It's not that I've been ignoring Simone since we had sex. In fact, we've spoken on the phone several times, but given our strange work schedules, meeting up has proven difficult. Both of us need to work out, run errands, keep up with the bookings from our agent, and a multitude of other mundane tasks.
Simone, it seems, has busier schedule than I do. Besides escorting, she also offers sex therapy services to couples. She's not a proper doctor, true, but that doesn't mean that with the right kind of advertising she can't help those with shitty sex lives rekindle the bedroom flames.
Again, she requested my presence. Why exactly she did this I'm not sure. However, I arrived at her mid-rise, Mediterranean-style building just blocks away from the beach. I couldn't help but notice just how beautiful it was -- and clearly more expensive than my high-rise across the Causeway.
"Thanks for coming," she said, after opening the door from the inside. "Come on; our clients are waiting in the living room."
"I bought condoms and lube, but if you have any other ideas--"
"Julian!" she snapped. "This session is talk only. No sex, got it?"
"What do you mean, 'talk only'? You mean we're actually counseling them? Like... counseling isn't a euphemism for sex?"
"That's exactly what I mean, so behave yourself!"
Walking into the living room, I quickly saw that Simone was serious. Seated on the sofa were a couple in their late-30s, early-40s, both of them looking rather embarrassed and nervous. I doubt I did anything to quell their fears; the husband gave me a brief glance before looking back down at the floor, while the wife's eyes lingered a bit longer before gazing out the window overlooking the courtyard.
"Right, thanks for waiting," Simone said. "This is my friend Julian. He'll be helping me get to the root of the problems you're facing."
I winced at Simone's candor. Shouldn't these things be addressed a tad more delicately? Apparently not. With the couple still on the sofa, Simone and I took a seat on each of the chairs oppposite the coffee table, and began the session in earnest.
Here's the lowdown: The husband is angry, hurt and ashamed that his wife has been faking her orgasms for the past year. Seems the only way she can climax is either with her own hand or vibrator, leaving her husband feeling rather useless. In an act of retaliation, as the wife puts it, he's taken to pornography, and isn't even making an effort to hide it.
And yes, they have two children.
"Have you ever tried telling your husband what you want?" Simone said to the wife. "Perhaps masturbating in front of him?"
"Yes," the wife said, "but he gets so offended at the idea we never went through with it."
"I don't need anyone telling me what to do," the husband hissed. "Least of all a woman."
"Don't be so sure about that one," I said. Simone shot me a look over my icy tone, but I continued anyway. "Up to one-third of women fake their orgasms regularly. We as men are doing a pretty shitty job at keeping them satisfied. Anything that can help end this embarrassing cycle is better than perpetuating it."
The husband had no reply. Simone, trying to be charming, continued to ask the wife about what exactly her husband was doing wrong. The husband, for his part, sunk into the sofa and began petting Simone's cat. The wife was candid, honest, refreshingly so.
"I don't have an orgasm from just thrusting," she said. "And it's all too fast, too soon. I like a buildup, you know? And..."
"Yes?" Simone said.
"I like being on top," the wife said. She took a deep breath, as if she'd just made some sort of earth-shattering revelation. "God, I never said that out loud before."
"Now, would you be willing to let her try that?" I asked the husband. "Going slower at first, then letting her finish on top?"
The husband grumbled something that sounded like a "Yes." Simone was pleased, the wife relieved, and I was slightly bored. Relationship therapy isn't something I take much interest in. Now, had the husband and wife asked for a foursome, well, that's right up my alley.
It didn't end there, though. Not surprisingly, the husband asked for more blow jobs and less nagging when he wanted to go out with his friends after work. Seems leaving the kids with his wife and the nanny was just fine by his standards.
"Oral sex is reciprocal," I said. "Gotta give a little to get a little."
"Thanks, kid," the husband said. "How old are you, anyway? Twenty-three, twenty-four? How many women have you been with?"
I turned to Simone and asked if I should answer that honestly. She hit me with a pillow, causing the wife to chuckle a bit. The husband, however, remained confused. It's then I realized what was going on: The wife knew what Simone and I did for a living, but the husband did not. Beautiful.
The session wrapped up after an hour. After the husband and wife left, I took Simone's cat into my lap and petted her until she was purring like a motorboat. I resisted the urge to make the obvious pussy joke and allowed Simone to explain herself.
"Yeah, the wife knows," she said. "We get our hair done at the same salon."
"Very nice. I love all the side projects you have going on. Lap dance lessons, couples therapy. Good stuff."
"A girl has to diversify. You have your freelance jobs, too."
"Yeah, that's because male escorts don't earn as much as female ones."
"True -- but you can work for much longer."
So what happened afterward? I had asked the agent for a Thursday night off, and Simone had clients in the afternoon. So, like two "normal" people, we went out to dinner, browsed the shops on Lincoln Road, and returned back to her apartment and lounged by the chairs near the pool.
It was a beautiful evening. Unfortunately, my life is about to get a lot more complicated. Details to come...
Can You Break Your Penis?
3 days ago