize that your experience can happen at any time within the next 1-5 months, correct?”

Blaine replied in the affirmative.  He had read the paperwork thoroughly and knew that this particular piece of the contract was non-negotiable and part of the “experience”.  He would never know when it was coming or what exactly was to happen.

Clara nodded, her eyes skimming the page.  She seemed to be at the end when her eyes narrowed and she gazed up at Blaine.

“Mr. Anderson, number 7?” she questioned, slight smile on her full lips.

“Desiderate.  Want.