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“In my bag,” she says.
“What?”
“I brought bottled water in my bag,” she says.
“You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to have to leave the room,” she says, sitting up and then moving off the bed to retrieve the water. “I brought protein bars, too, if you’re interested.” She winks at me.
I laugh.
MONTH 9. PART 2. – Anticipation & Participation
(POV Escort)
I wish I could call her. Hell, I wish I had her damn name. I want to ask her ahead of time, but then, again, it’s probably best that I don’t. It should be done face to face. I know she’s the paying client, but we’ve pretty much always had a reciprocal relationship. When I want something, she’s game. When it’s all about me for a while, she’s up for it and then some. I smirk, just thinking about how much we fit in the bedroom. Then, my smirk changes to a soft smile when I think about how we fit when we’re out of the bedroom, too. We spent hours talking last time and even the time before that, and as much as I want to take advantage of every moment we have together once a month to have sex, I’d go a whole night without touching her if it meant we were having good conversation and I could hear her laugh.
“Thanks for this,” the man says. “We needed a car for our daughter but didn’t want to get something new. She’s sixteen – she’s going to hit a parking meter or something.” He laughed as I handed him the keys.
“No problem. All yours,” I say.
He holds up the paperwork and nods. Then, I watch him drive away in my aunt’s car. Honestly, I’m glad to be rid of the thing – I had to take her to the hospital in it far too many times. My car works fine, but it’s much smaller, and there were days when she needed to lie down in the back seat. There were days she was throwing up in the back seat while I drove her to the hospital. The car’s been cleaned top to bottom, and I took an extra five hundred off when he told me it’s for his daughter, so hopefully, it’ll make a nice starter car for her, and she can have fun in it. Well, not too much fun, I think, recalling the time I spent in a back seat with someone’s hand down my pants.
The house is next. I turn and look at it, still unsure if I’m keeping it or selling it. It’s true that I need the money. The house won’t sell for much, but she only had a few years left on the mortgage, so most of what I get is mine and the government’s once taxes come due. If I get that money, I can pay off all the debt in full and move on with my life. That just means selling this house, the only place that’s ever felt like home.
On the other hand, I can keep working parties until the debt is paid off and keep the house. I can turn it into my place now. It needs a lot of updating, but I could keep going to the events to afford all the repairs and changes I want to make. I could start with new hardwood floors and getting rid of the wallpaper in the dining room. That’ll probably add up. The master bedroom and bathroom would be next. I could finance all of those things by attending some parties. I’d also get to be with her.
I need to go inside now and start getting ready. I’m bringing my bag tonight in case she doesn’t bring hers – I like having options when there are five hours where we can explore. Tonight, I decide to go with a pair of gray slacks I bought recently. They’re not exactly expensive, but they look like it, at least. I have a new gray suit jacket, and I had to replace the white button-down she tore apart last time. I didn’t mind. The pants and jacket have pinstripes that make me look more sophisticated, I think. I run my hand through my hair with only a comb and some water. I don’t like when it has product in it. I want her to be able to feel it soft. I like when she tugs a little on it, and I have considered growing out a little longer to get her more to work with.
When I arrive, I look around and see several women I recognize. It’s crazy – I’ve been doing this for almost a year now, and I’ve only talked to a few other people. I’m usually so wrapped up in her that I don’t have time. We’re in a house this time, so I sit on the sofa next to the escort I know my girl has fucked. It’s strange. I’m both jealous and turned on by this.
“Hey,” she says, looking up at me.
“Hi,” I say back, placing my bag at my feet.
“Coming prepared tonight?” she asks.
“I like to be, yeah,” I say.
“Me too. I put my bag in a room already. You might want to do that, too. I usually just hide it in a closet and hope for the best. If I don’t end up with that room, sometimes, the door is open, so I can run in and grab it. If not, we have fun in other ways, and I grab it before I go.”
“Not bad advice,” I reply.
“So, your girl coming tonight?”
“Yeah, she’ll be here,” I say, liking her being called my girl by someone other than me. “Yours, too?”
“She’s always here,” she says, smiling. “Every month. She’s never missed a month.”
“She’s married, though, right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, her smile falling.
“And he doesn’t know she comes here?”
“If he does, she doesn’t know that he does. He travels for work a lot, so he’s usually out of town when one of these things is going on. And if he’s not, she has a bunch of prepared excuses. Her sister has been ‘sick’ several times; her brother has needed her to babysit his kids the other couple of times; work has needed an emergency weekend trip. He either buys it, or he doesn’t listen enough to notice.”
“Doesn’t sound like a good marriage. What do I know, though?”
