Diary of an Escort-girl Ch. 01

Dear Diary,

I'm delighted to finally be able to write in your pages. I'm Aline, 24 years old, escort-girl for a few months now. And your mission, if you accept it, is to keep secret the story of my good and bad adventures with my clients. The juicy anecdotes, my feelings and my states of mind.

I hope you'll keep all my secrets well hidden. Okay, promise? All right, then!

You're probably wondering how a shy girl like me ended up choosing this business. I'm not particularly prettier than the average girl, yet here I am, getting paid $1,000 a night for cuddles and more.

I became an escort in the most unconventional way: by getting a girl fired from my job. Six months ago, if you'd told me I'd become a "highly selective prostitute", I'd have laughed in your face. It's amazing how little can change our lives and our view of the world.

I had worked for over three years in a large company in the human resources department. In this job, we sometimes have to deal with emotionally difficult situations, such as when we have to announce the dismissal of an employee.

The CEO challenged me to tell three people they'd been made redundant. A rather brutal way of testing my resistance. While I'd managed to break the bad news to the two young people for whom I had no worries about their chances of finding a new job, I found myself at a loss when it came to Emma. She's older than me, full of life and always positive. She had worked hard to get this job. As a young mother about to move in with her partner, the announcement I had to make to her meant that her plans for home and marriage were in doubt. It was like taking away the light that made her shine in the halls.

It was beyond my strength! I was terrified of crying in front of her, of her begging me to save her. I finally did some administrative acrobatics to reschedule the appointment.

I couldn't sleep that night and arrived at the office in the morning looking like hell. I went to knock on the door of my colleague Julien, ten years my junior, with whom I got on well. I walked into the office and he immediately knew something was wrong. I sat down in front of him and explained that I couldn't tell Emma about the terrible decision. He listened sympathetically and leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. He looked at me and announced in a very natural tone:

- You've got to do it, Aline. But if it's really beyond you because you're close to Emma, I'll do it for you this time.

He paused for a moment, then added:

- But you'll owe me a favor.

His proposal - however uncertain - lifted the immense weight from my shoulders and heart. In my haste, I replied without letting my words mature:

- Oh thank you Julien! You've saved my life, ask me anything you want.

Without realizing it, this simple sentence was to trigger a total change in my life. After that answer, a slightly awkward silence fell and I bit my tongue. I'd probably been a bit clumsy with the "ask me anything you want" thing. I quickly regained the initiative.

- I mean... A favor within reason, right?

My step backwards didn't faze him. With great ease, he stepped up to his desk, his gaze assured, his voice without malice, his tone lowered.

- Well, I'd love to spend a night with you.

I decomposed in my seat. An acid mixture of embarrassment and shame rose like nausea. A gigantic tornado of thoughts tore through my mind, so that time stood still. Julien was neither a friend nor a potential lover. He was just a colleague with whom I sometimes enjoyed lunch in the refectory. He'd already looked at me with a hint of envy in his eyes, but I didn't feel wanted in that way, to the point of imagining such a daring request!

Part of me wanted to retort immediately that I wasn't "that kind of girl" and that his request was inappropriate. That we were in a professional setting, that it wasn't appropriate.

Another side of me began to contextualize the issues. I realized what an enormous service he was offering me. Of all the emotional pain and guilt he could relieve me of in the months to come.

An exceptional situation calls for exceptional means?

So I began to observe him, to gauge him, to imagine him with me in a more personal setting. More intimate. Julien isn't really my type. He's a little too pudgy in his polo shirts, which could do with a size up. However, he's pleasant, neat and has a certain introverted charm. He has short brown hair, with a very standard cut, but also octagonal glasses that give him a touch of eccentricity. His main failing is that he can't stop working and has almost no social life.

The secretariat's concierges report that they often spot him swiping frantically right on Tinder whenever he can. And since he never announced to anyone that he'd found a girlfriend in several years, he inherited a reputation as a fuck boy.

Can I blame him? At the time, I was also on Tinder and, like him, I was lonely, with no tenderness to receive and no love to give. I only met a few suitors and didn't sleep with any of them. I couldn't find a man who made me feel anything more than physical attraction. And every time I returned from my fruitless dates, I drowned my regrets in double caramel Magnums and hugged my pillow like a lover.

Remembering all this, a switch occurred in my head. What if I said yes? Without really thinking? Get out of my comfort zone, let go of my certainties? I accepted that I wanted to offer him what he wanted. Why would it be a bad way of thanking him, after all?

- All right, but on two conditions, I answered as assertively as I could, to show him that I intended to have the last word.

- Which two conditions?

- Condition number one: no one must know. Ever.

- I don't want to be the center of gossip, he said simply, raising his shoulders.

- Condition number two: one night. No more than that. Then we'll call it even.

That last part of the sentence was hard to get out of my throat, as if I were playing poker and had just bluffed without a single good card in my hand. But the frame was set.

He smiled, satisfied.

- It's a deal, he said, holding out his hand as if concluding a business agreement.

I shook it, hiding some discomfort. I thanked him as I left, without making too much of it, aware that we'd both put a lot on the table.

A few hours later, I saw Emma pass in the corridor, her face in tears, her cardboard box in her arms. She gave me a look I can't even begin to describe. The only thing I remember is that it felt like a knife in the gut.

Julien held up his end of the bargain. Just as I was finishing packing up to leave the office, I received a text message from him.

- I took care of it. It was difficult. But you can't blame yourself, neither of us decided to fire her. We're just the messengers. Otherwise.... What day and time do we go out?