Whore Diaries II: Adventures in Independent Escorting

by Burns, Tara

  He says how amazing we are and how this is his first duo and it’s amazing. Then he leaves and we rush to get out of the room before the maids yell at us about checkout time.

  JIM

  I remember liking Jim, but I can’t remember why. In fact, I can’t even remember what he looks like. The details are foggy, but I think he’s either a pilot or works on the oil rigs up on the slope. He was on my list of people to email when I came back to town, though, so I did. He said he was working but he would be back soon and wanted a duo with Jane and me.

  Before he arrives, Jane and I try to fill each other in on Jim.

  “I don’t remember what he looks like.”

  “Me neither.”

  “He might be tall.”

  “Yeah, I think he might be a pilot or something.”

  “Right, he definitely works out of town.”

  I look back at our emails to see if I’ve said anything I should remember, and see that he never asked and I never told him what our duo rate is. Last time, the first time I saw him, he’d wanted to see Jane, but she was busy and he had to go to work on an airplane at midnight, so she gave him to me. He asked what my rate was and I told him I honored Jane’s rates for Jane’s clients. He must have gone to my site, because when he left and I counted the money, it was $130 more than Jane’s rate and $50 more than mine. Maybe he’s going to overpay us. That would be so awesome!

  When I open the door I, really don’t recognize him at all, but I guess that’s normal for me. I pull him in and kiss him. He’s tall and a good kisser, but he tastes kind of yucky. I spit one of my cinnamon Altoids in his mouth. I’m all concerned about getting bacteria from kissing lately, so I have a mouthful of antibacterial Altoids.

  He wraps an arm around me and I press my boobs into him, my face turned up to meet his lips.

  “Come see the pretty new room,” I say and lead him back to Jane's room. Mine is too small for three people.

  “Oh, this is nice,” he says. If I were a client, I wouldn’t think this was nice, but my clients do seem to think it is. Very strange.

  “Oh, heyyy,” he says to Jane when we get into the room. “Long time, no see, stranger.”

  I help him out of his clothes and hang them up like a fancy ho; Jane mouths at me that she thinks she remembers him.

  “Do you have any plans for the holiday weekend?” she asks in her loud kindergarten teacher voice. The thing that annoys me about working with her is that she makes every interaction so superficial. What did you do for the weekend, what kind of sports car do you like, where did you go to high school? I make everything intimate. Actually, yesterday someone told me that I’m inappropriately intimate in conversation and although it was meant as a kind of criticism I took it as a compliment.

  I bounce onto the bed next to Jane and pat the spot between us with a big grin. Sometimes I like to pretend that I’m a crow girl from a Charles de Lint book. He crawls up and says, “This is better than Christmas,” and I tell him it’s about to get even better.

  Jane starts kissing him and I grab the lube and start my magic hand job. See, we have a routine now, Jane and I. He has a big ball sack and a little cock and he moans when I scrape my nails lightly over his balls. He gets hard and I remember he’s a grower, not a shower, though it’s still small. He turns his head and kisses me for a while and I spit more cinnamon into his mouth and then I dodge it and kiss down his neck and Jane shoves one of her big tits in his mouth.

  When he comes up for air, he asks if he can go down on me. Fuck yeah!

  “Now I remember what I loved about you!” I say as he goes down on me. I’m having one of those sexually frustrating weeks where everything turns me on but nothing gets me off. Even when I have him doing exactly the right thing with his mouth and his fingers and Jane’s licking my nipples and everything’s perfect, I can’t seem to get over that last peak into orgasm. Then Jane tells me to get it, girl and for some reason I feel all oppositional, like how dare she tell me to have a good time? Just when I start to get into it again he leans, then rolls over my leg to start licking Jane. It’s a veritable buffet of vagina.

  I kiss down his back while he’s licking her and then I have the bright idea of crawling under him and sucking his dick. It’s dark under there, and the smell is not the best. Actually I think the cinnamon might be making everything else smell bad, especially latex condoms that are hard to get on small dicks in the dark, but I use my mouth and suck it on. He moans and squeaks and then I remember this is why I liked him, because he’s so responsive. At first I just swish my tongue around and around. Cinnamon and latex definitely don’t go together. I practice taking him all the way in, which is easy because he’s just a perfect mouthful. When I start sucking he really starts squeaking and twitching and Jane says, “wow, did you just come in her mouth?” and I say “uh-uh” around his cock.

  This is definitely what I loved, his willingness to give in so completely to ecstasy. I practice playing his body with my tongue for a long time in the darkness before someone suggests a change of position.

  “I want your cock so bad,” I squeal. “Sorry Jane, I know I’m such a cock hog lately.”

  She rolls her eyes behind his back. Actually she’s having some hormonal thing and doesn’t feel like dick inside her.

  I grab for a pillow to shove under my ass but Jane’s already got it. It’s so comfortable turning tricks with a familiar friend. He pushes into me, shrieking and moaning, and when I rake my fingernails down his back he goes wild with the bucking and squealing. He twitches his way right out of my pussy but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind that he’s fucking the air and my ass cheeks. I pull him against me, a tight container for pleasure, and he gasps and twitches and shrieks until he comes and then lays with his head on my chest while I pet his hair.

  He’s kind of heavy though and I roll him off me, lay my head on his sweaty chest, and play with his dick. Jane snuggles up on the other side and runs her nails over his chest.

  “Is it too much? Does it tickle?” She’s concerned every time I make him erupt in uncontrollable squeaky giggles. Of course it’s not too much though, it’s what he came for. When the hour of pleasure is complete I let go and move to the side a little. Jane goes to start the shower for him and he asks about my mom. Suddenly I remember his life and I change the topic to his daughter's stunning achievements.

  When he gets in the shower Jane whispers that she thinks he left six hundred dollars. I pounce on the cash like a kitten and follow her to the other toilet so she can watch me count and divide it evenly. Six hundred, three for me and three for her.

  BECOMING INNOCENT

  The one client I had scheduled no showed and the day would be in the negative if it weren't for an email from Ted. “How long are you going to be in town? My plane gets in at midnight.”

  “Call me,” I wrote back. “I'm not leaving 'til tomorrow morning.”

  I still remember the first time I saw Ted's cock. It was huge. I am so scared of huge cocks. It was kind of on the edge of being a reasonable size, though, and he'd brought wine and blueberries and I thought he had the most beautiful skin and softest lips ever. He has a very important and profitable job, and he's from the Caribbean. When I first squatted over him and lowered myself onto his cock, I waited for the ouch of cock against cervix...but instead, it was bliss. A zillion happy nerve endings. Suddenly I understood what people meant by “dickmatized.”

  It's dark when I go to his beautiful apartment in a locked-up building. You have to know a code. It took me so many visits to figure out how to work the security system. At home it doesn't get dark anymore, but here in the big city the sun still sets over the ocean. When I knock on his door it opens by magic and there are candles glowing in the mirror just inside. I still have that outcall dirty shirt and ugly shoes problem, so I ditch my shirt and shoes right away.

  “Red wine?” he offers.

  “Of course,” I answer. We take the wine and sit on the couch and play footsie. This is o
ur ritual. He strokes me all over while I sip wine and admire the giant piece of ancient bone on his coffee table. There is a pile of books, too. The Everyday Millionaire. How to be happy. That kind of thing.

  His hand brushes my lower back as his tongue flicks my ear and I vibrate.

  “Fuck, you drive me crazy. Shall we go to bed?”

  “After you,” he says.

  I stop to get my condoms and lube out of my jacket pocket, and Ted tosses five hundred dollars down to my shoes in front of me. It had been on the table but I'd forgotten it. I shove it in my pocket and he follows me into his bedroom. He has the nicest bed. Really. It's comfortable in a way that only happens in rich city peoples' homes, I think. Like levitating on the softest clouds with nicely smelling fresh satin sheets.

  We wrap our limbs around each other and kiss. I'm so happy to be humping his leg, teasing the head of his cock, and flicking my tongue across his lips. He rolls on top of me and in the dark of the single candle we lose the condoms for a second, and then I roll it on with my mouth.

  “God, you're incredible,” he moans.

  “Goddess,” I remind, always, as I lie back and spread my legs.

  He pushes in sooo slowly. Every second is an eternity of bliss that ends all too quickly. I want to just repeat that part, over and over. He knows; he pulls out just as slow and pushes back in, another eternity.

  Our noses touch and our eyes are dark wells staring into each other. He speeds up and I tighten my muscles around him.

  “Fuck,” he says, “you're the fountain of youth.”

  “Really? How old are you?” I didn't imagine he was much older than me.

  “Let's just say forties.”

  Oh. We roll over and I wiggle around on top of him until I'm in such a frenzy of bliss I can barely move, and then we roll over again. We cum together, our tongues entwined, and roll to the side.

  His cheek is on mine and his leg is on my leg is on his leg is on mine, and he starts to snore. I'm always so impressed that people can fall asleep with a strange person in their apartment. Especially in their bed. It's an innocence I can't imagine.

  He wakes when his neighbor shuts the door. We untangle and tangle again, and he falls back asleep, so beautiful. I play a game where I keep my eyes closed for 10 minutes. If it's been ten minutes when I open my eyes I can move an inch, but if I open my eyes before 10 minutes, I have to wait 20 minutes to move. Somewhere in the middle of my game, I fall asleep. I must be getting innocent too.

  When I wake up, it's been three hours. He calls out for me to be careful on the roads as I'm getting dressed and says he misses me already. Sweet.

  AFTERWORD

  In winter, it's always dusk. Dusk or dark. The sun breaks the horizon and then moves along it, painfully slow, and drops back down.

  The light is blue and it's hard to say whether it comes from the moon or emanates up from the snow. My boots crunch against the blue light. My big pack makes a sound that is more sensation, hovering on my back. I'm going home after a long weekend of whoring in the big city and finally paying off my land.

  Now that my land is paid off, I can live here for the rest of my life for free. I want to erect an altar to whoring where I'll make offerings every day in thanks for my security. I want a big sign that says, “this land paid for with blow jobs,” in case I ever forget.

  The blue deepens and I close my eyes. If you listen with your breath, the forest will move your feet.

  “Woo, woo, woo,” the owl calls and I stop. I haven't seen the owls since summer.

  Whoo- whoo- whoo- an answer comes from the hill. They are moving together and apart, flirting. This is the season for owl love.

  I put my hand up before stepping forward and find a branch in front of my face. See? The forest will move your feet.

  The crunch of my boots is still steady, the only sound in the world now that the owls have found each other.

  I want to feel the cool air on my skin, but that's stupid. My hot sweat would turn to ice in seconds. Soon, though.

  My feet smell home on the trail before the scent of smoke reaches my nose, and I unzip my parka, my flannel, and my polar fleece. I pull my smart wool shirt up high on my chest, and I dance the rest of the way in the cold dark air.