Dial a Stud: Dante's Story (13 page)

“Lucky bitch, now you have me wanting to call Dial A Stud.”

“Well, you can, but I haven’t finished telling you the whole story yet.”

Mel raised a questioning eyebrow at me. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

I shrugged. “I think it’s going to shock you. I know it shocked the shit out of me.” I took a deep breath and began. “You know how I said I felt drawn to Dante, and that he seemed to be acting a little, well, kind of more affectionate than I would have expected?”

Mel nodded. “He was touching you a lot, but you said they both seemed affectionate.”

“Yeah, Alex was, but Dante was more so, plus he kept saying a lot to me in Italian. You know what I’m like. I have no ear for foreign languages but one word stuck. He used it a lot. It was ‘cara’. I googled it and it means beloved, dear, something like that. It’s an endearment. Now don’t you think that’s a strange thing to be saying to someone you’ve just met? Plus to someone who has paid you to be there?”

Mel was thoughtful for a moment. “You could say that. So what was his deal then? Come on girl, spill, I know you’ve got more to this story.”

“After we’d finished and they’d come on me, Dante told Alex to go. I was a bit surprised, because for most of the time they were with me, Alex was the more outspoken one, so I thought he was like the boss, out of the two or something.”

“So I’m guessing that was not the case?”

“No, Dante told him to leave and he did, but then he said he had to speak to me, and I thought that was strange. He started going on about how he had to be there that night, how much he wanted me, how he’d always wanted me. I thought I was either hearing things or the man was insane at first. Then he drops his first bomb. He’s the fucking owner of Dial A Stud.” I waited for Mel to digest what I was saying.

“Holy shit, so Mr Italian Stallion is the owner? Wow, so he owns it and works for himself?”

“That’s just it. He hasn’t worked as a stud for six months he told me. He only worked that night because of me. He said he saw his receptionist type my name into the computer, and he made her change the appointment. I was actually supposed to have the studs arrive the following night, but he had it changed, and dragged Alex along for the ride. Oh and Alex is another ex-stud. He’s a friend of Dante’s, and was only here, because Dante said he didn’t like that he had to share me, but Alex was the only one he’d allow in me besides himself, or words to that effect.”

Mel’s eyes were wide now. “Holy shit, he’s a possessive son of a bitch for someone who doesn’t really know you. So what happened next?”

“He took his mask off so I could see him. Bloody hell, it was him, him from the club. Dan is Dante.”

“Fucking hell!” Mel swore. “This is kind of fucked up, but kind of hot too. So he knew your name from the club, and then he sees your name on his computer? Shit, how’s that for a coincidence? You ring and he sees your name and sets things in motion to make sure he’s in on the double fuck. Well I have to hand it to you Gracie girl. You think you’ve got no sex appeal? One meeting, one roll around on the dancefloor, one kiss, and he’s going to extraordinary lengths to get in your pants. The funny thing is; you paid him to get right where he wanted to be a few nights before. Shit girl, I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I thought it was odd he’d be after me, and acting so possessive, when we’d only met a couple of nights before then, but he told me he’s watched me for months. Now that’s just creepy to me.”

“So if he’s been attracted to you for months, why the hell didn’t he introduce himself ages ago? If you’d hooked up with him, he could have spared you months of dead end fucks.” She said and I poked my tongue out at her.

“Will you stop making out like I have the shittiest sex life of anyone on the entire planet?”

Mel laughed. “Oh come on girl. You know it’s been shit. I mean, let’s face it. You wouldn’t be in this situation now if you had a great sex life. So why didn’t he introduce himself when he was first attracted to you?”

I shrugged. “That’s the million dollar question. He didn’t answer me, just told me he couldn’t tell me yet, but he would another time.” I emptied my wine glass. “The thing is, I was so angry with him Mel. I turned him down, that night in the club, and it was like, life presented him with an opportunity to get what he wanted anyway, so he took it. He went after what he wanted and it feels like he took advantage of me.” I raised troubled eyes to hers. “He was upset and begged me to forgive him, but I’m not sure I can Mel. I can’t help how I feel. Do you think I’m wrong?”

She stared thoughtfully at me, while pondering her answer. “I can understand why you’re mad, I really can. You told him no at the club but he still took what he wanted anyway.” She paused for a minute. “The thing is, he sounds like he really likes you Gracie girl, he sounds hot and sexy, plus he can fuck well and…he has great stamina.” She smiled briefly. “It’s hard for me to focus beyond the good looks, sex appeal, piercing and stamina.” Shrugging she said. “What can I say? I’m shallow.”

I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. “He gave me back the money I paid for his and Alex’s services too.”

“He…paid…the…money…back?” Mel screeched, startling me.

“Um, yeah.” I eyed her off as if she was unstable.

“Oh Gracie girl, I don’t know what to say. What are you going to do? Has he tried to contact you again?”

I shook my head. “No, but then I pretty well threw him out. I abused him. I was so angry Mel, and I still am to be honest. I feel violated in a way. It might sound crazy but I do.”

Mel slipped an arm around me. “Oh Grace, I understand that. It’s not rape as such, but he still found a way to reach his own agenda in the end. He got to fuck you. On the flipside of course, it does sound like you got really well fucked. So my girl’s given up her virgin ass and it’s not a virgin anymore.”

I laughed at her. “No, it’s definitely not. I gave my ass’s virginity to Dante.” Thinking about it caused a moan to escape me and Mel gave a pained laugh.

“That good, huh?”

“Yeah, that good.”

“So would you contact Dial A Stud again? Do you want to experience sex with the real studs of Dial A Stud?”

I shook my head. “No, it was a one-time deal. Anyway, chances are, if I rang there, and tried to make an appointment, if Dante sees it, he’ll interfere somehow.”

“So what are you going to do about him? What if he contacts you?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it, I don’t want to think about it.” I groaned. “Fuck it; I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” I stretched. “So do you want to do anything now you’re home? We could go out for dinner or something.”

Mel’s expression showed disbelief. “You really want to go out for dinner, or are you angling to go to the club?”

I felt my heart kick into a faster beat as I shook my head. I wasn’t going to think about the club or Dante.

“No I don’t want to go to the club. I was just asking if you wanted to do something.”

“After dealing with my mother for the last few days, I’ll settle for home delivered pizza and a DVD.” She told me and I laughed.

“Now that sounds perfect.”

Two hours, another bottle of wine and one pizza later, Mel and I decided to call it a night. We were loaded up on wine and love, after torturing ourselves, with a viewing of Pretty Woman, one of our all-time favourite movies.

“I want my Prince Charming.” Mel moaned. “Why are there no fucking men out there like Richard?”

I snorted and patted her leg. “That’s because he’s a fucking actor.” I told her. Still, I know what you mean. Why aren’t there really men, like that out there? I want one who is hot and sexy, and who can make me all hot and sweaty, in a really good way.”

It was Mel’s turn to snort at me. “What are you bitch moaning about? You had not one, but two of them here the other night. One of them wants to see you. You have a God like creature who wants you girl. I’ve seen him, remember? The man is seriously fucking gorgeous, and from what you’ve told me, he’s not only hung like the proverbial fucking horse, he’s got all the right equipment and isn’t afraid to use it, and use it well.” She snorted again. “So don’t you go whining and moaning woman. His methods might be fucked up, but you could have it all, if you fucking forgive the poor sap, for taking advantage of the situation, so he could get to you.”

I sat in silence, just staring at my friend, after she finally shut up with her ranting at me. “Oh, so all you said before, agreeing with me, understanding why I was upset, was all crap?”

“Oh shut up Grace. I’m not saying that. I’m not telling you to forgive him. I’m merely pointing out that IF, you chose to forgive him and listen to him, YOU do have a hot, sexy man, who you know WILL give you mind blowing orgasms, waiting in the wings. The rest of us poor deprived women, like me, can only dream of someone like that coming into our lives.”

“You should call Dial A Stud, see what the real studs that work for Dante are like; have yourself a good time girl.”

“I just might do that. I might even specially request Alex and Dante.” She said, tongue in cheek.

I knew she was only joking, but the stab of jealousy I felt, at her words, took me by surprise. “You do that.” I said, trying to act like I didn’t care.

Mel’s expression changed instantly, and she slipped an arm around me. “Oh Gracie girl, think long and hard about what you want to do. You have to weigh it all up. Is he worth it? Can you forgive him for what he did, and move on? Is it a mistake to give up what you could have, because you’re angry with him? You need to speak to the man.” She released me, and stood up. “Now, I’m taking my semi drunk carcass to bed. The last few days dealing with mummy dearest have exhausted me. Oh and the wine, the wine has made me so sleepy.” She yawned noisily. “I don’t know what is the right thing to do, but you need to consider all options, and on that note of drunken wisdom, good fucking night.”

Chapter Nine

I ended up spending the night, tossing and turning, with thoughts of Dante, that night with him and Alex, and with Mel’s words, playing over and over in my mind.

I shouldn’t have been thinking about anything. I should have been sleeping. It was never a wise time for me to think, when I had a few, ok, a lot of glasses of wine under my belt.

When alcohol came into the equation, I was more likely to make the worst decisions. I knew this. That was why I so often ended up picking up, totally wrong men for me at the club, and getting naked with them. I know; all this talk of drinking, men, and being drunk, makes me sound, like a bit of a slut. I wasn’t, not really. I was like a lot of women my age; I’d lived a large portion of my childhood, dealing with issues that had left me with low self-esteem.

Mel and my parents, were the only people who knew, how bad things had become for me, back then. My parents were gone, but Mel wasn’t. She’d been there through the lowest point of my life, and she wasn’t just my friend, she was like my sister.

I’d been overweight as a child. Not huge necessarily, but big enough to be teased by some kids, that couldn’t help themselves, and got off, on being mean.

It got so bad for me, no, actually I became so fucked up by it, that I bordered on suicidal.

I wanted to be slim, I wanted to be popular, and hated so much, that I wasn’t. I was a typical teenager, insecure, and just wanting, what everyone else wanted, to fit in.

I became so bad, so despondent with my life, my size, everything, that I began to starve myself. I didn’t settle for simply not eating though. I got access to diet pills and laxatives; lots and lots of laxatives. In my warped, teenage mind, I was sure that if I barely ate, used pills to suppress my desire to eat, and took enough laxatives, that the little bit of food that passed my lips, would keep going straight through me, and I would achieve my goal. I would be thin, pretty, I would be popular.

I couldn’t even do that well. So many kids had secrets, hid things from their families, but I couldn’t do it. It took my mother all of five weeks to realise, I was not eating.

I suppose with the beauty of hindsight, I was lucky that my parents’ were so ‘on the ball,’ and recognised I had a problem. Of course I showed all the gratitude, of any normal teenager at having my plans thwarted; I rebelled. I screamed, cried, did everything I could to convince them, that they were going to destroy my life. I was a total ungrateful bitch, to the two people who loved me, and only wanted the best for me, and in a final act of rebellion, depression and just plain stupidity, I slashed my wrists. I figured, in my screwed up way of thinking, that if I died, anyone who had wronged me, would be riddled with guilt, and have my death on their conscience.

I ended up being one of the lucky ones. My parents got me help before I could become a statistic, before I needed hospitalisation due to being anorexic, or addicted to pills, that I thought would be my saviour.

I spent two months in a kind of rehabilitation centre. It was more than that though. Sure there were the shrinks to get inside everyone’s heads, and show us the error of our ways, but most importantly for me, help me deal with my depression, and self-esteem issues. There were also amazing people, who had put me on the path to a healthy lifestyle, which I still mostly lived by today.

It was like a fat camp in a lot of ways. There were nutritionists to teach me about food, and how to eat, trainers to educate on the best forms of exercise to lose weight, and maintain it.

I met other kids dealing with issues like mine, or similar. It was nice to not be alone, but at the same time, we were kept mostly ignorant of one another. We were encouraged to spend time with each other, but there was no sharing of our lives. We didn’t even know everyone’s real names. That was one of the rules. We helped each other, but we shared nothing of our real lives; nothing that could complicate things, nothing that could lead to us being judged by others, and certainly nothing that personalised things too much. The reason for the anonymity was largely due to many of us being from prominent families. We were sent there to be ‘fixed,’ but some parents didn’t want anyone to learn about their child’s ‘issues.’ Some of the kids there were their parents’ ‘dirty little secret.’

I was fortunate. I was there, not to hide what an embarrassment I was to my family, but to help me, to heal me. My parents loved me, and wanted their daughter back, well, and happy. It took me a long time to fully understand that, but a child just doesn’t have the insight, of an adult.

Despite the rules at the centre, I’d become close to one boy. He was a few years older than me, hugely overweight and suffering from massive self-esteem issues. He’d made me look self-assured. I never knew his real name, since real names were forbidden. Instead, we gave ourselves cartoon, or character names, so we could communicate, but keep our real identities a secret. All these years later, and I could still remember his name. He’d called himself Arnie, after the actor Arnold Schwarzenegger, because it was him that he’d aspired, to look like one day.

Who knew whatever became of him, after he left the centre. I’d left before him, and although I’d wondered occasionally what had become of him, I never made any effort to find him. I was a kid, typical of a lot of kids, self-centred, focused on my own life, and problems. 

I still remembered, how much Arnie, had helped me though, for those two months, I’d been in the centre. He had been so sweet and kind, following me around most of the time, determined it seemed, in his own way, to protect me.

I remember he’d had awful, jagged cut marks on his wrists because of how he’d felt about himself. He’d been horribly bullied in school too, from cruel kids; that had led to him, attempting to take his own life. He’d struck a chord with me, because I had reached that point too, and we were united in a sad and sorry kind of way, by our matching scars, which were a constant, and permanent reminder, of how desperately unhappy, we’d both been at a stage in our young lives.

When I left the centre, he’d hugged me, and even cried, vowing that he would never forget me. Thinking of him now, made me wonder, if things had worked out for him, and for all who spent time in the centre, for that matter.

My time there had done its job. I’d come home, a little wiser and aware that I’d put my parents through a lot, of unnecessary shit. I’d spent time repairing my relationship with them, getting my head sorted out, and finally returning to school, more self-aware.

Some of the kids had been assholes of course, but I, in my infinite wisdom, at thirteen years of age, had realised that sometimes, people are just assholes, and nothing can change that.

Mel who had been pushed aside during my, what I referred to, as my ‘fucked up stage,’ welcomed me back, and I never lost sight of the fact that, I didn’t deserve a friend like her.

The years had passed. I finally realised that I was always going to be curvy; I just had to learn to work with that, and I had. It still didn’t stop me from having some insecurities on occasion, and I think that’s why, I tended to make bad decisions with men. I either picked ones that were no good for me, or I gravitated towards ones, I knew, I’d never be happy with. It was the old, protecting my heart attitude. By not letting any man close, I couldn’t be hurt, or by sleeping with the wrong ones, they helped solidify my convictions in my own fucked up mind.

It had taken a couple of years, of talking to a shrink to come to that realisation, but it didn’t change things. We are what we are in the end. We are products of our childhood, and although my parents had always loved me, and had my best interests at heart, I’d let my weight and obsession with my appearance, nearly destroy me.

Now at twenty four years of age, I’d finally realised I was for the most part, happy. I had my own home, money, a good job, a great friend, and life was largely good. I just sucked when it came to men, or maybe they just sucked. I guess the jury was still out on that one.

I lay there in the darkness of my room and cursed my over active mind. The wine had failed me. I should be sleeping off a nice alcoholic buzz, not playing out an episode of ‘This is your Life,’ in my head.

Suddenly I was blindsided by a thought, a realisation. Was my whole attitude to Dante and what he’d done, really a case of me feeling betrayed and tricked? Or was it my old barriers coming into play? I’d met a man who drew me to him in ways I’d never experienced before. He was beautiful, sexy and hot as hell, but kind of sweet too. He had all the potential, to be the classic Mr Right, in a long line, of Mr Wrongs that I normally went for. Was it him or my self-esteem issue rearing its ugly head? Was it me finding reasons to push him, away because I knew, down deep inside, I knew, he had the potential to hurt me, really hurt me? Had I met a man, who for the first time ever, could be the right man, to let into my heart?

I groaned and rolled over in bed, throwing myself down impatiently on my pillow. I had no fucking idea what the answers were. Damn him messing with my head the way he was. Why did I have to meet him? Why did I call that damn Dial A Stud? Why did he have to see my name, and change the booking, so he could come to give me my fantasy instead? Why, why, why, why, why? I had so many questions; so much going on inside my head. Ugh, I needed sleep, I needed answers. Fuck it to hell, I needed to see Dante. I had to find out what was going on. He’d said he had things to tell me still. Dammit, I had to know. If I ever wanted to get a good night’s sleep again, I would have to see him and speak to him.

The question of course was how and when? I had no direct number for him. He’d made it clear he wanted to see me, and certainly he wanted to speak to me, but I hadn’t given him a chance, and had thrown him out.

Groaning I rolled over again. Fuck it, I was going to have to make a call to Dial A Stud and try to track down Dante that way.

Three days later and I’d still made no effort to contact Dante. I’d gone close if that counted for anything. I’d picked up my phone; I’d dialled, then chickened out and hung up.

I hadn’t told Mel about my restless night or what I’d decided from that. I think she knew something was bothering me, but apart from a few pointed stares, she said nothing. That in itself was a rare thing for her. Mel had an opinion for everything, and she was usually never shy about sharing them. Maybe she sensed that this was something, I needed to work out myself, and in my own time.

When another Saturday night rolled around, she finally snapped. “For fuck sakes Gracie, I don’t know what’s got your knickers in a twist, or who, although I can guess. If you’re not going to do anything about it, you’re coming out with me. I refuse to sit in this house for one more Friday or Saturday night, and look at your long face.”