Broke(n)

Julia and I were in dire financial shape, meaning me. My business had failed in the '08 crash and we had slowly poured through everything: savings, retirement, the equity in our house. My business went belly up. We were facing imminent foreclosure. I was unemployed and nearly broke.

The only thing left to talk about was how to come up with $15,000 to save our home and keep what was left of our lives from crashing into ruin. Our formerly torrid sex life had dried up one hole at a time. Julia had lost respect for me; her lost libido was a predictable consequence.

She had been putting herself thru graduate school doing sex work when we first met. That had been put aside and then forgotten. Now she was actually floating the idea of going back to selling her body as a solution to our crisis. Her libido might return but I would not be the beneficiary.

So Julia had a former client named David back in the day. He was filthy rich.

We actually ran into David a couple of times after we married. I remember him openly staring at her body and dropping double entendres like little bombs. I would bring the conversation to a close and steer her away from him. Now Julia was suggesting I call David and arrange a meeting to ask for financial help.

"Bad idea," I replied. "We are desperate," she countered. "Do you have a better fucking idea? I'd like to hear it. If not you need to make a phone call."

The next day I met David at the cafe he suggested. I laid out the entire situation. He stared at me silently for what seemed like a long time. Of course he was interested. But he needed to be sure that Julia felt the same way.

After thinking it over he made an offer. Julia and I would be invited to dinner at his home that weekend for an "audition." In a sarcastic tone, to told me to bring along "a bottle of the best wine you can afford right now." Then, after a brief social chat, he would hand me some cash and send me out to find a better bottle. This would give the two of them time "to get reacquainted." I was not to return until summoned by text.

What was the point of blowing up, or even protesting? I knew when I was defeated. I summoned what last shred of bargaining power I could muster and demanded $500 an hour for her time.

"You're pimping your own wife to me? You've got a real problem dude ... and I like that. You've got a deal. And I've got a fucking whore for thirty long hours."

As I got up to leave, David called me back to the table. "I have three more things to tell you."

First, he said, given the large sum of money involved, Julia and I needed to know that it was going to require "much, much more than simple fucking" to settle this debt. She needed to be prepared to submit promptly and eagerly to whatever he demanded, without reservation, when and where he required it.

Second, he might decide to involve a few of his colleagues on a cost-sharing basis. They would enjoy whatever privileges he delegated to them.

Finally, once he texted me to come back to the house I was to silently open the new wine, pour them each a glass and await further instructions. From that point forward, until our obligation to him was fully satisfied, I would be bound by exactly the same terms as her.

I've had a lot of time since then to think and agonize about what came next.

The initial time at his house was bad enough (she remembered his address!). David was brutally honest and openly contemptuous of me. He graphically described what lay ahead. He had each of us sign a "contract" he'd prepared.

Of course he did.

Finally, he dropped two $100 bills in front of me and ordered me to go get "something drinkable" at the wine shop. Julia actually smirked at me as I stood up to leave. The reality of that instant shocked me more deeply than her seeking him out in the first place.

Of course I was angry at the outrageous sexual arrangement he proposed in exchange for helping us avoid foreclosure. But I was crushed when she accepted his terms "in full," not even thinking to discuss it with me first. It was very clever of David to have insisted I consent to the specifics of the arrangement in advance of even hearing them.

I had to repress an instant surge of rage on realizing the full dimensions of what he was demanding. I nearly refused. I was ready to tell him to fuck off. But what was the point? The only sure result of my being prideful would be the loss of our home, putting my family out on the street. And like dominoes falling, the consequences would surely end my marriage.

By then, we were only a month away from foreclosure and eviction. We had played out the string; there was no avoiding it now except with a cashiers check payable to Wells Fargo. I had failed in my primary responsibility as a provider. Of course there were reasons why, but that's all they were.

My wife had taken it upon herself to resolve this crisis by involving David. And I was literally caught between a rock and his hard cock.

As I walked toward his front door to go wine shopping, leaving the two of them in animated conversation, David delivered his coup de grace. "I've changed my mind about something. You're not going to see what happens between your wife and I tonight. I know you crave that but you haven't earned it yet. Julia and I just discussed it. Tonight is about me reclaiming her. That's how we both want it. And you've got no part in this beyond turning her over to me, which you've already done.

"So go shopping, drop off the wine at the front door, ring the bell and then go back to your place. The best I can offer you tonight is jacking off while you imagine what you're missing."

[to be continued]