Vixens - The Candidate

Eileen's business-like voice interrupted those vagrant thoughts, however. "Remember this Wenda," she said seriously. "Successful escorts recognize that their dates require two things. Wenda? Are you paying attention?"

"I'm sorry Miss Lindholm. Can you..." Her eyes met mine in silent chastisement. "Our clients, Wenda. I was telling you they need two things..."

"Oh yes, two things...yes."

"...to come, of course, and to have us disappear. We're paid for both, but especially for the latter. When the story broke about Ashley Dupre and the governor? The whole industry instantly crashed in Manhattan. We were down for months as our best clients vanished into God knows where, fearing they'd be dragged into some scandal. I'll tolerate none of that," she said ominously. "You can understand my reasoning, can't you?"

"Yes. Sure. I understand completely!" I said stupidly. I wanted to ask who Ashley Dupre was, but didn't.

My focus drifted off again and I questioned if accepting the job meant I was a whore. Till now, I'd rationalized escorts, with their managed lives and steep hourly rates, weren't prostitutes.

"Let's discuss the 'Big A,'" she said. "Um, the what?" I shook my head, confused.

"Can you do anal sex Wenda?" She leaned back slightly as if she'd asked, 'Are you getting this dear?' "Will you ever do it? Can you...will you do it...on demand I mean?" My mind flashed to Jordan's strap on. "Yes, definitely," I gushed. "Um...Eileen...does having done it with a woman count?" I'd never had anal with a man but Jordan loved it. It had to count for something. "Eileen, there's this thing I have to tell you. See, I have a girlfriend and..." Her face brightened. "Yes dear. Girlfriend experiences count." The thought suddenly struck me that if Vixens wanted access to wives whose husbands needed to watch, I might be in demand after all. "Answer me something, about your girlfriend. Will she be jealous if you do it with other women?" Jordan was insanely jealous. Everyone in the lesbian community knew it.

"She'll understand," I lied again. Eileen nodded but I don't think she believed me.

"Wenda, one more question before we leave this back door thing." I shifted my bottom nervously. "Can you orgasm this way?" I felt the crimson creeping into my face.

"Um...yes. I do...come that way."

"Great again darling! You see, if it's real, you know what I mean...clients go for that. Anal is tight and men can feel a girl's contractions. Anyway, how lovely that you can," she said. "I don't mean to make you uneasy with all this, but I have to be honest; back door sex is compulsory now. A sign of the times I suppose. When I started out, we almost never did it but the demands are tougher these days." Her abject tone signaled she had mixed feelings about it, but the market place was the market place. "In any case, all my girls do it," she added. "So, tell me what you think about all this," she asked solicitously.

"I've made up my mind Miss Lindholm..." I heard myself begin to say. Standing up, she interjected abruptly, "We'll stop there then." Offering her hand in departure, she gave me marching orders, "Sleep on it. We don't want your decision to come back to bite you with regrets later. Talk to your girlfriend so she understands. And Wenda...some girls even tell their mothers, whatever. Call Celeste next week. I so hope you'll say yes."

Part VI

There was nothing to think about; nothing to decide. My transformation from sheltered coed to hyper-slut for pay had been underway for days.

I opened the door to the reception area, and saw the Irish girl, whose name I couldn't remember. She was seated exactly where I had sat an hour before. Pretending to read a book, she waited her turn and looked up as Celeste's voice, broke the silence. "Taryn, Miss Lindholm will see you now." As I passed her, I said "Hi Taryn." She hurriedly gathered up her things, and responded with a crisp, "Hello." I smiled and walked past her, thinking, beautiful boobs. I so wanted to eat her.

Celeste's voice shifted my attention back to her, however. "Miss Paget. Miss Lindholm wants you to have this." She handed me a sealed white envelope with my name on it.

Part VII

As if wandering a dream, I meandered home through the busy streets of Manhattan. I thought about Eileen and the life she held out to me and tore open the envelope, thinking - that life - is only a phone call away.

One thing was clear, there was more to it than I'd first imagined. And I had already imagined a lot! I had somehow matured during the hour just past and knew instinctively there was more to it than I imagined even now.

Before descending the steps to the subway, my thoughts gradually pulled together the complexities of Eileen's verbal thicket. None of my forthcoming "responsibilities" surprised me. The fact that I'd accepted it all so willingly surprised me a lot.

I'd make a ton of money. Eileen speculated I'd "sell" -- she'd actually used word "sell," something which clashed in my head like two armored knights charging into battle, challenging my feministic tendencies - for $2500 an hour! "Having real breasts is a plus," she told me. "So we might push the figure to $2700." What would I do with it all? I thought about getting a safe-deposit box to stuff it in.

"Loyal clients will shower you with gifts Wenda," Eileen disclosed. "The magic is to make them want you back, to need you. One of our girls drove off in a new Jaguar XF after catering her services to the owner of that dealership in Queens!"

There was pride in her voice. "Well, to be completely honest, she did his mechanics too, a union thing, you understand, but it was worth it, don't you think?" I nodded doubtful agreement. "And she still sees him! They meet in his car lot and she services him...I'd have to ask Celeste to be sure, but I think it's the first Tuesday each month. Such a creative car payment."

"Creative," I'd repeated.

Eileen even touched on the little matter of group scenes. "From time to time, we'll have multiples for you," she revealed. "But only after you're experienced. Can you handle that?"

"Um..."

"The pay's super, but you've never done more than one boy, have you?" I shook my head. "That's good. We prefer you fashion yourself after our girls anyway. It's always best," she assured with a nod.

"We don't tolerate rough sex Wenda." She shook her head steadfastly. "You're going to see some of it. Clients like rough sometimes. We don't do it. They'll try anyway. Say no. Some girls play along, especially if they like the guy. But the rule is no. Pain is never a game. It's not allowed."

I wondered whether her escorts really abided by any of this. Always one for breaking rules, I pictured myself grabbing extra cash for allowing myself to be tied. What's the big deal, I thought. Jordan does it to me all the time. "No overnights Wenda," Eileen insisted. "The clock is your ally. Use it. It will always get you out and away from the client. We'll send a limo if you work after 2:00 a.m. It's safer. We can't have our ladies wandering Manhattan in the middle of the night."

What if I liked him and he asked me to stay? Another question I didn't dare ask, but Eileen wouldn't have to know. I'd broker my own deals now and then. There had to be ways to do it. I'd have to think.

I could call in to say "I'm finished, I'm leaving," but might stay on and fuck all night. Big bucks! "Vixens is a working girl's best opportunity," she proclaimed lovingly. "But Wenda, much as I support my girls, if you violate the rules, you'll be fined or let go. I assume you swallow?" "Ah...yes." I said too hesitantly. "Everybody swallows, right?" I sounded naïve and thought, what a dumb question. I had only done it a few times, well, maybe more, but only for that one guy in Staten Island and we'd only been an item for two months.

"Good fellatio," Eileen informed, "translates into two things Wenda: big tips and regular call-backs. It's good business and swallowing shows respect for the client."

Part VIII

I spotted Jordan through the window as I approached our apartment door. She was sitting on the couch, playing with her new iPad. "How'd it go?" She asked disinterestedly.

Downplaying the afternoon's many surprises, I answered tepidly, "It was all right. She was nice." Jordan was on her Facebook page and failed to look up. "When do you start?" Suddenly remembering the envelope Celeste handed me after the interview, I opened it and smiled. It was a gift certificate to Felina's! On it was a tiny pink post-it note which read, "Remember to buy it in White!" Eileen had remembered the teddy!

Dropping my things on the counter, I wandered over to my computer and half-whispered, "Not sure when I'll start. Not just yet." Jordan tiptoed up behind me and put her arms around me, hugging me warmly.

"Mmm. Nice welcome," I said, slowly typing an oddball word into Google search.

"Bukkake? What's that?" she asked, looking over my shoulder.

"Not sure. But it came up this afternoon and I didn't want to look any dumber than I already did, so I didn't exactly ask. Seen it before?"

"Nope. Never. Must be Spanish."

"I jotted it into my notes after Eileen alluded to it. She says her girls get thousands for doing it. It's Japanese," I said, scrolling the Wikipedia article. Halfway down the page, the sketch of a girl came into view. My eyes widened to her naked and kneeling form. Covered in sperm, she was surrounded by masturbating men. "HOLY SHIT!" I gasped.

End