belongs to my single years. But my next customer’s due in twenty minutes and the sheets need changing! So much for outwitting the notorious arrow of time.
LATER
Just before Milt arrived, Charmaine called with surprising news.
“I’m changing my flight,” she said. “I need five more days. But I’m seeing someone the morning after I get back,” she reminded me. “I’m booked solid that week.”
“Of course. I’ll stay out of your way. But don’t get too much sun!” I warned her.
“Oh, I’m not—it just looks like a vacation.” She giggled. “I’m as careful about the sun as you are. It’s really a doctor’s visit. Didn’t I tell you?”
Charmaine’s having…surgery?
“But you’re only twenty-two!” I exclaimed. “Aren’t you kind of young for that?”
“It’s never too early,” she told me. “This is like using birth control so you won’t have to have an abortion—or end up looking like one! Anyway, I’ve been using Botox on my forehead for two years. And I’ve already had my nose done. I’m not exactly a virgin.”
“But you have to know when to stop. If you keep modifying…You’ve done Botox? I had no idea!”
“Because it’s very natural. And this will be too.”
“ ‘This’? Do you mind if I ask what you’re having done? There’s nothing wrong with you!”
“You’ll see. Nothing dramatic. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. It’s my face and my future. And the biggest mistake is waiting too long to get the work done. I’m not going to let that happen to me!”
So. Charmaine thinks cosmetic surgery is wasted on the elderly.
I decided not to argue with her, but, while I was giving my four o’clock a long slow blow job, I found myself thinking about my roommate—wrinkle-proofing her brow at twenty-two! I didn’t start worrying about such things until twenty-six.
My lips were sliding toward the base of Milt’s erection but my mind was elsewhere: Is Charmaine tempting fate by starting too early with her face? What if something goes wrong in the operating room? For me, surgery’s a last resort rather than a lifestyle. So it’s her money, her body, and her future. I should mind my own business, but other people’s body parts are my business. And therein lies the problem. I’m so accustomed to making decisions about other people’s bodies that I’m ready to tell Charmaine what not to do with hers. Meanwhile, I’m the one who has gained six pounds—and when you’re 5'1" it shows. Shouldn’t I focus on that instead? As I removed my mouth from Milt’s cock, I was turning over a new leaf.
I reached for a glass of water on my bedside table to cleanse the taste of latex from my palate. There is nothing more icky than condom-breath—a hazard of the profession because you get so used to having rubber in your mouth that you might not notice.
My favorite customer was lying on his back, eyes blissfully shut, stroking my thigh. As I poured some Astroglide onto my palm, he became more alert.
“Before you do that,” he suggested, “why don’t you bring that luscious pussy over here and let me return the favor?”
“You lazy beast. All right. Don’t move.”
I turned around and sat over his face with my buttocks in the air. My hands now had access to his cock, which was threatening to grow soft. But he was getting hard again, thanks to the nearness of my pussy. I decided to let him lick me until he was properly erect. I never come with Milton but I allow him to do more with my body than, perhaps, I should because he’s the client I like best. When I wriggled away, my ass was still facing him and he sighed happily.
“What a gorgeous view!”
I mounted his cock with that in mind, bending forward as much as possible to enhance his view. His climax was louder than usual and I made a mental note not to fuck him in this position for the next two sessions. Despite his cuddly personality, Milt gets jaded rather easily. It might soon be time to suggest a threeway with Allison. Or Jasmine. I never call a client to promote myself but it’s okay to call a guy if you’re making a sales pitch involving another girl.
While dressing, he gave me an affectionate pat.
“You’ve lost weight, kiddo.”
“You’re every woman’s dream,” I laughed.
He slid an envelope under the tissue box on my bedside table.
“Don’t exaggerate. Now…where did I put my briefcase?”
Five minutes later my cell phone was chiming at me. Liane, trying to locate Charmaine. Or someone like her. Or, in the absence of someone like her, someone who’s available. After five decades in this business, first a call girl but mostly a madam, she knows that you can’t always get what they want.
“I need somebody fresh and wholesome. A Charmaine type. For Bernie. Remember Bernie? I told him about Charmaine but she hasn’t called me back!”
Bernie wants to meet a college girl (or someone who looks like one) who is supposedly getting paid for the first time. After “corrupting” the alleged newbie, he likes to cultivate her. As a result, I’ve seen him at Liane’s apartment five or six times.
Liane provides as many professional innocents as she can for the harem in Bernie’s mind.
“Charmaine would be perfect,” I agreed, “if she weren’t…still in Florida.”
Though somewhat tempted to share the truth with Liane, I held back. A trustworthy timeshare is hard to find and I don’t want to alienate Charmaine by gossiping about her new implants—or whatever the mystery process of the week happens to be.
“I wonder if Bernie would like to see a naughty little married girl,” Liane said. “I could tell him that you graduated and met—”
“I don’t want Bernie to know I’m married! Nobody’s supposed to know!”
“Well, not if you feel so strongly about it, dear. But it might pique his interest. A restless wife can be titillating. And it makes you respectable. You know how important that is. And it gives me an entree. I can’t just say, ‘How about Nancy instead of the New Girl?’ I’ve got to have a nice story to tell! A way to make you sound new.”
“Maybe another time,” I said. “I have to hit the cheese counter at Agata Valentina before they close. I’m making something special tonight.”
“Of course, dear. What are you preparing for dinner?”
“Baked pecorino cheese with toasted pine nuts and truffle honey. Followed by a whole trout. Steamed with bay leaves. And an arugula salad. With a very light pinot noir.”
“I think it’s wonderful that you’re taking this marriage so seriously! I’ve always said that women like us make the best wives.”
But I still prefer to keep my marital status under deep cover. Even Milt isn’t sure I’ve actually tied the knot—he thinks I’m still engaged. If the customers find out I’m actually married, it might spook them. They might fear a spying, curious husband or an enraged, jealous one. Worse yet, they might think he knows what I’m up to, that he lets me hook. Not the sort of image I want to be promoting at all.
What if they think I married a guy who can’t support me or mistreats me, that I turn tricks in order to make ends meet? Maybe they’ll think I have to support him? I don’t want my customers to think I’m that kind of hooker—that I married purely for love. Rich girls can sometimes marry for love, but girls like me, we’re supposed to marry smart. Not get taken advantage of. You can be in love, sure. But use your head.