“I’m about ready,” I inform the not so patient roomy of mine. We are almost like sisters and nearly the same age. I’m twenty five and she’s twenty six. She’s a natural blonde bombshell with fake tits and a curvy body to die for. Her legs are lean and long and she looks fabulous in red. We have four other colleagues that Brian handles and, to be honest, we can’t stand them. It was luck of the draw that we actually clicked as well as we have. Four years and two apartments later we are living in a clean part of Queens in a two bedroom one bath single story apartment. It has a big living room, galley kitchen and a sizable breakfast nook. It’s about nine hundred square feet but it suits us well, and we’ve stuck to this place for the past two years. Our neighbors are quiet and our landlord is a hot Filipino man by the name of Armando. Before he married his wife six months ago our rent was paid in sexual favors. Now we pay the bill, which is fine with us. It’s not like Becka and I can’t pay in cash. We work on average three nights a week and I typically rake in a couple grand a week. We’re not like hookers who get $50 for a BJ. My average rate is $700 for one and sex is $1200 minimum. If you’re grossly unattractive, smell bad or have terrible manners, sex will cost you $2500. And trust me—they pay it. I’m damn good at my job and have repeat happily satisfied customers.
My working name is Tylah. Like strippers who go by Bunny and Candy, I use my middle name. And all my regulars or semi-regulars call me Ty. Joseph is my favorite repeat. He’s married and has three kids, which believe it or not, we do talk about. We meet once a month, sometimes twice if he’s really lonely. His cock is huge, and he’s a very talented and giving lover. And the best part is he always takes me to an expensive hotel, brings me flowers, orders champagne and I come five times in a given night. He’s the kind of man you beg to have as a customer. His body is rock-hard from working out daily and he’s tall and lean with dark hair and doe eyes. A babe by anyone’s standards and we’ve been seeing each other professionally for the past eight months. At first Joseph used Carmen, our exotic coworker. She’s from Argentina and twenty-nine but looks twenty. She’s hot and sultry and a complete bitch if you get to know her. After two times with her, he ordered Brian to change it up for him. So I took her $2500 a night spot and have been his monthly girlfriend, as he calls me, ever since. Last month I got a $300 tip from him. Which I turned around and spent on more shoes and clothes.
In our apartment, Becka and I have a giant closet in my bedroom which is the master. We share it to some degree, mainly in the shoe department. We both wear size eight and that makes for one hell of a shoe collection. It’s huge, with at least a hundred and fifty pairs. We can occasionally share clothes but I’m shorter and she’s tall, and I’m a size six and she’s a four. So things sometimes don’t fit right.
I walk out of the bath in my jade green skin tight dress that I needed Crisco to put on. Okay, not literally, but it’s tight. Thankfully I have a curvy body and a flat stomach to pull it off. Although my ass is a little bit bigger than I’d like. I’ve tried to make it smaller but it just won’t shrink.
“It’s about fucking time, woman,” she scoffs tapping her four inch black stiletto on the hard wood floor.
“I’m sorry, but someone took a thirty minute shower and used up too much hot water. The last five minutes I was stuck rinsing my conditioner out in ice water. So don’t give me that shit.”
“Okay, well let’s go.” She opens the front door, I snatch up my black purse from the table and out the door we go. I decided to go with silver heels tonight which shine so sexy in the moonlight.
We walk one block to the bus station. Hop onto that and take it to the train station. The train takes us into Manhattan and we take the subway five stops to our destination. It’s nine forty-five and Brian’s apartment is only a few blocks from the station. The nice thing about working mostly nights is the subway and trains are clear and seats are actually available, because riding on a subway in four inch heels standing up is not a good idea. That’s how you twist an ankle. Ask Mary, one of my other coworkers, who’s done it twice in the past year.
“Where the hell have you two been?” Carmen bitches once we hit the steps to come into Brian’s apartment. She’s outside on his second story balcony. Brian lives richer than we do. His apartment is huge and beautifully decorated with its oriental rugs, leather couches, real art pieces; that I’ve helped select, and a giant office with a presidential desk. We conduct most of our business in the living room but for private one-on-ones he takes us in there.
I put her on ignore and Becka rings the bell. Mary opens the door in a short pair of shorts and silver sequined tube top. She looks like a stripper. Which is a nicer word for trashy. Hey, I’m not saying my moral compass is pushing due north, but damn there is a huge difference between strippers, prostitutes, and us.
“Hey Mary.” I smile and walk past her into the living room. Looks like we’re the last ones to arrive. Brian’s passing around our schedules. He prints them off on his computer and they’re all in detail, including the breakdown of our cut and his and our hours of operation. It’s very professional.
Brian approaches us. “Rebecca,” he greets and kisses both of her cheeks. “Alexis.” I lean in and we exchange the same affection.
“Won’t you all please take a seat,” he says, waving his hand fluently cutting through the air with grace that only gay men have. But Brian is as straight as they come and he never sleeps with his employees. He’s thirty-four, average build, average appearance with his dark brown hair and eyes. But he knows more about women’s accessories, makeup, clothing and spa treatments to rival any fashion queen or drag queen for that matter.
I take a seat on a couch next to my coworker, best friend and roomy Becka.
“Here are your schedules for this week.” Brian extends his arm and slides the paper into our hands.
Appears I am working three nights this week. Joseph is Thursday night; thank the lord. Then two new clients I’ve never heard of, all of them booking up my weekend. Today is Tuesday and we always meet with Brian on Tuesdays. If we have a date, which is rare because Tuesdays are our slowest, he emails us. But this is our own weekly pow-wow. I actually like the ability to pass notes and go over beauty secrets. Even if I can’t stand the women I work next to.
“As you can see, most of you are working twice this week. Except for Becka and Alexis.”
I peer over to Becka’s paper and she’s as busy as I am; three nights.
“Why do they get to have more than us? I thought this was a fair business,” Lulu complains in her annoying childish voice.
Lulu is our newest addition. She’s worked for Brian the past six months. She’s twenty, platinum blonde; thanks to a box of hair color. And she’s as ditzy and as immature as they come. It’s like trying to reason with a five year old. So I don’t even try. Originally Brian wanted me to show her the ropes but after two nights of torturous educating I threw in the towel. She’s that damn dumb.
“Now Lulu, it’s dispersed based on expertise and clientele. Alexis has her regular this week along with two new clients. They are based on her skillset. If they wanted young and flirty, you’d be one of them. But they need her for what she provides,” he explains to the five year old. I know it’s not going to stick, nothing ever does. Sometimes Becka and I wonder if her head is just full of hot air. It seems that way.
Lulu slumps down into the brown leather chair in a deep pout and throws her arms across her tiny chest. Her breasts are almost pre-pubescent in size. I have no idea what men see in her. Okay, I know that’s totally mean but it’s true. I wouldn’t fuck her if I was a man. I’d look the other way. To be honest I’d probably pick somebody like Becka—she’s hot. And no I’m not a lesbian or bi. That’s what Bridget is for. She caters to both male and females in our business and she specializes in bondage. It’s creepy, but I don’t ask questions. No whips or chains for me. Just big cocks, suits and preferably a man with a six-pack and nice teeth. When people say size doesn’t matter, they ar
e full of shit. In my line of work that’s all that counts. I’m surprisingly still very tight thanks to my kegel exercises that I perform daily. Brian four months ago did an entire session on the importance of them. I’ve been a kegel aficionado for years but many of the women in our group haven’t been. Maybe that’s why Becka and I are the favorites amongst our clients.
“So before we go into tonight’s topic— a new eyeliner I want to cover— I wanted to see if anyone had any clients they would like to talk about?” Brian asks standing at the front of the room. Commanding attention. Per usual.
I look to Becka to see if she has anything she’d like to divulge. I haven’t had much in way of strange clientele the past few weeks. And last week I had two new men who were as vanilla as they come. Boring gala events, minimal intellectual stimulation and sexually it was just as dull. Change is the spice of life. That’s one of the fun things about my job. Sure, I don’t want a man who I’d have to pour hot chocolate all over and lick his chest. But it sure beats bending over a couch for ten minutes to have a below average cock shoved in me. Where I have to fake an orgasm and pretend to actually like him. The hundred dollar tip makes it worthwhile in the end. But it’s a boring existence if they don’t woo you into hot and passionate fucking. I don’t mind a mild amount of kink. It keeps it interesting. And my dates the past few weeks have seriously been lacking in that category.
“I have a question.” Mary speaks up sitting next to Bridget. If I had to pick one of my coworkers to actually like other than Becka, I’d pick Mary. She’s sweet in her own way, very backwoods country wholesome. She does wonders for cowboy boots and daisy dukes. She’s southern and her accent is strong and a huge turn on for some men. I’ve known her for the past two years. That’s when Brian brought her into the group.
“What’s that?” Brian presses.
“I had a man this past week want me to scratch him. He meant drawing blood. But I don’t know how to do that when I barely have any nails and I won’t get fake ones.” She holds up her hands to show us her short nail beds. “How can I fix that for the next time this comes up?” She inquires to the group, her country accent clinging to every syllable.
“I would get fake nails anyways. Men like it,” Carmen answers.
She’s an idiot. And the way she talks in that accent of hers makes her sound even cockier. She’s not lacking in the confidence department, that’s for damn sure. Brian has a hard time keeping her satisfied with clients because she’s very picky. I’ve prayed for her to leave for the past year. Becka, Bridget and I are the only three who have been here for so long. The rest filter in and out. I don’t see Lulu lasting long. Amen to that. Now if Carmen would quit, it would be a sweet-sweet life.
“I can’t very well do that Carmen. I do lots of cookin’ and fake nails are unsanitary,” Mary replies sweet as pie. I don’t know how she doesn’t jump down Carmen’s throat. Just looking at that woman makes me want slap her into next week.
Carmen waves her off with an attitude, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. What a bitch.
“If men want you to scratch them. I’d say bite them instead. It’s a good change and gives the same amount of pain,” Becka adds. Which I think is a valid explanation.
I nod, agreeing with her.
“I’d say Becka is right Mary. Or get one of those leather spike bracelets and carry it in your purse. Those can do some serious damage and for kinky men it might help with the pleasure factor and get you bigger tips,” I chime in to finish off the topic.
“Thanks ladies. That’s some great ideas. Never thought about a spike bracelet but that would probably work. He kept going on about how he wanted me to scratch him and I tried. But it ended up being a bunch of redlines on his back and I could tell it wasn’t doing it for him,” Mary explains with a gentle smile.
“Any other questions?” Brian asks.
We all shake our heads concurrently.
“Okay ladies. Tonight, since I handed out your schedules, I want to talk about this new eyeliner next and then I need to meet with Becka and Alexis at the same time.” Brian says, then breaks into a twenty minute seminar on this new liquid liner we should all try because it doesn’t smear. He’s such a damn girl.
The rest of the girls dismiss themselves after the session and Becka and I are left to discuss with Brian.
“So ladies, your Saturday schedule will be the same this week. I have different names on your rosters but they are the same date. You are double-teaming a pair of men at a business dinner. Becka your man Andrew is bringing Alexis’s date in for a meeting. He wants you two, to be presentable and sexy but in business attire. Brad is not to know that Alexis is an escort. Brad, from my understanding, thinks you, Becka—” he points to my roomy. “—Are Andrews’s girlfriend and Alexis is your friend who is single. That’s all. I gave Andrew your name Anne and he has no idea who Alexis is. He wanted a blonde and you two are best friends so I figured it will work out in all our favors. The rules are that if Brad wants to have sex, you do not discuss money with him. Andrew has agreed to pay whatever, as long as this stays quiet.”
I nod. “So I’m paid to date a guy who doesn’t actually know I’m being paid?”
“Yes, I know it’s not our normal set up. But you both will be paid $1500 for this, and then whatever sexual favors will be additional.”
My mouth drops open. “Why are we getting more than usual?”
“Anonymity has a price. Plus you two have a new career. You’re managers to a restaurant in town.”
“Did he pick those jobs?” Becka asks, fingering her blonde hair. She’s so sensual, no wonder men love her.
“Yes, he owns a chain of restaurants among other businesses and you’re both managers to one of them,” he explains.
This is stupid. I am to act like I know business and it’s a field I know zilch about. And I’m to keep it a secret that I’m an escort. I always work for the men who hire me. I’ve never been contracted out to someone new. This will be interesting. I just hope he’s not a dick. Most men who I work for, that are paying me and are attentive to me. They want to get their monies worth and use me as arm candy. This will be an actual date. Weird.
“So what restaurant? Shouldn’t we know where we work? I’ll have to educate myself this week on the ins and outs of the restaurant business.”
“He owns Blue and Red.”
Both mine and Becka’s mouths simultaneously drop open in awe. Blue and Red is the hottest restaurant in New York City. It’s expensive and has a three month waiting list. That’s where all the A-lister’s dine. This Andrew guy must be worth some major doe-ray-me. I’ve escorted a few lawyers, doctors, writers, artists, stockbrokers, CEO’s and a lot of less famous people. But I’ve never been on a date like this one. This is going to be epic, for the record books.
Becka and I stay and finish our chat about our upcoming date on Saturday. I will go shopping for this one. No old outfit will do for my new date. We leave and take the subway, train and bus back to our little apartment in Queens.
LEX
(An Unconventional Hearts Novel)
Now Available
~Chapter One~
“Lex, are you about done?” Roni, or should I say Veronica my quasi best friend who happens to live on the same parcel of real-estate I do, calls from our small shared backyard.
“I’m in here,” I yell, walking over to the window that’s open above the white apron sink. I’m standing in the kitchen, slaving rather tirelessly over my vintage stove. It’s exhausting being me sometimes.
Quieter now, Roni reaches my back screen door and welcomes herself inside.
“Are you attempting to boil water, again?” she inquires, sarcastically with a juicy all-knowing smile, as she plops her jean clad country girl butt down at my table seated in the most perfect breakfast nook. Complete with bay windows, draped with mint green swags, a booth with a floral print cushion, two chairs and a rectangular farmhouse table, brown on top, white wash on bottom.
“I’ll have you know, I’m using the kettle for some tea, sassy britches. Would you like some?”
Already knowing her answer, I pull two blue paisley printed mugs from inside my newly renovated white cupboards. I had my dream kitchen installed six months ago, leaving me with pale pink walls, a giant silver chandelier, a refurbished nineteen fifties stove and a sealed wood slab countertop. It’s almost like having a butcher block as my entire counter, except its smoother.
“Don’t I always? And you wouldn’t….”
Holding up the biscotti that I ordered online, shushes her. Well, for the time being. It won’t last long. Never does.
This is a daily routine for us. I wake up at six on the nose, do a rather invigorating yoga session alone in my meditation room—I had one of my five sizeable bedrooms converted to Zen status two years ago and it’s been money well spent. After yoga, I shower and primp—it takes a lot of time. Between my hair and my entire makeup regiment, it’s no quick routine. And by eight I’m downstairs doing this.
Lifting the annoying whistling tea kettle from the stove, I serve our tea and biscotti on petite, white scalloped edged plates and take a seat across from my fussy best friend. Who just stumbled out of bed less than ten minutes ago and is ready to get on with her day. The perpetual indigent slob. Or so you would think, looking at her day in and day out.
“So are you going to make me check it myself or will you give me the goods willingly?” She winks, pulling her green cup of tea to her mouth and giving me a god-awful smirk over the rim of her mug.
“Work’s great,” I uppity answer, aimlessly avoiding eye contact. I can feel her pupils drilling holes in me as we speak.
Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set Page 93
