The So-called Boyfie | MewGulf ✔

Part 3 💖

^Pc to the rightful owners

"Look, I have a few things to explain about this job," Mew was saying, and Gulf could not look away from his perfect eyes. "We're going to be meeting some dangerous people sometimes, and lots of them are highly territorial. That is why I need you because sometimes they are going to have girlfriends who are going to be interested in me. I need you to act like you are really in love with me, and I will do the same with you. This will make my buyers think that I am only not interested in their wives, but that I would prefer to fuck them than their wives. They like that, it strokes their egos. Lots of my job is me acting like a whore, and I will probably say some shocking things to you. Saint told me that you are innocent, which is okay with me because it will make me look like I'm corrupting you. My buyers like a little story to associate with me. Just... anything I say act as we have already done it or that you are interested in trying it. Do you think that you can do that for me?"

"What are you selling?" Gulf asked.

"You don't need to worry about that," Mew said, leaning back and putting his sunglasses back on. Gulf almost whimpered at being deprived of the sight of Mew's eyes. "What you need to worry about is acting like I've fucked you seven ways to Sunday and that you loved it."

Gulf seriously doubted that he would have problems acting like that. The thought of this man fucking him was not something that he was having to work hard at imagining.

"Good, look at me like that. Good job," Mew said.

Gulf wished that he was not blushing at that, but Mew thought he was acting. He wondered if this man was not actually straight, and he hoped that the disappointment would not show on his face at the thought.

"Look, everyone is going to call me Tharn, because in the business, that's my name. You can call me Mew if you want, but make it kind of... you know, intimate or something. Try not to use my last name if possible, okay? Do you have a nickname?"

"Sometimes my friends call me Type..."

Mew laughed. "Yeah, we're not calling you that. Ever. What is it stands for, your name?"

"My nickname..."

"Yeah, I can see that. I am going to have to call you something else. What else could I call you..." and Mew stared at him as if a name would appear out of thin air. "I think I'm going to call you my Butterfly. I called Saint my Pete because he was lucky I used his name, but you're just like a butterfly..."

"Why do I need a nickname?" Gulf asked.

"I don't want them to find you when you're done with this job," Mew said.

"Why won't Type work?" Gulf did not really like the whole Butterfly nickname.

"Because sometimes, when the Gangster Disciples aren't my clients, the Vice Lords or the Latin Kings will easily find you..."

Gulf stared across the helicopter seating. What the fuck was he getting into?

The helicopter landed at a genuinely nice white adobe-style house surrounded by palm trees and a different colored ocean beach. Gulf wondered where the fuck they were. Mew led the way up the palm-tree-lined walkway, and Gulf tried not to notice how stiffly the man walked, or how his ass filled out that gray fabric of his suit. He must have failed though because the brown-haired boy laughed at him a little. "We all stare," he whispered to Gulf, and he instantly felt like he had a kindred spirit with him.

"What's your name?" he was curious to know because he could not call her brown-haired guy for the rest of their business relationship.

"Tanapon Sukumpantanasan, Perth," the guy said. He shook his hands with Gulf. "He calls me Ae."

"He really doesn't want any of us to be called by our real names?" Gulf asked.

"It's his way of protecting us," Perth shrugged.

Gulf eye raped Mew's legs, figuring that if he had been given permission to ogle that man he might as well take advantage of it. They sat down with some Hispanic men, and Gulf tried not to be too surprised as Mew started speaking Spanish with them. One of the men gestured at Gulf, and Mew took the opportunity to wrap his arm around the other man, kissing his forehead tenderly. "Mi mariposa," he introduced Gulf to the men sitting at the table. "Mi Amor Hermosa, la Mariposa," Mew said.

Gulf had no idea what Mew was saying, but he figured it was good because he was getting kissed. He let himself look into Mew's eyes like he was the most amazing man on the planet, and he was fascinated when Mew almost blushed after he stared at him.

The men at the table laughed, and they continued laughing as some girls in barely-there bikinis showed up to drape themselves artfully over the men.

Gulf instantly saw how Mew having a gay lover sitting next to him at those negotiations were helpful because the women's eyes devoured his supposed lover, making their boyfriends and husbands laugh at them. Gulf drew little circles on Mew's knee while he was speaking in rapid-fire Spanish with the men. He loved the feel of the other man's muscles and he had to stop himself from stroking that thigh, forcing himself to be content with drawing little shapes on his knee.

The women looked at the two of them speculatively, discouraged as Mew gave very timed and planned responses to Gulf's seductions. Gulf wanted to do something that would make him jump, turn him on unexpectedly, but he was a little scared of the Hispanics that looked like they were armed.

The men signed pieces of paper that Perth held out for them, and Gulf was surprised when he spoke fluent Spanish, too.

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