Bill was not really so very old, except in gay terms. In the rest of the world the sixties are considered the youth of old age, and forty five is actually, rather than euphemistically, the prime of life. Instead of "aged cheese," he had thought of making his ad read "big cheese." He was, after all, a big man both physically and in the community. But that struck him as crude, whereas he was cultured, although he often chose to hide his sophistication so to appear to be an average guy.

He meant aged in the sense of exquisitely matured. Not that a young mouse would likely notice. The wording was for his own benefit, selected to accommodate his own sensibilities.

Bill had no illusions about the sort of person who would accept the role he had in mind. An intelligent, independent lad would want to make his own way in the world, be his own master to the extent that he could arrange it. He would want to be a big cheese himself, like Bill, rather than someone's mouse. A youth who would be a mouse could be crafty, Bill could accept this. But he was careful not to become exposed to one with sharp teeth.

*****

Taylor; light brown haired, cute, five foot six, probably a sixteen year old runaway; seemed to fit Bill's requirements and expectations. The boy made a nice contrast with his six foot two, two hundred pound, strawberry blonde, more imposing than handsome self. The obligations and attendant remuneration were acceptable to Taylor.

In addition to room and board, Taylor would receive ample spending money and time off during the weekday, with some weekends and evenings free as well. He was not, ever, to bring anyone or any drugs to the house, nor to drink to excess or to smoke tobacco at all. On occasion, when asked, he should make himself scarce. Otherwise, if he had no duties to perform, he should treat the place as his home.

On workday mornings, Taylor rose a half hour before Bill. After showering, he put on a bathrobe before retrieving the newspaper. Then he made coffee, set the table for breakfast, and put out the food. There were always some fruit and pastries to go along with Bill's favorite cereal. Taylor also placed Bill's daily vitamins in a side dish next to a glass of juice.

When Bill got to the table, he was dressed for work in one of his expensive, tailored, conservative suits, impeccable shirt and beautiful silk tie. While breakfasting, he would read the paper. The radio was tuned to the classical station and there was a minimum of conversation.

Then Bill would push his chair back from the table and summon Taylor by stretching out his arms. The boy would be hoisted onto the man's lap. Bill would untie the sash of Taylor's bathrobe, open it wide and slide the rich green silk off the youth's shoulders. Tilting his head back so that Bill could kiss his throat, the lad submitted to other kisses and to petting.

This made it hard for Bill to leave for work. On the other hand, it fired him up for the day, prepared him to manage people and problems with vigor and efficiency. He arrived at his office with the desire to succeed in his activities, to meet all challenges. Throwing himself into action made the day more interesting and pass quickly, even when his labors were extended into the evening hours, as they sometimes were.

*****

Taylor was not technically a runaway, since his father had ordered him out of the house when he accidentally discovered the boy's sexual orientation. From the time that he knew he was gay, at the age of eleven, home had been a difficult place to live. The terrible things that were said about him, without his parents' knowing, hurt him deeply. If he were to survive he had to stop the pain by not caring about the opinions of his family. It was either kill off his love for them so that their diatribe no longer mattered, or murder himself.

When Taylor was almost fifteen, he wrote some love letters to a fictitious older man by the name of Henry and placed them at the bottom of his underwear drawer where his mother was sure to find them. What he hadn't expected was the involvement of the police. They wanted Henry's last name, address and the letters that the man had written to him. They wanted to know what had been done to him and how Henry had gone about seducing him.

This frightened Taylor into telling the truth, that there was no Henry. His parents and the police, preferring the lie to the truth, chose to believe that the boy was perversely protecting the pedophile. They told him that he could be charged as an accessory or obstruction of justice for his refusal to cooperate. He was questioned repeatedly, until and after he was exhausted. They broke him down.

The teenager began making up things. When these couldn't be verified and didn't lead to a Henry, they accused him of making things up. So he made up more things until one night his father told him to get out of the house and he did.

*****

Taylor loaded the dishwasher and put the food away. He didn't have much more to do, a little straightening up was all. A cleaning company came in twice a week. Laundry was sent out; food, wine and other consumables, delivered. He had to be at home in the mornings to accept these deliveries, but after that the day was clear.

No meals, in the usual sense, were cooked in the completely equipped kitchen. They snacked or Bill had meals sent in from restaurants. The youngster had a lot of time on his hands.

Most days, around one, he would leave the apartment and walk down the steep hill. At the bottom, there was a place were people could have coffee or something to eat and sit about as long as they liked. Taylor had spent a lot of time there before he got together with Bill.

The current arrangement had seemed like a step up to the boy. However, Bill kept Taylor at an emotional distance. Perceiving this, the teenager responded in kind. As a result, although he was comfortable and treated both kindly and properly, the lad was unsatisfied.

On this particular afternoon, Taylor sipped a cafÈ latte and considered his situation and his options. Evan when he turned sixteen in a few months, he would still be too young for a job that would pay enough to live on his own. He knew what the street had to offer and it wasn't much. A group of kids could find a cheap place to share, but some of them would be into dangerous things, real crime and serious drugs.

For a while the lad had hoped that, through Bill, he would meet some really neat guy, they would fall in love and that would be that. But Bill didn't introduce Taylor to any of his friends. He entertained at restaurants or his club before or after the theatre, the symphony, the pops or the opera. The youngster was not taken to any of these events. Instead he waited at home for Bill's return.

Now Taylor knew what the term, boy toy, meant. Bill had his Cadillac with red leather seats, the best in electronic equipment, expensive furniture and him. The lad knew that he was a play thing rather than a person, an employee rather than a partner, as Bill posed him and used him for his own satisfaction.

*****

An older man, mid-thirties, obviously middle class and thoroughly ordinary in appearance, had been glancing at Taylor with interest. Probably he was an antiques dealer, given the number of shops on that street. The youth, annoyed by unwanted attention, sent a look of disdain in reply.

This was how the youngster missed out on what would have been a great love. Worse, it became the pattern of his life. All the rest of his days he complained that no one had ever really loved him, while at the same time he rejected the very people who would have.

After he was no longer wanted by men like Bill, Taylor had a string of affairs with good looking people his own age, who were as self centered as he was. Supporting himself as a waiter in some of the better restaurants, he continued to serve Bill from time to time, and now his companions as well. The man always greeted him warmly and left a better than average tip.

*****

Leaving his friends, Bill took a taxi from the restaurant back to his apartment. The lights had been dimmed for the night. At the bar, he stopped for a smidgen of cognac. Proceeding to the master bedroom, he pushed open the door that had been left ajar. There in his bed was a beautiful boy, mouse of the moment, sound asleep. How good life was, he thought, as he disrobed with deliberation and carefully hung up his suit.

Bill crept into bed with care, not wanting to wake the youngster suddenly. He carefully drew back the covers as much as possible without disturbing the lad. Gently he caressed the exposed skin and ran his hand under the bed clothes wherever and as far as possible.

He liked to observe the expression with which the boy would wake. If he saw a fleeting sign of annoyance or anger, Bill would know that he should extricate himself from the arrangement. Signs of dismay, fear, neediness, indifference; all told him something interesting about his mouse.

This one, an Asian youth, had skin that felt like satin. The lad moved in his sleep, sensuously he turned and stretched. There was the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he had been awake after all. If at a moment like this Bill had ever seen a look of love, that had passed by him without comprehension.

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