A paperback edition of Harlan Coben's Hold Tight rests on the nightstand beside my bed. I've read the first few pages and it's quite good so far. Still, I couldn't help but notice my laptop resting on the small desk in the living room. What's the point of having a blog if you don't intend to update it?
Work was uneventful tonight. Took a cab to the client's condo in Miami Beach, collected my money and then had sex. She was somewhere in her late 30s or early 40s, though in an age of Botox and chemical peels guessing one's age is increasingly difficult. Miami -- the city I call home, though it's not where I grew up -- is on the forefront of such procedures.
For the record, I normally don't mind breast implants, assuming they were done with care. There are a lot of great tits to be seen in Miami, but whoever operated on this woman's chest should have his license revoked. The scar was visible and they were hard to the touch. Sucking on her nipples felt like I had a jawbreaker in my mouth. Sex-work may be easy but it's not always pleasurable. Still, I'm not looking to leave the industry any time soon.
* * *
Though I mentioned why I got into escorting in an earlier post, I thought I should focus more on the how and when.
I was introduced to the business by a girl I'll call Rebecca. We met in an English literature course at our alma mater. After dating for a brief period of time, we soon settled on friendship. It took me a few months to discover she was an escort. Eventually, I confronted her on how she was paying for that handsome apartment without a full-time job.
At first I was alarmed, worried over her safety. I then became angry over her deceit, before a wave of curiosity poured over me like an August thunderstorm. She was generally hospitable, but voted against committing her story to paper -- or blog. Our friendship continued on as normal after her occupation was revealed, and I never imagined I would be joining her as a professional peer.
One night, a doctor had requested a voyeuristic experience -- as in watching her have sex with another man while he masturbated off to the side. Bizarre, but not unheard of. Rebecca had talked him up to $750 for the night, almost double her normal rate on account of my being there. You see, she didn't feel comfortable being with another male escort. And seeing how she and I had already dated and fucked before... I got a phone call I never expected to get.
The sex was mechanical but not at all unpleasant. Sensations I'd forgotten came back to me -- the taste of her cunt, the way she scratched her fingernails across her back, or even her tendency to slap me right before I came to enhance the effect. The only "bad" experience of the night was when I made eye-contact with the doctor as he jerked off. Rebecca hadn't noticed -- she was sucking my cock at the time -- but I did.
After the night was finished, I never thought I'd participate in sex-work again. Alas, the job market somewhat forced me to do so. Actually, I take that back -- the "alas" bit, at least. I certainly don't consider myself a victim or an unfortunate soul.
Sometimes, the thought of what I'll do after escorting gnaws on my conscience like a termite on a block of wood. The world of advertising and marketing and public relations (I have a degree in one of these areas) will still be around, but could I truly take an entry-level position after being my own boss and earning a six-figure income? Only time will tell...
For tonight, at least, I have another appointment with Mr. Coben. And to think, he'll give me hours of pleasure all for the low price of $9.99 at Barnes & Noble.
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