Sex for him had always been, at worst, a release, a cheap and easy good time, and at best, a promise. When he became intimate with another man, sometimes there was more of a connection than just the physical. Sometimes the warmth could be felt higher up than between his legs, and there was hope that the comingling of two bodies, sweat, and semen could result in something more permanent, could maybe be the cornerstone of creating, somehow, his own family.
Chillingsworth would have him believe that being a whore would only increase his likelihood for finding someone he could truly love, but Wren doubted it. He knew how he’d feel about a guy who’d peddle his ass. No matter how high class the enterprise supporting him was, he’d never be able to take him seriously.
How could he ever trust someone who would do that?
“My dear boy, I seem to have lost you.”