Aubree has an olive-complexion and Kardashian curves and with her being in sex work, she’s had a few enhancements: boobs, veneers, eyelash extensions, French-manicured tips, whereas the extent of my beauty routine is a little lemon juice in my hair and lying out in the sun. Men love her, as long as they don’t try to be in a relationship with her, and if so, they flee for the hills within a few months.
Admittedly, I’m interested. Even with me signing Jack on as my Sugar daddy. I just can’t afford to turn down opportunities.
“So why me? Why not call any of the others girl we used to work with?” I ask.
“Because I know how crazy guys go for you. The natural look and all that shit.”
This is the first time Aubree has admitted that I might be desirable. A big step, maybe she’s changed.
“Thanks.”
“And remember how much fun we had? I miss you, honestly, and I’m sorry about what happened to you.” Her voice trails off at the end. Aubree is one of the few people who knows about a rather unfortunate incident at the spa. An incident that’s been pushed far back into my brain, but creeps up when I’m most stressed.
“I missed you, too,” I say, because it’s actually true. Before things soured between us, I considered Aubree one of my closest friends. And she’s one of the few friends I have that knows what I do. Sex work can be very isolating. Unless the person you are confiding in is also a stripper or escort or whatever, they aren’t going to want to hear about the guy who begged to lick your asshole. It’s not exactly dinner conversation.
Not too surprisingly, Aubree says she’s working out of a hotel. I think most body rubs girls do, even though it’s far more expensive to book that way, however the low commitment is appealing. Very few in this line of work want to sign a year-long lease. They want to be able to move about, switch it up with a lucrative stripping gig or might even have hopes that they’ll be able to quit altogether. It rarely happens.
“How much are they willing to pay?” I ask.
“I think they’ll pay the same rates that Nancy charged.”
That’s $225 per session. Definitely worth it. Plus tips, although I know Aubree is definitely more willing to take it to extremes for girl-on-girl tips.
“We can work out of my studio,” I offered. “Trust me, it’s private. No one knows what I’m up to.”
“Perfect, hotels are getting old,” she says with a lift in her voice.
Suddenly, I feel a little less alone. And I couldn’t wait to tell her about Jack.
Twenty-Three
It’s the first day of my new relationship with Jack. We are starting slowly with a body rub followed up with lunch. This isn’t much different than what we usually do, but it’s included in his monthly $3,000 and I appreciate the fact that we aren’t diving into sex on day one.
“Do you want a deep massage today?” I ask.
“If you can,” he says, face down in the headrest. Though I’ve seen Jack countless times, I’m nervous. Almost as nervous as when I first started doing body rubs. I’m afraid he’ll think I’m not doing a good enough job, not sexy enough, or eventually that I’m awful in bed. It’s the same fears I have when relationships get serious, but those situations weren’t paid. And Jack appears to have more refined tastes than the guys I’ve dated.
Breathe deep, I tell myself. If he found me attractive last week, he finds me attractive today.
Jack’s back is lean and toned without the hardened mid-back mini-hump of many men his age. He stays fit and walks with shoulders thrown back, given an impression of being taller than he actually is, and maybe less wealthy, which for me, is less intimidating.
I am topless as usual and contemplate taking my panties off. I get asked a lot to go fully nude, even by Jack, and usually decline. Back when I felt like I needed to please everyone, I’d go fully nude, and eventually regretted it when fingers found their way between my legs, even with my rules forbidding such.
I squirted oil on my hands and slid my hands between Jack’s thighs, allowing my breasts to dangle down and connect with his upper thigh and ass. Being completely nude would likely be a good way to ease into what we have, to show him I’m not feeling awkward about what we agreed on. So I back up and slip them off in one quick motion. Without a word. We are both naked.
Jack doesn’t usually talk too much when I give him a massage. He calls it his hour to escape, so I don’t usually bombard him with questions or conversation while in session. I do, however, want him to know I’m naked without uttering a word.
I get up on the massage table and apply oil to my front. I press hard into the area on opposite sides of his spine and push out. I learned that trick from an actual CMT, apparently it helps relieve pressure. As I press down, I lower my lower torso onto his ass, letting my hairless genitals brush his body. He exhales and tells me it feels good. I continue, rubbing my body on all parts of him. And honestly, I’m turned on. Although all things are easier when the client isn’t facing me, when I don’t have to look into their eyes.
“You’ve learned some new moves,” he says.
“Just for you.”
With me still on the table, he turns over quickly and takes my wrists in his hands, pulling me close. My naked body is in a more compromising position. In the back of my mind, I think of how horrified Cole would be if he could see me now. And although Cole and I aren’t together, I feel like I’m disappointing him just by being with Jack, even if it wasn’t for pay.
Regardless, I feel attracted to Jack. It’s been too long since I’ve been touched by someone that I actually feel attracted to. It’s been too long since I’ve wanted the naked person in front of me to pull me in and kiss every inch of my body.
And that’s what he did. Before I knew it, Jack had his arms around me, cradling me and when I turned my head up, we both opened our mouths at the same time. My nervousness slipped away and Cole became a distant thought.
I should appreciate what I have, I thought. I have a beautiful, kind man in front of me, who is willing to take care of me. What am I complaining about?
Twenty-Four
I can’t believe Christmas is over. Sometimes when I sit around the holiday-decorated table of friends and Cole’s family, I forget about what I do for a living. It’s like a double life I push out of my mind when I’m not in my studio and then it surprises me when I remember—like realizing that you left the stove on once you’ve boarded a plane. Compartmentalizing things isn’t so bad though. That’s what a therapist once told me that it’s called. And I’ve become pretty good at it.
I’ve given my landlord sixty-days notice. I only need to give thirty, but I figure why not get it out of the way. Plus, it prevents me from backing out. Cole will have already moved into his new house and he claims he wants to have enough time to make a few repairs in the carriage house.
I’m nervous, but excited. I won’t miss this apartment at all: the noise, the island of cracked concrete or the drab interior. The carriage house actually has some greenery, privacy, and a little outdoor patio.
In the spirit of the New Year and new beginnings, I’ve decided to create a 2013 Goals List:
1. Take Analise to Disneyland for Spring Break
2. Open a savings account with at least $2000
3. Enroll in dental hygiene school
I’m keeping it small so that I don’t get overwhelmed and I think I have a good chance of completing those tasks. In a sense, all these goals of course rely on me continuing to make good money doing massage. And now that Ana is back in school, I’m ready. And I’m proud to say that I’ve actually begun filling out all my school applications. I’ve obviously missed the winter deadline but I am aiming for Fall 2013, though I’ll still need to do massage to stay afloat.
High on my 2013 expectations, Aubree calls with her typical “Hey Girl” greeting.
“Whatcha doin?” she asks.
I’m loading up stuff to give to Goodwill. I’m moving in a couple months,” I tell her. I’m glad A
nalise is in school so she doesn’t see some of the old clothes I’m giving away. Unlike me, she’s sentimental and never wants to get rid of stuff.
“Awesome,” she says, sounding bored. “So anyway, I have a client who wants two girls,” she says. “Are you working today?”
“I am,” I say, somewhat hesitant about spending the new year with Aubree. “What’s he like?”
“Typical middle-aged regular. Married, a little clingy, but harmless. And he’s a generous tipper. Just don’t let him buy presents. He’s into dress-up but has the worst taste in women’s dresses and shoes. Trust me.”
“When?”
“Can I pick you up in 15?”
“Are you kidding?” I ask. Body rubs are an impulse purchase, but fifteen minutes didn’t give me much time to change out of sweatpants. And if I know Aubree, she had probably already booked the appointment.
“Oh come on, you know you got to get these guys when they’re horny. If I push him off an hour, he’ll take care of it himself.”
“He’ll pay $300 for an hour-and-a-half.”
Not bad, considering most girls are slow for a couple weeks after Christmas.
I look down at my dusty hands from packing. “I can be ready in twenty. Do you remember where I live?” I ask her.
“Yep, I’ll leave my hotel in ten minutes,” she says, which is when I remember that she’s working out of a hotel, my least favorite venue. But it’s her client, so it’s her turf, I guess. At least we’ll outnumber him. It’s the only way I’d do an outcall. “Oh, and don’t bother to shower, he likes his girls dirty,” she says before she says “see ya” and hangs up.
Great.
In my years of sex work, I’ve learned to get ready in a flash. I just need to put on a bit of makeup, flat-iron my hair and put on some sexy lingerie under jeans and a sweater. The clothes come off within five minutes of meeting the client, so it’s never been worth much effort.
“Nice place,” Aubree says as she walks through the door of my apartment, looking around as if trying to locate spoiled milk.
“Nice to see you too,” I say sarcastically and give her a quick hug. “I told you I’m moving soon.”
Aubree’s always lived in nice condos, but often they are paid for by clients. Aubree is childless so her income goes a further than mine.
“Are you ready?” she asks with a hand on her hip and still standing by the door. I left my car unlocked and I don’t want it to get jacked.
I shake my head, grab my purse and walk past her through the door.
“You have everything we need?” I ask her, pulling down the visor mirror on the passenger side and finishing up my blush and lipstick.
“Yes, I have my hotel for the week,” she says. “Then I’m off to L.A. to work at the Blue Diamond.”
“Sounds like fun,” I say, although I hate the idea of touring. I know from our past friendship though, that Diamond’s is a good source of income for Aubree, as long as she makes her stay short, before she gets into a catfight with one of the other dancers.
“Are we going to the Marriott on 8th Ave.?” I ask.
“Of course, only the best,” she says. It’s one of the nicer motels in town, but not too nice to turn away the likes of Aubree. She has a deal with the housekeeping: generous tips if they bring her extra towels and sheets.
I nod and she turns to look at me. “Oh, don’t be such a snob, hotels aren’t so bad,” she says.
“I know, I just like my studio. Lots of people are around so it feels safer.”
“Well, I have a shit load of mace on my person so that’s all the safety we need. Besides, most of these guys are so bloated on carbs that I bet I could wrestle them to the ground in a minute,” she says and I cringe at the notion.
We pull into the parking lot, amidst dormant landscaping, and Aubree is already off before I have a chance to grab my purse.
“Hurry,” she says from over her shoulder.
We breeze past the front desk and Aubree heads for the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
“Slow down,” I tell her. “I don’t want to work up a sweat.” It’s as if she’s hurrying so I won’t have a chance to change my mind. Back when we worked at the spa together, Aubree was willing to do more with clients, as if it was no big deal to have a guy come against your thigh and say, “Baby, I want to fuck you hard.”
Aubree opens the door with her card and the client is reclining in the bed, naked, surfing the channels. He looks up and smiles as if housekeeping just brought him his continental breakfast.
“George, this is Alexa,” she says with a swoosh of her hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I can’t believe it. So basically George was probably here the whole time she called me on the phone. No good sex worker leaves a client alone in her personal- or work-space. It’s not stolen money you have to worry about, it’s the possibility of having all your items jizzed on, like leaving a slug in a vegetable garden. Or having some recording device installed.
I’ve been told that I’m paranoid, but is that such a bad thing? I hope Aubree knows this guy well enough to trust him.
“Worth the wait,” he says, sitting up and allowing his soft penis to rest on the bedspread. Alexa doesn’t have a massage table in the room, so I assume we’re doing the rub on the bed. A massage in a hotel bed creates a host of problems, the primary one being that it makes boundaries slippery. A massage table is a must for me and if I ever plan to do this with her again, we’re going to use my table.
George blows out hard. “You’re beautiful. Even prettier than Aubree described.” He looks me up and down, even before I’ve taken off my coat.
I thank him and turn on some Ray Lamontagne on my ipod. I get the most compliments about my music when I play Ray.
George stands to get a better look, revealing a thong tan-line. I take off my coat and begin to undress.
“So what kind of massage do you like?” I ask. “Deep?”
“Sensual,” he says. “Come here,” he says, moving toward me. “I want to take off your bra.”
I look at Aubree, who is standing just behind George. She rolls her eyes, but nods, as if to say this is George’s thing and he’s harmless.
I don’t typically let clients undress me, it seems such a personal act, but I know George is paying the big bucks for this session so I allow it.
I step closer in acquiescence and his eyes widen. He pushes the bra straps off my shoulders and I reach behind my back and unclasp it, then toss it to the side.
“Can I braille you?” he asks. I see Aubree stifle a laugh.
“What?”
“Braille you.” he says, somewhat incredulous as if I should know what he’s talking about.
I give him a blank look.
“I’ll run my fingers over your naked body with my eyes closed. That way I can get a mental image of you...to take with me.”
It’s an odd request, but if it makes him happy, then it’s okay with me. It certainly seems harmless enough.
“Sure, but I get to keep my panties on,” I say.
He makes a sad, puppy dog face, but eases up. “If you insist.”
Aubree sits in a fake leather chair as if she’s watching a peep show. She’s naked already, legs tucked under her ass. Unlike me, she has no qualms about being completely nude.
George inhales dramatically and closes his eyes as if he’s making a wish on a candle-lit birthday cake.
His hands shake just a tad as he touches me lightly, so tentatively that it almost tickles and prickles my skin into goose bumps, even though Aubree had clearly cranked up the heat in the room.
Once I’ve been brailled, Aubree looks up from her nails and suggests we get going on the “massage,” giving me a wink. George has blown a quarter of his time on the brailling, but I’m guessing he’ll get some post-session replay out of it. It’s really the only thing that justifies the cost.
George begins face down on the bed, a pillow propped under his neck. Again, another co
n for the bed over massage table. It’s just uncomfortable to be face down with one’s head into a pillow versus a headrest, though George didn’t seem like much of a complainer.
Aubree’s good at the dirty talk, whereas I tend to blush. Phrases such as “I want you to fuck me hard,” flow gracefully from her mouth like the Queen of England asking sometime to pass the tea.
I let her handle the talk. I figure she owes me that considering she sat out the beginning of the session.
Near the end, George flips over and his dick springs forth, which is always a welcome sign, indicating good performance on our end and that the release won’t be a tennis-elbow crippling event. There’ve been times that I’ve worked so hard to get a guy to come that I felt like I was sending up smoke signals from his crotch.
Minutes before George’s finale, Aubree turns her attention to me, reaching her hand over to my breast, and giving George a smirk. His eyes bulge and I give her credit for her timing. She knows how to turn a guy on to a murderous level right before she jerks him off.
With George between us, his dick pointing toward the ceiling, Aubree leans over and kisses my lips. It’s light and tongue-less but just enough to make George groan. Aubree, with her lips still on mine and left hand on my breast, takes her right hand and gives George a few thrusts before he’s bucking and moaning.
A good session if I do say so myself. And despite the past, I’m glad Aubree is back in my life.
Twenty-Five
“Is that everything?” Cole says as he pulls the door down on the bright orange moving van. It slams with a thud and I nod, giving a final look back at the apartment as I stand in the crowded parking lot.
“I can’t believe that little apartment held so much stuff,” I say, looking down at Analise who’s gripping her Lalaloopsy Doll.
“Are you sad to leave?” I ask, feeling an unexpected bit of nostalgia. Analise nods, but grins widely.
Confessions of an Erotic Masseuse: A Memoir Page 9