Aristippus - Lauren's Story

I didn't leave his room until almost midnight, so he got an extra hour for free. But I had ten crisp hundred dollar bills in my purse, and it felt very good. This life of prostitution that my mother had set me on was finally starting to really pay off.

The following year, I was promoted to bartender, and my ability to flirt with customers indeed went up. Over the next four years, I accumulated a little black book of about two dozen names. All of them were either customers from the bar or referrals from my bar patrons. I set a minimum of a thousand dollars, and I generally had no complaints. And that usually still allowed me three or four dates per month to supplement what I earned at the bar.

THE MAN OF MY DREAMS

All of that ended on a warm May evening at Dodger Stadium. Several of my roommates were huge Dodger fans. And over the last several years, I had become one too. Tickets were expensive, so we didn't go often. But when we did go, we always sat in the left-field bleachers. And I had this huge crush on Andre Ethier. He was the Dodgers' star outfielder, and I always hoped to get a seat as close to where he was playing as possible. When the Dodgers were in the field, I loved sitting behind Andre so that I could marvel at his form, and more specifically, his marvelous ass as he waited for the next hit.

On this particular beautiful spring afternoon, it was the bottom of the seventh, and I had a beer in my hand. Suddenly I realized Andre was at bat, and I moved to the edge of my seat. The first pitch was a strike, the second was a ball, and I slipped back into my seat. Then, there was that magic crack of the bat. That fantastic sound that every baseball player and every fan waits the entire game to hear. I knew it was a home run and just felt it was coming our way.

Looking up, I realized the ball was coming straight toward me. I jumped to my feet, spilling my beer, and reached for the sky, hoping to catch it. It would have been the greatest event of my life if I did. As the ball drifted down on a perfect azimuth to my outstretched hands, I leaned back further and further. And just as the ball should have landed in my hands, I fell backward into the guy behind me. I was shocked that I had fallen backward and had to be caught by a stranger sitting in the row behind us, but that wasn't the real tragedy. What really devastated me was that my hands were empty. I had not caught the ball.

Looking up as I leaned backward over my stadium seat, were the eyes of the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life. I was absolutely speechless. He was holding me around my chest with one arm and holding my ball, high in the air, with his other. We both just stared at each other in a moment of genuine bewilderment. Gently he pushed me back up to a standing position, and as I slowly turned around to face him, he lowered his hand and held the ball out to me. Smiling, he said, "I think this is yours."

I didn't know what to do. I just stood there like a mannequin, with my mouth wide open and my eyes fixated on his. Jennie, my roommate, elbowed me and said quietly, "Take it, you moron."

I meekly accepted the ball from his hand, and as soon as I did, the entire stadium started cheering and applauding. I thought they were cheering Andre's home run, but as I turned and held the ball high over my head, I realized there was more to it. I was even further stunned when I realized that the entire event was being broadcast on the stadium's Jumbotron. They were cheering for me and my gallant knight, who had actually caught the ball. As well as the clumsy goof of a girl that couldn't hold on to her own beer, much less a high fly heading straight for her. Little did I know that it was also being broadcast on live TV, and we were suddenly the two most widely viewed star-struck lovers in recorded sports history.

"Thank him," Jennie urged me.

"Thank you," I finally managed to say.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so."

His look of concern that I might have been injured turned to one of relief, and he said, "You spilled your beer. Can I get you another?"

Jennie, who was still standing beside me, jabbed me with her elbow again, "Go, go..."

I bent over to pick up my empty cup, and as I stood back up, the stadium again erupted into cheers and taunts. The camera was still on us, and I was utterly embarrassed that thousands of Dodger fans had watched me make a total ass of myself. I blushed about a dozen shades of crimson. But my savior and new best friend, from over the row of seats, grabbed my hand and walked me to the closest aisle. As we trudged up the steps to the nearest exit, he said, "Hi, my name is Sean."

I was still breathless over the entire encounter, but after taking a deep breath, I did manage to say, "I'm Lauren."

"It's very nice to meet you, Lauren. You and your friends seem to be big Dodger fans."

As we had made it to the mezzanine and headed for the nearest concession stand, I said, "Oh, they're not friends. They're my roommates."

"Oh," he said, almost laughing. "You're not friends with your roommates?"

"Oh no," I stuttered. "I mean, yes, we're friends. But they're just my roommates."

Now he really was laughing. But what I was trying to say was that I wasn't on a date - I had no romantic connection to any of them. And I think he understood that, but he was having a good time listening to me making a fool of myself. Standing in line at the beer booth, he stopped giggling and asked, "Lauren, since you're not with friends, may I have your number?"

Like a child's toy, I just rattled it off.

He hadn't even taken his phone from his pocket yet, but somehow he had managed to remember my gibberish response, and once he had his phone open, he successfully typed it in. Within seconds, my phone was ringing. "That's me - Sean. Be sure to save the number so that you'll know it's me when I call you tonight."

I quickly saved his number in my contacts and added the name - Sean-dodger stadium.

Once we had fresh beers in hand, we walked back to our seats. I was surprised to see that Jennie had moved up to Sean's seat and motioned for him to take her old one. I was still in shock, but I graciously accepted her offer. With one hand on my new beer, and one hand tightly holding Sean's, we watched the rest of the game together. And as the Dodgers won, I think we both considered it a victory for all concerned.

True to his word, he called that night, and just like teenagers, as I laid in bed, dreaming of his beautiful face, we chatted for over an hour. He told me that he was a driver for UPS. And that it was a union job, one that he loved and hoped to remain with UPS for years to come. I also discovered that he had been at the game with a friend. And that Jennie and his friend had already hit it off. I was so distracted by my meeting with Sean; I hadn't even noticed what had happened to Jennie.

We went out together the next night, and again almost every night that I wasn't working at the bar. Six weeks later, by the end of June, I had moved out of my apartment and in with Sean. He lived in West Los Angeles, which was closer to his job. And I asked my boss if I could transfer to another restaurant he owned in Santa Monica. A few weeks later, the transfer came through, and I couldn't have been happier. It was even a nicer place than his Burbank location, with even higher-class patrons, more tourists, and even better tips.

AND BABY MAKES THREE

For the next three years, Sean and I lived the life of perpetual honeymooners. I didn't know I could ever have been so much in love. And as lovers eventually do, we started discussing children. We weren't officially married, but I stopped my birth control in late December, and by March - we were pregnant.

We were married in a small outdoor ceremony that May at the Point Fermin Lighthouse, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, on the fourth anniversary of our meeting. It was a small gathering of family and friends, and of course, my mom and Eric were in attendance. I had never told Sean about my trip to Mexico with Eric and how my own mother had pimped me out to settle an incident caused by her own infidelity. I felt terrible about not telling him, but I didn't want him to judge my mom and Eric, for I had already done enough of that for both of us.

I had also never told Sean about my own past of dating bar customers for money. I had not dated anyone other than Sean since the day we met. And though I honestly felt guilty for not being honest with him, I wasn't sure how he would take it - to be honest, I was scared.

Nine days before Christmas, our sweet little Emily joined our family. We could not have been happier. However, during my pregnancy, I kept reducing my hours at the bar, and by late November, I had gone on maternity leave. I loved staying home with Emily; she was the love of my life, other than Sean, and I couldn't stand to leave her with anyone else.

Eventually, I returned to work, but I only worked nights once Sean was home to watch her. And as I was now working reduced hours, our finances became tighter and tighter. By the time Emily was a year old, our tiny one-bedroom apartment had become unbearable. Emily needed her own room, and we were sick and tired of making monthly rent payments, with nothing to show for it but rent receipts.

As our apartment became more and more claustrophobic, we often discussed moving. But the thought of paying rent to another landlord became abhorrent. We wanted to buy a house: any house, but something we could fix up and make our own. However, California house prices went up every day, and we would never be able to catch this title wave of equity build-up if we didn't get into the market soon. But without a down payment, it was impossible.

We agonized daily over how to make more money - to build up a nest egg so that we could put a down payment on a house of our own. Sitting at the kitchen table one night, I finely built up my courage to tell him. "Sean," I said as I reached across the table to take his hands in mine. "I have a suggestion. But I want you to know that this idea stops here and now if you have any reservations - whatsoever."

Setting his beer down, he knew I was serious. "What?" he said as he tightened his grip on my hands.

I picked up his beer and took a big swig. "Sean, there is something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you before we moved in together."

"What?" he said again, with a look of sincerity in his eyes.

I took another sip of his beer. "Before I met you, I dated customers I met at the bar." His face went to a look of so-what. "I mean, I dated them for money. They paid me to date them."

Now his face went back to one of sincerity and possible disbelief. But he didn't say anything.

"Say something, Sean." I pleaded. "I lied to you, and I'm so sorry. I was scared. I was scared that I would lose you if I told you."

There was a long pause, and I think he could see tears starting to well up in my eyes. "Lauren, why do you think you lied to me?"

"Because I didn't tell you. I wasn't honest with you about what I was doing before I met you."

Reaching for his beer and taking a quick sip, he said, "Lauren, neither one of us were virgins when we met, and our personal sexual history is that - personal."

"But I didn't tell you," I repeated.

"Lauren," Sean patiently explained. "It's not lying if it's something I had no reason or expectation of having knowledge of."

Wiping a tear from my cheek, I said, "Okay, thank you. Now, I'm just throwing this out there. I could make a lot of money - if it's totally okay with you. But I don't want you to make any decision tonight. I just want you to think about it." Sean had a very unusual look on his face before I added. "If we can agree to some sort of business plan, I promise every cent will go toward our new house."

Sean squeezed my hands several times. "Okay, I'll think about it."

EPILOGUE

We didn't have sex that night. But we slept cuddled up together, with Sean's arm tightly wrapped around me. The next morning Sean was up early as usual, as he had to leave by five every morning. I stayed in bed until about seven, when I heard Emily start to stir.

That night, after we had put Emily to bed, Sean poured us both a glass of wine, and sitting back down at the kitchen table, said, "Lauren, I've been thinking about your proposal all day." Looking directly into his eyes, I fully expected him to say he opposed it. But to my surprise, he said, "I'm okay with it on one condition."

Honestly, that's not what I expected him to say. And I'm sure my facial response showed that, but I smiled and nodded my interest.

"Every cent must go straight to our savings account. No exceptions. No deducting expenses, no buying of gifts, no paying bills, or even for emergencies, unless we both agree. Okay?"

"Oh absolutely," I said as I grabbed his hands. "Sean, this is only to help our family. To get us out of this crappy apartment and into a house of our own - I promise." He smiled and nodded his understanding. "But - aren't you afraid you'll be jealous?"

Sean tightened his grip on my hands. "Lauren, jealousy is a function of insecurity. I have no insecurity about our relationship. I know that you are doing this to help us. I know, without a doubt, that every cent will go towards our down payment. I know that you have no romantic interest in any of these guys. I know that you will come home every night. And most importantly, I know that you love me with all your heart, just as I love you with all of mine." He paused and took another sip of wine. "Besides," he added, "It's only cheating when it's done in secret. And there will never be any secret meetings or rendezvous. Between us, it will be full disclosure, so there will never be any reason to be jealous."

I jumped from my chair and ran around the table to hug him. And I must have been crying, for when I pulled my face back from his, he wiped a tear from my cheek, and as I sat down in his lap, we passionately kissed for several minutes. Finally, breaking our kiss, he said, "Let's go to bed."

We had Honeymoon Sex that night. And the following morning, when I got up to change Emily's diaper, I was actually sore. Sean had already left for work, but I wanted to tell him so badly that I texted him. He immediately sent back a string of kisses and heart emojis.

For the next two days, I carefully considered my next move. I was working at the bar three nights a week, and I didn't want to disrupt my schedule. And I didn't want to schedule a date on Friday or Saturday nights, as Sean didn't have to work the next day, and I'd much rather spend the time with him. So. I had to work around both of those constraints.

Reviewing my old client listings (they were still in my phone contact list), I finally settled on a guy named Gil. I'm sure it was short for Gilbert, but I only knew him as Gil. And the reasons I selected him were many. He was a little older than my average client, he had always been very respectful and always a gentleman. And another major factor in his favor, without me ever requesting it, was that he always wore a condom.

I also liked him because he was very predictable. Now all men have their own little preferences, and after a while, you get used to them. But Gil was as predictable as a Grandfather Clock. He always selected the same hotel - a boutique hotel in Malibu. It had relatively high beds - the top of the mattress was about three feet above the floor, which came to the top of my legs and worked perfectly for his preferred method of sex.

We would set a date night, usually a day or two in advance. Then, on the designated evening, he would text me the room number about two hours before our scheduled rendezvous. I'd knock at the door, he'd invite me in, he'd hand me a glass of wine, and we'd chat for maybe five minutes. Then we would both undress (very unromantic), and as soon as we were both totally naked, I would drop to my knees and suck him until he was fully hard. This usually did not take very long.

Once he was ready for action, he'd step back, then roll on his own condom. This always amazed me, as most men wanted me to do it for them, and generally, I had to provide the rubber. He always did it on his own and at no expense to me. Then, as soon as he was properly protected, he'd turn me to face the bed, push me forward so that I was bent at the waist, face down on the mattress. He would then moisten me with his spit before entering me from behind

He would fuck me slowly and gently doggy style, with all four of our feet on the floor, for about five minutes, while fondling my butt cheeks and massaging the small of my back. This would usually bring him about halfway to his climax. He would then withdraw, flip me over, with my back now on the bed, spread my legs like a Big-V, and enter me missionary style, with his feet still on the floor and mine pointing straight up.

He would generally hold my calves or my ankles and position me in a Big-V for two or three minutes, while slowly and gently fucking me. Then he'd slap my legs together and pound me hard and fast for another minute or two, before spreading my legs back apart into the Big-V. He would repeat this routine four or five times, and when he was ready to complete the act, he would bring my legs together, fold them at my knees and bury himself as deeply as possible as he filled the condom with his release.

Once he was finished, he would pull out, walk to the bathroom, and throw the condom in the wastebasket, wet two washcloths with warm water from the sink, and then standing in front of me, he'd clean himself with one of them, after handing me the other. Since he always wore a condom, I generally didn't have much to clean up. But I always appreciated the gesture.

We would then get dressed. And this is where the weirdest part of Gil's entire routine came into play. He would always insist at this point that we go downstairs to the bar and have a drink. No other client I ever had did that. Most would request we have dinner or drinks in advance, but he was the only one that always insisted that we have a drink afterward. I didn't mind - but it was simply weird.

He would always pay me at this point, before we would ride down in the elevator together. Then sitting at a table in the bar, he would start in on his rant and rave of the day. It was usually about one of his kids, or some employee of his, or some business deal that was unraveling. He never mentioned a word about any wife, in case he still had one, but his late teens or young adult children were a constant source of his displeasure.

I texted him early in the week to see if he was still around. He texted me back in less than ten minutes. 'Lauren, it is so good to hear from you. How are you?'

'Hi Gil,' I texted back. 'I'm fine. I have a new baby.'

'Well, congratulations,' he responded.

'I was wondering if you would like to catch up where we left off?'

'Oh my God, absolutely. I have missed you so much.'

'Great,' I texted back. 'When and where?'

It was no surprise that he wanted to meet at his favorite hotel in Malibu, and we agreed on Thursday night at eight o'clock. I was extremely nervous, but I told Sean the moment he got home, and when I tried to tell him about Gil and why I selected him, he stopped me. "Lauren, I don't want to know anything about your clients," he said curtly. "I don't tell you about the packages I deliver, and I don't want to know about your customers. All I want to know is that you are safe and that you are getting well paid."

At first, I was stunned by him cutting me off so abruptly. "I'm sorry, Sean. I've never done this before."