Wednesday, April 13, 2005


“Can you talk?”

“Yes, I’m at the store, getting stuff for lunch. Madeline is back at the apartment.”


“Marcus, she is . . . it’s just . . . even better than I had hoped.”

“Wow. Wow, that’s great. And it’s cool that I am coming?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“About an hour away.”

“Yes, we are fine. She is eager to meet you, and, I dunno . . . we are just in a very nice place together right now. I think this will be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“See you in an hour.”

It was drizzling as I walked home, carrying a few bags of groceries. I checked the laundry, where I had sheets in the dryer. Madeline’s sweat and gushing, and my cum, cost us two loads of laundry in our first twenty-four hours together.

I kissed her hello. She was nude under a light slip, drinking water and relaxing.

In the kitchen, I unpacked juice. We had to stay hydrated.

We also had to stay nourished. I planned a large midday supper, not quite confident that dinner would happen. I stuffed a chicken, seasoning it in herbs and olive oil. I peeled potatoes and boiled them to mash. I chopped onions and soaked raisins for a sweet Moroccan carrot dish.

As the pots simmered, I collected the sheets and re-made the bed. Madeline lent a hand. “Can I do anything else?” she asked.

“You can stay out of my kitchen and enjoy your vacation.”

Instead, she stayed in my kitchen and enjoyed doing my dishes.

We were talking on the couch, when suddenly at the door there was a knocking . . . then a pounding . . . then a kicking, followed by a desperate voice pleading, “Let me in! Let me in!”

All in the few moments it took for me to cross the room to open the door.

Marcus had arrived.

I kissed him hello and introduced him to Madeline. Their conversation was easy. They have a lot in common, including having lived overseas in the same country.

But more, their demeanors and humors are well matched. Never mind how attractive they each are. I silently commended myself for being such a yenta when it comes to introducing my lovers to one another.

We sat to eat, as Marcus and Madeline compared notes on massage. She is a bonafide massage therapist; he has a talented set of hands that provide a front for his sex work. Asked about this, he explained to her how he cautiously screens new clients, in part using a carefully crafted script in response to callers.

He picked up a banana, answering a call. Madeline picked up another, posing as a client. He walked her through the booking of an appointment in words we would later hear him use again and again with actual callers. By the next day, we could all do Marcus’s spiel cold.

In the meantime, we kept Madeline’s appointment with Marcus. He had booked her for right now, in the bedroom.


Anonymous said...

I'm pleased a nice Southern boy knows his Yiddish. Seems you guys are beshert. D.L.

Jefferson said...

Well bless your heart, D.L.

Great day in the morning, if that ain't the nicest thing . . .

So you think she might be the shainah maideleh for me?

Anonymous said...

Perhaps, but then you attract a lot of shayna maidelehs. Oy Gott!

Anonymous said...

I don't know,this one seems different somehow. Jefferson, are you making this up?? Is there such a girl?

Jefferson said...

Perhaps this series of postings is a little different.

But is Madeline real? You can ask her yourself at

Meg said...


ok, so i've been rereading some of these posts now that i've actually met marcus and they're just so much more enjoyable. i've been sitting here laughing so much, especially at the "let me in, let me in!"