CALL OF THE DAY: lunch with Mommy and the lure of the little things

Can I have the A-1 sauce and a side of mother love, please?

Can I have the A-1 sauce and a side of mother love, please?

I give the client whatever they want to set the mood, which is why I sometimes have found myself describing settings where, in fact, I’ve never been: a dimly lit bathroom at a strip club featuring transwomen (all “passing,” obviously); a communal screening lounge at the back of an adult video store (is that a thing?); the locker room at a private tennis club. The fact that the callers almost certainly haven’t been in these locations either doesn’t make me feel much better; I always feel like I’m winging it, swinging out over a geo-spatial blank, limning the barest of outlines around the encounter, just enough to get us to the nearest plausible horizontal surface.

So to suddenly find myself on a call where I knew exactly the surroundings… I should have felt a little more at ease than I did. I mean, I had prior experience to work with. I know what those kinds of places look like; I know how they feel. I could describe the furniture, the staff, the lighting, what would be on the menu.

Yes, I’ve been to an Applebee’s restaurant once or twice in my life.

It was my white-sneaker guy. I asked him, as per usual, what he wanted to do, and I made it simple. I always offer him two choices, as you would a child: do you want to watch TV (where he can put his hand on my leg and start the sex that way) or do you want to have some lunch (where I can bend over in front of the fridge and we can start the action with that visual)?

“I want some lunch, mommy.”

– Yeah? Are you hungry, sweetie?


Shall we stay home and eat, or go out?

Mentally I was already planning what kind of sandwiches I could talk about for 30 seconds before he got excited. But my client—whose fantasies had hitherto taken place only in the kitchen or family room—my client surprised me with…

“Can we go to Applebee’s, mommy?”

Applebee’s. I had a momentary flashback to a similar establishment where I had worked 15 years ago: vinyl-cushioned booths. Menus with lots of pictures. Servers in button-down shirts. Appetizer platters. Yes. There definitely was a little glitch, but only for a moment, and I smoothly stepped into the split-second gap. You want to go out to Applebee’s for lunch, honey? Sure, that sounds fun! And we haven’t ever had a mommy-son date before, have we?

“No, mommy.” He sounded excited, almost as excited as the times when we’ve had to establish how I’m going to take off my robe.

The rest of the call unfolded in the normal-for-him fashion: I asked him binary-choice questions, and occasionally asked if he liked it, and he answered in his usual monosyllabic way. Except we were talking about what he wanted on his hamburger (bacon and cheddar, yes, onion, no), and debating the different side dishes (fries, not mashed potatoes and gravy).

Every now and then I asked if he was ready to go home, that we could get the rest of our food in a doggie bag and go home, if he wanted. That was just the only way I could figure out to stay in the scene and also make sure we got to the explicit sex if he wanted. But he kept saying no. There was something about the idea of sitting at the table with mommy that was clearly giving him intense comfort and satisfaction. The details of the food made it vivid, so that our casual, over-the-table chit-chat felt like quality time with mommy.

Afterward I realized that’s not so strange. When I think about my long-distance love, and the stories that i want to hear him tell at the end of our marathon Skype sessions, the stories that move me the most, that send me to sleep smiling, are the ones loaded with little non-sexual details, like the feel of his thumb along the corner of my mouth when he wipes the hot chocolate away, or the way we can sit out and enjoy the sun at a coastal cottage somewhere. When you want to hold onto a cherished connection, the little details in the stories are what give you strength. Those are the things that help it feel real.

So I knew. I knew what he wanted. I mean, yes, eventually, we got to the explicit sex. But we made it all the way through dessert: two pieces of tiramisu. Do you want to eat that here, or should we get it to go? I asked.

“To go.”

Thank you for a wonderful lunch, I said. I like spending time with my good boy. That was fun.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you, mommy.”


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