Love For Rent

by K. C. Cave

  Michael gave her a sour look.

  “Fuck you. See you at the car!” Junie turned and stomped off.

  “It’s the other way,” Michael shouted.

  She reversed course and walked back across the clearing without a glance toward him or Melanie. Picking up her pack, she stomped down the trail.

  Melanie threw her arms around Michael. “When do you think she’ll remember that she’s nude?”

  “Trust me, she couldn’t care less.”

  “I suppose it’ll be lovely trip home in the car.”

  “She’ll get hungry and horny, then apologize. She always does.”

  Melanie set down her suitcase and looked around the living room. Things had changed since she left three days before to visit her parents in Ohio.

  Junie was slumped in a chair, a hand to her brow. Michael sat opposite her on the couch, his head back, staring at the ceiling. Newspapers and magazines littered the coffee table and the floor.

  “Uh, hi?” she asked tentatively.

  No reaction.

  “Something…wrong?”

  “Have a seat.” It was Michael. His head was still back. With a tremendous effort, he righted himself and stood. Picking up a newspaper from the coffee table, he thrust it into Melanie’s hands.

  “’Head librarian in sex scandal’?” she read. She looked up. Michael was back on the couch.

  “Keep reading,” he said, looking at the ceiling.

  “’The chief of one of the city’s largest university libraries was arrested last night on charges of statutory rape, sodomy, oral sodomy, indecent exposure, and moral turpitude,’” Melanie read. “Oh, shit.”

  “’Oh, shit’ isn’t the half of it. Go on.”

  “The 28-year-old woman, whose name is not being disclosed because the victim is a minor, was arrested last night in a city park performing a sex act on a 17-year-old boy, the driver of a delivery van. The woman, viewed on security cameras in the delivery bay of the library less than 20 minutes before her arrest, was observed performing oral sex on the victim.”

  Junie spoke. “How can a 17-year-old get a job driving a two-ton delivery van? Will someone explain that?”

  Melanie, on the couch next to Michael, shot to her feet. “How can a 28-year-old woman give a guy a blow job at work? Answer me that!”

  “Hah!” Michael exclaimed. “And in the nude? And then, when she hears a security guard approaching, jumps in the van—still nude—which her new fuck buddy drives to the park, where Junie proceeds to bonk him!”

  “You fucked him in the park? In the nude? In the back of the van?”

  “You had to be there.”

  “Oh, god, Junie.” Melanie collapsed on the couch.

  “Look at these newspapers,” Michael said, spreading his arms. “It even made page three of the fucking New York Times.” He threw his head back.

  “So what happened?”

  “I had to bail my wife out of jail.”

  To Junie: “What about your job?”

  “What job?” Michael said. Junie lowered her face to her hands and began to sob.

  “Junie is no longer a professional,” Michael said in a flat tone. “She was fired. No severance. No vacation, because we used that up. No health insurance. No doctorate, which was only a year away, because of, you know, moral turpitude. And no reputation. Or, to be exact, no kind of reputation that would allow you to, say, earn a living.”

  “I’m sorry, Melanie.” Junie’s voice was muffled by her hands.

  “You’re sorry? Sorry? You selfish, evil, self-indulgent, evil…” Melanie sputtered.

  She rummaged in the pile and picked up another newspaper. “’Library chief offers expanded services’?” She looked up, bewildered. The grainy picture below the headline showed a woman on her knees between the legs of a man in a dark uniform. She was nude. A black bar hid her buttocks.

  “The university’s student newspaper is having a field day,” Michael said to the ceiling. “They even got the fucking photo.”

  Melanie looked up. “Do you have a lawyer?”

  “Yes,” Michael responded. His phone buzzed and he read a text message. “Hold on. Here’s a faint glimmer of good news. Turns out that the guy is twenty-one—just barely—and had lied to the cops about his age. So it looks like the most serious charge will be dropped. But, it’s a little late. The damage is done.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Sleep in your car? Because in two weeks, all our money will be gone.”

  At six-foot-three, two hundred and thirty pounds, dressed in an Armani suit and custom loafers, Gordon dominated the living room. Sitting in an easy chair next to Junie, he looked around. “You are one of the glummest assemblages of white motherfuckers I’ve ever had the misfortune to be with,” he said.

  “Thanks for that uplifting greeting,” Junie muttered. “You could’ve just texted your condolences.”

  “Woman, I wouldn’t have come over here if all I was going to say is I’m sorry for your pathetic asses.”

  “Okay, then why are you here?” Michael asked, bristling. The men despised each other—one, the formerly caged and cuckolded husband, the other the prodigiously endowed lover (and tenured university professor) who had been Junie’s fuck buddy since she was in high school.

  “Not to give you any advice, asshole,” Gordon spat. “You people ever hear the phrase, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade?”

  Junie rolled her eyes. Melanie, seated next to Michael on the couch, shifted uncomfortably.

  “I guess I gotta spell it out for you,” Gordon said, more to himself than the other three people in the living room. “Junie, what is the most important thing in your life? Outside of sleeping and eating?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s sex. You are the most sexual person I’ve ever met. Even when you’re doing other shit, Dewey Decimal System shit, you’re always thinking about sex. Wanting sex. Planning sex. Doing sex.”

  “Not in the last few days.”

  Gordon made a sour face. “Okay, I really got to spell it out for you. Here’s another question, and I guarantee you it’s not rhetorical. Is there such a thing as bad publicity?”

  Junie started to cry.

  “Goddam it, Junie, stop that shit! Listen to me. You’re sitting on a gold mine.”

  “What do you mean?” Junie asked between sniffles.

  “Well, I mean it figuratively. And literally. You aren’t infamous. You’re famous.”

  Michael leaned forward to Junie. “I’m pretty sure, Princess, boyfriend is suggesting you start turning tricks for a living,” he spat. “And I’m sure he’s willing to take a cut.”

  “Like just about everything in your miserable life, you got it wrong—dead wrong,” Gordon said. To Junie: “I know people. People who are rich—damn it, rich isn’t the right word. Sports stars. Rappers. Businessmen. Yeah, goddamn drug dealers—and I don’t mean street-level shit. People I grew up with, went to school with. You have no idea how much money they have.”

  “So?” Junie asked as she wiped her eyes.

  “Damn it, woman, you’re not thinking clear. Remember Robert from Atlanta? My Morehouse buddy? That weekend we spent at my place?”

  Junie nodded. It had been her first threesome in several years. After two days of nearly nonstop fucking, she had left Gordon’s apartment bruised and happy.

  “His brother plays for the Sea Hawks. He has a thirty million dollar contract.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “Listen, Junie. These men…they have wives, they have girlfriends. You know what? Wives and girlfriends are a pain in the ass. Not in the mood. I’ve got a headache. You forgot my birthday. Pain in the ass. So when they want sex, just sex, just to have a good time…Am I getting through?”

  “They hire a hooker?”

  Gordon slapped his forehead. “They don’t hire a hooker. Okay, there’s a word. ‘Escort
.’ A beautiful woman, fun to be with, intelligent, a perfect date—and very, very skilled at sex. The whole package.”

  “How do you break in?” Michael asked.

  “Sounds like I’m getting through to someone, finally. It’s not easy. You could do some research, find one of those high-priced Manhattan or Hollywood escort services. Remember that governor of New York? He paid, like, thirty-five hundred a night? But that escort had to split her fee with her madam.

  “The best, absolute best way to get into high-end escorting is to freelance,” Gordon continued. He leaned forward, gesturing, intense, his eyes blazing. “It’s also the hardest. You’ve got to be a known entity—someone with a verified skill set. And you’re over that hurdle.”

  “’Chief librarian offers extended services’?” Michael asked.

  “Yes! Goddamn, my phone is going nuts! Junie, all these guys I’ve known for years. I’ve told them about you. You’ve met some of them and slept with at least one. They want to fuck you! In the nicest possible way! They read those articles and get hard!”

  “I should…should…become a prostitute?”

  “Think of it as—the entertainment business. Something that you give your all to, which is your style. And not just you. Girlfriend here, too.”

  Melanie blinked. “Me?”

  “You’re a perfect match, salt and pepper,” Gordon explained. “Junie’s all sexual energy, crazy sex-fiend stuff. She’s a small package that just explodes. Melanie, you’re softer, more innocent. And your curves and those tits…You two make an incredible package. And there’s a big marketing advantage to that, especially with the really high-end customers.”

  “Why?” Michael asked.

  “It doubles the kink, so you can double the fee. Trust me on this: Nothing, absolutely nothing turns a guy on more than watching two hot women fuck. Since you’re already lesbians, so much the better. Only thing, you’ll have to shorten it up, time-wise. Lesbians go on forever.”

  Melanie blushed and mouthed to herself, “Am not a lesbian.”

  “Oh, god! See what I mean! She’s priceless!” Gordon enthused.

  “I am? Oh, Gordon, I wouldn’t know what to do. Junie would, I guess.”

  “Damn it, Melanie, I’ve had you. You’re demure, beautiful, lush…and insecure. Coupled with Junie, you’re a powerhouse combination.” Gordon looked at Michael. “There’s even a role in this for you, asshole.”

  Michael glared back.

  “Freelance escorts need protection. Or at least the veneer. It’s got to be a male. Everything would be done through you—arranging the date, transportation, setting the fee, collecting the cash. I know it’ll frost your feminist ass, Junie, but with the presence of a male, you’re a lot safer.”

  Melanie looked across the room at Junie. “Sex for money? Junie, could you?”

  Junie bit her lip.

  Michael stood up, his hands to his head.

  “I can’t believe the question. Melanie, exactly how did we get together the first time? You gave your body to Junie in exchange for me. And what about that weekend in D.C.? Junie bought you train tickets, she wined you and dined you, she got an expensive hotel suite. And what did you have to do in exchange? Let her fuck you with her fist, right? How much did you pay? Not a cent. And what about your fuck date with Mr. All-my-friends-are-high-rollers-who-pay-for-sex here? Knock off the innocence act.”

  He turned to Junie. “How many movie-and-dinner dates ended with you blowing the guy?”

  “I couldn’t count.”

  Michael sat down.

  “Okay, you two figure it out,” Gordon said to the women. “You’ve got an hour.”

  Junie looked at him. “What?”

  “You think this is abstract? You think I came over here just to plant a seed?”

  “What?”

  “Heard of Rapja? Rapper extraordinaire? He’s in town for a show tomorrow night.”

  Michael: “How much?”

  Gordon looked at Junie. “He’s called me six times. Six fucking times! I couldn’t put him off any longer. Twenty-five thousand was the offer. But we go way back. And he knows all about you. He reads the New York Times. So I did a little negotiating. Twenty-five thousand each.”

  “That’s insane,” Michael said.

  “You don’t get it. You have no idea how much money these men have. They have actual, physical storage problems with all the cash they hide from the IRS. Fifty thousand for two high-quality escorts is not out of the question—not by a long shot.”

  “Your cut?”

  Gordon spun. “Fuck you. I don’t get a cut. I don’t want a cut. These are friends—friends in trouble. And I’m doing a lot more for them then you are, limp dick.”

  Walking to the door, Gordon turned. “One last thing—shave between your legs. They want bald pussies.”

  Junie was stretched across the bedcover, her face between Melanie’s thighs. Her legs were spread, her fat pussy lips protruding between the perfectly round ass cheeks of her creamy bottom. Melanie’s knees were raised, her hands stroking Junie’s hair as her lover tongued and licked her pussy.

  The door opened and a young woman, fully clothed, entered with a tray. She set it on the table next to the bed, smiled and left the room. A man sitting in a wing chair rose, walked to the table and poured a glass of wine. His right hand continued to stroke his cock as he stood, looking down at the bed and the two women deep in the throes of cunnilingus.

  Junie rolled over to the side of the bed and motioned to him. He leaned over, smiling.

  “Mr. Rapja, I wouldn’t want you to waste any of that tasty goo on a jerk-off,” she cooed. “Wouldn’t you rather fire that hot load inside me? After I make my girlfriend come?”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout that. And it’s just ‘Rapja.’ You know, like rapture. And, baby, I do want to fuck your tight pussy!”

  Junie reached up and pulled him down. She kissed him, smearing his face with Melanie’s juices, then pushed him away.

  “What is it about you ladies?” Rapja said as Junie returned to Melanie, planting kisses on her freshly shaved Mound of Venus and her glistening, swollen labia. “I watch plenty of ladies fuck, but you two…”

  Melanie, massaging her ample breasts with her hands and sounding very far away, answered. “It’s not an act.”

  “Really lesbians, huh?”

  “Really anything,” Junie said, now fingering Melanie’s clit. “I think she’s about ready to blow. You gonna come for me, baby? Your clit is so hard!”

  Junie put an arm around her waist and pulled Melanie’s hips off the bed as she masturbated her. Rapja, thrusting his hips as he beat off, his thigh muscles clenching, moved to the foot of the bed for a better view.

  “I wouldn’t stand there,” Junie warned.

  He stepped to the side just as Melanie came, yelping as Junie swirled two fingers on her clit, and shooting a rooster-tail of girl cum out of her pussy that splatted on the carpet.

  “Damn!”

  Two more spurts, weaker, landed on the bed. Her juices covered her inner thighs, so Junie handed Melanie a towel and walked up to Rapja, still stroking his cock.

  “The lesbian show is over, at least for now. Would you like to put this inside me?” Junie pushed his hand away and grabbed his shaft. She hefted it like she was weighing it. He was large, both in length and girth, and rock hard.

  Rapja reached for her. Junie stepped back and laughed.

  “Oh, it’s never that easy. You’ve got to catch me first.” Junie grabbed a towel and darted out of the room.

  “What the fuck?” Rapja said, bewildered, and looked at Melanie, now sitting on the side of the bed.

  “I’d go after her,” she said. “She’s fast.”

  Rapja bolted out of the room and down the hall, his stiff prick swaying. Too late. The elevator door was just closing.

  Melanie, pulling on a robe, ran after him. “Where’s it go?”

  “I
t’s the private elevator to the garage, twenty-five stories down,” he said, exasperated. He leaned against the wall as he jabbed the down button. “I don’t get it. Is that bitch crazy?”

  “Listen, she was arrested for fucking a delivery driver in a park in broad daylight. A garage at night is nothing. Here, you’ll need this.” She handed him a towel.

  The elevator door opened. Rapja punched G and they descended. Melanie dropped to her knees and took the head of his drooping cock in her mouth, both hands on his shaft.

  Just as his cock stiffened, the doors opened. They stepped out into the harsh, fluorescent lighting of the concrete garage. Nobody. It was eerie, two-in-the-morning quiet.

  “Where the…?”

  Melanie shushed him. “Over there!”

  The sound of bare feet slapping on concrete came from around the corner, past a line of parked cars. Rapja took off, his cock bobbing.

  “Come and get me!” Junie’s voice echoed in the cavern of the garage.

  Rapja turned the corner and there she was, sprawled on the hood of a white Rolls, her knees spread. She was leaning against the windshield, fingers of both hands spreading her wet pussy lips apart, the maw of her vagina open to him.

  The vanity tag read “Rapja.”

  He roared, ran up to the car and pulled Junie by the ankles across the hood. Laughing maniacally, Junie slid on her ass, smearing the hood with her juices, and wrapped her legs around Rapja’s waist as she pulled his cock to her swollen pussy.

  Melanie waited by the elevator, clutching the robe to her throat, and listened to the grunts, groans, and squeals of the fornicating couple. The sound of Rapja slamming into Junie hit a crescendo, Rapja roared, and Junie screamed.

  The echoes faded. Silence.

  A couple minutes later, Rapja came around the corner with Junie slung over his shoulder. His dick, long, limp and glistening, drizzled cum, and swayed between his legs.

  Waiting for the elevator, Melanie slid off his shoulders, stood on her toes and pushed her breasts into his stomach. Melanie heard her whisper in his ear. “My little girlfriend here has never taken it in the ass. Wouldn’t you like to be the first? Won’t you take her tight little virgin rosebud?”