"Would you draw me?" He seems genuinely narcissistic, very Italian.
"What would you charge?" he asks.
He reclines on the bed in his white bathrobe; it's falling aside. He appears asleep. I have trouble concentrating.
He moves, disturbs the folds of the bathrobe. We agree that I'll find it easier to draw him nude. He is cool, polite. I record his magnificent erection in scrupulous detail, along with his gentle demon's face.
I can't stand it any more. "Do you … ?"
"Yes." He comes close, looks at the drawing. "My wife will love this. I'll frame it and hang it above our bed. Yes, I do….. It's all right, my wife will not know…"
Coolly, methodically, he puts on a condom, caresses me, accepts my caresses, fucks, we chat and fuck again . He is grateful, graceful, respectful.
On the terrace in the morning, he puts down his overnight bag and briefcase. We embrace. He asks if he may contact me again, accepts my card. A patron of my artwork, he deserves that; he has paid for the drawing with euros. I've no doubt that it will hang over his marital bed. But I don't expect to see him again.