Sarah's Education

by Madeline Moore

  One section was for what Veronica called ‘fantasy wear’. There were schoolgirl outfits that would get a girl expelled – micro-skirts and see-through skimpy shirts, ditto cheerleader costumes. ‘Nurses’ had an entire rack to themselves. Most of those were totally unsuitable for Sarah’s date. She couldn’t very well show up for the client’s banquet in clinging white rubber, even if it did come with a tiny cap with a red cross on it.

  Nurses don’t wear uniforms any more,’ Sarah said. Not even the decent ones. They all wear scrubs or tracksuits.’

  In men’s dreams,’ Veronica explained, all nurses are pretty and horny, and wear white button-through uniforms over skimpy lingerie and thigh-high hose. We can lend you the uniform but you’ll need to come up with your own underwear, white preferably, and you’ll need white shoes. For a fantasy, white high heels are fine but you’re supposed to be the real thing, so trainers or flats of some kind, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Sarah caught her breath. Until that moment, she hadn’t actually committed herself to going through with it. That OK’ changed everything. She’d gone from an ‘accidental’ escort to ‘just this once’ to ‘this is going to be my part-time job, for some time to come’.

  Veronica found Sarah a uniform that was attractive but decent enough to wear in public and added a broad elasticised black belt.

  Sarah asked, ‘If he wants to show me off to his colleagues, why doesn’t he want me to go as his girlfriend instead of as his nurse?’

  ‘People are funny, Sarah. You’ll find out just how true that is working for Classique. We get requests for things that even I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh? I don’t think I could do anything really kinky.’

  ‘We don’t talk about “kink”. We prefer the expression “sexual preferences”.’ She gave Sarah a knowing smile. ‘You have those, I’m sure, just like the rest of us. Remember, I’m very careful to match the client to the escort. You’ll never be asked to do anything you’d find difficult.’

  ‘But how do you find girls for the clients who have “sexual preferences” that are really, well, different?’

  ‘You’d be amazed at the things some of my girls are into. The only complaints that I get from them is that a client is too vanilla.’

  ‘I’m “vanilla”, aren’t I?’

  ‘Are you? We’ll see, won’t we?’

  Veronica had arranged an appointment for Sarah with Carlo, who had a beauty salon on the ground floor of the same building. She was to report to Carlo on Saturday, for ‘the works’.

  As Sarah left the University Pages’ office that Saturday, David was waiting for her.

  ‘I’ll buy you lunch,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t, sorry.’ She walked fast, forcing him to hurry to match her pace.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m busy. How’s your cold?’ Normally, David could be counted on to be distracted from any topic by an enquiry after his health. Not this time, though.

  ‘Gone. Sarah.’ David grabbed her forearm, forcing her to a full stop. ‘Are you seeing someone else behind my back?’

  Ouch! Sarah blushed. ‘No.’ It was sort of true, she wasn’t seeing ‘someone’ but many ‘someones’.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Sarah conjured up a lie based on an ad she’d read a few days before. ‘Catering,’ she blurted.

  ‘Catering?’

  ‘I’ve found a part-time job with a catering service, working weddings on weekends. You can still take me out on weekdays though.’

  Surely he would see through her flimsy story? Sarah steadied herself for the barrage of outrage that was surely coming.

  ‘I see.’ David released her arm. ‘OK.’

  Amazing. It seemed that half the success of lying lay with the one being lied to. David didn’t want to face the truth, so he swallowed anything she gave him as an alternative, however sketchy. What a fascinating insight into the human psyche. She decided then and there to do her final epistemology paper on the topic.

  Sarah pecked David on the cheek and made her escape.

  She delivered herself into the expert hands of Carlo. For the first time in her young life, Sarah submitted to the happy ordeal of a manicure, a pedicure, a seaweed wrap, a facial and the full range of hair treatments including blonde highlights, something she’d always longed for but never tried. Her hairstyle stayed basically the same, on her insistence. A new one would have made David suspicious.

  He really was beginning to get in her way.

  She left Carlo’s with her hair burnished and her face subtly transformed from ‘very pretty’ to ‘absolutely stunning’. Perhaps it was the pink mirrors in the elevator fooling her, but she didn’t think so.

  Veronica wasn’t in her office but Debra had Sarah’s nurse’s outfit waiting. The receptionist didn’t offer anywhere private for Sarah to change, and watched her as she stripped off her page’s uniform and everyday undies and put on her new sexy lingerie and white Dim stay-up stockings. Stay-up stockings! They were nothing like the pantyhose she’d worn to the prom, the last time she’d worn hose. Stay-ups were comfortable once she got them on and the lacy tops were pretty; they’d be even prettier in a colour less institutional than nurse white.

  At first, Sarah was uncomfortable dressing in front of Debra, but by the time she was pinning her little starched cap in place she’d adjusted. A professional escort can’t very well allow herself to feel embarrassed about showing her body, after all.

  In a breach of standard practice, Sarah was given a private address. As his nurse, she’d be expected to arrive with him at their destination.

  ‘Take this,’ Debra said. She held out a sleek black plastic rectangle.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A BlackBerry.’ Debra shook her head. ‘It’s a cellphone. And a lot more.’

  Sarah blushed. Debra had already explained how to put on stay-ups, and now she had to explain what a cellphone was. Sarah wouldn’t blame her if Debra thought she was stupid, but the other woman’s voice was patient as she explained. Now that you’re on the books, you have to carry a cellphone. You won’t need it, but speed-dial number one will always bring you help, twenty-four/seven.’

  ‘Help?’ Sarah’s tummy felt queasy.

  ‘In case you get stranded somewhere, or something. Ms Veronica looks after her girls.’

  Reassured, Sarah tucked the compact phone into her white beaded clutch. There was a cab waiting for her outside. The traffic was heavy so it took a while for her to get to the high-rise apartment building. Her date was waiting in the lobby.

  He looked to be in his late thirties. His thinning hair was slicked back from a broad forehead. Either he wasn’t at all bad looking or it was the effect of his immaculately cut tuxedo, but when he smiled up at her, his face lit up in a way that Sarah found endearing.

  He said, ‘George. George Patros. You are?’

  ‘Sarah. Nice to meet you, George.’

  ‘Nurse Sarah. I like that. Would you wheel me down to the underground parking, please?’

  There was a van and driver waiting. The driver locked George’s chair onto a tailgate, made it go up and then pushed it into the back of the van. There was a seat for Sarah facing her client.

  ‘You have lovely legs,’ he told her.

  ‘Thank you, George.’

  ‘Would you mind …’ He paused as if embarrassed.

  ‘Mind what, George?’

  ‘I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Go ahead. Ask me.’

  ‘I don’t get to be with beautiful women very often and I do admire …’

  ‘Admire what?’ she encouraged.

  ‘Nice legs. Would you mind?’ He mimed pulling an invisible skirt up.

  ‘Well, George, I really enjoy being admired, so …’ She tugged her skirt up high enough that its hem rested on her thighs just above the lacy tops of her hose. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Oh my God! They’re absolutely perfect!’

  Sarah blushed and pulled her skirt a couple of
inches higher. What a sweetheart he was! Poor man – to get so excited over her legs. He had to live a very lonely life.

  As they travelled, George briefed her. He worked from his apartment as a programmer for GeoMancy, which was a subsidiary of O.M.E. She guessed that the ‘O’ was for Ohio but she’d never heard of the company. O.M.E. hosted two employee functions a year, one on its founder’s birthday and one at Christmas. George had only been with the company for a matter of months so the people he knew there he only knew by phone and email.

  ‘I’m a bit self-conscious of people staring at me,’ he explained. ‘Having you with me, I won’t have to worry. All their eyes will be on you.’

  The doll! Sarah decided then and there that she’d make the date extra special for him. If he wanted to look at her legs, she’d gladly show them off. Come to that, whatever he wanted to look at, he’d get to see.

  She wondered whether he could fuck. Having lost the use of his legs didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t get an erection, did it? And if it did, maybe he could still feel. He might like to be touched, or it might embarrass him. Somehow or another, she’d find out.

  There was a handicapped ramp into the banquet hall. They picked up nametags and went on inside. The men were almost all in tuxedos and the women wore cocktail or evening dresses. So what? Sarah was dressed up, though in a way she doubted anyone would suspect.

  A crowd had gathered around the free bar. Sarah wheeled George up to it. It parted like the Red Sea for him. The barkeep took their orders out of turn. So there was an upside to not being able to walk.

  A man with ‘Carl’ on his jacket and a woman with ‘Liz’ over her left breast introduced themselves. Both worked in a department that George programmed for.

  Carl said, ‘I didn’t know …’ He twirled a finger at George’s wheelchair.

  George shrugged. ‘Why would you? It’s one of the advantages of e-commuting, everyone’s equal.’

  The talk turned to technical stuff that was far beyond Sarah’s limited computer literacy. George’s hand was resting on his chair’s armrest. Sarah pressed her thigh against the backs of his fingers. He threw her a grateful glance and pressed back. From then on, from time to time, his fingers wriggled. Sarah glanced down into his lap. There was no sign that he was getting an erection, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t.

  An MC announced that dinner was served. Sarah wheeled George in. Carl removed the chair that was in front of George’s name card. Sarah’s card read Guest’. There was minestrone or antipasto followed by either buffalo steak or squab. Sarah didn’t think she could eat pigeon meat so they both had the steak, which came with a plum sauce and was decorated with what Sarah took to be blades of grass.

  George ordered a bottle of Chianti for them to share. It was dry enough to make her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth but she found that she quite liked it.

  The white linen cloth draped onto their thighs. In the spirit of giving George good value for his two thousand bucks, and as an experiment, Sarah rested her hand on his thigh under the cloth’s concealment. His leg twitched. It felt quite muscular. Perhaps he hadn’t been crippled for long enough for it to atrophy.

  So, his legs could feel, which had to mean …

  His fingers touched her nyloned thigh just above her knee and stroked up to the top of her stocking. Sarah hitched forwards in her chair so that his fingertips brushed her bare skin. They half turned to look at each other, a question in his eyes and an answering promise in hers. She thought she actually felt something for the poor man, not love exactly but at least something close to affection. Was that weird? Was it something hormonal or psychological? She’d made up her mind that she was going to make George happy that night. Had that decision triggered an emotional response in her? If it had, being an escort could be more satisfying than just the money and the sex.

  How had she felt towards the exhibitionists, James and Daphne? Warm. Definitely warm. She considered them her friends now, even though she wasn’t likely to see them ever again.

  Jack, of course, was something else again. She’d fallen in genuine love with him, her first.

  Because he’d been her first?

  She’d have to think about that, but later. For now, George’s fingertips were making little circles on her bare skin and she was thoroughly enjoying it. That ghost of a tingle was starting. Carpe diem, she told herself. ‘Seize the day.’ A line from a song her dad sometimes sang came into her mind: ‘If you can’t be with the one that you love, love the one that you’re with.’ For the first time in her life, the lyrics made perfect sense.

  There were speeches about things and people that didn’t interest Sarah so she concentrated on what George’s fingers were doing and daydreamed about what they’d do to her when they got back to his apartment. A man who couldn’t walk could still kiss, and she doted on kissing. He could still use his fingers, as well, and George seemed to have a very delicate touch.

  But she should be thinking about what she could do to please George, not about what he could do for her. He was the customer, after all.

  Daphne had done some incredible things to James with her mouth. Sarah didn’t know if she was up to doing the same things, but she could certainly try. What sort of a cock did George have, she wondered.

  Everyone but George stood up. Sarah hurried to copy them and drank a toast to someone or something. Waiters cleared away and then came round with coffee and liqueurs. Sarah would have liked to try her first liqueur but she whispered to George, ‘What time does this finish?’

  ‘Bored?’

  ‘No,’ she lied, ‘but wouldn’t you like us to be alone?’

  George arched his back. Louder than necessary, he announced, ‘I’m getting pangs, Sarah. My back’s seizing up. I’m sorry to drag you away from all the fun but could you take me home and give me my medicine?’

  As she wheeled him out, she whispered, ‘Are you really in pain, George?’

  ‘Of a sort, but my stiffness isn’t in my back. I was hoping you’d have the right treatment to cure it.’

  Sarah chuckled. ‘I’ll think of something, ‘I promise.’

  ‘Sweet nurse.’

  On the ride back, Sarah posed her legs and pulled her skirt up high enough to show George glimpses of her gossamer white panties. He groaned. If it hadn’t been for the driver up front, she’d have unbuttoned her uniform to see if he liked her matching bra and its contents.

  Was she becoming an exhibitionist or didn’t it count if there were just the two of you?

  George said, ‘This ride is taking for ever.’

  ‘It’ll be worth the wait, George, I promise.’ She really meant that.

  George’s apartment was nothing like Sarah expected. With him being a computer geek, she’d thought it’d either be a total mess, with tottering stacks of books and papers scattered everywhere, or obsessive-compulsive neat. It was neat and tidy, but lived in, quite ordinary, really.

  The couch looked as if it was used, so she asked him, ‘Would you like me to help you to the couch, or to your bed?’ She made her voice throaty on ‘bed’, so he’d understand the implications.

  ‘I’m comfortable in my wheelchair, thanks. Nurse Sarah?’

  ‘Yes, George?’

  ‘Could I see those lovely legs of yours again, please?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stepped back a little, to give him a full view. Working slowly from the lowest up, she undid the buttons on her uniform one at a time, till she came to its broad elasticised belt.

  When she put her fingers to the buckle, George said, ‘Leave the belt, please?’

  ‘Whatever pleases you, George. Shall I …?’ She reached for the top button.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Sarah posed, one knee before the other, as she’d seen models do, and unbuttoned down to her belt. That, she guessed, was part of his kink – or ‘sexual preference’ as Veronica had insisted it be called.

  ‘I could take my uniform off but leave the belt on, if
you’d like.’

  ‘No, I like the uniform on you, Nurse Sarah.’

  Ah, so it was her being a nurse that he was fixated on.

  ‘Is there anything else that your naughty little nurse can do for you, George? I’m here to look after you, and –’ she paused to tilt the little watch pinned to her breast pocket up so she could glance at it ‘– I see the night shift has started.’ Sarah parted the skirt to her uniform to give him a better look at her legs.

  It was strange, she felt, for a professional escort to be seducing her client. After all, she was bought and paid for. He was entitled, whether Veronica was willing to admit or not, to any relatively normal sexual services he fancied.

  How did she feel about that – being ‘bought and paid for’? Should she be ashamed? She wasn’t. In fact, she was sort of proud of herself. Almost any girl could ‘give it away’. Not many could sell their good looks and erotic skills at $2,000 plus tips per time.

  George’s voice was creaky when he asked, ‘Could you come closer?’

  She sauntered towards him, deliberately teasing, until her thighs were inches from the armrest of his chair.

  His eyes opened wide. He licked his lips. ‘May I touch you?’

  ‘I’d like that, George.’

  ‘You would?’ He seemed both pleased and surprised.

  ‘Nurses have needs too, George.’

  ‘Oh!’ His hand reached out hesitantly. His fingers rested lightly on Sarah’s stocking, just above and on the inside of her knee. George looked up into her eyes, as if questioning his right to be fondling her.

  ‘You have a delicate touch, George. I like that.’

  Encouraged, he made tiny circles on the white nylon, slowly travelling upwards. Sarah sighed and half hooded her eyes. Poor man, she thought. He needed all the encouragement he could get. Her excitement wasn’t all fake. It was a sexy situation. Here she was, with a man who was virtually a stranger, blatantly showing herself off and offering herself. If that made her a slut, then being a slut was fun!