Page 3 of Ship of Fools

If I, and I’m usingifhere, if I ever had a partner, I would want someone like him. A man who would light up the room. Someone who would make me smile every time I saw him. I’ve never met a man like that, well, apart from this unattainable specimen right here, although I have had my fair share of temporary bed partners.

“Can you give me a brief of what you need?” I say, probably a little too sternly as I reluctantly take a seat at the glass desk in front of me.

Everything is too bright in here. Too sleek, too... He’s messing with my concentration, being right here. The man is too close, a soft scent of soap and aftershave wafting past my nose as I take a deep breath. Savour it. Intoxicating. That is what he is at the club, when I let myself dream, my eyes following him on the dance floor. I’m not ashamed. Every man has to pleasure himself somehow, and everyone has that image they conjure up in their head when the urge comes on.

He’s mine. I can picture him easily, his mouth around my cock, his legs in the air, his face as he orgasms, my mouth sounding out his helpless moans as I coat my own hand in come. Everyone masturbates, and everyone has that fantasy that just tips them easily over the edge.Andreas, just the thought of his name in my head makes me smile, Andreas, is mine. He has been, ever since I first laid eyes on him. It doesn’t mean that I have some kind of messed-up idea that my wanking fantasies will ever become reality, especially now that I have met the real him. He’s way out of my league, a high-end executive, to my oily ragged freelance custom-car electronics-whizz-slash-mechanic-slash-interiors-designer self.

I’m not stupid. If I want sex? I go get it, because I have people I can ring for that. I don’t get myself into stupid situations where I will be the one left with egg on my face.

“You rejected me on Friday. I just want to apologise. I was drunk and rude,” he says instead, and surprisingly sits himself down on the opposite side of the table. “I’m not very clever after half a dozen shots, I can tell you that.”

He only has to open his mouth, and I smile.

“Can’t remember. So, it’s not a problem.”

That’s me. Bury everything under a thick layer of ignorance. In a way, I am begging him to just give me the brief on paper, so I can get out of here. In another way, I could sit here and listen to him talk for days. He has a little lilt to his speech, a soft Mancunian accent I can’t quite place. And his dimples are even more prominent close up as I look up and find him smiling at me.

“So, it’snota problem?” he says.

I love how unprofessional he is. I would have just pretended I had never met him before in my life and moved on. But that’s just me. Instead, he is sitting here apologising for some kind of lame drunk thing that neither of us remember.

Well, that’s a lie, I do remember. I would never in a million years have said yes to his drunken proposal. I don’t take advantage of people, and I certainly don’t bring home people who have no idea what they are getting themselves into. Andreas was drunk, and that? No. Would never have happened.

“You were having a good time. I was leaving. Not a problem.” I grunt, spreading out my wiring diagrams over the table. “Please don’t mention it again.”

“I was drunk, and I have a feeling I behaved badly. You could have taken advantage,” he teases.

So, he’s a flirt at work too, despite looking totally professional, offering small smiles between each sentence spilling out of his perfect pretty mouth. I should say something about it, make his flirting into a joke. I don’t, because I’m a dick, but hey? What’s new?

“I don’t take advantage of drunk men who should call it a night and go home,” I find myself saying, as I look up and find him giggling softly.

“Good advice.” He smiles. I melt.Again. “Last orders is usually the time when I make those really bad choices and mess up my life.”

“Don’t,” I warn. I mean that in a multitude of ways, but Andreas, just chatters on. Something about one-night stands and unsuitable men, and the way his life is going down the drain, because he is a complete tool when it comes to being drunk, and desperate at the end of the night.

“It’s a T400iXR? Original model?” I say instead, pretending to look through my neatly scribbled notes.

“It’s a beautiful car.” Andreas grabs a pair of dark-rimmed glasses from his pocket, placing them casually on his nose. Something that shouldn’t make me catch my breath, but suddenly my majestic masturbation fantasies have risen to a whole new level. I stutter and pretend to cough, when in reality, I probably let slip a tiny moan of arousal. He’s... he’s… truly something else.

“Talk to me,” I say instead. I could just as easily have said something completely inappropriate at this point, as he leans over the table and grabs one of my sketches. A sleek outline of the car, with a few metallic modifications to create added curves and reshape to fit modern brake lights.

“The buyer wants the car to be more feminine. A T400 was never meant to be a feminine car. She is a beast, a road warrior. But this?” Andreas almost stutters.

“This, is just the start,” I say quietly, letting my eyes gaze over the designs. Once cleaned up, the soft leather restored, with pearlescent inlays to discreetly house the Bose soundbar in the dash. Hidden USB sockets in the armrests, and a Wi-Fi system built around the dials complementing the look. It’s not over the top, just subtle, in line with the customer's brief. Smooth. Pretty. Just like him.

“You’re good.” He smiles. I melt. It’s hard to control it when he’s so close. I can smell him. If I reached out, I could touch him. I can almost taste him on my tongue.

“He wants the car delivered for Christmas?”

“The car arrives here tomorrow, and we have three weeks to complete modifications. Some parts will have to be ordered in, but the sound system he wants is widely available, and, well, the modifications are obviously not off-the-shelf items.”

“I will make them,” I huff quietly. He knows this. That’s what he’s asked for. That’s why I am here. “I have conditions, and need access to the vehicle first thing tomorrow,” I say, as he interrupts me.

“You’ve worked for us before, and I’m familiar with your company. Everything will be made available to you as per your previous contracts, if that is still what you prefer. Have you thought about your fee?”

“I…” I start. He’s staring at me. I’m staring back. There’s something in his face, the glasses, the look he gives me. It makes me an imbecile. I smile. Smile like a child. “...usual fees.”

“This one is time sensitive. The deadline is fixed, and we will deliver on time,” he says firmly, letting his fingers gather up the paperwork on the table.

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