1 Ben

What a life I have. I am already 19 and I am still stuck with rusty, old part-time jobs while everyone else who graduated from Cornfield High has found a proper job, a decent household to be in; some even created their own family. I'm so jealous.

All I am is a maid, serving people in gay cafés. I do like wearing the maid outfit that I got from Amazon, but not in the public like this. I usually wear it at home when I take pictures for Instagram or when I masturbate. I also have it for my future boyfriend, the one I figured I'd never find. But not for the public. I am not scared to admit my bi-sexuality but I do not like to go and act it out to complete strangers.

I'm really hot so it is really weird I haven't found my destined mate yet. I can't stay this hopeless, I have to be strong, I'll find him someday. Like my grandma once said, you'll know him when you meet him. But it's been too long for any hope to be left. Is this like a movie where I don't find meaning in life and end up committing suicide? Ben, Ben, chill, you are not in a movie, this is reality. I slap myself multiple times to wake my dumb brain. I need to be awake for this.

"Mr. Hallett, Mr. Hallett. If you are Mr. Hallett, please come." That's me. I get up, my feet leading the way, and of course, the secretary. "Follow me," she says. She leads me down a long hallway until we reach a door at the end of it. The door looks expensive, made of the finest oak, and glazed with lavished black. The handle is silver and I find myself wondering whether it's actual silver. As we enter the room, I get a closer look at it and realize it might actually be real. It's my poor taste of guessing and knowing things like these.

The secretary spreads her hand as a gesture for me to go in. I realize I have been staring at the handle for too long; I turn red as a tomato from the embarrassment. Swiftly, I hurry in, in a graceful way, if that's even possible. She closes the door behind me and leaves, her high heels making click noises outside as she walks down the halfway back to the next man waiting to be interviewed.

I find myself inside an office that can only be found in books and movies. The pinewood desk is heavily polished, but not in a disturbing way. A gilded chandelier hangs above, gems of every color and shape weaved through it. The scent of the room is unbearable, in a good way. An aroma of lavender and honey flows through the floating air, dominating it. The scent holds no place for the weak; it has an expensive, controlling texture to it. There is so much in this room that I could be sitting here all day, expressing it. But I do not want to be caught gawking again, I cannot afford that.

Behind the desk presents itself a chair of silk and fabric so fine, it will rip apart your whole house in a 'Which Looks Finer For Your Guests' furniture contest. Yes, this city is a high-class city and I'm an outsider that doesn't belong even though I was born here. But this man, he's too high-class for anyone.

I place my butt on the chair that is across his. He still hasn't turned his chair around, for some reason. How is he supposed to interview me when h-

"Mr. Hallett, I see," he says with his husky, sexy voice. When has he turned around? Why couldn't I get a look at his broad chest any sooner? Most importantly, why is he saying my name like he's tasting it? "What is your first name?"

"Ben, I'm Ben," I say in a high-pitched voice. That was meant to be said calmly, oh my gosh, what is wrong with me? I just entered this man's office and now I'm a nervous wreck as if I'm in love or something. Probably a pain the ass to the poor man. "Stop this, you dickhead," I reprimand myself with a murmur. The mysterious man seems to realize this and grins at me with a smile so hot, I would lick his lips. Wait, what? No, no, no, this is bullshit. Behave, Ben, behave. You enter a man's office, their privacy, and act like an ass? Stop, this is ridiculous.

"Ben, is it alright if I call you that?" He asks with his rich, dominant voice. I nod immediately and try to reduce the speed of the nodding as I realize how fast it was. He lets out a laugh that actually sounds neutral, compared to his cold appearance. "Ben, huh? How cute." I blush intensely at this. He just called you cute, what's so wrong with that? Stop blushing like a hypocrite at such a common compliment. But the way he said it was so...I moan in a very low voice, but he somehow hears it. He gets up from his chair and comes close enough to whisper in my ear: "Call me George."

(To be continued...)