Hired for Her Pleasure

by Bonnie Dee

  She collapsed back in her chair and spun it back and forth. Her heart raced and a panic attack threatened. Was this even legal? Would she get busted by an undercover vice cop and hauled off to jail? Was this a scam and she’d somehow get ripped off? If so, she deserved it. What kind of a person paid to receive sexual services from another person? Not that hiring an escort meant she would have sex with him.

  Anyway, it was too late. The deed was done. On Thursday night at eight p.m. she’d open her front door and greet her gentleman caller.

  Monica leaned toward the computer and clicked on the photo gallery one last time. Amber jumped up on the computer desk and patted at the screen with one white mitten. The cat loved playing with the cursor as it darted across the screen, but just now the cursor wasn’t moving. Amber was tapping her paw on Ryan’s face.

  “You approve, Amber? Wow! Thanks.” Monica moved the heavy cat to the floor. She saved Ryan’s photo to her computer, closed the Labors of Love website and returned her attention to the article she needed to finish.

  She struggled to concentrate on the five top tips for keeping firm and fit, while fantasies about the upcoming date buzzed around in her head like a bee in a bell jar. It was going to be a difficult couple of days.

  Chapter Two

  Ryan stared at a mute Oprah leaning forward and handing a handkerchief to her guest then patting the woman’s knee. The camera closed in on Oprah’s face and she yammered at the network audience for a while.

  What a fucking waste of an afternoon. He’d been sitting on a hard, molded plastic chair in the waiting area of the mechanic shop for the past two hours, staring at afternoon TV and listening to the whine of pneumatic wrenches in the garage. His physics textbook lay open on his lap but he hadn’t absorbed any of the formulas on the page. He was going to flunk the test if he couldn’t pull his head out of his ass. If his new job was going to distract him this much, maybe he’d better rethink it no matter how good the money.

  The clatter of metal hitting cement coming from the other room reminded him why he’d taken the escort job. The near-death of his Jeep was the final block in a game of financial Jenga that threatened to topple and bury him any moment. Cash was crucial right now. There was no other way he could earn so much so fast. Hell, if he was paid as well for construction work, he’d never have reached this precarious position.

  The problem was all the shit had hit the fan at once. Gram couldn’t live unsupervised and he had to put her in a nursing home. Construction was in a dry spell and even the small repair jobs that usually kept him afloat were sparse right now. Other businesses weren’t hiring or couldn’t supply the pay he needed to keep his grandma housed. He didn’t want to add any more onto his student loan and he refused to give up on school after working at it for so long. He’d felt pinched between the slowly compressing walls of a trash compactor the day his friend Tim told him he should try a phone sex gig.

  “Perfect for students. You can do your homework between calls. It’s easy work. The client practically leads you through what they want and the pay’s really good.”

  Ryan had never before asked Tim about his weird job, but, for the first time, he asked, “How good?”

  Tim laughed a rolling bass that sounded like it should come from a much bigger man. Tim did voice-overs on commercials or audio book recordings, whatever his agent could get him. “Good. You’ve got a great voice for it. Husky. People respond to that.”

  Ryan grimaced. “So what’s the pay like?”

  A couple of days later, he’d found himself taking his first phone sex call.

  At first he wracked his brain to think of sexy things to say and felt like a fool sitting in a room with co-workers all purring smut into their headsets. They moaned, groaned and told the caller what they would like to do to him or her. Ryan copied the other operators and did like Tim said--listened to what the customer wanted and gave it to them. Female or male, it didn’t matter. He could act whatever part they needed him to play.

  He learned to linger over certain words, caressing them and building the intensity until he brought the client off right over the phone. Hearing them let go was kind of satisfying in a weird way. Other times all he had to do was listen to fears, complaints and self-doubt--for a price. He felt guilty about how much the calls cost when a person unburdened his soul or broke down in tears as minutes ticked past. But maybe he was doing some good and it was probably a lot cheaper than a therapist.

  Ryan had worked the lines for about a month when Gram’s nursing home upped their prices and he began slipping down the slope to broke again. One of his co-workers, Jeannie, a middle-aged single mom, listened to his complaining one evening and asked if he knew how to dance.

  “Dance?”

  “The money you can make as an exotic dancer makes our pay look like peanuts and baby, you’ve got the body and the look. You should go to the Boy Box and audition.”

  “The Boy Box, That’s a real name?”

  “It’s an honest enough living. You just happen to take your clothes off while you’re dancing.”

  “Nu-uh.” He shook his head. “The phone sex thing is bad enough. Besides I don’t really dance, not like that anyway.”

  “With a body like that you don’t know how to move it? Shoot. That’s a pure waste.” Jeannie paused and pursed her lips. “I could teach you. You come over to my place tomorrow before work while the kids are at school. I’ll give you a lesson.”

  Ryan couldn’t decide if she was coming on to him or being friendly. He learned the next afternoon at her house. Jeannie taught him to strut and writhe across the makeshift stage of her living room to some soul classics then they spent the next hour dancing in the sheets.

  The woman was energetic and experienced. By the time they’d repeated the lesson on several different occasions, Ryan knew more about how to please a woman than he ever had before.

  After the fourth visit, as he was lying in the tangled sheets sweating, panting and boneless, Jeannie ran her hand over his chest and tweaked a nipple. “Boy, you would be totally wasted prancing around a stage. I have a friend, who knows a guy who works for an escort service. That’s where the real money is. And I know you’ve got talent. I’ll get you a phone number to call.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think so. I don’t even have the courage to do the stripping thing let alone…what you’re talking about.”

  She patted his stomach, sat up and reached for her top. “Whatever. I’ll give you the number. You talk to the guy then decide if it’s for you.”

  It was later that night on his way home from the phone sex job that the timing belt broke on his jeep. He’d had it towed and walked to his apartment where a note from his landlord informed him the rent was being increased. When he put his frozen dinner in the microwave and it came out rock hard after ten minutes, he threw the tray across the kitchen smack into the TV, cracking the screen.

  Ryan sank down on the kitchen floor, laughing until he cried at his outrageous bad luck. After he made it through his mini nervous breakdown, he called the phone number Jeannie had given him.

  *

  The suite that housed Labors of Love was located in an office park full of cookie-cutter buildings. Ryan had expected erotic sculptures or paintings but the reception area was elegantly neutral. He waited for less than a minute before a stocky woman in a tailored jacket and slacks emerged from an office. She shook his hand, introducing herself as Ms. Darrow, and led him to an interview room. There he was photographed, weighed, measured and asked to fill out a psychological questionnaire. Ms. Darrow told him he’d need to pass a standard physical, drug and STD testing before he could be employed. She questioned Ryan about his background and his reasons for seeking this type of employment then asked if he had any questions about Labors of Love.

  “How does it work? How would I be matched up with a...a client?”

  “Someone who has seen your profile in our online catalog will contact the company. You have the option of accepting or rej
ecting the assignment but too many rejected dates may lead to your dismissal. It reflects poorly on the company if a provider is repeatedly unavailable when a client requests him. Unless, of course, he’s simply in demand.” She looked Ryan over appraisingly and he tried not to squirm.

  “I don’t suppose you have many female clients. Would I be expected to date men? Because I’m not too into that.” He feared—and hoped—this confession would be a deal-breaker, but Ms. Darrow accepted the news with a nod.

  “Pity, because you’re right, a large percentage of our clients are gay men. This will considerably cut down on the number of dates you’re offered. If you’d be willing to entertain either sex that would be preferable. However, you’ll be surprised at how many female clients we have, and I’m sure you’ll be quite popular with them.”

  Ryan had no further questions and Mrs. Darrow told him she’d contact him in the near future then saw him out the door.

  Later that evening when she called and told him that Labors of Love would like to add him to their roster provided the results of his blood work and tests were clean, he listened to himself thanking her for the opportunity.

  He hung up the phone, heart pounding and asked himself if he was seriously going to do this. But a call from the garage an hour later giving an estimate on his Jeep silenced the inner voice.

  A few days later, after Ryan had passed the required tests, Mrs. Darrow called to tell him he had an assignment with a woman named Monica Brennerman on Thursday at her home. Ryan took down the woman’s address and information about what she was expecting from her date. He learned that she suffered from agoraphobia and had rarely been out of her home in the past two years. Ms. Darrow said Monica had friends and relatives who visited but had lived a reclusive life for so long she might be awkward and shy. It was Ryan’s job to put her at ease, share a romantic meal and afterward provide her with whatever kind of companionship was required.

  Ms. Darrow said Labors would have preferred to have one of their established customers as his first client, but since Ms. Brennerman had chosen Ryan, he’d have to adapt quickly.

  *

  Now here it was, Thursday afternoon, waiting on his Jeep to be fixed and only hours away from his first Labors of Love assignment. Ryan balanced the physics text on one leg and watched Oprah’s mouth move, but he was picturing what Monica Brennerman might be like.

  He imagined her as the classic spinster like on a deck of Old Maid cards. He was mortally afraid of what might happen at the end of the night. He was afraid of how he’d react, or more accurately, not be able to react if she wanted sex. What if she was repulsive and he literally couldn’t get hard? He should’ve got ahold of some Viagra just in case. Did a customer get reimbursed for non-performance? Would it come out of his paycheck--a paycheck he hadn’t even earned yet? Maybe he would end up owing Labors of Love money.

  “Your Jeep’s ready.” The mechanic came through the door from the garage startling Ryan from his thoughts. “It’s parked around the side. In addition to the timing belt there was this oil leak so it’s a little over the quote.”

  “I said not to fix anything else without checking with me first.” Ryan shoved his book into his backpack and rose to face off with the mechanic. It had taken days for them to get to his vehicle and now additional charges were being tacked on? No way. He focused all his fears and worries about the evening into anger directed at the mechanic. “I’m won’t pay one penny more than what you quoted me.”

  One chastened mechanic and a significantly reduced bill later, Ryan walked out of the garage with the keys to his Jeep clutched in one hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder. Maybe after he got home and showered he’d finally have a moment to concentrate on studying for the physics exam before he left for his appointment.

  Yeah, right.

  *

  Several hours later, Ryan pulled up in front of the address he’d been given. It was a small, brick ranch house with a tiny front yard in a neighborhood of duplicate houses with neat green lawns. The street was quiet with few parked cars and no children’s toys littering the lawns. It screamed “old people on fixed incomes.” Knowing the rates Labors of Love charged, Ryan wondered how the spinster lady could afford the service. This was not at all the kind of place he’d expected.

  Now that the moment was here, his heart was pounding and sweat beaded his brow even though the night was cool. He hoped his clothes were okay. In her request form, Monica had suggested casual wear. He had on jeans and a gray T-shirt with a jacket over it to suggest a degree of dressing up. He glanced at his scuffed boots and realized he probably should have tried to polish them then he glanced in the rearview mirror and ran a hand through his hair. It stuck out in odd directions. He could never get it to lay flat.

  Looking at himself he wondered how he’d passed Ms. Darrow’s inspection and been hired. He’d checked out other providers on the Labors of Love website and he didn’t have what they had. His body was fit enough, he supposed, but his face, which Monica Brennerman had chosen above all those other guys, was certainly nothing special.

  “You can’t sit here forever. Just get it over with,” he told himself before taking a deep breath and opening the car door.

  He walked up the cement path to the dark green front door, rang the bell and offered a silent prayer that Monica not be too homely, even though he had no right to ask God for favors because he was about to perform an illegal, immoral act.

  His pulse pounded in his ears, deafening as the moment of waiting dragged on. He wiped damp hands on his jeans and cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t crack when he spoke. He felt an insane urge to make sure he smelled okay and laughed as he imagined her opening the door and catching him sniffing his pits. Instead, he was standing there grinning like an idiot when the door finally opened.

  At first Monica was featureless, a silhouette against the brightly lit doorway. Ryan wiped the shit-eating grin off his face. He resisted the urge to back away or maybe even bolt, cash in his chips and chalk this up as a lesson learned. Then the woman moved into the glow of the porch light and Ryan was so relieved he just stood there staring for a moment.

  She was cute…and short. If she stepped into his arms, he could rest his chin on top of her head. Her curly dark hair was pulled loosely into a ponytail. Her features were sharp in a way that reminded him of a fox or a cat, something quick and clever like that. Her nose was tilted just a bit at the tip. Wide brown eyes gazed at him from under dark, apostrophe eyebrows.

  Ryan continued to stare mutely at her, unable to think of anything intelligent to say. But as he watched her expression change from nervous anticipation to embarrassment, he shook himself and stuck out his hand.

  “Hi. I’m Ryan, your, uh, date.”

  She took his hand and he abruptly realized he should probably be kissing her hand and telling her how beautiful she was, not shaking it like they’d just concluded a business agreement.

  “Monica,” she said. “I mean, I’m Monica.”

  “Sorry. I’m kind of new at this,” he muttered then bit back any more apologies. He was supposed to be sweeping her off her feet and giving her a memorable romantic evening, not stammering and admitting his inexperience. “Let me start over. Good evening. I’m Ryan. It’s such a pleasure to meet you and may I say you look stunning in that outfit?” He’d spoke in a fake foreign accent that probably sounded like Dracula with a Scottish burr.

  Monica’s face lit up and she began to laugh.

  Ryan grinned back. This was going to be okay. He could do this. Hell, for the first time he thought he might have a lot of fun doing this.

  Chapter Three

  “Come in.” Monica stepped aside to let Ryan in. He’d put her at ease with his teasing, but her pulse still raced. She’d been nervous and shaky all day and her anxiety had built to a head as the time of the date approached. She’d been close to calling Labors of Love and cancelling but for once her willpower had been stronger than her fear.

  And
now, here he was, this gorgeous guy coming into her house. She felt the warmth of his body as he passed by her in the hallway. He smelled amazing, warm and clean, not a hint of cologne, just a trace of soap and a brew of pheromones that should be bottled.

  “Can I, uh, take your jacket?”

  “Sure.” He handed it to her and she added leather to the list of scents for the Ryan cologne. She fought the urge to bury her face in the coat and take a deep whiff before hanging it up in the closet.

  She stole another glance at the man, getting a better look than she’d been able to outdoors. The hall light picked gold highlights in his dirty blond hair, which curled haphazardly as if he’d just run a hand through it. Likely the tousled effect was the result of careful styling but it suited him and had the desired result—making his date want to run her hands through it.

  Beneath the fringe of bangs, translucent blue eyes scanned her living room. She glanced around, trying to see it as he would. The furniture was comfortable and well-used, a couch, armchair, coffee table and entertainment center designating the living area while a desk and shelf of books marked one corner as the office.

  Amber, who’d been lying on the couch, perked up her ears, stretched and jumped to the floor. Braver than her mistress, the cat stalked up to the stranger and twined around his legs as if welcoming him home. Ryan stooped to pat her and won instant brownie points with Monica. With amazing nonchalance considering how seldom she saw strangers, Amber arched into his stroking hand.

  Ryan glanced up at Monica, wowing her with those astonishing eyes once more. They were pale blue that caught the light like the facets of a diamond and sent it sparkling back into the world. “Nice cat. Friendly.”

  “Yeah. She, uh, really seems to like you.” She wracked her brain for words as awkward silence fell between them. It was so quiet, Amber’s purring sounded deafening.