Played

by Colleen Charles

  After that, I buried myself in all things tech. Computers and the internet didn’t care about your weight, your age, or your ineptitude in the bedroom. I liked math, I liked computers, and they both liked me. They became my perfect match. They were my companions and my teachers. But they could never be my lovers.

  And I really, really wanted a lover. And intimacy. Part of my heart remained empty, yearning, and searching for something to fill it besides code, formulas, and cost-benefit analysis.

  I went home, and as I got dressed for my date, I stood naked in front of the mirror and took a good long look at the new Harper Payne. Five-foot-three and one hundred and fifty pounds of curvaceous splendor, but much more toned than I’d ever been in my life. With the same determination I’d used to build my business, I’d shed my old body like a lizard’s skin and discarded it forever on the desert floor. I could barely see the tiny scars from my breast reduction surgery. My beautiful new full D tits stood proud and perky above my flat abdomen. Lasers had erased the freckles sprinkled over my face and body, and my blonde hair that flowed halfway down my back had attained a perfect platinum shade with the help of a high-priced hairdresser. An exclusive personal trainer was to thank for my Brazilian butt and sculpted thighs. But to what end? If a pretty girl stood naked in the forest and there was no one to see her, was she still pretty?

  I turned away from my reflection. Enough with the self-inspection followed by deprecation, Payne. Tonight, I was in charge. According to Irene Sutton, a gorgeous man would be my beck and call boy, bought and paid for five figures. I told Irene in no uncertain terms I wanted a muscular man with plenty of testosterone raging brawn and a huge cock, who could screw my brains out to make up for the lack of his own. I didn’t want some intellectual pontificating over the state of my virgin pussy. No, I wanted a man who would know how to take charge and get shit done. Then I could toss away the dreaded V-card once and for all. And maybe then I wouldn’t be afraid of getting on with the rest of my life, maybe even sleeping with a man of my choosing.

  I took a cab to Irene’s office, knowing her company provided limousine service for their clients. They certainly should for the prices they charged, but the money didn’t concern me. I had more than I knew what to do with, so I could spend it on a ten thousand dollar fuck every day for the next ten years if I wanted to. And since I’d used a fake name, I could do it with impunity and no strings attached. Exactly how I wanted it. Then I could finally get on with the rest of my life.

  Despite my surface bravado, I still felt nervous as I approached the door to Irene Sutton Formals. I checked my dress, hair, and lipstick before stepping inside. Here goes… everything.

  “Good evening, Laurie,” Irene’s sultry voice called as I entered. “You look lovely, dear. Please come in.”

  “Thank you, Irene. You’re too kind.”

  “Not at all. You’re stunning, and I know you’ll have a wonderful evening,” she said, walking toward me across the foyer. I knew she was sucking up to me because of my bank account and high profile, but I wolfed down the compliment just the same. Even after my transformation, they’d remained few and far between. “I have your theater vouchers right here, and the limo is waiting downstairs. But I must tell you, the escort you chose has come down with the flu and is unavailable tonight. I’m very sorry, but not to worry. I’ve arranged an alternate I’m sure you’ll like. An athlete. Let’s go and meet him.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head, and every cell in my body rebelled. The only reason I was semi-confident about this evening was because I’d chosen the recipient of my V-card gift and he’d been fully vetted. Photos, a background check, and an online video had been provided that I’d reviewed until I knew his personal details by heart. I hadn’t put that kind of money down for a spin at the roulette wheel. I wanted who I wanted. With a sluggish reluctance, I followed her into a meeting room across from her office and exhaled a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. She stepped aside, and…

  There. He. Was.

  It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. I struggled for a basic inhale. The man had his back to us, but I could still admire the breadth of shoulder and tight ass. This new dude was everything I could have hoped for and yet nothing even close to what I had expected or originally chosen. Tall. Handsome. Familiar.

  I hissed in another breath so fast I almost swayed in my stilettos. I clamped my eyes shut until I could get it together. Not him. Anyone but him. There was no fucking way I could make it through this night, and I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t turn and flee right now like I wanted to without offending Irene, embarrassing myself and screwing up any possible chance of a reschedule with someone else.

  God damn your inability to get this mercy fuck over with back in college, Harper. Now, look where you’ve found yourself. In a knee deep pile of shit with nowhere to run.

  “Reed, may I introduce Miss Laurie Arnold,” Irene said in her practiced Emily Post style, gesturing to me with a dainty sweep of her palm. “Laurie, this is Reed.”

  “Hello, Laurie. A pleasure to meet you,” Reed said, extending his hand. I took it, felt his strong fingers close over mine and hold them, safe and solid. Electricity flowed from his skin to mine just like it always had whenever he’d turned an innocuous touch on me. I looked into his green eyes and searched for what should have been there, but found… nothing. What a complete piece of shit. I felt the pain of the past envelop me all over again with a fresh wave of agony. Reed Matheson stood in front of me after fifteen years and had just met Laurie Arnold.

  Perhaps it was all part of the job. Anonymity. Role playing. Was it even possible he didn’t recognize me? A hundred pounds and twelve years certainly changed a lot of things… for both of us. Reed Matheson, my childhood neighbor and once-upon-a-time friend, former pro hockey player and publicly-jilted husband, stood before me. A high-class hooker! How the mighty had fallen. Instinct told me to run, hide. Fucking fake a seizure if necessary. But I didn’t because my wobbly knees refused to move at my mind’s beckoning.

  “Hello,” I said coolly. The revenge I’d dreamt about all through my horrific college years now loomed before me. Close enough to touch. To taste. Something nasty inside of me insisted that I play this out. No way would I gift a douche like Reed Matheson with the ultimate gift, but morbid curiosity about how he came to be in this position tugged at my mind and heart. The last time I’d seen Reed, I was crying outside our high school arena over words that still agonized me. Time might heal all wounds, but not that one. I’d really considered him my good friend until that fateful day. The day I realized he never saw me as anything but Bacon Payne, the fat girl he’d merely tolerated rather than befriended. He never knew how much he’d hurt me. No, humiliated me. Worse, he didn’t even remember it.

  He didn’t remember me.

  “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing. It complements your eyes.”

  He sounded like a kid rehearsing for a school play, reciting his lines. But he was right about the dress. I’d worn blue for that very reason, hoping to impress my date into actually pretending an attraction for me, making the uncomfortable situation easier for me through a little roll play.

  “Why, thank you, Reed. You look very dashing yourself.”

  Was that my voice sounding so calm and pristine? Irene handed Reed an envelope and stepped back, looking satisfied.

  “Curtain time is eight. You’ll find your transport waiting downstairs. Have a pleasant evening,” she said, disappearing into her office with the silent stealth of a cat. If she had a tail, I imagined it would be swishing back and forth in contented avarice, anticipating her cut of the fees. The woman had just banked over two thousand dollars just for making a few phone calls.

  Reed smiled and offered to take me by the elbow. “Shall we, Laurie?”

  “Yes, of course.” He smiled at me, giving me his undivided attention. I would have done anything for him to look at me this way all those years ago. But I was a different pe
rson now. And I’d never be Bacon Payne again.

  Chapter Four

  Reed

  I studied my shoes as I escorted Laurie down to street level and our waiting limousine. I had to, at least for now, to avoid tripping over my own feet and keep my tongue—and other things—in check. One look at her, and I’d been overcome with lust, all the way to max on the dial. There was just something about her. Like she had an internal magnet pulling my steely cock toward her.

  I silently thanked my own recklessness for taking on this job, and whatever lucky stars shone down on me for having such a delectable creature as my first date. My mouth watered when I looked at her, the first woman I’d really wanted since Robin left me high and dry. She had full lips perfect for kissing, and the blue dress hugged her lush curves. Tiny and yet padded in all the right places. Totally my type.

  I had to admit to being worried ever since reading through Irene Sutton’s P and P manuals. I’d never had to work too hard to get the attention of attractive females and was pretty discriminating on who I escorted around in public, tempting the tabloids and the local entertainment news reporters. I doubted I could fake it with a woman who fell into the ‘coyote’ category. For some reason, I’d never expected that a drop-dead gorgeous girl could want something like this. She could go out to any expensive bar or steakhouse and find a good-looking, successful guy to bang her. Laurie didn’t need to pay.

  Regardless, she’d get what she paid for and then some because I’d make damn sure of it. I was already imagining her flat on her back, legs spread, panting for breath as I pounded into her. Her blonde hair flying loose across her full tits, her clear blue eyes misting over with desire and her pouty lips begging and pleading.

  “Do you like the theater, Reed?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

  My train wreck of thoughts aligned back onto the rails as she spoke. But I didn’t have a clue what she’d said. Like the theater? I’d rather stick my head in a vice and squeeze. But Irene’s warning had been clear. Smoke should be blown firmly up ass. If Laurie liked it, I liked it. If Laurie wanted her pussy licked for an hour, I wanted to lick it. If Laurie wanted me to fuck her in a pile of hundred dollar bills, I said make it rain. My ears had shut down along with the rest of my brain. Sutton’s guidelines said to always agree with your client unless it puts you in physical danger. I found myself in danger all right. More like in serious danger of losing my load if I didn’t smarten up and pay attention.

  As we settled into the back of the limo, I opened the envelope and checked the tickets. Something called Wicked. How appropriate. This chick looked wicked in the best kind of way. A sexy expanse of thigh showed from beneath the slit in her skirt that ran from the hem almost to her pussy, and a low-cut neckline revealed two perfect creamy mounds. Despite all that, her face wasn’t painted on like a lot of women I saw every day. No fake lashes or heavy eyeliner. Her complexion looked naturally clear and smooth. I liked that. I liked her. Something about her seemed familiar.

  And safe.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Laurie. What do you do for a living?”

  She turned from the window and fixed her blue gaze on me. Just a look tightened my groin and clenched my stomach. Sitting through the play was going to be the hardest two hours of my life.

  “I work in IT,” she said simply. I could understand her desire to keep things superficial.

  “Really? Not many women in that field. You must be very good at it.” I realized she couldn’t really ask me the same question since it was obvious what I was doing to make a living. The thinly-veiled come-ons and suggestive innuendo I’d practiced all my life had somehow deserted me. I sucked at small talk. At least I sucked at it with her. I’d always been the one with the upper hand in all male/female interactions. I wanted to impress her, make her like me. She seemed a pretty tough nut to crack, but I wanted to knock it out of the park and impress Irene so she’d keep sending me out on engagements.

  “I do all right,” she answered with a light laugh. “You seem very athletic. Do you play any sports in your spare time?”

  My stomach lurched. It hadn’t occurred to me until now she might have seen my sorry mug on the front of a newspaper. Had she chosen me as a lark? To make fun of me? My stomach sank. So much for actually enjoying my journey over to the dark side.

  “Used to,” I said. “A knee injury a few years ago kinda sidelined me. Do you like sports?”

  “Used to,” she said with a grin, clearly mimicking me. She had a sense of humor, and I liked that too. “We must be talking pick-up games at the local gym. I watch football on TV sometimes, but I’m not what you’d call a fan. I used to be a bigger supporter back in high school.”

  Shit. There goes that line of conversation. Something I could actually talk about intelligently fell from the shelf. I wondered if she felt as nervous as I did. If that were the case, we’d at least have that in common, and it was a start.

  “Listen, can I tell you something?” I asked, trying a different tack by inviting her into my confidence.

  “Sure.” Her luminous blues seemed to see right through me, as if she knew my soul’s intentions. I felt emboldened and intimidated at the same time. In that moment, I wanted more than just her smoking hot body. I wanted her. All of her. Inside and out. With a stab of guilt, I remembered that was strictly against agency policy. I couldn’t have Laurie. As if a woman of her caliber would want my sorry ass anyway. I was a poor, pathetic has-been.

  “If I seem nervous, it’s because I am. It’s my first gig with Irene’s agency, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I do anything off color. I’m really trying my best.”

  Her eyes met mine, seeming to soften. “Well, I won’t tell if you won’t. To be honest, I’ve never used an escort service before, either,” Laurie said, exhaling as though relieved to be rid of her secret. “So, let’s call it even and just enjoy the evening. And whatever comes of it.”

  “Deal,” I said, smiling. Her relaxation seemed to rub off on me. I sat a little closer and took a chance on placing an arm casually around her shoulders. It felt right in a way I couldn’t describe. Something familiar floated over me like we’d done this all before. Laurie snuggled into my embrace like a kitten in a mitten. Fitting like a glove.

  We walked into the Rochester Civic Center looking like a couple that had been together forever. I hadn’t been much for live musical theater, but with Laurie on my arm it took on a whole new dimension. We had time for a quick cocktail before being ushered to our seats, and I felt the magic of the performance just by watching her reaction as the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play. She seemed to know all the lyrics too and seeing her delicious lips mouthing all the words turned me on. I pictured where else those lips could play a sweet song.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how such a desirable woman could possibly need to hire an escort. Since I couldn’t ask her, it would probably remain one of life’s great mysteries. When the curtain dropped at intermission, we made our way to the lobby. Another drink might loosen the tight reins she seemed to keep on herself.

  “That was certainly spectacular,” I said as I brought her glass of wine to the tall table we’d commandeered. I found that I actually had enjoyed the performance and expanding my limited artistic horizons. Would wonders never cease? “That Elphaba sure got a bad rap.”

  “Yes,” Laurie agreed. Our fingers grazed as she took my proffered glass, and I sensed her tense up and become rigid. She looked at me over the rim of her wineglass, those gorgeous azure irises piercing me with serious intent. “Outcasts and villains are always the most misunderstood. Just because your looks don’t conform to society’s ideals doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  “Nope. But you gotta admit, green skin is a little hard to ignore.” I offered a quick toast with my crystal tumbler of scotch on the rocks, wondering where she was going with this comment. It smacked of insecurity, and I couldn’t imagine her being insecure about anything. She had it all go
ing on. “And green skin looks so… sickly. But I’m sure you’ve never had that problem.”

  “What? Green skin?”

  “No,” I laughed, kicking myself for my verbal clumsiness. “Being an outcast or a bad person. And personally… I think your looks are ideal, in any society.”

  There. Redemption, possibly? The compliment was genuine, and I want you to accept it as such. Please? I’m like a cut dog begging for a bone, so throw me one.

  Laurie smiled and sipped her wine, her cheeks flushing a little, whether from my comments or the alcohol. Seemed I’d never get out ahead of it by knowing anything about her private thoughts. She was keeping it close to the vest. So guarded it was almost as if she had something to hide.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I took a swallow of my drink and admired the view. Why would this fantastic woman ever need, or want, to pay money for sex? My curiosity wouldn’t let it go. Maybe I could push just a little and not get fired. Emboldened by a little alcoholic bravery, I set out to assuage my morbid curiosity.

  “Forgive me, Laurie, but I have to ask. Why would someone like you need Irene Sutton? I can’t believe you would lack for male attention. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and articulate. There’s probably a long line of men who would be honored to escort you to the theater. Or anything else you might need.”

  “Someone like me…” she said, almost as a question, and took a long pause before continuing. “Let’s just say there are times when you don’t want any questions or judgments. You just want business taken care of. I could turn the tables and ask you the same thing. Why would someone like you need to work for the Irene Suttons of the world?”