“I’m sorry,”‘ Chad said, trying his damndest to look sorry and failing abjectly. “I got you up here on false pretenses.”
Deftly, he shifted position and I found I was groping his bony kneecap instead of the bone I had angled for. The part of Chad that I had been groping was unexpectedly unresponsive.  That alone should have warned me. This meeting-would not be like our last one. At our last meeting I had him sucked, fucked, dizzy, dazzled, enraptured before the ice melted in the martinis. Now the cool lack of response from his groped rod was reflected in his cool, condescending manner and, I suppose, in my frustrated scowl.