Club Fantasy

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  Jenna smiled at the use of her cover name. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Klein,” she said as he slid into the chair opposite her. Through the windows they could see Eighty-third Street and a few pedestrians hustling toward their destinations, pushing groaning umbrellas in front of them. “Terrible day,” Jenna said, trying to appear as if she met men to discuss sex every day.

  “I know,” he said. “It seems we’re going to have autumn, whether we like it or not.” He signaled the waitress. “I need some coffee,” he said. “You?”

  “Make it two,” Jenna said. She pushed the sleeves of her royal blue sweater up to her elbows and clasped her hands on the table. “What can we do for you, Mr. Klein?”

  “Call me Howard,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is a bit awkward.”

  Jenna called upon every bit of her charm. “I can understand that, Howard. It’s a highly embarrassing topic, but I need to know what you have in mind.” She tried to sound experienced, knowing and trustworthy.

  “You see my wife’s been ill for almost a year. I’m a very, oh, let’s just say, active man. I’m also very private and I can’t satisfy my needs easily, that’s why I frequented Courtesans, Inc. If word ever got out ...”

  “No need for you to worry. Like Courtesans, Inc., everything we do at Club Fantasy will be strictly confidential. Exactly what did you have in mind?”

  “Ms. Oakes, I’m a small man, with lot of money and a business that practically runs itself, both left to me by my father. I want—” He slammed his mouth shut as the waitress approached, placed a mug of coffee in front of each of them, then disappeared into the back of the restaurant. The two were silent as they poured milk and sugar into their cups. “Ms. Oakes, I want to become a powerful man, if only in my fantasies. I want to rescue the lady in distress and have her generously bestow her favors on me. I know that sounds corny and my language comes right out of a cheap novel, but that’s what I’ve dreamed of for as long as I can remember.”

  “It’s not corny at all,” Jenna said, exuding confidence, although she had no idea what he was getting at.

  “You’re so like Erika. She didn’t make me feel stupid when we talked about this, and you’re being so understanding.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.” Comparing her to Erika made Jenna feel wonderful. “Exactly what kind of situation are you thinking of?”

  After a silence, he said, “This will sound silly but I want to be a John Wayne type, who just won a gun fight and now gets the girl. Can you imagine something like that? Can you provide something like that?”

  She gazed deeply into his eyes, her brain running a mile a minute. It certainly could be done. Maybe this was why Erika had suggested a Western room. “We can make that happen for you, but would you mind very much if I were the girl? I’d really like that. Would I ruin the illusion?”

  He stared at her as if unable to believe what he was hearing. “You can do it?”

  “We can.”

  “I would like for you to be part of it very much. Can you really do the rest? The Western part?”

  “It can be arranged.”

  She watch the tension flow from his body. “That’s wonderful. You’ve made this easier than I thought it would be. It’s so difficult talking about something like this. When I say it, it sounds so juvenile.”

  “It isn’t at all.” She tried to sound as if she heard this kind of request every day and maybe one day she might. She trusted Erika’s assessment of the man, so she wrote the address of the brownstone on a slip of paper and handed it to him. He took it with an amazement that spoke to his delight. “What evening next week would work for you?” Jenna asked.

  “Can we do it on Wednesday?”

  “Of course. Be there at eight.”

  “What should I wear?”

  “Do you have a Western-style shirt? Jeans and boots?”

  “Yes, of course. And thank you. Thank you, so much.”

  When Chloe arrived home that evening, Jenna related the meeting to her. “I thought we might set up a sheriff’s office in one of the upstairs rooms.”

  “Fabulous,” Chloe said. “A Western room. Maybe there are others who would love to get the girl that way.” Chloe grabbed the Yellow Pages. “Costumes shouldn’t be a problem. We can go back to the place you got the doctor stuff.”

  “I thought we could get a tape of that old-time, tinny piano music that’s in movies. Maybe it comes in from the dance hall next door. I’ll bet they have something at that CD and tape warehouse store I’ve passed a few times over on the West Side.”

  Chloe was busy rapidly turning pages. “Here’s another prop rental place just in case Manny’s doesn’t have what we want,” she said, tapping her long nail on a large display ad, reeling off a list of items she thought they’d need.

  “I guess that’s why you’re the artist and designer,” Jenna said, intrigued by Chloe’s imagination and tenacity.

  “I don’t think this was what my design teachers had in mind,” she said with a twinkle, “but it sure works.”

  Jenna and Chloe planned to devote their entire Saturday to prowling through rental shops, second-hand stores, and music shops to set up their first complicated fantasy room. Once it was established, they’d subtly suggest it to men who wanted power fantasies.

  They started at MG Props and Costumes. They quickly found an Old-West-style, rough-hewn wooden desk with several chairs, a fringed, leather vest, a Stetson, and a pair of very realistic guns with gun belt. In another place they located a sweet, old-fashioned, checked dress with tiny pearl buttons up the front in Jenna’s size. She would wear it with a pair of patent-leather pumps and white, high socks. The music CD proved most difficult but they finally found one that would suffice in a small, esoteric music store on Eighth Avenue.

  On Wednesday, Jenna stood in front of the mirror fastening her hair at the nape of her neck with an easily removable clip. Then she added the poke bonnet she’d found in a consignment shop the previous afternoon. She’d been so caught up in fulfilling Howard’s fantasy that she actually found herself enjoying the quest for the perfect items.

  Lightly made-up and perfumed as she imagined a lady of the Old West might be, she climbed to the third floor and entered “the Western room.” If you didn’t look too closely, it came off pretty well, if she did say so herself. Chloe had created several wanted posters on the computer and hung them on the walls next to a gun rack they’d found at a prop rental place in Soho. Jenna had even cut up a pair of old white sheets and created curtains to cover the window, then hung a large mirror they’d found in the attic beside it. Chloe added several ashtrays, an old, crystal inkwell, and a few small nicknacks. Jenna had pawed through boxes in the storeroom and found an old-fashioned pendulum clock with roman numerals denoting the hours. It didn’t keep time but she didn’t think that would matter to Howard. As they’d looked around earlier, each had been impressed by the other’s ingenuity.

  “There’s no bed,” Chloe had said.

  “There wouldn’t be a bed in a sheriff’s office,” Jenna answered.

  “Where will you do it?”

  “On the desk or the floor if he wants. Otherwise, we can go into the motel room, which is sufficiently plain that it probably can become whatever is in his mind.”

  She sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair now, waiting for Howard. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. Chloe should have already given him his hat, vest and guns, and explained that he was the sheriff who’d just returned from shooting it out with the man who’d killed Hillary’s father. The door opened and Jenna stood. Howard walked in looking uncomfortable, like the middle-aged businessman he was, only now dressed in Western garb. Illusion was everything, she thought. She needed to create this one quickly. She affected a slight Western accent. “Oh, Sheriff, how can I thank you for what you did?”

  Howard looked around and Jenna watched his eyes widen and his mouth fall open in a silent Wow. “It’s nothing, little lady,” he said, making a nervou
sly poor attempt at a John Wayne drawl.

  “You were so brave to face him like that, at high noon on the street in front of the saloon.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “I know, but you’re so brave.” She untied her bonnet and put it on the desk. “So brave. He’s such a fast draw that I was sure you’d be killed, but you were faster.”

  “It wasn’t anything.” Actually, it came out as twerent nothin, and she noted that he sounded a bit more confident in his role.

  Slowly, Jenna unbuttoned the top button of her dress. “Oh, but it was.” She crossed the room and placed a kiss on the sheriff’s cheek. “I can’t thank you enough.” She stepped back and unbuttoned several more tiny buttons.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, his hands shaking.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Jenna said, her hand finding the swollen ridge beneath the zipper of his jeans. “Let me show you how grateful I am.” She unbuttoned the remaining buttons and let the upper half of the dress fall to her waist. Beneath she wore a plain white cotton bra which she removed and dropped. Then she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth, undulating her body against his so her nipples rubbed against the rough fabric of his shirt.

  His hands found her naked back and pulled her still closer. With her eyes closed and the sound of the dance-hall music, she could almost believe her own scenario. She took his hands and placed them on her breasts, cupping her flesh so she filled his palms. His eyes closed and he kneaded her, rocking his hips against hers. For long moments the only sound in the room was the music and the hoarse sound of Howard’s heavy breathing.

  Becoming accustomed to her own arousal, Jenna kissed his cupped hands, then dropped to her knees and released his already hardened cock from his pants. “Oh yes, you’re so powerful,” she said. It was obviously what he wanted to hear and she watched his cock stiffen and twitch.

  She cradled him in her hands, fondling his testicles and stroking his shaft. “Mmm,” she purred, caressing him with both her hands and her voice.

  “Oh, Lord,” he said, pushing her away. “Not yet.”

  “Of course not,” she said, stepping back and smoothly removing her dress. As he watched, she pulled down her petticoat until she stood in only her white cotton pantaloons, socks and shoes. “I want to thank you,” she said, “my way.”

  She guided his hands to the drawstring of her drawers and he quickly opened the bow knots and she dropped them on the floor with the rest of her clothing. Now, clad in only knee-high, sheer, white socks and shoes, she stood proudly while he looked her over. “Now you,” she crooned, and she quickly removed all of his clothing. Then she perched on the edge of the desk and showed his fingers where to touch until she was wet and ready. “Yes, like that. It’s so good,” she moaned. “I want you, and not just to show you how grateful I am.”

  “I want you too,” he groaned.

  She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a small foil packet, unrolled a condom over his cock and pressed his buttocks until his erection slid easily into her. It was fast, but she sensed that he was more than ready.

  She’d done it. She was actually having intercourse for money and she felt great—no regrets, just exhilaration. It was a fabulous feeling to be able to give such obvious pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked her ankles together. Then she pumped him in and out until he came with a soft expelling of breath.

  He stood for several moments, then stepped back. She handed him a small towel from the drawer and he wiped himself clean, then dressed quickly. “That was perfect,” he said, his back to her. “It was so real and I came so quickly. You make the most wonderful magic.”

  “I hope so,” she said, still seated on the edge of the desk.

  “I know so. Don’t change this room. It will play a big part in my fantasies from now on and I’ll be back often.”

  She smiled; relieved and excited, she spoke in her real voice. “I’m glad, Howard.”

  He placed his fingers over her lips. “Don’t destroy it, little lady. I’m glad I could help with the desperado.”

  “I’m glad you could too—sheriff,” she said, western drawl back in place.

  Grinning, he left.

  She’d done it. As she sat on the chair beside the desk in the sheriff’s office, pulling on her underwear, she accepted that she’d enjoyed the whole thing. She thought about the look on Howard’s face and couldn’t suppress a smile. He’d been delighted and she’d done it. Three times she’d made men happy, given them tremendous sexual satisfaction. And gotten paid for it. Life was wonderful!

  Jenna spoke to Marcy several times a week, swapping stories of work and friends, but she didn’t tell her sister about the business. Every time she thought she’d worked up the courage to broach the subject, she chickened out at the last minute.

  Jenna had talked to Toby on the phone several times in the past month. They’d been to a few movies but, much to her regret, they hadn’t been able to find much time to be together. She hadn’t told him about the business, either. Rather, she’d made one excuse after another for not being able to see him. Finally, one cold, rainy, Monday evening toward the end of October, she met Toby in a steak restaurant in Midtown.

  Over medium-rare sirloins and an excellent cabernet, they caught up on each other’s activities in the weeks they’d been apart. “I’ve been disappointed at how seldom we’ve been able to get together,” Toby said as they finished large slabs of “death by chocolate” cake.

  “Me, too. I’ve just been so busy.”

  “What in the world keeps you so occupied in the evenings? I’ve imagined that you have a bevy of boyfriends.”

  Jenna considered. She’d debated telling him about Club Fantasy, even inviting him to play with her in the Western or motel room, but decided against it. Now she wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t by nature a secretive person and here she was keeping a large part of her life from two of the three people she considered herself closest to: Marcy and Toby. The business had become such an important part of her life that not being able to share it, to have to watch every word, was becoming more and more difficult. She would never violate the confidences of her clients, but there were funny stories she’d like to share with someone besides Chloe and Erika.

  She wanted to be able to tell stories about some of the strange folks they had dealt with. Like the man who had filled her pussy with oysters, then eaten them one by one. Or the man who’d played with her toes for over an hour. Or the man who’d covered her pussy with lipstick, then kissed her “luscious red lips” over and over.

  She wouldn’t have dreamed of telling some guy on a first date, of course, but she and Toby were more than just casual. She had high hopes of the relationship becoming something more. “It’s not quite like that,” she said, watching his eyes across the table.

  “Not quite?” Toby said, his eyebrows rising to meet the hair that fell across his forehead. “What does that mean?”

  How was she going to say it? “I’ve sort of gotten into a business that takes up a lot of my evenings.”

  “That’s great. I hope it’s helping your finances.” She’d once mentioned her money worries to Toby.

  “Oh, it certainly has.”

  Toby leaned forward on his elbows and said, “So tell me about it.”

  Still stalling for time, she opened a packet of sugar and dumped the contents in her coffee, then added cream. “Chloe and I are doing some entertaining?”

  “You mean like parties?”

  “Not quite. We’re entertaining men.” She stirred her coffee.

  “Entertaining how?”

  She could see the wheels turning in Toby’s head. “The obvious way, I guess.”

  Toby leaned further forward and hissed, “You can’t mean that the way I’m thinking.”

  “I guess I do.”

  “You’ve become a prostitute?”

  “I don’t think of it that way,” she said, watching his
body tighten and his elbows draw closer to his sides. “We’re providing a much-needed service.” It sounded suddenly hollow.

  “A service. Right.” He was now talking through gritted teeth. “You told me Chloe was a free spirit so I guess she suckered you into something. You should really pick your friends better.”

  Jenna was annoyed at his characterization of her best friend. “Chloe didn’t sucker me into anything,” she said, her face tightening. “We’re doing this together and I’m enjoying it.”

  “Enjoying it?” he said, his voice now bitter. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Toby,” she said, reaching across the table and placing her hands over his clenched fists. “It’s not as bad as you think. These are nice men who need—”

  “A whore,” he spat. “And you’re it.”

  “I didn’t have to tell you but I wanted to share with you what’s become a large part of my life.”

  He pulled his hands away. With a rueful smile, he said, “I thought we had something going for us.”

  “We did—do.”

  She watched as he stood, his back rigid, and dropped several bills on the table. “No, we don’t.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant.

  Jenna watched his back disappear through the front door. Could she blame him? If she were being honest, she didn’t. Not really. What if the situations had been reversed? How would she have felt if he’d told her he entertained women for money? Now she might understand, but three months ago? Before any of this had started? She probably would have walked out the same way Toby had.

  Well, she thought, as she gathered up her purse and sweater, that certainly means I’m not going to tell Marcy. If that was how Toby reacted, she wouldn’t risk telling her sister. She might hate subterfuge, but she’d hate this kind of reaction from her sister so very much more.