Project William


By Also_KnownAs

"Thank you for calling Disciples. How may I serve you this morning?"

This sounded good to Paul already. His brows arched slightly at the sound of the extremely masculine voice on the other end of the line. Even over the decidedly inferior audio quality of the telephone, that deep bass tone came through like rolling thunder. It was calm, musical and powerful. And maybe it was just his imagination, but there seemed to be meaning behind those words, almost like the guy on the other end wanted to be there with him right now, doing... something. "Hi, I need someone for a private function." He chose that phrase carefully.

"Yes, sir. May I ask if you're a member?"

"Ah, no, actually. I got the number for your service from a friend."

"Very good, sir. Might I inquire if your acquaintance explained our policies concerning confidentiality, privacy and membership requirements?"

"He said... um, not in so many words. I saw him at another... function with a very attractive man. I asked who the guy was, he said his name was William and he handed me a card with this number on it."

"Very good, sir. Before we proceed, may I ask the other gentleman's name?"

"Ted. Ted McAllister."

"Mr. McAllister. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." There was nothing in his tone that sounded dissatisfied or surprised. He expected a hassle about this, the way Ted had been talking. He heard the familiar sound of computer keys and typing. "And your name, please?"


"We guaranty absolute confidentiality, sir."

Here it came. "Did Ted do something wrong?"

"As I said, sir, we guaranty absolute confidentiality and we expect the same of our customers. There is a procedure we normally perform before considering new applicants for membership, which Mr. McAllister should be aware of. That's all. You haven't done anything wrong. Don't worry." Now his tone was warm, friendly and inviting.

"What sort of procedure?" Paul was willing to go through an awful lot to get access to the kind of male beauty he saw accompanying Ted that night. Even encased in the black silk of a tuxedo, William's muscular nature and sheer physical beauty was awesome. Not to mention those eyes.

"Our services are reserved for a select few gentlemen. I may assume from your acquaintance with Mr. McAllister that you would surely meet our financial profile. If you would answer a few questions for us now, I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate your desires."

Paul actually didn't know Ted McAllister very well, at all. They were often at the same parties, often both ended up naked and sweating, had a nodding acquaintance because they ran in the same circles. But recognizing someone's face and asking about their companion is a lot different from hanging out in the same clubs and going golfing together. Plus, Ted had to be 35 or 40, and he was a mere 23, living off his good looks and family money. Ted was older, balding, slightly pudgy, all his money coming from frequent playing in the markets. Paul was just a player. A self-proclaimed ne'er-do-well, clubbing `til all hours, hitting the gym to keep his figure trim, enjoying the attention he received because he wasn't bad looking, if he did say so himself.

And he thought that frankly, the only way a guy like McAllister could attract the piece on his arm last night was if he paid for him. And Paul knew from the looks of the guy that William wasn't some cheap buttfucker pulled from an ad in the back of a whacking rag. This guy was so polished he shone. William had a model's good looks stuck on a body like a Mack truck. Shoulders out to there, chest out to here, and when he caught your gaze with his own, those green eyes shot chills straight to your groin. What he wouldn't have given to see him stripped, because if what was in his pants was a tenth as big as his bulge would have them all believe was real...

"Shoot," he answered.

Then the man asked him some rather personal questions about his sexual preferences, what he liked, who he liked, even his fantasies. All rather odd, but the guy's voice seemed to draw it out of Paul freely. That deep, rolling baritone whispering in his ear, asking what he wanted, what he needed, it was driving him batty. He was hard and wet sitting there on the phone. It wasn't exactly phone sex, but it was damned close.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson. May I place you on hold for a moment?"


He listened to some classical junk for a couple of minutes and the voice was back.

"Congratulations, Mr. Johnson. I'm pleased to welcome you as a member of our elite clientele. How may I serve you?"

"Just like that?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, I assume you provide, let's call them gentlemen companions for various..."

"We provide many services for our membership. Rather than constrain ourselves -- and your expectations -- we prefer you not to limit your wishes by preconceptions of what other services may provide for you. Whatever your desires, we will do everything to fulfill them."

The man emphasized the word `everything' with a tone Paul found rather intriguing. "Well, then. Uh, I have a function planned for this evening and I was wondering if William was available."

"I'm sure we could provide him for you, but may I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Call me Paul, please." he actually just wanted to hear that voice say his name.

"As you desire. William can be made available for your needs, of course. But before making your selection, perhaps you'd like to view our interactive catalog of gentlemen escorts. We will be sending you a copy for your personal use, of course, but in the mean time a version is available online. Are you able to access the Internet while on the telephone, Paul?"

Ooh. He got chills. "Yes."

"Let me know when you're ready."

"Go ahead."

He gave Paul an IP address rather than a domain name and he waited a moment after keying it in before a logo appeared. It was in a rather elaborate script -- just the name of the organization under a silhouette of a predictably masculine profile. The operator gave Paul a temporary login and password, assuring him a more personalized and secure password would be included in `the full package', and clicking on the Login button granted him access to a curious interface.

The man -- Paul realized the guy on the other end of that phone knew his name, but Paul never got his -- the operator explained that all he had to do was answer a few questions regarding his preferences, or as the program explained it, "design your perfect man," and he'd be matched up to the escort that most closely corresponded with his ideal... physically, romantically, emotionally, all ways.

The instructions seemed ludicrous, designed to disappoint anyone who actually thought it was anything more than a sale. "Be entirely honest when describing your desires," it read, "Do not hold back. Your fantasy lover exists, and we can provide him. The more truthful you are with your wishes, the more closely will we be able to grant them. Do not misunderstand, we can and shall provide an exact match for your perfect masculine standard. But our representative will be only as good as your depiction of his appearance and capabilities. Use this opportunity to build your ideal man. Again, be perfectly honest. Do not hold back."

Paul was dubious, to put it mildly, but he figured what the hell?

So, first came the physical properties, and the detail was fairly astounding. They asked him questions that he would never have considered when describing that fantasy guy in his head, but as the questionnaire went on, Paul found himself growing deliciously hot. They covered all the usual angles -- arms, shoulders, chest, legs, dick, balls, ass, hair color and length, eye color, body hair, muscular balance (swimmer sleek, boy bodybuilder broad, mother of God brick shit house, and so forth) and on and on -- before they started getting into the nitty gritty. Paul thought maybe he went a little overboard with certain dimensions, but they did say his `perfect' man.

As he built him, Paul imagined him in his mind's eye. They weren't providing any images as examples because, the operator explained, they didn't want to limit his imagination. "We've found that if pictures are provided, it tends to limit a gentleman's expectations. We are in the business of fulfilling desires. Every desire."

The detail kept increasing, accompanied by graphic descriptions of each factor, until the physical portion was completed and it moved on to sexual preferences.

Now he was having fun!

What did he like to do, and how did he like to do it? What did he like having done to him? How rough? How tender? What turned him on and what turned him off? Paul started thinking about the man he'd just described doing the things he was describing and he had to pull it out and relieve a little of the stress building up. "Jesus," he whispered, "this is great." The operator laughed warmly. By itself, the Web site was getting Paul off. If the real thing was even close to the promise, he doubted he'd be able to stand up for a month.

The man kept talking to Paul as he made his choices, always encouraging, never judging. He laughed gently at a couple of choices as if those would be his as well and he seemed sometimes surprised at where Paul's mind went. Mostly, the man with the dick-hardening voice made Paul feel very comfortable. Finally, he came to a screen with a single button on it that said, "Submit."

That had a double meaning, and Paul was certainly ready to.

He clicked his mouse, expecting to get some weird mosaic of pasted- together images approximating his personally-designed man, but all he got was another mostly blank page with a single phrase: `Thank you.'

"Damn." Paul said it before he realized he was going to. But dammit, he was having fun!

"Something wrong, Paul?" His voice brought him back to reality. It was so powerful.

"Just sorry it's over."

"It's just beginning, I assure you." He sounded amused. "I do have one more question to ask, one that isn't in the program."

Paul couldn't imagine what it could be. The questionnaire had been more than complete, as far as he could tell. "Shoot."

There was a long pause. Paul almost thought he'd lost him, but finally the man said, "Imagine that you could have anything you desired in a man. Literally anything. Your wildest dream. Something that may seem impossible. Do you understand?"

"Sure. A fantasy guy. I think I just ordered one."

He huffed out a small laugh. "Nearly. Very nearly." The guy laughed again. Paul thought that maybe he was looking over his answers and was worried they couldn't satisfy him. But the man didn't back off; instead he upped the ante. "But the man you described, although he would be very... unusually endowed in a variety of ways, his... talents could still be considered in the realm of possibility. Would you agree?"

"I guess so. But I can't imagine that any guy like that actually... I mean, the man I described would stand out in any crowd no matter how... the guy would... whoa, this would be one hell of a guy."

"Granted. But imagine that he exists. The man you described is real, and he's all yours this evening." He felt a chill go through him. That voice was painting the picture vividly. Paul was starting to believe they could actually do this. "He comes to you, knocking at your door. He's standing on the threshold, this man. He's everything you described, there with you in the flesh. His breath warms your skin. His eyes meet yours, and they are as bright and clear and intelligent as you desire. Do you have that in your mind?"

"Yes." Paul spoke softly.

"Now imagine that he will fulfill your ultimate desire. Your fondest sexual wish. He will literally do anything you ask of him. Do you understand?"


"I ask that you keep in mind exactly what you are seeing in your mind's eye at this moment. Whatever it is you imagine yourself and this man doing. Will you do that for me?"

The image was frozen in his head. Paul could see them. That man and him. "That's it?" Paul's excitement was obvious in his voice. He couldn't hide it.

The operator let out another soft laugh, perhaps anticipating his reaction. "That's it, Paul. Your escort will be over at 6PM this evening."

"And I pay him?"

"Don't worry about that, it will be taken care of. Is there anything else I may do to serve you?"

"Talk dirty to me."

He laughed. "I'll see you later, Paul."

The phone went dead. •

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