Corey was a kind, handsome man who sought nothing more than the intimacy he found difficult to achieve back home. His sexuality and the money-hungry hoards that quickly befriended him made romance an impossibility, a difficulty aided by the constant presence of the media. In 'Adam's' arms, he would lose himself completely and become the much loved Everyman of the street, neither known or unknown; neither noticed or unnoticed. Three hours of pure romance and love, beginning with a candle lit dinner and ending when the clock struck 11. And all for only $1,000 a session.

The thought of Corey would always make Walter smile. It was a smile filled with as much fondness as it was pity. He liked Corey, and should fate ever take him that way, he would gladly give it all up for a lifetime of bliss with a man he could respect and admire. For despite the inner sadness, Corey's strength ensured an exterior of smiles and a commitment to go on. After numerous liaisons however, Walter had learned to see through Corey's veneer and found an aching soul that longed for nothing more than to be loved.

It was a need Walter found in all of his clients, but none so profoundly as Corey. He was the only one who paid in advance rather than breaking the spell with the necessary business. All his other clients simply paid on arrival and stated what they wanted. Corey was different. From the moment 'Adam' arrived, the fantasy had to be real.

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Every human needs another regardless of how deeply they may bury that emotion. Of that fact, Walter was sure, for he too desired to love and be loved. But his profession had taught him that love can not only be bought, but performed. His evening occupation taught him harshly that caring was a sin and could only lead to pain. As much as he wanted the very thing that he sold, he knew he could no longer give it unless it was paid for in advance.

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On this evening of thought, the wanderings of his mind lead to the recent telecast of the Tony Awards and he chuckled to himself at a vision of his personas accepting a joint award for Best Actor in a live performance. But the chuckle soon turned to a sigh as he thought once more about Corey and the hard reality of the vision. Corey was the closest he had ever come to being 'real' with a client. Money or no money, his fondness for Corey was only thinly disguised by the romantic play-acting he bestowed.

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Brenda then came into view. She had her pants off and was wearing a white thong. What the hell is she doing he thought. Facing her ass toward him, she bent over and removed the thong, spreading her ass cheeks as she did. He could see her puckered little asshole. She then removed her shirt and bra and was completely naked. She sat down on the toilet and spread her legs as wide as she could. Tom's hand went to his pants and released his cock

The clock struck seven and Walter snapped out of his reverie to select his attire. A tuxedo tonight, with top hat and tails for dancing. Corey's request had been simple - a reunion to celebrate their meeting once more after nine months apart. As governments tightened their belts, Corey's visits had become less frequent, but this recent pause had been longer than ever.

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Walter mused over the sense of excitement that infiltrated his stomach as he wrapped the cumberband around his narrow waist. Keeping traditional, he had chosen the black and white tuxedo and he couldn't help but admire the way the cumberband highlighted his narrow waist and broad shoulders. The jacket was next, falling gracefully to the backs of his knees, and he spun around before dancing elegantly with an imaginary partner, softly humming a tune played by the best of orchestras in his mind.

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At 7.15, Walter left his house, choosing the Bentley to carry him to Corey. On the seat beside him, he lay a single rose, picked especially to place in Corey's lapel. It was these little touches that had helped to make Walter one of the highest paid and most sought after escorts in the country, though tonight the flower rested there from a simple desire to make the night special.

He pulled up at the Hotel with little more than five minutes to spare and tipped the valet before making his way into the polished marble foyer. Smiling graciously at the attendant, he took the elevator to the upper levels and disembarked with butterflies in his stomach. It was an odd feeling; one which Walter wasn't used to experiencing. In the past, when Corey's visits had been only eight weeks apart, if at all, he had never felt this kind of excitement and it occurred to him that perhaps the long separation had saddened him after all.

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The door to Corey's room was adorned with a single plaque, identifying it as the Peacock Suite, named after a Prime Minister of the early 1980s. Walter knocked firmly and awaited the response. And as the door crept open, 'Adam' extended the rose.

"Welcome home," he beamed at the figure framed in the doorway.

Corey smiled, his white teeth sparkling against his tanned, boyish face. His deep green eyes twinkled with amused surprised and he took the flower happily, greeting it with a long, deep sniff before embracing Walter with a hug usually reserved for long lost friends.

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"Come in," he pleaded, his soft voice only a few octaves higher than Walter's. "It's good to see you again." He placed the flower in the lapel of his tuxedo, discarding the white carnation that had previously graced the position.

"Don't be so formal," Walter jibed. "I've missed you."

"Oh, Adam! I've missed you too."

They embraced again, their lips meeting in a tender but passionate kiss as Corey kicked the door closed behind them.

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"How have you been?" Walter asked, still holding Corey against him.

"Okay," came the reply, "though it's killed me not being able to see you."

"Me too. There's been a few times I've thought of coming over to New Zealand to see you." The truth behind the lie surprised Walter, sending a sting of guilt through his veins.

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With a peck on the lips, Corey pulled himself free from Walter's hold and took his hand, leading him further into the suite. The entranceway opened into a large, candle-lit living area and a table set for two. Soft music - some romantic Vivaldi classic - floated through the air.

"It's beautiful," Walter sighed at the sight of the room.

"It's for you."

Another kiss, brief but meaningful, and the couple settled down on the settee by the balcony. The city skyline twinkled in the night sky; the moonlight spilling in through the open sliding doors with the breeze.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Corey asked, not willing to let go of Walter's hand.

"I'm fine." Walter smiled. "Let's just talk until dinner."

And talk they did. In his usual inimitable way, Walter directed the conversation, divulging little of himself, encouraging Corey to do the talking, listening as his companion exposed the secrets of his life for the past nine months. It was as expected - the loneliness seeping through tales of media dodging, work, friendships, hobbies and family. Walter's heart went out to his client as his gaze pierced through the smiles and saw the glimmer slowly dissipate from Corey's eyes.

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"And someone special?" Walter asked, suddenly unable to resist a question so personal.

"No." Corey's answer was simple but it stabbed at Walter's heartstrings like a knife.

"I'm glad," Walter answered, and it scared him that he meant it.

"Glad?"

"Why not?" Walter explained. "We wouldn't' be here now if you had someone." And he leaned over and kissed Corey again, the impulse driving him before he thought better of it. Corey responded with as much affection as Walter gave and when they finally separated, Corey stood suddenly and stepped away.

"Dinner will be ready soon," he said. "We...ahh...should sit at the table. I'll dish out the hors d'oeuvres." He passed into the kitchen and Walter moved to the table, taking his place by the flickering candles.

Corey returned presently, serving up a cocktail of prawns on a bed of lettuce.

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"It's not much," he apologised, "but I ran out of time, so had to keep it simple."

Walter laughed tenderly and shook his head.

"It's fine," he said. "It's better than I eat at home. Besides, I'm not here for the food. It's you I care about, not the tucker."

Seating himself opposite Walter, Corey smiled faintly.

"Well, eat up then! The sooner we finish dinner, the sooner we can sit together again."

"We can sit together now if you want," Walter offered. "We can feed each other..."

"Adam, no," Corey blurted out, breaking the spell and suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Let's just eat for now."

"Sure." Walter frowned, surprised by Corey's outburst. It was a characteristic he had never witnessed in him previously.

In the silence that followed, Walter ate, savouring the taste of each bite as he did with all food, enjoying the essence of life that came with each meal. But his mind ticked over, making it difficult to concentrate on the flavours as he liked to. The romantic set-up, the sudden movement away from him and now the outburst, however minor, suggested something was amiss and Walter found himself at a loss to understand the meaning. As part of his profession, he had quickly learned to read people: to understand their motives; to hear the things not said, but this time he was floundering. Or so he felt.

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It was Corey who broke the silence, with an apology for breaking the mood.

"It's okay," Walter assured him, puppy dog eyes looking across the table. "I understand."

"Tell me about you," Corey asked. "What have you been up to since I saw you last?"

"Not much," Walter answered, choosing his words carefully. "I have no life. It's the same old, same old, really. Renovating my house, catching the odd movie..."

"No one special?" Corey interrupted.

"No. No-one special. Other than you, of course."

In unison, they broke into a smile, whether from the obvious lie of the comment or the earnest truth of it.

"I want to dance," Walter whispered.

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"I'll put something else on." Corey rose to change the music, but Walter jumped from his seat and stopped him with an arm around the waist.

"No," he said. "This is perfect." He began swaying his hips as Corey turned to face him, their arms tenderly encircling each other. Corey rested his head on Walter's shoulder, swaying in rhythm with his lead, each lost in their own thoughts.

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For perhaps ten minutes, they danced in silence, bodies pressed against each other with no care for the petals in their lapels. Walter stroked Corey's hair, eyes closed relishing the moment like a parent's first hold of his precious new infant.