Kates Sorority

"If I came out in the open," Kate continued over Jim's silence, "Kates would never have got off the ground. Can you see the headline? 'Kate Middelton, granddaughter of the notorious rake, Josef P., founder of....' And so on. The press is merciless. They wouldn't let go. We'd constantly be in the headlights of the media. The way I chose may not have been the best way, but it worked. 'Kates' – the aura, not only the building -- provides protection for girls most at risk. Guys leave them alone. They have the opportunity to study in peace. And they receive also a sex education second to none."

"Self-discovery, I suppose," Jim said, trying to keep the sarcasm muted.

"And self-confidence. Surely you noticed. Once they've been in the House for a while, they become very sure of themselves. They know what they like, and they know the kind of guy they like to have sex with – and those they don't! They meet nice guys, ones who do not 'compete' with the apes. Good preparation for when they leave and join the big, bad world. Think about yourself. Would you ever get through the huddle of 'machos' surrounding every Kates girl, if they were 'fair game'?"

Jim did think about it. He was honest enough to admit it.

"Probably not."

"You wanted to see me," she said, after a long pause.

Jim hesitated, a slice of beef on his fork. He had – wanted to see her. How he had ached for her.

"Yes! I sent an e-mail. You know the result."

"I'm sorry about that. Really, I am. I've said that. I can't keep on repeating it. If I'd been asked...."

She sounded sincere.

"You want to see me again? Is that why you're here?" Jim asked.

"Why else? Believe me this is not easy. I know what happened. I feel awful about it, but I can't turn back the clock."

Pause.

"I've never done this before," she continued. "It's you. I know our night together was -- well, unorthodox. I don't deny I started out skeptical. You can surely understand why, given my history."

Pause.

"Look, I know you suffered a loss because of – well you know. Some of our girls are in your class. You generated a lot of sympathy. I have means. I can help you find your way. I'd like to try. It's not charity, or a wish to make amends. I really like you very much. How much, I honestly don't know. But the spark is there, and it hasn't gone away. I think we can make it, together, as a pair -- if you want to. And that's more than I've said to any man, ever."

Pause.

Jim thought furiously. He believed what Kate had said. Their night together had indeed been unorthodox. But something had passed between them. Otherwise he would have been able to rid his mind of her. Sue, Mandy, Angela – just sex. Pleasurable enough, but episodes. With Kate it had been different.

Kate remained silent, watching. She'd said all she could say. And she'd meant every word. She'd been no more able to get him out of her mind than he had been able to get her out of his.

Did he know this?

Did she know what was going through his mind?

Jim's head was all over the place. Did he still want Kate? Yes, he did. But there was something else he wanted more -- to put the Kates episode behind him, once and for all. For all its obvious attractions, a liason with Kate would not achieve this. Memory of that night in the woods, his terror, the feeling of helplessness as the boot went in and he was powerless to protect himself, overcame all other emotions. Anger welled suddenly to the surface.

"You know what?" he said, looking straight into the sunglasses. "Fuck off!"

He had not meant it to come out like that. She'd been open with him, honest. She deserved better. Too late.

At least it had the desired effect! Kate was behind him, and Kates, too. The memory would remain, the good as well as the not so good. He had no regrets. It was part of his past. A growing-up experience.

But he felt no elation, no sense of relief, or release.

Chasing the last chunk of leathery meat, stone cold, around the plate, Jim's mind reflected ruefully on what might have been.

Life can be cruel.

Epilogue

Jim's resume had been out now for over a month, and not a single bite. He refined it and widened the circle. His finances were running dangerously low, so low in fact that he began scanning the 'want ads' in the local rag. Horror stories of physics graduates driving cabs or waiting table were legion across the nation. For Jim, an absolute last resort.

His eye caught an entry in the 'Miscellaneous' section. He read it twice.

'Nail Couture' seeks male model for unguiculation demo. If you need a dictionary, don't call....'

There followed a number.

It was pre-ordained!

"So you are experienced."

"Yes."

"Explain. We've had a hundred calls from out of work porno actors who claim that, but don't have a clue."

"It is the 'art of using the nails to enhance the act of love'."

"And you are into this?"

"Big time."

"You're going to have to prove that."

"No problem."

So, Wednesday and Saturday, Jim lay on a Japanese table, blindfolded and buck naked, while an lady named 'Mahta', who claimed to be from India, but actually was born and raised in Wichita, Kansas, demonstrated the ancient art. She knew what she was doing! Her nails worked his shaft mercilessly and she kept up a running commentary in a fake Indian accent, explaining exactly which technique she was employing and the effect it was having on Jim. Right every time. Pleasure and pain. Pleasure through pain. Her repertoire included several elements Mandy had not used.

Watching, a small, select group of women. Pat, who ran 'Nail Couture', believed they could be persuaded at monstrous cost to have their nails 'trained'. That was her motivation. The lady from Wichita specialized in 'oriental lotions', imported exclusively from the hot plains, the recipe for which had been passed down by word of mouth through the eons. They 'enhanced the experience', and Jim made sure via his reactions that his audience was utterly convinced of this. Some of the lotions soothed, others stung. 'Mahta' switched from one to the other with the expertise of a veteran.

Inside himself, he felt he should not be enjoying this. He wasn't, he lied to himself. And the money $100 a Session, two sessions a week. And for how long? But he needed the money. $200 a week can be stretched a long way.

On the second Wednesday, Pat approached him after the session. She seemed uncomfortable.

"I've had several requests," she said, not looking at Jim. "You know, private sessions, one on one. Some of the ladies would like this to be part of the training. How would you feel about that?"

"How do you feel about it?" Jim bought time to think.

"Well, I told them it would have to be separate. I mean... I can't... Well, you know. Look, I know this'll sound strange, but do you have a business card? Then I can just leave a stack on the counter."

Jim almost laughed. But, hey, why not? When you're broke, there's not a great deal of choice. Better than driving a cab, that was for sure.

What to put on the card? 'James Riley', his cell phone number. That was the easy bit. 'Unguiculacologist?' Nope! He settled for 'Unguiculalogical Consultant'.

"Cheez," said the guy at Staples, looking up at Jim. "What's one of those? Hell, I can't even pronounce it."

"Just type it in, wise guy. Make sure you spell it right."

Jim checked that he had.

"Great," Pat said, as she perused the card. "I don't know whether you'd thought about .. er .. rates."

"Well, maybe...."

"Can I suggest something commensurate with our nail business? How about $250 per hour."

Seeing the look on Jim's face, she hurried on,

"I know it's a lot more than we're paying you, but these women aren't poor. Lawyers charge more," she continued.

"Ok. Two fifty."

"I'm not promising anything, mind you," Pat continued. She still was not comfortable with her role as 'go-between'.

It began as a trickle, but rapidly became a flood. Young, mature, married, single but looking.... They had only two things in common. First, they wanted to be reassured they were 'doing it right'. Jim assured them they were, making an occasional suggestion.

The second thing they had in common was more interesting. When time ran out, they'd say, coyly,

"You don't mind do you?" as they straddled him and guided his aching member into their dripping vaginas.

More often than not, one hour thus became two.

Jim didn't charge for the second hour!

He moved to a roomier place, and kept part of it pristine. Now he could accommodate women who 'just didn't feel comfortable' in their own places, or Mahta's back room, which she was all too willing to throw in as an extra, on purchase, of course, of a requisite quantity of her potions and lotions. Obviously, the customer would wish to try these out.

Jim was not only making big bucks, he was having a ball! He even stopped lying to himself and admitted it. At 21, his libido was at its peak. Four encounters per day, five days a week, occasionally a week-end 'date'.

But his best day was unquestionably Monday. How Joy had found him, he knew not. Presumably through Pat. He'd agreed immediately to the conditions, and appeared in her fine house in Pacific Palisades regularly at 11am.

Joy would greet him as a friend and they'd small-talk for a while. Then he was on his back on Joy's equivalent of a 'Japanese table', blindfolded, before the other women trooped in. They sat on overstuffed chairs, watching, as first Joy, then the next in line, would spend their half hour honing up their technique. Nine in all, four and a half hours of continuous unguiculation. And these women were good! They didn't bother with lotions, not even the ones with chili seeds, whose fluid turned an already inflamed dick into a phallic furnace. Their nail technique alone was quite enough to make this happen anyway.

On his first visit, Jim had wondered for a while at the moans, groans, sighs and little cries that graced his ears as one or other of the women unguiculated him. Then he realized. They were not sitting watching, they were unguiculating each other! Of course. Nails on pussy lips, clit hoods. That would work fine. Guys didn't have nails – at least not long and strong enough to make a serious impression. So the girls did it to each other.

Once he'd realized that the girls were circulating doing each other while one of their number did him, the eroticism of the experience was enhanced enormously. That was one reason this was Jim's favorite time of the week.

That first time, he'd wondered when the Session came to an end, the entrance door was closed, and silence descended on the room.

"Joy?" he called out, softly.

No reply.

"Joy?" more loudly.

"In here," his ears picked up.

Ripping the mask away, he spied the open door at the side. Inside, a plushly furnished bedroom. On the king-size, centerfold, lay Joy, naked, her head propped up on pillows, her thighs wide. Her fingers spreading her pussy lips, inviting.

"Start slow," she said. "Long and deep."

Her body was soft, but responsive.

"Lie on me," she said, drawing him to her. "Drive in, hard as you can, then slow out."

Jim obeyed. He knew how to obey. Kates had taught that he didn't mind. Her pleasure was his. His thrusts became ever more vigorous, expelling all breath from Joy's lungs. Then slowly, ever more slowly out until his cock tip parted her pussy lips. Pause. Then down, crushing her groin deep into the mattress.

"Ugh!"

Time stood still.

"Faster now," she panted. Her hand clawed his back, her thighs tightened, her shins joined around his back. Heels drummed on his buttocks.

"Yes, yes, yes YES!"

Her vaginal contractions began, and with them the onset of Jim's own orgasm. Six hours of stimulation relieved themselves in spurts that shot into her welcoming cavity, one after the other, on and on. His head was up, hers back, behind the pillow. Still the spurts of semen ascended his penis and spilled out into her. Still, vaginal walls contracted around him expanded. Her cunt wrang every last drop out of juice out of him.

They sat, side by side, on pillows. Jim was half-way down a Heineken, Joy sipping on a Campari soda.

"That your fist time?"

"First time, what?" Jim was puzzled.

"First time you fucked a 'mature lady'?"

"Oh, that. Are you mature?"

She gave him a look.

"Really."

"Would 45 sound mature to you?" Joy said. "What are you, 21, 22?"

"Well you looked great. When I say you lying on the bed, like that...."

"You only get to see the rest of me after the fuck, not before!" she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

"That was a pretty good fuck," she said. "It's soooo nice when the guy's dick is bone-hard and you know it's going to stay that way, right to the end."

Jim was puzzled. Wasn't it like that for all guys?

"My date tonight, for example. Nice man. Well-mannered. But he's 62. Takes forever to get him up, then you have to do it again ten minutes later."

"It's all I get, at my age," she continued, casually. "Over 60's."

Jim was doubly puzzled.

"But you're a good-looking woman, a great-looking woman. Surely, someone your own age, or even younger?"

"That's what you think," she said.

"Guy gets to be 40, he wants a 20 year old. Fifty, he'll go for low thirties. Me, I get what's left."

The puzzled look on Jim's face must have spread because Joy suddenly looked at him.

"Ah! You haven't twigged?'

"Twigged what?"

"We don't do it for free," Joy said, eventually.

"You mean..? All of you? P-p-...?"

"Escorts, please," Joy broke in.

"Sorry!"

"And don't look at me like that. It's very discreet. And what d'you think you're doing? What was your fee for the morning? $1500, I do believe."

Jim wanted to say 'But that's different'. But he stopped himself, because he realized suddenly that it wasn't. Well, not all that different.

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't need the money," he said, eventually, grasping at straws.

Joy laughed.

"You and me both, darling. What d'you think it costs to maintain this place?"

"Yes," Jim said. "I suppose so."

"Anyway," Joy said, "tell me you don't enjoy your work and I'll know I'm looking at a bare faced liar."

Her smile defused the force of the remark.

"You've got a great angle, there, though, the nail thing. I'll hand that to you."

"Oh?"

"I've known a few male escorts and they all say the same thing. The only women they get to see are built like the back of a Hummer. Hell, if a good-looking woman wants to get laid, all she has to do is walk in a bar."

"Or pay a visit to 'Nail Couture'," Joy added, slyly.

Jim was silent. He had not reflected on this way of looking at it.

"But what about you – and the rest, this morning?" Jim said, eventually, possibly to break an awkward silence. "You weren't all out to get laid."

"Well that is a bit different. We're all professionals, but this nail thing is relatively new. If a guy goes for it, good repeat business. The girls were keen to practice on a pro. When they think they've learned enough, I'll switch 'em around. Don't worry. There's plenty. And judging from this morning, they enjoyed the Session enormously."

"So see, it was kosher."

"And this? Part of the deal, sweetie. And I'll bet it's not the first time!"

"No!" Jim admitted. "It's rather common..... But not like with you," he added, gallantly. "I very rarely come."

"Well get used to it, darling. Every Monday, even if you have to work on it until supper-time. If you don't come, I don't, and I really like to come. You were good. But I suppose you know that."

"Well so were you. One of the best fucks I ever had!"

Jim was thinking of Sue. She was still 'the best ever'.

"One of!? Oh, we'll have to work on that. Oh Yes! I'm looking forward to next Monday already."

She grinned wickedly.

"And I'm sure you've figured the blindfold."

"I assumed, the ladies wished to remain incognito... but... now that you mention it?"

"Some gorgeous bodies there, Jim. 19, one of them is. A bit short upstairs", Joy pointed a forefinger at her temple, "but a body to die for. One look at her, or any of them really, and they'd be here shaggin you and I'd be friggin' myself off next door."

Jim fought for words. He so wanted to be gallant. But also not to lie.

"Looks aren't everything," he said. "I bet none of them can fuck like you. That was one of the best fucks I ever had, and it was, truly, the best orgasm. The very best."

It was a lie. Sue was still the best, but then he'd never see her again. Whereas.....!

"Hold that thought, Jim. Keep it foremost in your mind."

"I'm still going to insist on the blindfold, though," she added. "If you could see what was going on around you, you'd be coming half way through. And that wouldn't do, not at all. I want all of you, for me. Just so we're clear on this."

"OhYes," Jim said. "And it's fine with me."

"'til next Monday, then," Joy said, escorting him out of the door.

When Jim returned to his apartment he had mail. 'Integrated Systems Inc.'. What was this? He ripped open the envelope and read:

'Dear Mr. Riley, Thank you for your resume. As it happens, we have an opening in our Networking Department. The job description fits your resume quite well. If you are interested in being further considered for the position, please call the number at the top of the page. Sincerely yours, Jon Baker, Personnel Officer.'

There was a ps.

'So there is no misunderstanding, the starting salary would be $45,000.'

Jim stared at the letter. A job offer! What he'd dreamed about. A regular job. He read the letter again. His hand strayed towards the phone. Then it retreated. He did a quick calculation. He thought some more, and some more. Hell, he'd make more than that at Joy's. Not to mention.....!

Jim was young, still. He realized that his current 'job' would not last forever. It was not a career. Someway down the line, he'd maybe even become bored with it, or unable to do it. But 21, going on 22, he was not ready to give it up. For what? Shackled to the bench, a hard driving manager breathing down his neck?

Jim was having a ball. And he saw no reason why this should not continue. Let the future take care of itself.

He tore the letter into small pieces, threw them into the toilet, flushed, and watched as they swirled around in the bowl.