pay and you still want to. Most men would take the fun and accept the blowjob and pay the next time when we are actually booked.”
“I’m not most men, and Brian told me I’m your only regular and I can’t help but feel like I need……Oh never mind baby. Just accept it and I’ll see you next week. I hope you don’t fuck John but I know if you do, you do. I’m sure my wife will be drunk by the time we get back to the table anyhow and I guess I might be roped into doing terrible marital fucking tonight. Oh shit, that sucks. Guess I’ll be thinking of you,” he states, pecks me on the lips and pulls the door handle to leave. I move out of the way and follow him out.
I can’t believe that just happened. Shit! I should have made him let me suck him off because tomorrow morning I’m calling Brian to ask him how much money Joseph transferred into our business account. I’m sure it won’t be a little amount. I don’t get him.
I duck back into the bathroom, fix just-fucked hair and makeup. I got fingered and still I look guilty. I reapply some makeup and voila— I’m sexy again.
Chapter Six
I arrive back at the table and John has this sadness to him that flows out of every pore. I don’t say a word to him I just sit down and dig into whatever course we’re on. It’s some tartlets with cream cheese and shrimp.
His hand finds my thigh and Joseph rejoins us, a beer in hand. I didn’t know he drank beer. Guess so.
John scoots his chair closer to mine, our legs are touching. Abusive and now he’s trying to be intimate again. He’s a head case for sure. It’s not the first or the last I’ve been with. It comes with the territory. Sure it sucks but it’s true.
He combs my hair with his fingers and brings his lips to my earlobe. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you. That was wrong of me. Can I please make it up to you?” He whispers remorsefully.
I ignore him. I’ve learned if a guy feels guilty and you still ignore him it grinds the guilt in a little further. You can’t let it go forever because then they get angry again. But a little more will do him some good. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a tip tonight and he’ll stay the pleasant man I thought he was when I first met him. I know a lot of people would think I’m crazy for just getting played with in a closet and being completely at ease with my date. It’s a business transaction; it doesn’t matter. It’s not based in feelings. Therefore no guilt is assessed to my actions. I’m an escort, not a saint. I’ll be rotting in hell with the rest of my friends when I die anyhow. You only live once.
“So what does a sexy lady like yourself do for a living?” a man two seats to my right asks me.
Both John and Joseph stare daggers at him. He’s a younger male, probably closer to my age than the other two.
“I’m not sure I caught your name,” I state.
“It’s Jeffery. Jeffery Goldenstine.” He pumps out his chest. Yep, he’s got an ego problem and I know he thinks he’s hot. The date sitting next to him though is a meek scrawny thing who couldn’t be more out of place.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jeffery. I actually work in the Art History field. I graduated a few years back from NYU,” I eloquently respond with a plastered smile. This topic comes up every time I do public outings. And I always give the same answer which is the truth to an extent. If they ask where I work, I usually state I’m a subcontractor for museums. Which is also true. I’m on the database to be contacted for historical purposes. But I rarely help out. When I get calls I’m usually too busy.
He chuckles and runs his fingers around the base of his wine glass. “Well, for a second I thought you were going to say you’re a model.”
I scoff a laugh and throw my head back covering my mouth. Men are idiots.
“No, no. My body isn’t nice enough to model and I wouldn’t do that even if I was paid. I
“I’m not most men, and Brian told me I’m your only regular and I can’t help but feel like I need……Oh never mind baby. Just accept it and I’ll see you next week. I hope you don’t fuck John but I know if you do, you do. I’m sure my wife will be drunk by the time we get back to the table anyhow and I guess I might be roped into doing terrible marital fucking tonight. Oh shit, that sucks. Guess I’ll be thinking of you,” he states, pecks me on the lips and pulls the door handle to leave. I move out of the way and follow him out.
I can’t believe that just happened. Shit! I should have made him let me suck him off because tomorrow morning I’m calling Brian to ask him how much money Joseph transferred into our business account. I’m sure it won’t be a little amount. I don’t get him.
I duck back into the bathroom, fix just-fucked hair and makeup. I got fingered and still I look guilty. I reapply some makeup and voila— I’m sexy again.
Chapter Six
I arrive back at the table and John has this sadness to him that flows out of every pore. I don’t say a word to him I just sit down and dig into whatever course we’re on. It’s some tartlets with cream cheese and shrimp.
His hand finds my thigh and Joseph rejoins us, a beer in hand. I didn’t know he drank beer. Guess so.
John scoots his chair closer to mine, our legs are touching. Abusive and now he’s trying to be intimate again. He’s a head case for sure. It’s not the first or the last I’ve been with. It comes with the territory. Sure it sucks but it’s true.
He combs my hair with his fingers and brings his lips to my earlobe. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you. That was wrong of me. Can I please make it up to you?” He whispers remorsefully.
I ignore him. I’ve learned if a guy feels guilty and you still ignore him it grinds the guilt in a little further. You can’t let it go forever because then they get angry again. But a little more will do him some good. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a tip tonight and he’ll stay the pleasant man I thought he was when I first met him. I know a lot of people would think I’m crazy for just getting played with in a closet and being completely at ease with my date. It’s a business transaction; it doesn’t matter. It’s not based in feelings. Therefore no guilt is assessed to my actions. I’m an escort, not a saint. I’ll be rotting in hell with the rest of my friends when I die anyhow. You only live once.
“So what does a sexy lady like yourself do for a living?” a man two seats to my right asks me.
Both John and Joseph stare daggers at him. He’s a younger male, probably closer to my age than the other two.
“I’m not sure I caught your name,” I state.
“It’s Jeffery. Jeffery Goldenstine.” He pumps out his chest. Yep, he’s got an ego problem and I know he thinks he’s hot. The date sitting next to him though is a meek scrawny thing who couldn’t be more out of place.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jeffery. I actually work in the Art History field. I graduated a few years back from NYU,” I eloquently respond with a plastered smile. This topic comes up every time I do public outings. And I always give the same answer which is the truth to an extent. If they ask where I work, I usually state I’m a subcontractor for museums. Which is also true. I’m on the database to be contacted for historical purposes. But I rarely help out. When I get calls I’m usually too busy.
He chuckles and runs his fingers around the base of his wine glass. “Well, for a second I thought you were going to say you’re a model.”
I scoff a laugh and throw my head back covering my mouth. Men are idiots.
“No, no. My body isn’t nice enough to model and I wouldn’t do that even if I was paid. I
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