The Call Girl Chronicles

My Best Friend’s John (Part 2)

“Tess, don’t worry about anything. This is a transaction between us. It’s business. I am not going to tell anyone, and I know you won’t say anything. Relax. It’s good.” He stroked my face and it put me at ease.

“Now take off the fucking skirt, you pretty little whore. Your sweet ass is mine for two hours.”

I slowly unzipped my skirt, letting if fall on the floor.  Underneath, I was wearing my favorite pair of Victoria’s Secret pink and black lace panties, with a bra to match. He sat on the couch and watched me. I couldn’t read his face. What was he thinking? He just glared at me, staring deep within my eyes. It almost unnerved me.

Without hesitation, he reached up and ripped my panties off.

“On your knees, slut.” he quipped.

I was flustered. I dropped to my knees facing him, thinking he wanted me to suck his cock. But that’s not what he wanted.

“Open your legs more” he ordered, “stick that ass up for me.”

I did as he asked, wondering which hole he would assault first. He came up behind me and felt my wetness. I was aroused with anticipation and fear.

“I think I want you on the couch. Bend over ass up.”

He walked over to me and pulled my ass into his face, licking my holes voraciously, as if he were starving. I shuddered with pleasure as he persisted.

“Cum you little whore. Cum for me.”

I bucked and buckled, trying to stay balanced as my legs began shaking. It felt so good that I couldn’t hold back. He wouldn’t let up. At all.

I spilled over the edge and let out expletives that would make a sailor blush.

I didn’t have a moment to regroup before I felt him inside of me. Furiously fucking me. He almost seemed angry. I loved every thrust. I loved that he held me by the hair. I loved the primal depravity of it all. He growled, “Take it slut. Take that cock.” I took the assault until I heard him bellow and roar as he climaxed.

Pulling the condom off, he looked at me and said, “I hope you know you are going to get fucked severely tonight. This was just the beginning.” I liked the sound of that. We got ourselves cleaned up and retreated to his bedroom. His bed was large and imposing with nice black sheets. His room was in meticulous order and I began to understand more of his personality.

“Get on the bed. Spread your legs.”

I got on the bed and did as he’d instructed. Most of my calls were not this involved. I wondered if he would have been this way had we not known each other? I felt his fingers probing for my hole as he pushed several inside of me. It was a tight fit and I gasped. He looked at me and grinned. He placed his thumb on my clit as he began his ravenous torture. I was so aroused and on the edge, that I felt I would explode at any moment. He knew it. He liked having that control over me.

I felt my walls caving in, encasing his digits as he abruptly stopped. “You don’t get to cum just yet.” His cock was hard and he wanted me to pleasure him. I shimmied down between his legs and took his shaft into my mouth. I took him deeply and slowly, edging in further with each stroke. Sliding my tongue all around his tightly stretched skin. He moaned with pleasure and rubbed the back of my head as I went about my work.

He pulled me up to his chest and whispered in my ear, “Ride me.”

I straddled him as he pushed his rock-hard dick inside me. He held my hips as my body began to grind on his. He pulled me down to kiss him, which is something most escorts are told not to do. I hesitated. But he held me there and passionately kissed my mouth. It felt nice with him. He rolled over on top of me and took control. Fucking me slow and deep. It was an intentional rhythm, designed to drive me mad.

“You like how I fuck you don’t you?”

I couldn’t lie. I did. I loved how he fucked me.  He was an incredible lover. His endurance was impressive. The more he gave, the more I wanted. I looked at the time and it had already been an hour and thirty minutes. His time was almost up.

“John, our time is almost over. We have about 30 minutes left.”

He looked at me and clutched my throat. “Guess I will have to work hard to get my money’s worth.”

I don’t remember many of the physical details after that moment. It was as if I had an out of body experience. The one thing I remembered was the way he whispered in my ear. The things he said to me.

He told me how he’d met a young woman in Guatemala during a business trip. She was working as a food vendor near the hotel where he was staying. He told me how he fucked her for days. How she would pass out afterward and he would do her as she slept. How she moaned and begged him for more.

He whispered all of the things he wanted to do me.  In obscene detail. All of the ways he wanted to take me. How he wanted me to scream and moan like the woman in Guatemala. How he wanted me to be so spent that I couldn’t go on my next call. How he wanted me to think of him every time I took a step. How he wanted to hear me beg. His words were intoxicating and I almost lost track of the time.

Lucky for me, my pager went off. It’s was Gina letting me know that my next client wanted to book me for the rest of the night. (All night? Fuck! I didn’t have it in me) But, I got dressed and pulled myself together. I’d never been so shaken from a call before. He was one of the most intense encounters I’d ever had. John walked me to the door wearing a smirk on his face.

He leaned down to kiss my cheek and said, “That was amazing. Count me in as a new regular. Until next time, you dirty little slut.”

on the couch (2)

(Photo credit: Pinterest)

 

 

 

 

My Best Friend’s John

My summer was quite busy that year. Between the marathon weekends at Dick’s and my busy work schedule, I was constantly on the move. Trying to balance it all was challenging, but I loved the rush of everything.

And I will let you in on a little secret…I loved being fucked every night. 

The escort business was booming. I had a huge clientele and my nights were booked, sometimes weeks in advance. I was in such demand that I rarely had to meet with new clients. But, on occasion, I asked Gina to book with me new people. I loved that feeling. The nervous twinge of meeting a new lover for the first time made me wet with anticipation.

In spite of my booked schedule, I managed to make time for friends and family. I would carve out time with my best girlfriends. Most of them had no idea what I was doing. They would have been appalled at the thought of having sex for money. Funny thing, most of them were married, stay at home wives…having sex with their husbands for money. Same thing, different label. One my best friends, Paula, knew all about what I did. She was open-minded and loved hearing my naughty stories.

She was a gorgeous, raven-haired woman. Tall and curvy, she was beautiful. We met at work (my legit day job). She was new to the area and had recently relocated with her long-term boyfriend, leaving her hometown in North Carolina, to be with him. I just loved Paula. We were fast friends. She was my safe space. I could tell her anything, and I told her everything. Not long after, she and John purchased a house, and then they broke up. They had this volatile, on-again/off-again relationship. Much like Sid and Nancy, but without the heroin. After this last breakup, Paula met a great guy and decided to get married. And just like that…they did.

I was at home on a Sunday afternoon, spending the allotted time with my parents, when I heard the faint buzz of my pager from the bedroom. I knew it was Gina. But my first call was not until 10:00 pm. It was only 4:30. I wondered if they’d canceled. I called her as soon as I could.

“Hey Gina, what’s up?” I asked.

“Not much, doll. You up for taking on a new client?” she asked.

“When?” I asked.

“He’s asked for someone to be over around 7:00. It’s a house call. I know the area. It’s a nice neighborhood. You may get yourself a new regular…”

She knew how to sell me. Seriously, I learned most of my sales techniques from Gina. She was the master.

“Sure! I will go.”

She was pleased. She said, “I think you’ll like this guy. He sounds like your type.”

I laughed and said, “Really? So what is my type?”

“You like them dirty. I get the feeling you’re in for a fun night. Call me and check in when you get there.”

At 7:00, I pulled into up to the house. It was a nice 2-story Cape Cod with a large privacy fence in the back. I noticed the gray Mercedes in the driveway with North Carolina plates. I instantly thought of Paula…she was from North Carolina. Interesting.

I walked up to the door and rang the bell.

I was not prepared. Simply, not prepared. 

Standing in front of me was John, Paula’s ex. There was a look of recognition in his eyes and then I watched his lips curl into a most sinister grin. I didn’t know whether to be excited or scared.

“Why, hello there. Don’t I know you?” he smirked. SHIT! This had never happened before…being on a call with someone I knew!  I was at a loss for what to do…what to say…so I smiled back as I stepped into his house, brushing by him. I looked back with a naughty grin and said, “You do, John. But I think you are about to get to know me on a much deeper level.”

And just like that, I set the tone.

Once inside, I called Gina to check in. There was no way for me to tell her the situation, as he was standing right there. I just did my typical check-in and before I hung up, he asked to speak with her.

He stared at me as I gave him the phone.

“Hello, Gina. Yes…everything is fine. It’s very good. I would actually like to book an extra hour, if that’s possible.”

Gina asked to speak with me and I consented, so it was set. I was going to spend two hours there. With my best friend’s ex-boyfriend. Who was paying me as an escort. You truly cannot make this shit up. 

We retired to the couch for small talk. I was more nervous that usual. This guy actually knew me…my real name…where I worked. I wondered if he would tell anyone. My mind was racing. He could clearly see that I was uneasy.

“Tess, don’t worry about anything. This is a transaction between us. It’s business. I am not going to tell anyone, and I know you won’t say anything. Relax. It’s good.” He stroked my face and it put me at ease.

“Now take off the fucking skirt, you pretty little whore. Your sweet ass is mine for two hours.”

(To be continued)

house call1

(Photo credit, Pinterest)

The Weirdos,The Creeps and The Rejects

Summer 1994

When you work as an escort, you meet all different types of men.  If you think about it…what type of man pays to have sex with someone?  In my experience, I found that they fell into many different categories.

The Travelers…these men logged more miles in the sky than a Blue Angel.  They were away from the drudgery of their day-to-day lives for extended periods of time.  Travelers commonly worked in sales or management.  They were usually bold in their requests and most of them tipped well, as their expense accounts were as big as their egos.  A typical evening would begin with conversation and would quickly morph into…”I want you on your knees, sucking my cock.  Look me in the eyes while you do it.”  I like a person who knows what they want…

The Nervous Novices…it took every ounce of nerve for them to make the call to the agency.  They don’t really know how to express what they want.  Most of these men are wounded by society, past relationships or their own pitiful opinion of themselves.  For me, these were some of the most challenging clients to predict.  I recall having dinner with a very shy young man who just wanted someone to talk to.  He told me about his life with abusive parents.  He needed someone to listen.  Another client only wanted me to hold him…him fully dressed, me completely nude.  Another one didn’t know how to ask for anything other than missionary style sex.  So I finally asked him…”is this what you really want, or is there something you’re not sharing with me.  Tell me how you want to fuck me and we can make that happen, this is your hour.”  He was a nervous wreck, but turns out…all he wanted was for me to straddle his face while he licked me.  And if memory serves…for a nervous novice…he was pretty damned good at eating pussy.

The Hedonists….I only had a few of these creatures.  But it was party all the time for this group.  Mostly middle-aged and wealthy, these gentlemen liked having instant gratification.  For me, these were usually house (mansion) calls. They wanted to display their opulent lifestyle and decadent ways to those of us hired to serve them.  They wanted to have whatever they desired…they wanted it brought to them, immediately….they wanted lots of it….and afterwards, it was time for the next plaything to arrive.  I recall making a visit to one of these hedonists, seeing 3 other working girls leave with wads of cash in hand…as I was arriving.  And as I left, another escort drove up.  There was nothing remarkable or memorable about the visits…other than their impressive Rolex collection, or the imported marble in the bathroom.  But the return on investment for the minimum time and effort…was always spot on.

The Weirdos, The Creeps and The Rejects…These are the ones I hoped I’d forget.  These are the unfortunates out there who HAVE to pay for sex.  There is no other option.  The weirdos usually request off-the-wall things.  I had one who wanted me to cry when he fucked me.  I couldn’t do it, so I left and had another girl take my place.  She would do anything.  Another fellow asked me to use pliers to torture his nipples as I sat naked on his chest.  It was a stretch for a young 21 year old, but I managed to do it.  He thanked me a million times and tipped me for the experience. (Note, when he called the agency another time and asked for me to come back, I made sure I was “booked” and couldn’t make it).  The Rejects are the assholes of this category.  They are angry at the world.  Angry at women.  Angry at anyone who has ever done them wrong.  They want to take it out on whomever is in front of them.  The sex bordered on violent and they always tried to argue about money.  One even tried to argue about wearing a condom. I won that battle, but he was a real jerk.  Before leaving his hotel room, I dipped his electric razor in the toilet where I’d just peed and put it back on the sink.  I hope it jolted his sorry ass when he plugged it in.

So as much I as enjoyed my time as an escort, there were a handful of clients that were real assholes.  I quickly learned to spot them ahead of time and could usually manufacture a reason to leave and ask for a replacement. Because readers, I may have been working as a call girl, but I was no one’s whore and I refused to be treated as one. Best to just get out of that situation and try my hand (mouth, body) at (on) something (someone) else.

5.0.2

Photo from the movie Belle Du Jour, 1968

 

Picking Up the Tab

Oh no, I insist…let me.

I developed a well-defined clientele while working for Elite Escorts in the summer of ’94.  Most of them were professionals traveling through my area on business…looking for a bit of R & R.  Being a sales person by trade, I found an enigma in this line of business….what should have been a short sales cycle morphed into a long sales cycle. One would think that a sex-for-services transaction would be an “impulse buy” much like retail.  You know what you want and you go in and buy it.  Done.

But in my case, it turned into a long sales cycle…it became relationship sales.  I began to understand each client’s needs on a deeper level and they didn’t want to go in and just buy what they wanted…they wanted me.  I turned each qualified/worthy client (those with the expendable income to invest) into repeat business. It was amazing.

I knew that the 3rd Tuesday night of each month was reserved for Tim, an engineer who worked in research and development for a pharmaceutical company. He was 35, born in Korea, but lived in Canada.  He was married with 2 children. His sexual tastes were basic and he usually asked me to stay the entire night.  The sex was okay and we spent a lot of our time talking.  I learned a lot from him about the pharmaceutical industry.

There was Andy, a sales rep who traveled the world, but lived in my hometown.  He was also married and he and his wife had no sexual connection.  He was probably my favorite regular.  He loved to put a chair in front of the hotel mirror and watch himself fuck me.  He taught me how to control my gag reflex (a skill that I later found to be quite lucrative).  He was always bringing me gifts from Europe.  I still have some of the jewelry he gave me.  And when I put it on in the mirror…I think back to watching him fuck me.  Yum.

There was the good doctor, Robbie.  He was a surgical resident at the local army hospital.  I usually made house calls to see him.  He always wanted me on top, with my legs extended up to his neck.  I remember one night he requested I come see him at the hospital.  I had no idea there were certain hospital rooms designated for physicians on call for 24 hours.  He was able to adjust the bed at an angle that allowed me to ride him, just like he wanted.  And the trapeze (used for traction) was an added bonus.  I could leverage myself while I rode his cock for maximum pleasure for both of us.  I looked him up not too long ago.  He’s a successful orthopedic surgeon in Louisiana, now.  And looks just like he did 20 years ago.

There were a handful of nameless clients who were not memorable to me, but I was obviously memorable to them, as they regularly used my services.  One, that I can’t recall his first name, was an A & R rep from a record company.  He always stayed at a very nice hotel and his room usually had the in-room jacuzzi tub.  He had a fantasy of receiving head underwater.  I didn’t know I had it in me, but I did it.  I could only hold my breath for about a minute before coming up for air.  But I kept diving down to see if I could last longer each time.  Ironically, I think it’s where my interest in breath play began.  Nice guy. Kinky as hell…but nice.  And he always came with concert tickets.

I learned through these experiences that most men are afraid to ask their partners for what they want.  There was an underlying fear of rejection that kept their dirty little fantasies bottled up.  I feel like I did a public service allowing them to have what they really wanted.  To watch themselves fuck me.  To fuck in a hospital bed.  To have someone suck them underwater.

And then there were a handful who were so fucking good in bed, that I considered picking up the tab and paying them.  There was the older Russian gentleman.  I know he was involved in some type of illegal shit because I got this vibe that he could break my neck in a matter of seconds.  But he drank my pussy like a fine vodka and fucked my brains out.  I was a swooning mess, desperately trying to say “thank you” in Russian, each time I left him.  “SPASIBO”

And there was the police detective who was hung like The Secretariat.  Jesus-effing-Christ, the man was huge.  When we fucked I always came.  I used to wonder if the reason he called a service for sex, was because his cock was just too big for the average gal to handle.  And trust me, it was uncomfortable at times…but I loved that feeling of fullness.  And again, at the end of the session, I wanted to tip him.  Years later I saw him at daycare.  He was picking up his daughter and I was picking up my son.  There was a brief moment of recognition and I was a wet mess for the rest of the night.  If memory serves…I went home and fucked the hell out of my (then) husband that night, thinking back to my time with him.  DAMN….

I had some really great times.  I met some great people.  I met some wretched assholes (their stories are for another post) and I learned my craft.  I was a professional, after all.  It was business….but the invaluable lessons I learned about relationships, communication, sexual mechanics and the fine art of listening, has made me the person I am today.  I feel lucky to have had those experiences.

And I wonder where The Secretariat is now….

the mirror

Photo credit from Pinterest

The Calling

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by sex. Most of my early introductions were through cheesy late night cable. By the time I was 10 years old, I had already seen the entire Emmanuelle series, and many other soft-core porn selections.  I enjoyed watching and learned quite a bit about “anatomy” along the way.

In 1987, the TV movie, Mayflower Madam, aired.  I recall watching it with my mother.  I was almost 15 at the time and my mother had no judgement when it came to TV or movies.  (She really didn’t get it…never allow a 7 year old to watch the Exorcist on Halloween night…just sayin’)  We both watched this story of Sydney Biddle Barrows, and how she opened her own  escort service.  I was hooked.  (No pun intended).  How interesting.  How intriguing.  I remember thinking to myself, “I could do that.  I could be an escort, a call-girl.” Even at the tender age of 15, me…a straight-A student, thought being an escort would be a fun career for a fun-loving gal like myself.

Fast-forward to 6 years later.

It was a hazy summer evening in mid-June.  I was sitting on a porch with friends, solving the world’s problems. As usual, I was dishing on some poor loser I’d just dumped.  There was always a story.  I plowed through men like water and I was always on the lookout for my next victim.  I was becoming a bit harsh and bitter, seeing men as a past-time and closely guarding my emotions, as not to get hurt.  I was in the middle of my story about this latest tryst when my friend, Brian, spoke up and said, “As much as you like sex, you should really get paid for it.”  I laughed and said, “Sure.  Wish I could! I’d be rich and famous…or infamous.”  And while the rest of my friends laughed at my comment, Brian was quiet.

“Do you really want to get paid for sex?”  His tone was serious.  I didn’t know if he was about to lecture me, save my soul or offer me money for a fierce blow job.

So for kicks, I said, “Yes, Brian.  I would love to get paid.  Sign me up.”

One week later, I began my journey as an escort.

Brian wasn’t the pimp.  He was not involved in the business at all, but he knew a lesbian couple making a killing working for a service.  They were madly in love with each other, but very short on cash, so they began working as escorts (with men or women) to make ends meet.  One of them was in college and the other worked as a dental assistant by day.  They seemed to enjoy the work and referred me to the Madam.

Her name was Gina and she was a fast-talking woman with an endearing way about her.  Looking back I think she was on some type of drugs, but I was naive to it at the time.  She liked me immediately and hired me on the spot. (The interview was in the parking lot, in her car at a local nightclub.)  She had asked me to bring a copy of my drivers license with me for her records, which I did.  (She kept this in case of emergency).

After the interview and job offer, we discussed pricing, payment and work hours….

Then she looked at me and said, “Are you ready to work tonight?”

I was not expecting that at all.  My first thought was about my underwear…was I wearing the cute ones?  Were they sexy enough?  Was I sexy enough?

And within 3 seconds I answered her, “Yes, Ma’am.  I am ready”

My first call with with a man in his early forties that owned a used car dealership.  He was a heavy drinker who had just divorced his third wife.  He was decent looking and smelled a bit like my father….it was likely the Old Spice he wore.  Gina gave me a “work” name to protect my identity.  I didn’t choose my name…she did.

That night, I was Tiffany.  I wasn’t a fan of it.  I asked her why she chose that name for me.  She replied, “It has a certain innocence and charm.  And you are charming.  And you look like the girl next door….there’s nothing harsh about you.”

So I did it.  I liked this new identity.  I found myself developing a persona around my new name.  I played a bit coy and innocent.  I could tell he liked it.  It made him feel like my mentor, my teacher.

And to be very honest, I was nervous.  I mean how do you have sex with someone within minutes of meeting them?

I quickly realized that this whole thing, sex for money…this  is Sales 101.  It is needs-identification.  Knowing what he wants.  Listening.  Validating the need.  And closing.

For this gentleman…he wanted a “pretty young thing” to help him get over his latest relationship.  He needed someone who would make him feel good, with no strings, that would be out of his life as quickly as they’d arrived. And I fit the bill.  But he ended up wanting me to stay the entire night.  I cleared it with the Madam and they negotiated a set price.  During our rest breaks we talked…we laughed…we noshed on room service…and then we fucked again.  And again.

The Sunday morning sun peeked through the drawn hotel curtains as I was getting dressed to leave.  In the light of day, we were both all business.  One of Gina’s cardinal rules was to call her upon arrival and before departure.  So I called her once he paid me, and she verified that I had been given the proper amount.  Then she asked to speak to him.  He was most complimentary of his time with me and asked her if he could tip me.  And he did.

I walked out to my car that morning with $1300 in my pocket.  I immediately drove to the designated meeting place to give Gina her portion ($400) leaving me with my share, $900…$800 for the evening and the $100 tip.

Not bad for my first time.

I remember going shopping later that day…just as I had the day before.  I didn’t feel any different.  I didn’t feel ashamed.  I didn’t question the morality or the legality of my choice.  For me, it was a job…an assignment.  I accepted it.  I completed it…and I got PAID for it.

It was Father’s Day, 1994.  I had just arrived at my parent’s house when my pager buzzed.  It was Gina.  She had another assignment for me later that evening.  So I had dinner, enjoyed the visit with my parents and excused myself for the night.

By 10:00 pm, I had already completed one assignment as was booked for two more.  I finally returned home around 2:00 am.

The grand net total for my inaugural weekend….

Four assignments and $1600 in my pocket.

Damn, that was easy.  A girl could get used to this….

calling