Too Much of a Good Thing Ch. 10

Whichever way you turn the kaleidoscope, I had come a long way since that fateful day on Angel’s terrace, which I presume, though never could truly confirm, had been immortalized on whatever the current equivalent of “celuloid” is.

One rule however I preserved. I was available for hire, and multiple women was fine. But I drew the line at other men. Many of the women who hired me also hired teams of men and girls to engage in a genuine orgy. This I would not do. I was quite happy to service and be serviced by as many women as my cock could accommodate. But I refused every date which would have required me to participate in group sex involving other men. I don’t know why this was, but it was a true reflection of my feelings. I really have no idea how common such feelings are. My refusal to participate with other men may have cost me an assignment or two, but when I reflect on it, this also probably increased my exclusivity and allure.

At the time, this period of my life seemed elysial, but I view it now with mixed emotions. Because, as we know, all good things come to an end. And the end of this episode was as devastating as it was unexpected.

As time progressed, Jill and I had settled into a routine that took into account my role as a sex-provider for other women. This she had not only agreed to, she was quite comfortable with it --- so I thought. Well this is what she said, and this is what she possibly believed. When I reflect on it, though, it probably was not quite true. I do not think Jill lied, she just deceived herself. It happened like this.

I had a weekend date with a lady I had seen once before and who wanted to book me again. (I usually accepted multi-day encounters only after an initial shorter encounter). However, as we finished dinner in her hotel room, her mobile sang it’s own sweet song and she disappeared into the bathroom to take the call. When she came out she said,
“I’m sorry about this, but you’ll have to go. The Club will be paid in full, of course.”

Well I didn’t argue. I just took myself away and looked forward to the look on Jill’s face when I turned up with a whole weekend to spare just for her. I think I was even whistling as I entered the cottage.

What greeted me, however, were other noises, sounding suspiciously like sexual grunts and cries. Possibly the maid, I thought, knowing, though, that it was not true. And sure enough the door to our bedroom was open and there in the mirror I could see them. He was coal black, his dick was humungeous and he was pounding it into her with a force and fury that would certainly not have been within my powers! And Jill? Was this rape, perhaps? Again, I knew. I knew even before she came with a force and ferocity I thought was foreign to her. She had her legs wrapped tightly around him and hung on to him, her back and buttocks raised clear of the bed as her spasms took her into territory that we two, certainly, had not explored. And it did not stop there. I stood transfixed looking into that mirror as the pounding and the grunts just went on and on as that huge cock impaled her, ground her into the bed and bounced her back up, again, again and again, until she came again, and again……

Noiselessly, as though in a trance I headed off for my room, my writing room. To pack.

They emerged at lunchtime the next day. Jill, though obviously taken completely by surprise, could not suppress the radiance --- it was written in red all over her body.

But pleasantries were observed.

“Glad to meet you Ron!”

“Glad to meet you Dave!”

When we were alone she cried. She said it was the first time.
I said this was not the point.

She said I was a racist.

I said I was not. It had nothing to do with him being black.

She said I was a hypocrite. After all, how many women had I slept with in the past few months?

I said it was not the same.

She said I was just jealous because I could not make her come like he could.

I said she was right.

Then I left.

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Epilogue.

What happened thereafter will be of only marginal interest so I will be brief. Some days later Candy found out where I lived --- I do not to this day know how--- and she paid me a visit.

Why kill the goose, she said. I was the best male escort they had ever had. Why throw this away because a relationship breaks up?

She even said she would move Jill to another campus, that I could have the cottage to myself, or share it with whomsoever I chose. Hell, after all, I wasn’t doing badly out of it, was I?

And this I could not deny. My few months as a gigolo had earned me a nest egg that totally dwarfed everything twenty years hard conventional work had generated. For a few moments I was tempted by her offer.

I thought of Diana. What was she doing now? How had her life evolved? She had responded well to me, whatever anyone said. I knew it. Or Susan. Where was she? Was she happy? Maybe Susan would like to settle down with me in luxury?

But I knew these were all pipe dreams. What I had had with Diana was a moment in time. The same was true of Susan. A more extended moment perhaps, but a moment nevertheless. This was not what it was about. So I declined Candy’s offer. I told her I was burned out. That I was not really suited to the life of a male escort. That I had been thinking of quitting anyway. That it had nothing to do with the break-up of my relationship with Jill.

It was not all lies. But this much be said. Dave’s night with Jill may have been a one-night stand for both of them. For me it was the end of my career as an escort simply because I knew that on every encounter I would ever have in the future there would always at the back of my mind be the though “She’s paying all this money, but she’d be so much better off with Dave.” I had lost a vital quality that any escort must possess --- self-belief.

So my life of excess came to an end. It had given me much pleasure, much success, some heartache, great joy. I had learned a tremendous amount about the condition humaine, and in particular about how men and women relate to each other. But one thing I sensed about this way of being --- and this may apply in equal measure to other areas, possibly show-business, movies, things of that sort -- you are either on the way up or you are on the way down. Jill and Dave taught me what was in store for me if I continued. I had tasted success, and I had only smelled a whiff of failure. If you’re smart you quit while you’re ahead.

I’d recommend a life of excess to anyone, but, like the stock market, you have to know when to get out.

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