Dean's Lesson: Part I
By: Sparky

As Dean walked down the street, whistling as was his normal practice, he thought about just how good life was for him. It was a sunny Monday morning and he was on his way to his office in downtown Manhattan, where he worked as a powerful investment banker. At 28 he was one of the youngest people ever in the company to have attained his position. Dean wore his Armani suit with pride as he thought about his fantastic apartment, his huge corner office and his substantial bank account. Yes, life was good!

On top of that, Dean was a gorgeous man with a body to die for. He spent many hours at his private (very exclusive) gym keeping himself fit. The work paid off, as he had a killer physique. He was handsome enough to do some minor modeling gigs in his spare time ($5000 a pop to sit on a sofa in a suit). Young and old men alike were always lusting after him with their eyes whenever he frequented his usual gay bars. Most of them were ugly dregs, he thought, but occasionally he found a few worth taking home. Not when his boyfriend was around, of course, but Mike was working a lot lately and Dean could safely bring home his tricks most of the time.

As Dean turned onto the block his office tower sat on in the Wall Street district, an all-too familiar voice called out to him.

"Hey mac, spare some change?" Dean's whistling stopped and he looked with disdain at the homeless guy sitting on the sidewalk. Every goddamned morning this vagrant had the nerve to ask him for change, and every morning Dean walked on by without even glancing at the man. But more and more it bothered him that this scumbag was even on the same street as him. Dean paid thousands every year in taxes to keep mongrels like this guy out of sight and mind, but nothing seemed to get done about them. They seemed to multiply every week.

Normally, Dean would have just kept walking, but something made him stop and look down at the man with a cold stare from his green eyes. This, he thought to himself, is the result of the liberal welfare state. Useless, leaching vagrants sitting around, covered in filth, harassing honest people for a free lunch. This morning, Dean felt like putting this bum in his place. He reached into his coat pocket, removed his billfold and produced a crisp, new $100 bill. The bum's eyes widened as he saw the money.

"What's your name?"

"Er…name's Howie, buddy. Nice to meet ya'." Dean looked the man over. He wasn't old like most of the bums he saw, and looked relatively clean. His clothes, while dirty, weren't too dirty. He was maybe in his late thirties.

"Howie, I have a $100 bill here in my hands that is for you." The man sitting on the street nearly choked in surprise. His eyes brightened and he reached up for the money.

"Gee, thanks, mister I haven't eaten in two days--"

"Not so fast!" Dean jerked the money away and took a step back. The last thing he wanted was for this filthy bastard to touch him or his clothes. "I don't just give out money. Charity is for getting tax deductions, and I doubt you give receipts." Howie's dark eyes narrowed a bit and he ran a sooty hand through his scraggly, brown hair.

"I ain't a dealer, mac, if that's what you want…"

"Certainly not, I have a real dealer for that stuff." Howie cocked his head and looked puzzled.

"I've had offers before, but I won't give ya a blowjob, mac, it's just not my thing." The repugnant thought of having this man actually touch his dick, much less put his foul mouth on it, almost made Dean gag.

"No, no, no…believe me, that's not it. Listen carefully. If I give you this money, you must swear to me that you will never, ever sit on this street again and beg for money. You go take your dirty, homeless ass across town or something. I just don't want to see you again."

Howie looked startled, but didn't say anything. He was clearly weighing his answer carefully.

"Well…can't say I appreciate your tone, mac, but a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks, and I am starving. I can beg anywhere, don't make no difference. And you Wall Street guys are pretty cheap, anyway…" Dean looked on the man with growing disgust. He had no shame at all! He seemed almost proud to be a vagrant, and he had the audacity to refer to bankers and brokers as cheap!

Howie finally shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head.

"What the hell, money's money. I agree."

"Terrific! It's a deal. Here." Dean extended his hand with the money. Just as Howie reached out and grabbed the bill, Dean began to yell at the top of his lungs.

"Get away from me, you thief! I will have you thrown in jail! Get off of my money!" Sure enough, two cops who had been standing at the corner heard the shouts and came running, drawing their batons as they did so. Howie continued to clutch onto the bill, not understanding what was happening.

"What gives, mac? You said--" He was cut off as a police officer's club hit him in the side. Releasing the bill, Howie stumbled back and fell to the sidewalk. The two officers were on him in an instant, already starting to cuff him. Dean, with a smile, returned the $100 bill to his pocket.

"This man tried to steal my money. Can I press charges?"

"Yes, sir, absolutely," said one of the officers. Howie was crying out now, shouting about how he didn't do anything and Dean had tricked him. "We have a zero-tolerance policy for these bums, per the Mayor." Ah yes, thought Dean, the good old Mayor. One of the best votes Dean had ever cast!

"Terrific. This guy should be locked away."

"You bet, sir. We just need you to come down to the station and file a report." Dean shot a quick glance to the officer.

"What? You saw the whole thing, why do I need to be there?"

"It's procedure, sir. To press charges, we need your statement." Dean tapped his foot impatiently and looked at his watch. It was almost 9:30 in the morning. He didn't have time for this.

"Forget it."

"What? Sir, this man--"

"I said forget it. I don't have time to waste on this scumbag, he's cost me enough already. Good morning." With that, Dean turned on his heels and marched off down the sidewalk, leaving the astonished cop looking at his back in disbelief. Meanwhile, Howie continued to cry out from his prone position on the sidewalk.

"I didn't do nothing, officer! He was making it up! He gave me the money, I swear!"

"Gave you a hundred bucks? Sure, pal. You're just lucky he didn't press charges. Get him up, Frankie and take the cuffs off. I don't want to ever see you around here again, alright, buddy? Scram."

Howie, still aching from the blow to his ribs, slowly got himself up off the ground and began to hobble off down the street. He muttered to himself, looking back to make sure the cops weren't following him. He was sick of cops, but he was more sick of the snooty bastards on Wall Street. He'd try his luck uptown.

The chorus of "good mornings" that greeted Dean as he stepped off the elevator of the 23rd floor was met with his usual grunts of disinterest. He trotted to his office, once again consumed by thoughts of how great his life was. He had already forgotten about the incident with the bum.

Dean's secretary greeted him with a chipper hello as he walked past her and into his office. He didn't even bother with a grunt, just went in and closed the door. There was a pile of "urgent" messages on his desk and the voicemail light on his phone was, of course, on. Dean loved the fact he was so in demand. He flipped through the messages, determined most were junk and chucked them in the garbage.

As he was about to delve into his work, Dean felt the vibration of his cell phone from his pocket. Now who could this be? He made it clear to everyone never to bother him at work. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number. He debated whether or not to answer it, but figured it could be one of the go-go dancers at the club from Saturday night. He had been drunk and given his number out to a lot of hot guys.

"Hello?"

"Dean?"

With a roll of eyes, Dean wished he hadn't answered the phone. Of all the rotten luck.

"Hey, Jeremy, how are you?" There was a pause on the other end. Jeremy began to speak hesitantly.

"I'm ok. Um, I hadn't heard from you and you never answered my messages, so I was wondering what was up." Oh Christ, thought Dean, another trick who couldn't get the fucking clue.

Dean had met Jeremy two weekends ago at one of his favorite bars in Chelsea. He was an extremely cute Brazilian kid, just 21, that Dean had had his eye on all night. Finally he had approached the kid, and the night went perfectly. Not only was he cute, Dean learned, but he was dynamite in bed. But, as with all Saturday night tricks, Dean had had his fun and planned to move on. Jeremy apparently thought they were marred.

"Oh yeah. It was crazy at work all last week."

"You said you'd call so we could go out to dinner Friday night. I'd kind of planned my night around it."

"I worked late, didn't have time for it."

"But you could have called to at least let me know, dude."

Dude? Oh God, I simply have to stop fucking children from now on.

"Look, it wasn't set in stone. We're not engaged now, you know."

"What? Engaged?" Jeremy's voice was rising in disbelief. It's always like this, Dean mused. "I don't think we're engaged, Dean, but you said you were interested in getting closer and offered to go to dinner. I just think it would have been polite of you to at least call and say you couldn't make it."

"It's not my fault that you set yourself up with unreasonable expectations. You should be more careful."

"I don't…I don't believe this. I thought I was more than a one night stand, that's how you portrayed it."

"No, that's how you interpreted it. I can't be blamed for your delusions."

"Delusions? Who the fuck do you think you are? When you say to me you'd like to take me out to dinner, how is that my fault?"

"I was trying to be polite, but you’re obviously obsessed with me and can't handle rejection. That's a sign that you have a disturbed mind."

"A what?! Who the fuck do you think--"

"Frankly, I find your attitude threatening and your tone hostile. I won't listen to it anymore. Stop calling me or I will inform the police."

With that, Dean hung up the phone. He preferred not to have such dramatic scenes, but if a trick couldn't get the hint, he had to put an end to their delusions as soon as possible. He was doing him a favor.

"Girl trouble, buddy?"

Dean looked up to see Matt Bedford in his office. Bedford was just slightly senior of Dean, which means he felt he could waltz in at any time without being announced or knocking. He wore the usual sly smirk on his face, a smile which Dean had many times considered punching. Some day…

"Uh, yeah, Matt. You know how it is…they always think there's more to it."

"Sounds like you handled it well. Me, I usually don't like to mention the cops, as it might make a girl contemplate something drastic, like, oh, filing rape charges." Dean wanted to laugh, but just nodded his head.

"Don't worry, I can handle myself. I am never one to let a bitch get to me." Matt snorted and shook his head.

"How noble of you. Look, the president wants to see all the managers in his office at three o'clock. Big news, maybe bad news…I don't know, but be there. Being late is not an option."

"Matt, I know full well how to behave when it comes to meetings with the president. Anything else?"

"No, that's all. Want to do lunch?"

"Sorry, I can't. Have a lunch date."

"Another broken heart? You're a monster, buddy." Matt snorted again, turned and walked out. Dean wanted to throw something at the back of his head. What a chump. Oh well, it didn't matter. He'd one day be Matt's boss and would have the pleasure of firing him. That day couldn't come soon enough!

Speaking of lunch, he needed to make a date. He always liked to arrange a lunchtime rendez-vous with a trick, usually one from online. It was risky using the company's network, but he had been assured by one of the tech gurus that despite warnings to the contrary, they rarely monitored web activity, particularly in managers and higher-level people. It was stupid, Dean felt, since those were the people most likely to use the internet for nefarious purposes. The peons in the secretary pool were too dumb and frightened to be a threat.

Within minutes, Dean was logged onto his favorite site, Men4Men.com and was on the prowl. Yes, he thought, there are some good prospects here…

The End