© C.R. Alvery 2012
All participants in sexual situations are at least 18 years of age.
“Another day, another dollar?” suggested my driver as we wove through the busy streets of New York.
I grunted at her in answer, flipping to another page in my newspaper. I had little interest in consorting with the flirty blonde my mother had arranged to drive me everywhere. Besides, it had been a long day at the family company. Putting the finishing touches on my playing card castle while collecting my lucrative salary is exhausting after all. I know what you’re thinking; I’m a lazy, overgrown boy who wouldn’t survive for ten minutes in the real world. You’re probably right. What 27 year old man allows his mother to assign him a driver?
The traffic thinned as we left the city. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out to breathe the fresh air. Well, the less polluted air. I have a rather… sensitive sense of smell, especially so close to the full moon. The Pierce family manor was tucked away in our little patch of forest on the edge of so much concrete jungle. Pine is one of my favorite scents and I inhaled it gratefully as we turned into the driveway. The coniferous forest curtain pulled away from the circular driveway and the McMansion situated behind it. We stopped just in front of the mahogany double doors and I realized I was grinning. Michael was waiting for me.
It was nothing out of the ordinary. Michael always waited for me to get home. He had to. He was my servant. I couldn’t be seen carrying my own briefcase inside, could I? At one time, Michael had been my driver as well. During those days I had been forced to work overtime several times per week. It was a tragedy, no doubt, one only eclipsed by my dry cleaning bill.