I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something bitchy and fucked up. It would ruin our time. I had spent a year away from this man, yet his spell over me was never broken. It was, however, deeply wounded by how easily he dropped everything just because things weren’t exactly what he wanted.
The waitress took our orders. I ordered the mango juice and Turkish delight I’d been craving. He ordered the baba ghanouj with falafels, lamb and lemonade, with baklava to go.
“Hungry, aren’t we?”
“Stop pouting, Amy. Let’s talk about this.”
I sighed, dejectedly. It was only right to temper my emotions and give him the opportunity to explain himself. “I’m listening.”
He explained that as much as he cared for me, and wanted the best for me, he couldn’t see himself trying to be cool with a long-distance situation. Having me over the phone and through texts weren’t the same when he couldn’t have me when he wanted, or at least within hours of when he decided he wanted it.
“I have a sexual appetite, Amy. You know this. I know this. That’s part of what made us so amazing together. I didn’t know if I could keep my cool between seeing you and wanting you, so I decided I needed to let it go,” he said, mildly shrugging. “As a man, if I can’t give you the attention, affection and loyalty you deserve, it’s my responsibility to step up and cut the cord. I couldn’t bear with the idea of hurting you because I wasn’t able to hold it together in your honor, so I let it go.”
Silence. He was not going to blame this on his dick. I wasn’t having that. I guess he sensed that I smelled bull, so he continued.
“Look Amy, being without you made me realize…”
I cocked my eyebrow as his voice trailed off. “Realize…?”
“I fucked up.”
“Humph,” I said. About time you realized that.
“I don’t deserve another chance,” he sighed. “But I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, you can let me… make it up to you.”
Swallowing hard, I asked how he planned to do this.
He leaned in, clasping my chin to force eye contact, and responding, as sincerely as possible: “Any way I can.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Spending time in New Haven with my family was refreshing. Even my time with Jared was good. Though I wasn’t completely sure how, or even where, he would fit in my new life, I was willing to consider where we stood.
“I know I hurt you. I know what I did was wrong. I should have held on to you tighter,” he said before we parted ways at Mamoun’s. “But I promise you, I’m different now.”
I slipped a little. The words coming from his full lips, the genuine expression in his eyes and his captivating Green Irish Tweed and musk scent combined with a long day of travel, little sleep and weariness from life back in Dallas had me woozy. Without thinking about it, we almost ended up in bed. Well… we did end up in bed - but it’s not what you think. I promise.
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t have sex with him. We made out passionately at my car once we left Mamoun’s, and it led to me following him back to his place. That’s where he ended up laying me on top of the kitchen counter and giving me the most amazing head in my life.
Jared had this way of eating pussy that was just incredible. He took pride in satisfying me in bed, catering to my body’s needs. He would part my legs slowly, biting and nibbling at my thighs before nuzzling his nose against my mound, inhaling the scent of my “pretty pussy,” as he called it.
As he sucked and licked on my most sensitive spot, he took me to heights of pleasure I had been craving and fantasizing about since the last time he had me. He knew when and where to apply gentle pressure, how to wet and pamper my clit with small concentrated circles using the tip of his tongue, and how to kiss my pussy until I was on fire.
He tasted me, devouring me like the last meal before the electric chair. I let him feast between my thighs without argument, feeding him as much of my nectar as he wanted. I didn’t reciprocate in any way, although I was tempted when he pulled out his package and began stroking it for his release. If he wanted to make it up to me, there’d be no reciprocation on my part. And this was a very nice jumpstart.
I can’t lie. I wanted the D. I was nearly in tears from the way his oral worship had me under his mercy. But I couldn’t let him in that easy!
Yes, I know, rejecting sex sounds pretty ironic coming from a whore, but the truth was I was an escort by profession, not DNA. I wasn’t doing escort work because I wanted to share my body with everyone. I was in a precarious situation financially, and I was doing what it took to gain control over it before I drowned under debt.
Plus, in a sick and strange way, I was becoming accustomed to the easy money that came with escorting. I now held a subconscious feeling that men needed to “compensate” me for my time and attention. It’s weird to explain, because I was never a gold digger; but my new reality commanded a new perspective on how to view men and how I spent my time with them.
****
Before escorting, a man simply had to be handsome, intelligent and ambitious. Jared was an aspiring entrepreneur who worked in finance when we met. His intelligent perspective on real estate and current events, coupled with his smoldering sensuality and fondness for sexual and culinary arts, made him an excellent match for my drive. When I was just simple girl slaving away at the campus bookstore, he saw my potential. He engaged me to push for the world to see it too. Unlike how others perceived me, I wasn’t just some pretty Barbie doll with huge tits and a vapid personality to him. I was gorgeous, sexy, sexual, intelligent and destined to do epic shit. The fact that the sex was awesome was simply the icing on the cake.
These days, it was nearly impossible to look at a man without wondering what his limit was, what kind of crazy kinks he had behind closed doors, and what crazy, nasty mess he’d pay an escort like me to do for him when nobody was watching. If I wasn’t looking at a man sideways wondering about his sexual kinks, I was focused on trying to figure out if he was married and cheating, like a great majority of my clients also.
Needless to say, so much about me had stayed the same since I had last seen Jared, but so many things had changed as well. While I was still sexual, in a way I was slightly hardened, jaded and a little less open and receptive to being fully made love to. It would take a much stronger, harder, sexually conscious man to rouse my passion.
I couldn’t see myself committed to a man riddled with the endless closeted desires, dark passions and kinks my most lucrative clients possessed. Yet the more I got to experience their lusts, the more common I saw they were and the more fearful I became that I could never find that sexually relaxed and responsive man who didn’t need the help of an escort to live out his wildest fantasies.
Sad to say, but as much as Jared had hurt me, I was sure I’d probably be the one doling out the hurt this time around.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I found Stacy crying in the handicapped stall. She was on the floor in the corner, tears coursing down her face with the stall open.
“Oh my gosh! Stacy! What’s wrong?” I rushed to her side and put an arm around her.
“I can’t fucking take this anymore,” Stacy wailed. Tears were streaming down her soft features, her nose was runny and red. “I hate him.”
I already knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “Hate who?”
“Dean!” Her shriek made me jump.
“What happened?”
Stacy swore me to secrecy, and then shared the details of her predicament. Her mom had gotten laid off, and a relative had passed.
Her dad, however, had really set things off. He had been caught with his pants down, and while he’d already devastated her mom with his betrayal, things went from bad to worse when it was revealed the other woman was pregnant. Her mom ended up catching a DUI after a night of drinking and driving that ended with her crashing into a wall on 75.
Stacy’s dad refused to come home and care for her mom, so she was forced to stay
with her all week. She didn’t have time to really get herself together to come to work, much less contact anyone, and that’s when she went missing. When she felt it was okay to return to work, the bar manager propositioned her, then fired her for being underage when it didn’t work. (Which sucked, because her 21st birthday was only a week or so later.) Having no job with the bar left her at Dean’s mercy.
As for that…
It was no secret that Dean was attracted to Stacy; she looked a lot like his wife, who was also busty, leggy and brunette. After several attempts to lure Stacy into an affair, Dean left her alone. He would simply make her do menial and silly things like tie his shoes or pick things up from the floor so he could look at her T&A.
Stacy’s financial vulnerability handed Dean prime opportunity to take advantage of her. He hadn’t reported her absence as a voluntarily resignation; he sat on the paperwork and decided to wait it out once he had heard from her. The day I had seen her was the day she returned. He called her into the office, informed her that he was sorry for her misfortune, and told her that budget cuts were being made. Due to the lack of work available for her position, she would have to be let go for a more skilled business admin with more experience.
Of course, this was bull, but in the heat of the moment, it was enough to send Stacy begging for an opportunity to stay and work harder. She promised never to miss a day and even to work extra hours to make up for her time missed. Dean said he understood but her computer activities had shown she had not been working, but spending company time chatting with friends, on Facebook and working on schoolwork. It was at this time he mentioned that he had come across chat logs where she would poke fun at him. I’m not sure what she said – she didn’t say – but apparently he was offended enough to mention it.
Seeing how vulnerable she was, Dean propositioned her. He implied he had pull with HR, and said if she looked out for him, he’d forgive her look out for her as well. Sexually, she was on call for him at work, usually after hours when everyone left. There were times, however, when he demanded her to show up at various hotels for trysts.
“It’s been a nightmare ever since,” she said gripping herself and quivering. “He’s not just happy enough to just get a blowjob and leave. He makes me do some of the most nasty and disgusting shit ever. All to keep my job.”
She turned to look me in the eye for the first time this entire conversation. “Please don’t judge me, Amy. You’re the only person I’ve told.”
She broke down into tears again.
That fucking bastard!
The poor girl was weak and broken. There was such sorrow in her eyes. I could feel the burden wearing on her spirit. Rubbing her back, I kissed her cheek, reassuring her that this was a no-judgment zone.
“I’m sorry, Stacy. Dean’s a disgusting prick. His day will come. Have you thought about going to HR?”
“So they can find out I haven’t been to work in like two weeks and dock me for the pay, much less put it on their records and really fire me?” she gasped. “My absence without notice or documentation really is grounds for termination.”
We sat in silence thicker than swamp water. It was close to lunchtime.
“There’s nothing I can do,” she said, shaking her head ever so slightly in disbelief. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. “…Until I find another job, there’s nothing I can do. He owns me. I’m a fucking sex slave, and there’s nothing I can do because I need this job more than ever.”
“Have you spoken to your dad?”
She leaned back against the wall and curled her lip. “He won’t come home. In addition to her unemployment, I help pay mom’s bills and taking care of her.”
She replaced her disbelief with disgust. Shaking her head incredulously, she muttered. “I’m twenty one. Just turned twenty-one. I’m supposed to be getting drunk with hot frat boys at, throwing down sriracha shots to pledge a sister sorority and having the time of my life. Instead… I’m over here sucking off a fat prick who likes to fart.”
Stacy turned her head and looked me in the eyes. Communicating frustration and despair, I couldn’t help but to feel her pain. She was really scared, upset and hurting.
“You know, I would never in a million years have believed that this would be me. Having sex for money is one of the lowest things a woman can do… and now I’m doing it to survive.”
Her broken spirit and candor tugged at me. I shed a few tears in solidarity with her. I wanted to pull her closer and whisper that she wasn’t alone. I wanted to say, “You’re not alone. I have a confession for you too. I’ve been an escort since Christmas, and I don’t know how to stop. Not because I enjoy it, but because the money is too good to leave behind.”
Instead, I squeezed her hand and ministered sisterly love. “Have you eaten? Let’s clean you up and head to lunch. We’ll continue this later.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Men are perverted. There are so many freaky things they’ll demand of you that they won’t demand of their wives and women. And when I mean you, I mean any woman who operates outside of wife or girlfriend mode.
One thing I’ve learned about this line of work is that sometimes men pay to disrespect you. Yes, the money is good, but I’ve had to have strong limits. I do everything I can to avoid having full out intercourse, but I don’t always get away with it. There’s a belief that paying should net you anything you want. The truth is they are technically paying for my time, so if I do or don’t want something, it’s my business and my right not to be choked, spit or pissed on. Turning away clients usually means a loss of pay, but that’s nothing in comparison to maintaining my dignity.
Oh! Chargeback attempts. Can I tell you about those? Usually the men doing this cannot afford escort services, so they book and pay in full with a credit card. They’ll do this with full intention of disputing the charges.
I’ve had a few chargebacks. There’s not much I can do; it’s not like I’ll call the company and say, “But I sucked his dick for this money!” and they’ll cheerfully comply. I don’t know; I never really discovered how to prevent these things from happening. However on the rare occasion someone books with me a second time and I recognize, I end the evening immediately.
I know that, for the most part, escorts tend to meet prospects at the bar. But I didn’t want to be caught, especially due to my career. I wasn’t out to be well known, recognized or even popular. And while I don’t have an escort name, I never gave out my actual name either. I never needed to. I did a good job of flirting and keeping the focus on the client, just liked they liked. If all else failed and they asked too many questions, I would lick my lips and kiss their crotch through their pants in a heartbeat.
That’s enough to stop most men. A man can rarely focus once you make his crotch the center of attention. I go a step further though. I make his crotch the center of my world.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I can’t explain how or where I got off by enjoying blowjobs. Most women complain blowjobs are all about the men and say there’s no pleasure in it for them. The idea of a “pee pee” in a woman’s mouth can really make some women act rather… childish. I admit that I was one of them.
All that changed when I met Jared though. He was focused on my pleasure, focused on my satisfaction, and focused on all of me. Mentally, emotionally, and sexually – he wanted every portion of me.
I’m more than aware that I’m gorgeous. That I’m young and 24, so therefore men flock to me. These big round titties? Yes, I know men fantasize about wrapping their lips around my big tits with their perfect rose-colored nipples and sucking on them until I scream for them to fuck me. I know about these sparkling emerald eyes, and these pretty dick-sucking lips. I know the idea of wrapping their fingers around a fistful of my long blonde waves and facefucking me into submission excited them. So does the idea of slapping and mauling my tits while leaving a creamy load in mouth.
But at the end of the day, all the lips, tits, eyes and hair – all this be
auty – means absolutely nothing if a man can’t penetrate me deep enough to look past my appearance and look into who I am. Appearance is important to me, but I’m not interested in being a beauty queen. I’m not interested in being a trophy wife, nor a sugar baby.
Jared asked me about communications. He asked me about strategic communications planning, communications arts and the politics of developing a communications strategy. He understood why I was firm believer in real-time communication. I knew it created consumer trust and loyalty as opposed to the “be quiet and hope it dies down” approach. Jared invested in me. He even paid for my subscriptions to industry magazines because I was a fervent believer in my craft.
Being able to open up to Jared outside of the bedroom, sharing my passions and interests over late night baba ghanouj and baklava; that’s what made my body so supple and open to him inside the bedroom. Because he received me in every way I needed him to, I was able to receive him every way he wanted me to.
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