Back in Service (Service Girl Chronicles Book 2)

by Heidi Lowe

  “I just realized she’s not your client but your mother,” she whispered. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “So am I sometimes,” I joked. “Now she wants to know who you are.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I babysit your children.”

  She chuckled. “I suppose that telling her the truth was out of the question.”

  “Yeah.”

  She stalked closer to me. “And I suppose that getting you to go down on me right now would also be out of the question?”

  It took exactly four point five seconds for me to decide that, no, it wasn’t; then a further five seconds to drag her into a cubicle.

  I smashed my lips to hers as I hastily yanked down her panties. Then I sank to my knees, and buried my mouth in her sex. She pressed a hand to her mouth to trap her moans as I lapped her up. Going down on a woman properly took time and somewhere comfortable, none of which I had. I focused only on her bean, neglecting the rest of her in a bid to get straight to the point. A rushed job.

  She came hard, her body making the door rattle.

  “Thank you,” she said, pulling up her panties with a contented smile. “I needed that. As soon as I spotted you, that was it.”

  Yet she hadn’t called, just like the rest of her pals. Maybe this was all they needed — a reminder of what they were missing.

  She took out some money from her purse, stuffed it in my hand. She’d paid for a whole hour. Enough to cover my treatment.

  She gave me a long kiss.

  “Glad I could be of service. But I have to go back out...”

  She smiled. “Go ahead. We don’t want her getting suspicious.”

  I left, and she hung back so it wouldn’t look too dodgy.

  When I sat back down beside my mother, she cut me a look. It took her a minute to say something to me. And then, “I saw her follow you in there.”

  “It’s a restroom,” I responded.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday, Erica.”

  She didn’t speak to me for the rest of our time there.

  The first thing I noticed when I came home and went to my room was the flashing blue light on the work phone. A message.

  I hurried to retrieve it, unlocked it and gasped. Ten messages from random numbers. I’d set up a Google phone line, which Jo put on the site, and the messages were directed to the work phone. All Jo’s idea.

  “Holy crap!” I said, picking up my other phone and calling Jo.

  “I was literally just leaving to come over to yours.”

  “Well hurry. I’m about to freak out.”

  “Are they all from real humans?” was Jo’s first question upon seeing the messages.

  I rolled my eyes. “Obviously.” I handed her the phone, and paced up and down while she scrolled through. “The site’s only been live for two days, right?”

  She nodded. “But you said you gave one of your girlfriends the address to pass on to her gal pals.”

  That was true. During my sexcapades with Algebra a week ago, I’d promised to let her know when the site went live, which I’d done two days prior. Could they all have come from her recommendations?

  “This is insane. How could I possibly be in such high demand?”

  Jo chortled. “She must have told them your sex was on fire.”

  I ran my hands through my hair, shook my head over and over. When I spoke, I lowered my voice to a whisper. “There’s no way I could have that much sex. Not without something falling off!”

  “Have you seen these women? Some are hot mommas. Others...not so much.”

  I hadn’t seen all of them. I’d freaked out before I made it right through. I sat beside Jo on the bed, took the phone from her.

  “Hey, I know this one,” I said, stopping on the picture of a pretty, smiling redhead who looked to be in her early forties. “I saw her at the country club.” She was the Jessica Chastain doppelgänger playing pool. I wondered if she knew exactly who I was, as my photos on the site didn't reveal my whole face. She was definitely top of my call back list. I even had a nickname for her: Interstellar.

  “Are you gonna call all of them? Can you afford not to?”

  “Three or four,” I said after a moment of deliberation. “That’s all I need. Four regulars, plus the others, whenever they decide to call me. That's eleven paying customers. The site can come down now.”

  Jo put a supportive hand around my shoulders. “This is a good problem to have.”

  She was right. When was having wealthy women vying for your company ever a bad thing? Now I got to select the most desirable of the bunch, like they were auditioning. I’d become the Simon Cowell of escorting.

  My mother was standing behind me when I said goodbye to Jo and closed the front door. I knew that look. The furrowed brow, the narrowed eyes, the flared nostrils. I was in trouble.

  “What’s up?”

  “You tell me.”

  I shrugged and sighed. “You’re the one huffing and puffing like a furious dragon. It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t be this angry.” I went to step past her, but she grabbed my arm.

  “I don’t want to think the worst of you, Erica—”

  “Then don’t.” I yanked my arm away. “What's your problem?”

  I watched her throat move as she swallowed. Whatever words were forthcoming, they were going to be hard to say.

  Then she said them. “Are you getting paid for sex?”

  I could feel the blood drain from my face; could hear my heartbeat galloping. Suddenly a dizzy spell came over me. I felt like I was floating out of my body, watching the horror unfold as opposed to living it.

  “W–what—”

  “I heard you and Jo talking.” She couldn’t even look at me. That was the worst part. Not that she’d been eavesdropping, that I was too disgusting to look at.

  I had to lie myself out of this. “N–no, of course not.” It wasn’t convincing.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s true, isn’t it?” She held her hands to her mouth. “You’re selling your body.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “What is it like?” she screamed, the veins in her head on the verge of popping out.

  “They’re friends, and they look after me. That’s it.” I had to soften the blow somehow, take some of the sting and indecency out of it.

  She laughed without humor. “You’re a prostitute. My daughter, a prostitute. What am I going to tell your father?”

  That hurt. “I’m not a prostitute. I’m a drama student whose parents fell on hard times and couldn’t pay my living expenses. A drama student whose rich friends are helping her make ends meet, nothing more. That’s what you tell him... if you love him.” I wiped the tears from my face, but they kept falling.

  Furiously, she started digging in her purse, pulling out notes. Then, she stuffed them into my hand.

  “That should cover my half of the spa treatment. I don’t want anything with that dirty money.”

  Teardrops hit the notes as I looked at them. Then I threw the money back at her, stormed to my room, and stuffed a bunch of clothes into a duffel bag.

  “Where are you going?” my mom demanded as I hurried to the door.

  “To a motel.” I could scarcely afford it, but it was a small price to pay to avoid the shame.

  SEVEN

  The motel manager was a short, plump woman whose eyes betrayed a desire to be anywhere else but on the desk. The buttons of her white blouse hung on for dear life, threatening to pop off and go flying all over the reception.

  “How long will you be staying?” she said in a lazy drawl, peering at me over her specs.

  “Depends how much it costs,” I said with a laugh. She didn’t crack a smile.

  “It’s thirty bucks a night. Five bucks extra if you want hot water and your sheets changed daily.”

  I grimaced a little. That would clean me out in no time, clean sheets or not. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, that my shame would pass and I could return home soon.


  “I can do without hot water and clean sheets,” I said. “Can I pay for four days upfront?”

  She jotted down my details in her register, then took my money. At least it wasn’t too dirty for her (though granted she had no idea how I’d made it).

  Key secured, I made my way to my new home, praying that it wouldn’t be a cliche — the type of insalubrious cesspit only the truly destitute could afford. I was relieved when I unlocked the door and surveyed the room. The decor, though dated, was neutral and bright. The cream sheets unstained, at least under normal light. Dust free, too, to my surprise. The TV set was old, and when I clicked through the channels, none of the shows were in English. Luckily the Wi-Fi came with the room, and the signal was fairly strong.

  I dropped myself and my bag on the bed, which creaked under my weight. That would get annoying. For a moment I sat there in silence, taking in my surroundings, disgruntled at the fact that they were mine, for God only knew how long.

  With the argument still fresh in my mind, l started going over the witty comebacks I should have used.

  “Prostitute? You were practically a mail order bride. They’re basically the same thing!”

  I wouldn’t have dared say a thing like that to my mother, though. We had our differences, but the truth was, she was well within her rights to react the way she did. There simply wasn’t a positive spin to put on it: I sold my body for money. No matter how much enjoyment it brought me, the fact still remained. My only hope was that she didn’t tell my dad. He already had enough on his plate.

  I lay down, hugged the pillow, ignoring the long blonde strand of hair clinging to it. A pillow in place of the person I desperately wanted to be there with me, to make everything all right. Dana’s affection could heal me, I just knew it. She would have the right words, the perfectly timed kisses, the hugs that assured me things would get better. But then I remembered our last conversation a week and a half ago, how dismissive of me she’d been. I wasn’t supposed to call her, clearly, despite us being lovers and her no longer being my john.

  I allowed myself the rest of the day to wallow in my misery, and then I propelled myself into action, putting my game face on. I had money to make, and a list of ravenous women to service. First stop, Interstellar.

  Two days later, on a warm Saturday afternoon, the car she’d sent for me pulled up to a condo block in Loop. Anxiety ridden, my nerves on edge, I buzzed the intercom, and she let me in. A part of me wanted to turn around and head home. She marked a departure from the norm — from my special eight. A new woman who no doubt had her own little quirks, all of which I would have to learn. But the recollection that 'home' constituted a motel room in a not very nice or overly safe neighborhood prompted me onward.

  As soon as she opened the door, in a plush pink bathrobe, long red hair cascading over her shoulders, all traces of my anxiety evaporated.

  She smiled the way she had the day I first saw her at the country club. “Erica, come in.”

  Her perfume was rich and strong and delicious. Hypnotic. I didn’t know which one I was following — her or her scent.

  “Would you like a drink?” She poured some brandy from a crystal decanter into a glass tumbler, waited for my response.

  “Uh, yes please,” I said. “Anything to steady my nerves.”

  She laughed. “You’re nervous? Color me surprised.”

  “First dates always make me nervous,” I said, taking the glass from her. I’d never drunk brandy, so the burn that followed my first sip startled me.

  “You have nothing to worry about, sweetie. I don’t bite...unless you ask nicely.”

  Her smile was gentle, like her face. I couldn’t help noticing how symmetrical her features were. She would have made a great Hollywood starlet; a classical beauty.

  When we sat on her couch, she didn’t take her eyes off me. “You know, I was intrigued by you the minute you walked into The Daisy Quarter a few weeks ago. So when Janette mentioned your website, I said I had to meet you.”

  I gave a nervous little laugh, feeling the blush fill my cheeks. “I kinda felt the same.”

  “Well that makes this a thousand times easier, I’d say.”

  We drank and made smalltalk. I tried to pretend the brandy wasn’t too strong for me, but my eyes were watering. If she noticed at all, she didn’t make it known.

  “So what’s the gala for?” I asked after a while. She’d requested my company as her date to some upscale gala outside of town, which was due to start in the early evening. She’d asked for my dress size. This little pow wow a few hours before the event gave us a chance to get to know each other.

  “Just a charity thing. There’s one every year. The raffles alone are worth the steep ticket price.”

  “And you really want me as your date?” It seemed awfully public, far from discreet.

  She looked surprised. “Why wouldn’t I? Strolling in with a beautiful woman on my arm will make me the envy of everyone.”

  “Won’t people suspect something?”

  She stroked my hand. “It’s no secret that I’m gay, or single. We’ll look like a normal couple.”

  That made her my first gay client, the only one who didn't come with a husband or long term male partner. It would make a pleasant change to be out in the open with a woman.

  “Well I’m game if you are,” I said, which made her chuckle.

  She took the glass from me, set it on the table. Then she took my hand and led me down the hall to her bedroom. Spread out on the queen-sized bed was a ruby red corset dress.

  “I hope you like it,” she said.

  I picked it up in awe, studying the detail, the label. Gucci. It must have cost a fortune.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “And you’ll look beautiful in it. Do you want to try it on?”

  Hell yeah I did! Wearing this dress together with the diamond bracelet my special eight had bought me as a parting gift, I would look every bit the superstar.

  Out of politeness, I turned away from her to strip down to my underwear. Which was absurd, considering she’d bought me for the whole night — an eye-watering three grand (up from my previous price).

  Just as I was about to climb into the dress, I felt her mouth on the back of my neck, her hands on my bare shoulders. I closed my eyes and let her kiss my flesh. Her lips were so gentle and unassuming.

  She spun me around to face her, and we kissed. It was me who unfastened the belt of her robe, pushed it off her shoulders, revealing her nakedness. For a woman in her forties, her body looked amazing. Gravity had yet to truly claim her breasts; and her flat, tight stomach suggested she worked out often.

  She touched me admiringly everywhere that mattered — my nipples, my sex. She felt my wetness.

  “You’re like a fine piece of art,” she breathed, as she sat me on the bed. “Like early Picasso.”

  I didn’t care for Picasso — thought his paintings were weird, even spooky — so I didn’t know how much of a compliment that was.

  She laid me down, kissed me, pressed her body to me, hardening her nipples and mine against one another. Then she moved south, into the wilderness, and began an unapologetic assault on my sex. I howled and writhed, my eyes squeezed shut.

  She wasn’t as talkative as my other lovers, preferred a silent, focused approach to giving head. I was making enough noise for the both of us.

  The thing I loved most about her technique was how long she could keep me going without leading me to the point of no return. Though I had no way of knowing for sure, she stayed down there for over half an hour. That coupled with the impassioned way she gobbled everything up, her tongue slithering through every inch of my sex, convinced me of her enjoyment. She ate like my vagina was the Final Supper!

  By the time my orgasm hit, I was wrecked — so sensitive down there that I had to push her head away.

  She sat on the bed beside me, watching me and grinning as I regained my breath.

  “You look like you enjoyed yourse
lf as much as I did,” she said.

  I laughed breathlessly.

  Interstellar couldn’t keep her hands off me the duration of the drive to the hotel, where the gala was being held. One whole hour of being fondled in the back of a limo, the partition screen wound up, giving us privacy from the driver’s curious eyes.

  “I can still smell you on my fingers,” I whispered to her as we walked up the grand steps into the hotel, arms linked. I’d insisted on fingering her while we were in the limo, and she’d happily accepted.

  I knew my words would bring a smile to her face.

  “Behave yourself! We’re supposed to be classy ladies,” she whispered back.

  I was just about to whisper something even more dirty in the hopes of arousing her into blushing, when we stepped into the ballroom, and every pair of eyes landed on us. It was me who started blushing.

  “Why are they all staring?” I spoke under my breath, suddenly more self-conscious than I’d ever been, beneath the gaping eyes of the one hundred or so guests. Debonair gentlemen in tailored suits and toupees, flanked by their doting wives. A quick scan of the room revealed that I was one of the youngest people there.

  “What did I tell you about that dress?”

  The Gucci was a perfect fit, like it had been made just for me. Even I had to admit that I looked great. 'Traffic-stoppingly stunning' were Interstellar’s words. Judging from the lustful looks some of the men were giving me, I could believe that.

  She unlinked her arm, took my hand instead, held it tightly and led me through the crowd. Beaming from ear to ear, as though she owned the world, she said her hellos and kept me close, like I was her property.

  We helped ourselves to champagne and finger food. And because we had an audience, eyes that simply couldn’t look away, I decided to give them a show.

  “Mmm, you’ve gotta try this,” I said, having taken a bite of something round that tasted suspiciously, but deliciously, like sweet potato and crab. I pushed the other half to her mouth, which she opened, allowing me to feed it to her.

  Her eyes glistened playfully as she munched.

  “They’re good, no?” I said.