by Heidi Lowe
I cleared my throat, tucked my script away, then delivered my lines...
And fudged them!
“We’ll call you if we’re interested,” the woman said, smiling politely and ushering me out the door once it was all over.
“How’d it go?” Amber asked as I was leaving.
“Horribly. I hope you have better luck.”
Lennon Sporting Shack in downtown Chicago was the largest of seven stores. Located in the Water Tower Place mall, it got great foot traffic, and business thrived all year round, according to my father. Well, he’d told a similar tale about his own business not so long ago, before declaring himself bankrupt and selling our house! I took his words with a grain of salt. That was until I strolled into the store for the first time, following my audition, and saw for myself. Business was booming. The clientele, who was ninety percent male, browsed the diverse range of goods on offer — from bikes to oars; from angling equipment to climbing equipment. Whatever the sport, Lennon Sporting Shack catered to it.
I searched around for my father among the busy staff, didn’t see him. I did, however, see the numerous pairs of male eyes ogling me — both customers and staff. A man whispered something to his friend, who turned and looked my way, then whispered something back. Moments later, to my despair, the first guy approached me.
“Hi there—”
“Nope,” was the only word I had for him. I spotted my father then, and headed over.
He had his back to me, so I crept up behind him and growled, in the gruffest voice I could muster, “Your money or your life.”
He spun around and immediately broke into a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by and see my favorite parent.”
He guffawed, blushed a little. “You used to say that when you were little. That’s how I knew you wanted something...”
“I don’t want anything. Just wanted to say hi.” I gestured with my hand at the store. “So this place is pretty awesome.”
“Never gets boring, I’ll say that.” It wasn’t the showroom, and it didn’t belong to him. Although I knew he was grateful for the opportunity, it was a huge step backwards for a man who’d been working for himself for more than three decades.
“Have you had lunch already? That taco place a few stores down looks pretty good.”
“Sorry, love, looks like I’ll be working through my break. There’s so much to do here.” One of his staff came to ask him something, then another right after. “Like I said, it’s all go.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Mom’s making lasagne tonight...” he said with a hopeful smile.
I chuckled. “Really, Dad? If you’re trying to entice me home, at least try to make it sound appealing.”
My work phone beeped. I took it out of my purse, read the message.
“You should come, love. It would be nice, the three of us having dinner together again.”
“Uh, I can’t. I’ll be busy this evening. Another time.”
Once I left him, I read the message again in my car. Dominatrix wanted to meet. It had been eight days since our last meet. She wanted to see me again so soon? That was unusual for her. I just prayed she didn’t want a repeat of the last time. Because there was only so much hate-sex I could take from Katja.
For the duration of the drive to the bar, I remained wary about the meeting. Alarm bells were going off left and right, but with dollar signs in my eyes, I ignored them all. Maybe it was a special bar — like a sex bar or something. Why else would she have chosen to meet there, away from her condo, when she’d never done so before?
That notion was promptly put to rest once I walked into the establishment — a cozy, upmarket spot close to Millennium Park. A normal bar, and not a sex bar; no illicit activity as far as I could see. I looked around for Dominatrix, didn’t see her, so ordered an orange juice and found an empty table. 80’s rock played; all around me hipsters conversed. And the more I sat there — taking in the scenery, the patrons — the more suspicious I became. This was so not the type of place a classy, wealthy lady like Dominatrix would visit even once, I was sure. She would have looked out of place. The average age here seemed to be twenty-five.
Ten minutes passed, and I began to wonder if she was coming. My orange juice was finished, and I hated sitting in a crowded bar alone looking like — as the British would say — Billy no mates.
Just as I made up my mind to leave, a familiar face walked in the bar. She spotted me and came to the table. It wasn’t Dominatrix.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” I said to Hazel. I was too stunned by her presence to be annoyed that she’d duped me.
She sat down. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“You know I was. So you sent the text from her phone?”
No answer, her face stayed cool.
I leaned back in my seat, took a deep breath. “Okay, so what is this?”
“I know about you... About your arrangement with Claudia. I figured it out. I saw the envelope you tried so hard to hide from me...”
I swallowed, the room suddenly clammy. “I...”
“Look, I didn’t come here to judge you.”
“So why did you come?”
She shot me a penetrative look, then finally said, “I came to hire you.”
I gawked at her. “You’re not serious?”
She pulled a purse out of her handbag. “What’s your going rate?”
I slapped a hand over the purse as she opened it, glowered at her. “You really want to do this here, to humiliate me?”
“I’m not trying to humiliate you, for God’s sake!” Her outburst was loud and drew attention to us. Embarrassed, she hung her head a little. “This is what you do, isn’t it?”
“What about the girl I saw you with? Weren’t you two together?”
“'Were' being the operative word,” she said, her tone bitter. “You know what she said to me before she broke up with me? She didn’t realize how boring sex could be until she met me.”
I felt embarrassed for her, was probably blushing as hard as she was. Ouch! That must have hurt. I was like her at one point, before my special eight; before I’d become the plaything to far more experienced women. I felt her pain.
“Bitch!” I said.
When she looked at me again, her eyes had softened. “Yeah. But she’s right. I’m inexperienced. She was my first lover...”
Wow, I didn’t see that one coming. I was glad someone else other than me had had the honor and responsibility of being her first.
“So here I am,” she continued. “I mean, you must be good, right? If my stepmother keeps inviting you back.”
“Hazel, you don’t want to do this. You’re angry, you feel low, I get that—”
“What is your rate?” she broke in, serious and determined again.
“One-fifty an hour,” I said with a reluctant sigh. It was the old rate, but it seemed only fair to give it to her.
“Then I’d like two hours. Do I pay you now or...after?”
I flicked the light switch and my motel room lit up. For some reason, with Hazel in tow, it looked more dingy, more run-down than usual. She lived in a multimillion-dollar condo — this sort of poverty was probably new to her.
“Do you want something to drink?”
She shook her head. Her nerves were making her tremble, I could see it. She took in the room, didn’t know what to do with herself. I fully expected her to back out before I even got a chance to initiate the sex.
“You live here, or is this where you meet your clients?”
“It’s temporary. And no, I don’t bring women here.” I poured myself a vodka and orange.
“On second thoughts, I’ll take that drink,” she said with a nervous laugh.
We sat on the bed and drank in silence. Every now and then she turned to look at me, then looked away quickly. She must have had so many questions.
“Is there anything in particular y
ou like to do?” She frowned, waited for me to elaborate. “Sex-wise? Or anything you don’t like?”
Her blush was the most adorable thing. She looked away. “I don’t know what I like...or don’t like.”
I knew what was expected of me. I took the glass from her, put it on the desk, then smashed my lips to hers, taking her completely by surprise.
“Then I’m going to do whatever I want to you, and I’m not gonna stop until you’re body is so destroyed you won’t have any energy left to move.”
She didn’t resist when I wrestled her clothes off, nor when I climbed out of my own. She didn’t resist when I laid her down, spread her legs, and sank my mouth into her sex. She didn’t resist when my tongue did acrobatics on her bean. But she wailed and moaned and thrashed about. She called God a bunch of times, too. Yanked my hair the more aggressively I ate.
And when that was over, once she’d practically screamed her way to her orgasm, I made her get on all fours, and I entered her from behind. I plowed my fingers deep and didn’t stop until she collapsed from a second orgasm.
She didn’t want me to kiss her immediately after. She twisted away from me on the bed, fell silent while her body recovered. She stayed like that for several minutes.
I stroked her arm gently, and eventually she turned to look at me, and we kissed. It was actually quite sweet. It didn’t matter that she was so green when it came to sex, that she was so submissive. Dominating her like that, being the most experienced person in the room, made me feel powerful.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“No,” she said with a tired little laugh. “You stuck to your word. I have no energy left.”
“That was just me talking. Playing the role.”
“Well you were very convincing.”
I sat up. She sat up. “I hope I wasn’t too rough.”
She kissed me as a way to set my mind at ease.
I looked at the time on my phone. “It’s been an hour. Do you want to do something else, or—”
She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t think I could take any more.” Naked, she got up and retrieved her purse, then took out some money, handed it to me.
I admired her body. Her pert breasts, the firmest, cutest butt I’d ever seen.
She dressed in silence. Then, when she was ready, she kissed me softly on the cheek. “I’m glad we did this. I feel like now there’s closure.”
Yeah, I knew what she meant. That would be our first and last time together, and there would never again be a reason for any awkwardness between us.
She waved goodbye then slipped out into the creeping darkness.
ELEVEN
A music video played on a plasma screen in the gym, its sound replaced by the blaring music coming from my earbuds. My workout playlist — composed of an overabundance of house and dance music I never listened to anywhere else but here.
As I powered forward on the treadmill, my breathing controlled, sweat soaking my sports top and clinging to my skin, I glanced to my right, breaking my concentration, and almost burst into a laugh when I noticed Jo close to collapsing on the treadmill beside me. I’d never seen her sweat so much. She mouthed something that had the words “can’t” and “dying” in it, but I waved a dismissive hand at her.
The next time I looked her way, she was bent over on the floor, panting and sputtering.
I switched off my machine, pulled my earbuds out, stood over her with a condescending smile, my hands on my hips. “You were on there for, like, five minutes.”
“No...way...” Pant, pant. “It was...longer than...that.” Cough, pant, wheeze.
I laughed, peeked at the digital screen on her machine. “You’re right... five minutes and thirteen seconds.” I took a seat next to her, did some leg stretches. “You’re so unfit.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Size-wise she was fine, a little plumper than me, but nothing a couple months of dedicated gym sessions wouldn’t fix. Her stamina was lacking, however.
“This is a good start,” I said. I’d never seen her workout so hard before. She’d spent ten minutes on the rowing machine, followed by some time on the cycling machine. The treadmill had proved too challenging for her.
“I have a long way to go,” she said miserably. “Should I be coughing like this? Is that normal?”
“For someone who doesn’t exercise often, yes. — So what’s with the sudden interest in fitness?”
She didn’t answer immediately; and when she finally did, I understood her initial reluctance to tell me. “With it being summer, Moses thinks it might be a good idea for me to get in shape.”
Now he was telling her what to do with her body? Seriously? How could she not see what an asshole he was?
“And what do you think?” Instead of bemoaning her relationship with him, I would play the supportive best friend who made her see reason the diplomatic way.
She shrugged, refused to look me in the eye. “You said it yourself, I’m unfit. It can’t hurt.”
No matter how true that was, I didn’t like that the suggestion came from him. If he wasn’t satisfied with her body the way it was, he could take a long walk off a short pier.
“Hey, did you hear back about the audition?” she said when the silence got too intense.
“No, but that was expected. I don’t know why but I’m terrible with lines. I might have stage fright, performance anxiety, something like that.”
She laughed. “Then you’re going into the wrong profession. You said you’re fine with your lady pals.”
When it came to escorting, I could play any role, surprisingly, without freezing up. It made no sense.
“Maybe escorting is what I was born to do. I mean, I’m great at it. I’ve had dates all this week.”
It had been a busy seven days. Back to back dates, a couple of new clients. I was glad to see the school fund increasing and not being heavily eroded by the motel bill.
“Are you free this evening? Moses and I were supposed to go to a poetry slam, but he got a last minute call about a job.”
“Can’t, I have a date with Algebra.” The grin that spread across my face made her eyes bug out.
“Why are you smiling like that? Are you starting to fall for her too?”
“She’s nice... and hot. So hot.” I gave a dirty laugh, lowered my voice. “When we have sex, it’s not even sex, it’s gymnastics. She twists my body into positions I didn’t know were possible.”
“And what about Miss Sex on Legs?”
My smile faded. “What about her? She’s married. Very married.”
The pain of being tossed into the night like unwanted junk she no longer had use for still stung. Every time I thought about her, my heart burned. Although she’d texted and apologized the following morning, my resentment remained. I didn’t know who I was more mad at, her or her husband.
“Aren’t they all married?”
True, but I’d never seen the others so loved up and happy with their husbands. I’d never had their marriages rubbed in my face.
“I don’t want to see her again, can we leave it at that?”
She laughed. “Such a drama queen. The second she calls, you’ll go running back to her. I know you.”
I sulked, afraid that she was right.
Algebra’s car arrived at my motel promptly at six-thirty. I climbed in the back, already sweating profusely under my trench coat. I would have happily discarded it had I not been dressed like a nurse... and not the professional kind. The sexy, garter-and-fishnet-stockings-wearing kind with no medical skills to speak of. Algebra had requested the costume, sent me to pick it up from Le Boudoir, the same store from which I’d retrieved the police uniform for Dominatrix. She expected me to arrive wearing it.
By now the people on the reception desk at the Fairview Hotel knew me well enough to call Algebra’s room and tell her I was downstairs. They gave me the usual dubious looks, but always let me go up. They knew what this was... what I was.
I sh
ed my heavy coat in the elevator, ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times, using the reflective surface on the door as a mirror, then stepped onto her floor.
She opened on my second knock. She gave me an appraising look, took in the tight red and white outfit, the stockings, the red stilettos. Her eyes had that “have we met before” look.
“I told them I didn’t want a stripper for my bachelorette party,” she said with feigned frustration that seemed freakishly real.
“Well they paid, so I’m afraid I gotta do my job,” I said, putting on a tough New Yorker accent, complete with attitude. I pushed my way inside. “Nice crib.”
She watched me drop my coat on the floor, kick my heels off, the sparkle in her eyes lustful.
“Look, I don’t know what my friends told you, but I’m not into this kind of thing. I get married tomorrow.”
I backed her into a chair. She fell on it, terrified.
“So here’s how it goes: no touching, no licking, no sucking... on your part. I can do whatever I want to you.”
“That doesn’t sound fair.”
“Them’s the rules.” I sounded like a character from Bugsy Malone! It took all my might not to burst out laughing.
I opened Spotify on my phone, but had no idea what songs were the most suitable to strip to. So I settled on Shakira.
Having never stripped for anyone before, I got off to a shaky start. First I peeled away my stockings, kicked them off my ankles and watched them land in different places — one next to the terrace door, the other beside the couch. I pushed my butt in her face, sat on her lap while I unzipped my dress. Then I got up, did some more dancing, before slowly slipping the dress off.
Under her watchful, sultry gaze, I did the sexiest dance I could, thrusting my breasts in her face, scraping my lips against hers but never letting her kiss me. It was all going so well...
Just as I was about to remove my bra, the music cut out — Shakira's screeching stopped midway through the third song.
“Huh,” I mumbled. I picked up the phone off the table, only to find that the battery had died. “You gotta be kidding me! Erm, you don’t have an iPhone charger, do you?”