The Job: Volume One (The Job #1)

by Dawn Robertson

  I wonder if I should just start answering some of the e-mails I’ve received in response to my ad, which just so happens to still be up on that stupid site. I didn’t have the balls to take it down. In fact, I almost hoped it would just go away.

  Can I watch you masturbate? I’m sorry if this comes off as gross or

  desperate but I just love watching a woman pleasure herself. I won’t

  touch you at all. I will just pleasure myself at a safe distance away from

  you. Is that something you would consider? $400 and I host. Please reply.

  My name is Joe, by the way.

  Some of the offers aren’t half bad. In fact, that is a lot of money to just watch someone jerk off. I’m constantly arguing with myself, going back and forth on hooking up with another guy. This voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that I have some misplaced loyalty to Brian. But, the fact of the matter is… I am nothing to him and he is nothing to me. He is a man I had sex with for money. He paid me for my time. He made me an offer and never came after me. It is stupid, I know. Do I want this guy to chase me? Who knows, but what I do know is, right now, I have the opportunity to get some money in the bank and find a real job without worrying that my utilities are going to get shut off.

  I don’t know if I am stubborn or just flat out crazy. Maybe I am making up for the skanky college years all at once, way after college. But, I’m not going to sit around and wait for Brian to e-mail me. I am going to hustle when I can.

  I click reply on the masturbation guy and give him some stipulations.

  I am interested.

  Must be between 8am and 2pm. Or on a weekend.

  No contact, you give me the address and time.

  Cash only up front.

  I must be losing my mind or I’ve just hit the point in my life where I simply don’t give a flying fuck anymore. I gasp to myself when the word fuck flies through my vocabulary. It isn’t something I’ve used much over the years but it feels like a good time to start.

  I search through my e-mail box more, trying to clean out all the bullshit and decide who is actually worth my time. I swear there must be a hundred replies to the one ad and some of them are downright scary.

  Women like you should be fucked and shot.

  Alrighty then! I’m going to call that one, Mommy Issues. Because clearly something ain’t right. Delete!

  Next!

  I’ll give you $20 to blow me in the Walmart parking lot.

  Is this actually for real? I wonder if any woman would actually do that for him? But twenty dollars? Um… no.

  Next!

  Does your husband know you are an internet whore?

  Will he join us when I fuck you?

  Husband? No. Threesome? No. What makes some of these guys tick? Or are they nothing more than internet trolls looking for someone to argue with for the night?

  Each e-mail I open becomes more entertaining. Some are downright disturbing.

  Hi, my name is Jason and I love feet. You could say I have a foot fetish.

  I would be willing to offer you $500 to jerk me off with your feet, I only ask

  that you have a pedicure before you come to see me, and that I can cum on

  your toes. I think it is a reasonable offer, don’t you?

  I attached my picture, please reply.

  Looking at the picture of the guy, and being honest with myself, he really isn’t that bad looking. I guess it just goes to show that even your average, everyday men can have some strange ass hookups. I guess feet are a pretty popular thing.

  Saving time, I copy and paste the same reply I sent to the masturbation guy.

  I am interested.

  Must be between 8am and 2pm. Or on a weekend.

  No contact, you give me the address and time.

  Cash only up front.

  We’ll see how those two pan out.

  I delete a ton more e-mails and finally come to an actual reply to a job. A real job, not some cheap blow job in an alleyway. The position is for a lawyer in my town, someone who is very popular and considered big time amongst our quiet beachfront community. He is looking for a personal assistant to help his aging secretary who doesn’t want to retire yet.

  I quickly call the phone number in the e-mail, and set up an appointment for the following Monday morning at 10am. That gives me plenty of time to get the children to school and make myself look like a woman who wants an office job. Not a homely housewife. Jumping up from my bed, I do a little celebratory dance for finally scoring a good interview for an amazing job that could really get me back on my feet. I think about calling Cindy, because I am pretty sure at one point in time she actually dated the lawyer, Joseph Roberts. Then again, if they dated and it ended badly there is no way I want to be associated with her by any damn means. She is like a tornado of destruction when it comes to men sometimes.

  I want to get through the last couple e-mails in my inbox, just because I hate that annoying little icon sitting on the screen taunting me to read. Plus, I don’t want to leave any evidence of my ad anywhere the kids can stumble across it.

  Dear Madame,

  My name is Kevin, and I am looking to be dominated. I am an extremely

  submissive man and I have the desire to be a slave. I’m looking for an

  attractive woman I can pay once or twice a month to degrade me. Sit on

  my face, piss on me, use me for her pleasure only. I am a professional man

  so I need to remain extremely discrete. I will compensate you handsomely.

  If you are interested, please reply with a picture.

  No thank you! I don’t think I could ever bring myself to pee on someone. Hell, I freak out and have to take another damn shower if I sneeze and accidentally pee on myself a little. How can another human being like something like that? The entire idea creeps me out, and makes me feel disgusting. Ew. Just… ew.

  One last e-mail and I pray it isn’t a doozy like the last.

  Good evening,

  I am a college student at ERU and I am looking for an older woman to fuck

  a few times before I leave after graduation. No strings attached, just looking

  for a cougar to use me a little for her own pleasure. I’ll pay you, of course. Or

  should I say, I’ll “donate” to you. My picture is attached.

  I shouldn’t even think about a college kid. That just makes me feel like a creepy old lady. That’s all. I’ll just focus on the two emails I actually replied to and continue on my quest for a real job. Fingers crossed that will be with Mr. Fancy Pants Lawyer!

  Pulling into the driveway of a small Mediterranean style single story house, my heart is thumping against my chest. Masturbation man, as I have dubbed him, is on the other side of that door. Waiting for me to watch him jerk off while I diddle myself and pretend to get off. That shit is so much easier for women to fake than men. We don’t have that whole complicated grand finale. Just a little moaning and panting and any idiot will think the job is done.

  Sitting in my car for a couple extra minutes I ponder what my life has become. I don’t recognize the person I am turning into, but at the end of the day maybe this is exactly who I am supposed to be? Who knows? But what I do know is there is some easy money on the other side of the door that my savings account could use. I open my car door, and walk up the expertly manicured walkway to the house. Before I can knock, the door opens and the same man I’ve exchanged a few emails with stands there.

  “Nice to finally meet.” He says with a smile. His teeth are perfect, something I always notice first. Brown eyes, sandy blond hair, and a nice tan like he’s been spending some time on the beach, or maybe out in the yard landscaping. “I have about a half hour, I’m home on my lunch break from work, so I’d like to do this quickly.” He adds. Fine by me, the quicker the better.

  “Of course, first the money.” I fire back. He smiles and pulls out a wad of bills from his pocket, handing over four, one hundred dollar bills without thinking twice. I
smile and give him a wink, “where are we going to do this?” I ask, while shoving the money into my purse.

  “Right over there…” he points in the direction of the living room. There is a nice sofa, and two chairs on either side.

  “Any specific place you’d like me?” I ask, waiting for his direction.

  “You on the couch, spread eagle towards that chair there on the right. You can keep your top on if you’d like. I’m not much of a tit man,” he admits while guiding me in the direction of the couch. Careful to never once put a finger on me. I like that he is mindful of his actions. I always worry about disrespectful men or getting hurt.

  Standing next to the couch, I slowly start to pull my jeans down in a seductive manner before remembering he is short on time. He sits down in the chair and begins to unbutton his pants and pull his dick out like it is no big deal. I am willing to bet this is something that he has done before. Possibly, a couple times.

  “Do you want me to sit directly on the couch or do you have a towel or something?” I am trying to be polite because, frankly, I wouldn’t want a naked ass on my living room sofa, but to each their own.

  “Do you squirt?” he asks me, without missing a beat.

  “Do I what?” I’m confused now.

  “Do you squirt when you orgasm? You know… like spray?”

  “I don’t think so?” I want to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the conversation taking place.

  “You’d know if you squirt.” he says flatly.

  “Okay, so I’m guessing no towel?”

  “No, you should be fine.”

  I am pretty sure this is turning into the strangest experience of my entire damn life. What kind of question was that? What the hell is squirting? I am so going to have to Google that when I get home now!

  I lie back against the cool fabric of the couch and spread my legs wide open for him to see. He is watching my every move as he sits in the chair, already stroking his dick.

  “You have a nice looking pussy,” he says with a smile.

  “Thank you.” I accept the compliment and begin his show. I’ve never freely masturbated in front of anyone so I just start playing around and trying not to laugh at the same time. I bite on my bottom lip as I slip a finger inside me, and I can hear him groaning across the room when I make entry.

  “Yeah, baby. Just like that. Slip another finger in there for me…” he instructs, and I am slightly relieved at the fact that he is giving me actual instructions. That will make this so much easier. Following his orders I slip a second finger inside and use my other hand to rub along my clit and actually give me the slightest bit of pleasure. It feels surprisingly good even though he is staring at me.

  “Rub that clit, baby. Rub it good.” His words encourage me and he quickens his own pace on his dick. I peer through the cracks in my heavy lidded eyes while I continue to pleasure myself until I hear his grunts of pleasure.

  “Oh yeah, fuck yeah. Oh god,” he yells while he comes all over his stomach. I keep going, chasing my own orgasm because I know it is close. So close. His eyes bare into me and he quietly watches while still stroking his limp dick.

  “Keep going, baby. I want to see you come for me.” He says, and as the last words come out of his mouth, I tip over the edge. Never knowing how erotic it could be to masturbate for someone. How much it would turn me on just to be a show for him. Nothing more. We didn’t need each other, but we did at the same time. I wonder why I never did anything like this with Drew, but then again, he was never interested in my own pleasure. Only his own. As soon as he got off, he was done for the day. Wanted nothing to do with me until dinner time when I needed to be cooking for him and being the doting housewife he demanded from me. What a crock of shit. In the back of my mind, I guess this whole bullshit charade is like giving him the middle finger at the same time as I scrounge together money to support our kids; because he’d rather buy that bimbo new tits than pay for football camp.

  And people wonder why women get bitter. We aren’t bitches. We’re just rational people. If you can’t see the problem in the situation, than you just may be a lost cause too. I’m stuck in my head for a couple minutes before I realize I am still lying half naked on this stranger’s couch. He’s gone to clean himself up and I begin to slide my skinny jeans back on and hope to get out of here without any incident.

  He rounds the corner back into the living room with a glaring smile on his face and a gun in his hand. You have got to be shitting me right now is all I can think as I drop my purse to the floor, and put my hands up in the air.

  “You can have anything you want, but I don’t have much…” I stutter as my body begins to shake.

  “You can reach into your bag and hand me that four hundred dollars back. Once you do that, you turn and walk out. If you call the cops, I will tell them all about you and how much you wanted me to pay you. You don’t want to go to jail for being a whore now do you?” I reach for my purse slowly, as he eyes every move I make. My body is shaking and I drop my bag twice before I can grip it and pull the money out.

  Tossing it on the coffee table, I turn and run for the front door never looking back at him. Once I am inside my car, I lock the doors and fire the car to life, flying in reverse out of his driveway and screeching my tires down the narrow beach road.

  All of my reservations come flooding back into my mind. What an absolute naive asshole I’ve been all along thinking this would actually be a good idea. I should have known something like this was bound to happen to me. Guys who are picking women up off of the internet, especially a creepy ass website like Craigslist, aren’t going to be good people. Not every one of these men are going to be a Brian. Hell, none of them are going to be anything like him. The one good experience doing this was all I am going to get and I should have known that when I walked out of his house that morning.

  I’m not stupid and I’ve watched all those shows on OWN. I know women like me disappear and are never heard from again. That is it! There is no way I am going to go back on that website. I am going to delete the ad, delete all my emails and be done with it all. This was all a big mistake.

  I drive home faster than usual, with my heart beating steadily against my chest. I’m lucky he didn’t hurt me or do something worse! And now, I have no one to run to. I have no one to talk to. No one to confide in about my own damn stupidity. I’m alone, and I’m scared. And it is all my own fault.

  The worst part of that entire experience was the fact that after leaving that scumbag’s house, I had to go and pick my children up from school. Shaking and panicked and in absolutely no condition to take care of them. Not only did I feel like a giant piece of shit, but I felt even worse because I know I literally could not function as a parent that moment in time. As soon as I got home and set them all up with a snack and homework, I retreated to my bathroom, locked the door and cried. Which is where I find myself now. Curled up in a ball on my bathroom floor, crying hysterically for being so fucking dumb.

  How did I think I could actually get away with doing something like this? How did I ever think any of this was a good idea? Oh, that’s right. It’s called desperation. It’s called nowhere else to turn. My phone rings and I ignore it. My text tone goes off and I ignore it. Once, twice, three times, and someone is blowing my phone up. I want no part of it. I don’t want to talk to anyone when I am having a breakdown like this.

  I wipe away my dripping mascara and stand eyeing myself in the giant mirror over the spacious double sinks. His and hers, I insisted on when we bought the house. This house… that is the problem. This life… that is the problem. The lies I live on a daily basis… is the problem. I’m not over everything that has happened despite all the lies I’ve told myself. My phone rings again, and looking down at the number I don’t recognize it. I take a deep breath in and answer, pretending I haven’t been crying.

  “Hello?”

  “Madeline?” his voice is deep on the other end, sending a chill through my body. I don’t need to ask w
ho it is, because I could never forget his voice. Not in a million years.

  “How did you get my number?” I ask Brian, even though I know it is a really stupid question. A man like him could track anyone down.

  “I put my number in your phone as well, when you were sleeping. I figured by now you would have realized it, but I guess not.” He lets out a chuckle and I’m just not amused. Nothing could bring me to laugh or even smile right now. And he wants to chit chat.

  “It really isn’t a good time right now, Brian.” My voice trembles and a stray tear falls onto the vanity.

  “You’ve been crying,” he says, as I sniffle into the phone line giving myself away.

  “I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t want to talk right now. I’m sorry.” I’m trying to end the conversation, but I don’t think he is going to let me.

  “Something happened to you, didn’t it?” I nod, as if he can see me. Silence fills the phone line, and I can hear the tone of his voice change. “Madeline, tell me.” He is stern and demanding. I want to tell him. I want to spill everything to him, but I can’t get a word out over the lump in my throat. I’m trying to hold my tears back, but they are just flowing like a river now. The only thing in the world that could fix any of this is Brian, and he is a stranger to me.

  “Madeline, hang up the phone and text me your address. Now. I’m on my way there and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “But… my children…” I whisper into the line, as I take a seat on the floor once again.

  “Your children will be fine. I’m coming over there to take care of a friend. Text me your address now.” The phone line goes dead and I just stare at my phone wondering what I should do. I don’t want to upset him. I know he is probably running to his car right now, getting to me as fast as he can. I don’t want him to be my knight in shining armor. I don’t want him or any man to save me, but for once I think I need to let my guard down and let him. I got myself into a bad mess this time around and even though I managed to get myself out… kind of…I don’t know what to do from here.