Surrogate Boyfriend

Info trailmate
30 Dec. '18

Waiting for my order in Armin’s Lebanese deli, I got to thinking that one really nice thing about working as an escort was the money I was making let me eat a whole lot better. Working at below minimum wage and doing odd jobs, I’d eaten lots of oatmeal, bought day-old bread and carried a bag lunch to work. Now I could just bike over to a deli and order a pastrami sandwich and salad – no sweat. After the session that morning with Maureen, I’d worked up a pretty good appetite for lunch and Armin’s generous portions were welcome.

Eating lunch alone is a good chance to people watch. But today, my mind was going over too much stuff to concentrate on folks coming in and out of the deli. First there was reminiscing over the morning’s fun with Maureen in the break room at the J&B office. Other stuff though wasn’t quite so pleasant – mainly the thing with Fatim and what the hell was Wasim up to. I’d have to come to grips with that if another date came my way.

Intending to go on a bike ride for a couple hours that afternoon, I biked back towards home to change into shorts. Passing the J&B office, something seemed amiss but I couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Jolene’s Mercedes was there as usual because she would have to be back from her meeting. Maureen’s Chevy was there and some other cars as well. I rode on a little further and it came to me: The black BMW sedan and a gray Chevy Suburban didn’t belong there. I turned around and from across the street watched the J&B office for 15 or 20 minutes and snapped a few shots with my cell phone camera. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but I still wasn’t satisfied. Somehow those cars had the look of trouble. I rang the office on the pretense of not being sure about the time to meet my Friday client who I was to escort to a party. Maureen answered. From the tone of her voice I knew that at least nobody was getting beaten up so I decided to let things go and write off my near panic to nerves.


There was no convenient bus line going anywhere near the TGI Fridays where I was supposed to meet the client named Kay, so I ended up taking a taxi. Kind of high class for me but what the hell, the $30 taxi was small change compared to what I’d get as a ‘tip’. I walked in shortly before six and scanned around for a brown haired woman wearing black slacks and a white blouse and sitting alone. Maureen hadn’t told me the client’s age or if she had long or short hair or if she was thin, fat or in between.

Beyond that pretty basic description and that the client’s name was ‘Kay’, Maureen had told me I was supposed to be her date for a party and to dress smart casual – jacket but no tie.

Walking in, I told the hostess I was meeting someone and proceeded to scan around. Not seeing anyone likely, I swallowed my male-never-ask-for-help pride and went back out to the hostess. Based on the sketchy description of the client, the hostess, after asking my name, pointed out a booth occupied by a brown haired woman who appeared to be around 30. Apparently Kay had told the hostess she was expecting a guy named Ralph.

With good looking clients, like Audrey and Marilyn, it takes a while to find out why they’d ever need or want to hire an escort. Audrey, the Silicon Valley executive was an alpha type who loved having power over men, at work and at play. At the same time, she had a big need to let off steam. Marilyn, married to a gay senator, just needed a man to appreciate her lovely body.

With others, it’s no surprise that they go the escort route. Like my first client, Denise, late 50’s and carrying some extra pounds, her cardiologist husband preferred the juicy pussy of a young nurse. He couldn’t service both and Denise had to do without. The bottom line is, there are women who just can’t bop into a disco and get picked up. So when they really want to get serviced, they have to go to outfits like J&B.

Kay fell into the second group, but not for reason of age or fat. No, when I got closer, my initial impression of her age - 30ish – was confirmed and she wasn’t overweight. No way. Big boned for a girl perhaps, but not fat.  She was one of those women who aren’t ugly, but still wouldn’t make many men turn their heads either.

Her long brown hair was pulled back severely to end in a pony tail, her complexion, while not blemished was on the ruddy side and her eyebrows were almost non-existent. Some women overdo the makeup business. Not Kay, she was just the opposite. She was dressed in a white long sleeved blouse and black slacks. The black matching jacket lay on the bench beside her. It looked to me like she had come directly from work. All in all, a plain Jane who wouldn’t have a bunch of guys buzzing around her at a party.

Her blouse showed protrusions, not big, just big enough that they might get the attention of some really horny engineering student. Trouble is, for plain Janes like Kay, in a city like Baltimore, there’s plenty of real classy looking stuff around and plenty of that classy looking stuff has nice tits too.

I introduced myself as Ralph, gave her the J&B card and asked if she were Kay.

She put on her dark rimmed glasses (that too) and turned to look at me and the card. “Yes,” and after an awkward pause, “Please sit down,” and with her hand indicated the seat opposite her.

I tried making some small talk – like how crowded the place was, the traffic, weather, etc. but didn’t get much more than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, only occasionally a whole sentence. For me things were getting awkward and I pretty quickly realized that aside from her poor grooming, there were other reasons, why she needed to hire an escort if she wanted to go to a party with a date. I was reminded of the story about Larry King trying to interview Robert Mitchum.

Patience and ideas running out, I decided to ask Kay that old favorite American opening line question: “What is it that you do for a living?” This question is frowned upon in polite society and really turns some folks off, but not Kay. Just the opposite, that’s what made her finally open up.

A senior associate with a big law firm (I’ll call it ‘ABC Partners’ for convenience.) in Baltimore, she specialized in defending corporations against health and personal injury claims. Having read lots of John Grisham novels, her being a senior associate in big law told me a couple things: Kay was indeed around 30 and she put in a 60+ hour workweek.

After she started opening up about herself, I hardly got in a word and mostly nodded my head and did my best to look sympathetic and admiring. In a nutshell, she had graduated 14th in her law class at Columbia and had passed the bar exam in New York and in Maryland – on the first try in both states. She was hoping to become a junior partner before the year was out. It didn’t surprise me when she said that her work week was generally over 70 hours.

With that kind of work load, her appearance no longer surprised me – hell she wouldn’t have time to work on that too. And of course, even if she were pretty, she wouldn’t have much time to meet men. The time factor alone would just about explain why she needed to hire an escort to accompany her to a party.

I finally got in my sympathy line: “Gee, you don’t have much free time for hobbies, socializing with friends and such.”

Then the dam broke and like some clients, she felt the need to explain why she needed to engage an escort.

“No I don’t have much free time, not since high school. Well actually, I didn’t have that much of a social life in high school either. At University and then at Columbia Law School, I did nothing but study, never had dates. My last real date was in high school. The long hours really got long after I started at ABC, work and more work, then studying for the bar exams. Well I just haven’t had time to meet anyone. But there is social pressure at work, like people ask if you’re with someone. I always had to say ‘no’ because there was no one. Then I got the feeling, actually even heard from other associates, that the partners thought I might be lesbian. ABC has company social events, you know, picnics, barbecues, that kind of thing. I’ve always had to go alone.”

“Kay, so what if you were lesbian? This isn’t the 1950’s. And it seems like you’ve worked like hell and billed lots of hours.”

“Look, I’m 36 and still haven’t been made a junior partner and I haven’t been let go either. That means there’s some strange reason why I don’t get promoted even though the partners like my work.” Then the flood started. Choking back sobs, she went on: “It suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t getting promoted because they thought I was lesbian.”

Then I understood the reason why she needed a date for this particular party. “So this party we’re going to, there’ll be people from your office there and I’m going to be like an alibi boy friend, someone you just met and fell for?”

“There’ll only be people from the office there. With their spouses or partners of course, and no same sex couples. And by the way, you won’t be someone I just met.”

“Oh, you mean we’ve been dating for some time?”

“For almost a year.”

The evening was getting to be disappointing. For one thing, it was looking like there wouldn’t be any big ‘tip’ for my special services and secondly, I wouldn’t get to put it to a woman who must be just plain starved for a good fuck. Covering up my disappointment and hoping to allay my concerns about having to play the part of her long term boy friend. I asked her what she’d told her colleagues about me – like where we met, how long ago, what I was, hobbies – all the kinds of shit that comes up at a social engagement.

Kay ignored my question and went on with her story. “As soon as I realized why I wasn’t getting promoted, I made up a story about meeting someone from out of town and whom I didn’t see too often. That took some pressure off and seemed to put me on track to partnership at ABC. Unfortunately, colleagues and even my boss started asking when they would be meeting ‘Randall’ – that’s the name I invented for my phantom boyfriend. At company events, I always said you were out of town but someone can be out of town only so many times. I’ve run out of excuses, so Ralph, you’re just going to have to be ‘Randall’ tonight.”

I’m used to using aliases and at least my J&B name ‘Ralph’ and Kay’s ‘Randall’ both started with an ‘R’. More of a problem was fitting in and making conversation at a party. “And what does Randall do for a living? Just in case somebody asks.”

“Randall is an independent real estate broker, whom I met last fall while shopping. He works mostly in Florida and the Gulf coast of Georgia and Alabama and is away from Baltimore a lot of the time. Ralph, I think it would be best if I start calling you ‘Randall’ right now, okay Randall?”

Given my history of being at large, using an alias was about the least likely way I could screw up while acting the part of her phantom boy friend. I quickly agreed to be ‘Randall’.

More troublesome was that someone might trip me up with some detail about the business I was supposed to be in or just some simple inconsistency. Kay must have given this all lots of thought because she quickly came back with a few lines to say like how I couldn’t say much about what I do because of the confidential nature of the client and the sensitive nature of the negotiations. She also said that it shouldn’t matter much because talking about work at these social functions was frowned upon anyway.

It got me to wondering what I could talk about. I read newspapers and sort of keep up with current events, but I don’t do any of the yuppie sports like golf, tennis, squash and such. True, I bicycle, but for that I ride whatever Marvin lets me use. If any of these lawyers are into biking, they’re going to be riding $5000 marvels of machinery. And I don’t know shit about music – old or new. Come to think of it, I don’t even follow any pro sports. I didn’t let on to Kay about any of the possible traps because by now it was pretty clear that based on the time alone, there was going to be a ‘tip’ in it for me.

Then she gave me some rudimentary background information on Randall – age, birthplace, where I’d grown up, education, etc.. By that time we’d been in the TGI Fridays for well over an hour and I told her that with the party, we’d probably run over the 4 hours that her deal with J&B covered.

“Of course I know that, Randall. I also realize that the arrangement with J&B doesn’t cover all activities that a couple might engage in. Look, if we’ve been seeing each other on a regular basis for 8 months like I’ve been saying at work, well that means we’re intimate on a regular basis. Now we can’t make up for the past 8 months, but I think we should have sex at least once before we go to the party.”

A half pint of blood must have surged into my pecker and my earlier disappointment evaporated. I recommended that she take the all night plan and told her about the few things I wouldn’t do – like anal and man on man.

Her answer was very straightforward: “Let’s go to my apartment and I’ll give you the $600 there.” Outside she led me to her white BMW. I declined her offer for me to drive (without mentioning that I didn’t have a driving license).

In the luxurious white leather seat of her BMW, I managed to get my hard-on somewhat under control and was able to walk normally by the time we got to her place. Inside her pricey upmarket apartment, she gave me the $600 and then there was an awkward moment - both of us knew what was going to take place but neither knew how to initiate it.

It was Kay who broke the awkward silence. “I have some condoms in my bedroom.” Then after a short hesitation, “And some lube too.” Seeing my look of surprise, she went on. “Look you do have a really big one, don’t you? I mean seven and three quarter inches is pretty darn big.”

My jaw must have hit the floor. Of course people expect that a male escort is going to be well hung, but she knew my length exactly as it was entered in Dr. Henley’s medical report!

Seeing my surprise, she continued, “Randall, it’s on the J&B website.” Seeing my still open mouth, she went on. “At the lower left corner of the page with your photo – in small type ‘UC-LH734LS514’. What else could ‘LH’ mean but ‘length hard’?”

That was a real surprise. I had looked at my web page, but mostly at the photo with my face blurred and the description with stuff like ‘mature, physically fit, comfortable in sophisticated environments, etc.’. Everything else on the page, like that line of small type, I’d thought was just IT gibberish.

I just had to ask the big question. “So you picked me because of my size?”

“No. I picked you because all the rest of the escorts were too young. Look, part of the story I’ve made up about Randall is that he is older, like over 50, and divorced. The first time I saw your photo on the website, your hair was all gray and you wouldn’t have passed for 50. Now with the brown on top and frosting on the sides, well you’re perfect. Look Randall, for my purposes, size isn’t much of an issue. Besides some of the younger escorts were almost as big. And for your information, the fact that you’re not circumcised didn’t matter either.”

Again seeing my surprise, she explained: “You see Randall, ‘UC’ has to mean ‘uncut’. You’re not circumcised, are you?”

By then I’d recovered my cool and told her she’d just have to discover my penile condition by observation.

“Well Randall, let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Young lawyers with big law firms really rake it in and her apartment looked like it. Not being a home decorating expert, it’s pretty hard for me to describe but what really struck me was that even with a big king size bed, there was still lots of room in her bedroom. Kay turned back the covers and then turned back to me, “I once read there was a time when young married couples who’d never done it before would, for that first time, undress themselves in private and then meet face to face. I’d like to start that way. You go in the bathroom and undress while I undress here. Oh, and please bring one of the big bath towels. There’s no use messing up the sheets.”

And so it was, Kay was standing by the bed naked when I walked back into the bedroom with a pretty good hard-on for her to admire. She continued staring at my crotch as we got closer together and then said, “Oh Randall, you really are big!” Then grasping my shaft and working my foreskin back and forth, “And you really are uncut too.”

By this time I’d taken in her appearance too. She must have noticed me staring at her breasts. “I keep them locked up under a sports bra. In law school, guys who asked me out always turned out to be more interested in my titties than in me so I got in the habit of hiding them.”

It wasn’t hard to see why a guys might be interested in her tits. Not being an expert, I couldn’t judge whether they were C or D cups – all I knew for sure was that they were generous enough for some real pleasant tit fucking. Looking further down, I could see she wasn’t into shaving either. In fact she wasn’t into trimming either – her dark brown pubic hair extended out to where she’d not want to wear a normal swim suit.

In a way, we were like two eight year olds playing ‘If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’. Kay obviously wasn’t getting much sex but she knew enough to know my pubic hair had been trimmed and she was self conscious about her un-groomed twat. Looking down, she stammered: “I can’t get it right doing it myself and I somehow never get to a salon to have it done. Oh Randall, I hope you don’t mind too much.”

I knew I had to give her mood a boost so I just said it looked like a nice cozy place to be and then I rubbed my dick all over her hairy crotch. That seemed to give her the boost she needed and she came right back with her next proposal.

“Randall, after we do it, do you think you could trim me a little?”

I told her it’d definitely have to be after because as she could see, I couldn’t wait much longer.

Kay spread the bath towel on the bed and pushed the covers further out of the way. “I think I’d like it if we do it pretty much the normal way, I mean me on my back and you on top.” Now over her earlier lapse into feminine weakness, she said it more like an order than a suggestion.

I was right behind her as she lay down and she barely had her legs apart and I was between them on my knees and putting on the condom. I thought she might be ready but when I tried, the head of my dick encountered a slit that was barely moist. “Kay, it’s not going to work very well this way. We need to slow down a little.”

“You mean like foreplay?”

I moved away and lay down beside her. “Yeah, that and maybe some mood making. Music. Lights down a little.” I knew I’d need some lube too but I didn’t want to tell her that right then.

She got up and went to the living room where her radio and CD player was. By the time she came back in the bedroom, some kind of soft classical piece was playing – and playing very nicely – she had dough and she didn’t mind spending it on good electronics. After switching off all the lights except a little bedside lamp, she lay down again on the towel. I put a hand on one of her generous breasts and fondled it lightly before moving to the other one. That seemed to put her more at ease so I played with one of her nipples and suckled the other. It was pretty obvious that her equipment hadn’t seen much action for some time. I wondered what I’d be hearing when she started talking about her sex background as all clients eventually do.

When Kay seemed more at ease, I reached down and found a slit that was much more receptive than before. Going in to the labia brought the first real response from her – shorter breaths and more moisture. I started wandering around with my finger, working my way up. Circling her clitoris brought sharp breaths and even more moisture. Continuing to suck and kiss her nipples, I went for her vagina and put a finger in. That brought a shudder and a nice “Uhhhh-ahhh” from her so I proceeded to fuck her with the one finger. This got her hips rocking nicely but before I could move up to two fingers, she interrupted with “Randall, I’m ready!” and she spread her legs wide apart. I wasn’t sure she was really ready but the customer is always right so I backed off and again got on my knees between her legs. After putting a little YES on the condom that was still in place, I entered her. This time I was able to slide in without too much resistance, first halfway and then after lots of in and out action somewhat further. Normally I like to have a woman go off first, at least once and more if it’s in the cards. Unfortunately an orgasm on Kay’s part just wasn’t in the cards and I finally accepted that and let go. Even though she didn’t get off, she did act as if she enjoyed having my dick jerk as I filled up the condom’s receptacle.

I always feel a little shitty after a fuck when I’m the only one who goes over the top. This time was no exception and it’s always hard to figure out what to say if anything. When I pulled out, Kay raised her head and gazed at my soft dick and the dangling condom with great interest so I figured she was satisfied without having reached the summit. I decided to take the tack of praising her: “Kay, you really got me going, I just couldn’t hold back.”

Her reply wasn’t very responsive or sexy: “You need to give me the trim and then we need to get to the party.” What little intimacy that there had been was gone when she announced that she’d be showering first.

She came out of the bathroom from her shower wearing a robe and carrying a big fresh towel and sleek looking green women’s intimate shaver, which she handed to me with the words: “I’m sure you know how to use this.” Then she carefully spread the towel near the foot of the bed and lay down with her feet near the edge, knees up and spread. “Shorten it all to a half inch and taper down at the edges. And don’t forget to shave all the way to my asshole. And use the green plastic head to get the half inch right.”

I still don’t know why she wanted me to do it for her – most women can do it themselves if they want to. At first I thought it was some kind of sexual kink she had, but I didn’t notice her getting worked up while I trimmed her so it couldn’t have been that. Only later did I understand why she wanted it done at that particular time.

Again Kay asked me if I wanted to drive and again I declined, this time with some lame excuse about being pooped from the wild session in her bedroom. On the short drive to the party, I squeezed as much dope about ‘our relationship’ and about ‘Randall’ as I could. Over the years on the run, I’ve gotten used to pretending to be somebody else. What I had to do that night though was to pretend to be somebody (Randall) to people to whom Kay had told stuff about - stuff that she may or may not have told me about. And these people at the party were hot shot lawyers – hot shot lawyers used to making mincemeat out of guys like me. In other words, there was a risk that I might contradict something that Kay had told them and she’d end up being worse off than before. You might say that it was really Kay’s problem if she got caught making up a big phony story, but I’m not without pride and she was paying me good money so I figured I had to give it my best shot.

The party was at the home of Jim Carney, ABC partner and vice president in charge of Corporate Liability at ABC. When we drove up, there were already lots of cars in the big circular drive in front of the two-story brick mansion. And a real mansion it was too, not one of these ridiculous McMansions with all kinds of gables, mismatched façade treatments, chimneys and other shit to make it look expensive, no this house was the real McCoy. Before we got out of the car, Kay turned to me with a stern look like she was going to give me an order. Then as if suddenly thinking better, her face changed to the polite asking expression. “Randall, you will tell me if you hear anything significant tonight. Anything at all.” She didn’t have to tell me that that ‘anything’ would be something to do with Human Resources at ABC, namely her chances of promotion.

At the door we were greeted by a butler who presented us with pin-on name tags: ‘Kay’ and ‘Randall’. Further inside, the butler presented us to Jim’s wife, Shelley, who greeted us graciously.

Shelley, curly red hair and the complexion to match, late 30’s to mid 40’s, stylish green dress and a body mass index that had to be a couple points under ideal, gushed with welcomes and expressions of joy that we were able to make it to the party. I noticed right away that she didn’t have big full tits or a super hour glass figure and she had light but noticeable  freckles – in other words, not exactly a Hollywood type of beauty. What she had though more than made up for what she didn’t have. When she smiled, not only did her eyes twinkle, but she winked without truly winking – one cheek sort of puffed up to slightly close one eye.

To me, her look told me that if there weren’t other people around, we’d be on the floor humping, but I couldn’t afford to indulge in such daydreams. Ahead of me were several hours of making sure I didn’t fuck up my role as Kay’s realtor boy friend.

“So glad that both of you were able to make it. Randall, I’m simply thrilled that I finally get to meet you. Jim’s always saying how Kay’s eyes shine when she talks about you. Oh Kay, let me present Randall to my husband.” Then turning to me, “he’s really been looking forward to meeting you.”

I did my best to look pleased, but internally my guts were wrenching with fear at the thought of being asked about my realtor activities. However, luck was with me. Jim was engaged in a conversation with several associates and after acknowledging my presence and introducing the others, continued the conversation, turning to me several times as if to clue me in on what they were talking about. Kay, clever woman that she was, had the good sense to get me away before they could ask anything of substance. And so it went as she took me from group to group.

There must have been around 40 people at the party, and so far as I could tell, all in male-female couples. The party was catered and the catering company had provided personnel, including the ‘butler’ who had greeted us at the door. Two waiters walked around with wine and snacks, refilling as needed. A couple others looked after the table where the food was set out. There was even a small wet bar with a bar tender – also provided by the caterer.

Kay and I were deep in a chat with two junior associates and their wives when Shelley came around with what looked like a decorated flower pot and announced that this was a mixer party and it was now time to mix. To Kay and me: “We find that guests get to know more people better if they get forced away from their spouses.” Then she presented the pot to Kay and told her that if she pulled out my name, she should just put it back and take another. Kay drew a name card and said she’d have to go look for ‘Robbie’. Shelley told me that I’d soon be approached by a woman holding a card with my name on it. The wives of the two junior associates pulled names out and went looking for the men whose names they’d pulled.

By this time, some dance music was playing and couples were dancing in an adjoining room. I looked closer and saw Kay with a guy who must have been at the oldest in his mid 20’s – obviously Robbie. The three of us continued our conversation until two women, obviously friends with each other, came over giggling and showed the cards they’d drawn. Even though the two women were at least 10, maybe even 15 years older than the young junior associates, these guys seemed pleased that the women had drawn their names. Before too long, one of the juniors and his mix partner went off to dance, leaving me with the other mix couple.

Then Shelley came back, again all gushy and waving the card she had drawn. “Randall, imagine that. I picked your name from the pot.” Buoyed by her enthusiastic joy but at the same time dampened by the problem of keeping up my show as Kay’s realtor boy friend, I showed what I thought was the appropriate enthusiasm. Shelley responded with a peck to my cheek and continued, “Now we can get better acquainted. But first let’s go talk to my husband Jim and his mixer companion.”

A woman in her mid-20’s, the wife of a junior associate, had picked Jim’s name card . After Shelley interrupted their conversation, he introduced her as Penney. To avoid the subject of my realtor business coming up, I opened the conversation by complimenting him on the great party and then I went on to make a potential fuck up by complimenting him on their beautiful home, which of course could lead to where I didn’t want to go – namely the real estate business that I was pretending to be in. Jim responded graciously: “Thanks, but Shelley is the one deserving the compliments – she organizes our parties. Actually you’ll have to compliment her on the home too. She was behind the whole thing and dealt with the architect and contractor. Oh by the way, I understand you’re in real estate. Commercial or residential?”

I felt a jolt in my guts and my asshole slammed shut. Somehow I had to calm myself and divert the conversation in another direction. All I could come up with was: “Both, but mainly residential developments. Maybe someday you could show me more of your beautiful home. I’m always interested in good design.”

That seemed to be exactly what Jim wanted to hear. “Hell, why wait for another day. Shelley, show Randall the whole thing, top to bottom, bottom to top, your choice. I’m here for now and anyway our guests know where the food and booze is.”

That’s when I noticed that the catering people were gone. I thought better than to mention noticing it. Who knows, maybe Jim was too tight to pay overtime, maybe it was union rules. I was just happy to avoid getting showed up as a phony realtor. That was also when I got another knot in my gut. A personal guided tour of a big house like the Carney’s would present all kinds of opportunities with Shelley. What if I couldn’t keep my hands off her?

Shelley didn’t hesitate. Now in an even more buoyant mood than before, she took my arm and guided me towards a hallway leading towards the back of the house. “Look, Randall, we may as well start at the bottom. You’ve really got to see our rec room in the basement.” The stairs led directly into that big rec room and we were nearly to the bottom of the stairs when I saw, heard and smelled what she meant by a rec room and that’s when the flashback hit me.

It was a flashback that took me back over 3 decades.

My armored cavalry platoon had pulled a few weeks of TDY providing security for a company of army engineers repairing and upgrading a section of Viet Nam’s renowned Highway 1 (Street without Joy). It was pretty nice duty – daytimes we had showers, hot meals and beer in the engineers’ camp. Nights we’d go out and set up our lager with tanks and APC’s in a circle and put out LP’s, but nothing much happened. Somewhere up the command chain, somebody had decided that the engineers were in danger of getting hit. We didn’t complain, life with the engineers was comfortable and we were away from our squadron HQ where the brass could dream up all kinds of bullshit to make our lives miserable.

One night one of our radios failed and the next day the engineers’ signals guy found the trouble but didn’t have the part. Helpful bunch that they were, the engineers’ supply sergeant found out that a 105 battery some 15 km down the road had the part. Right after lunch I told my platoon sergeant to send a fire team with a jeep and an APC to go fetch the part. His answer was pretty much like: “Come on Ell Tee, there ain’t shit going on and it’s daytime.” So like so many green lieutenants, I gave in to the old sergeant with lots of hash marks on his sleeves. We sent two troopers in a jeep. When they weren’t back after several hours, I panicked and made up my mind to go look for them. So with a heavily armed squad in two APC’s, we drove QL-1 as far as the artillery fire base without finding my missing troopers and then turned around. Then it hit me: The town of Lien Huong! I should’ve looked there first. It didn’t take long until we came to an establishment named ‘Red River Poke’ and saw the missing jeep with a very embarrassed trooper in it. Totally pissed, I charged into the bar – helmet, flak vest, holstered forty-five, M-16, ammo bandoleers – and must have intimidated the mama san because she didn’t hesitate to take me to the fun room – a big room full of curtained bunk beds. There was giggling, panting, moaning, grunting, etc. and the smell was of bodies, cheap perfume and sex. The mama san went to one of the bunks and pulled back the curtain. There was the other trooper, his bare ass going up and down like a pile driver, giving the little black haired whore a world class fuck. Mama san pointed proudly: “Look, GI get much boom-boom! Sir want boom-boom too? Also have virgin. Sir like very much!”

Shelley’s shaking my arm extracted me from Lien Huong and back to Baltimore. “Randall! Randall, are you okay?”

Instead of the curtained bunk beds that I’d seen in the brothel in Lien Huong, Jim and Shelley’s rec room had curtained cubicles, each maybe 8 to 10 feet wide. I don’t know how long my flashback lasted but it must have been long enough that Shelley got alarmed. I couldn’t very well tell her that the rec room she was so proud to show me reminded me of a cheap whorehouse in a Vietnamese village smelling of piss so I just made up some lame excuse.

“Oh don’t worry Randall, this is just for the other guests. I’m the host and the host takes her mixer partner somewhere else, like to our bedroom, unless of course, Jim is already there with that little twat Penney. He’s been looking forward to fucking her for months. Before we even walked over to them, I could see the bulge at his crotch.”

Only then did it really hit me that this was a classic swinging party. The names the women drew were of the men they were going to fuck, not just dance and walk around with! How in the hell could I have been so naïve? You’d think I’d have gotten an instant hard-on realizing that I was going to be fucking sexy Shelley. Instead a cold chill went down my back. I’d been staying out of jail for a couple decades by knowing what was going on and being able to size up situations. Now I was suddenly in deeper than I ever wanted to be.

“Randall?” Again her tug on my arm got me back to the present and I had to think of something to say. I was about to tell Shelley how lucky Jim was that Penney had drawn his name, but I realized just in time how stupid that observation would sound. Now with all my senses back, I realized that Penney’s draw must have been manipulated. And of course it followed that Shelley had manipulated the drawing of ‘Randall’ as well and I wondered why.

All I could come up with was, “Sorry, I must have been surprised.”

“Randall, this is a big house with lots of bedrooms, but there are more than 20 couples here. Anyway for some people, it’s a big turn-on to hear another couple going at it – especially since it could be their spouse. Some of them even try to arrange that their spouse be in the next booth. Come on, the bedrooms are on the second floor.”

At her bedroom door, she hesitated and listened a bit before turning to me with a knowing grin. “Let’s peek.” A few feet from the door there was a picture on the wall. Shelley took it by the bottom edge and tipped it up to reveal a fixed glass panel about a foot square.  She beckoned to me to come and we both looked through the two-way mirror to see Jim and Penney standing and kissing. She was already braless and her skirt raised high. Jim’s pants were around his ankles and he was rubbing his crotch against her.


We watched for a minute or so and then Shelley turned to me and advised that we’d have to go to a guest bedroom down the hall. We were almost there when she stopped, turned to me and with a really kittenish look asked, “Randall are you circumcised?”

I’d only had one woman ever ask me that and it so shook me up that I made up my mind how to answer if it ever happened again. “You’ll just have to find out by observation.” In answer she gave me an even sexier inviting look.

My idea of a guest bedroom is a 10 x 12 room with a double bed, dresser and maybe its own closet. Guys making millions a year have another standard for guest bedrooms. Inside the guest bedroom that we entered, the queen bed had lots of space around it and there was an adjoining walk-in closet. The room even had its own bathroom.

Once inside and the door closed, Shelley felt the need to explain. “Randall, about what I asked you before. Lots of men, I try to imagine how their penis looks, cut or uncut? Sometimes I get this crazy urge to straight out ask. I guess I’m just really interested in the male sex organ, that’s all.”

After I assured her that fantasies like hers were one of the main ingredients of good sex, she turned to me. Luscious smile, eyes twinkling and the one eye even further shut than when we met, Shelley looked up and in a husky voice purring voice confided: “Watching Jim half naked with Penney and jamming his dick against her really got me wound up.” Then she moved close to me and with one hand on my neck she offered her lips. We kissed and rubbed chest against chest. Then breaking off long enough to say: “Did you get worked up too – watching Dan and Penney?”

I told her I’d already gotten worked up when the butler introduced us.

“No you didn’t! I was watching your crotch. It wasn’t bulging.”

“I was thinking it.”

In a really throaty voice: “Is it bulging now?”

“Same answer as before in the hallway. Now you can answer two questions at the same time.”

She took both hands off my neck and unbuckled my belt and opened the zipper. There was a surprised “ummmmm“ as she pulled down my undershorts and then looking down more intently, she admitted: “ I was wrong, you’re not circumcised.” One hand back on my neck, the other holding my shaft, she purred, “Oh, but you’re really bulging now.”

Shelley was one of those women who just can’t stop squirming when they’re hot and moving towards sex. Her hips were oscillating, thrusting and I don’t know what all. I unzipped her dress and it was over her head in a jiffy. No sooner did I get her bra unsnapped to free those two pointed volcanoes with the brown summits and she was taking off her panties herself. My shirt went and we were on the queen size bed locked together, squirming, humping and groping.

In between pants and gasps, she managed to murmur, “let’s turn back the cover.”

“You want to get a towel and keep the sheets dry?”

“What for? The maid’s going to change them anyway. Stop delaying and ravish me.”

I felt like a bulldozer as I came from the foot of the bed and plowed her legs apart and pushed her knees up. I’ve got nothing against foreplay, but in this instance, it just wasn’t called for. Her hips were still writhing with passion and I had to hold them in order to get a static target. Then the head of my dick was swirling about in her lips and poking to go deeper.

“Wait, Randall! Oh shit, a condom. There’re some in the side table. Oh shit, how could I forget?” And she wiggled her hips free and reached for the side table. Before she got to her supply, I told I had my own and went to get a packet from my trousers. Standing by the bed, I was starting to put the rubber on when she stopped me. “Let me help.” I held the semen receptacle as she slowly unrolled it. “Randall, it’s good you brought your own. Mine might have been a little tight.”

Then starting over again, her legs wide apart and  knees up, I again plunged in between those luscious wet lips. Trying to go deeper was another matter. In spite of our mutual thrusting, it just didn’t work. “Randall, you’re really big. Let’s use some lube. Again we pulled apart. She got a tube out of the side table and gave the rubber a generous coat. By then I was wondering whether the party might be over by the time I reached the promised land. Well they say the third time is a charm and it was. Thanks to YES, I got into paradise, albeit, not without effort. Once inside, Shelley seemed to loosen up and the wild ride started.

I’ve got nothing against a woman playing an active role – generally from my standpoint the more the merrier. But there are practical limits. Shelley went beyond those limits and more. Her squirming and hip undulations got so violent I kept slipping out and after that happened a bunch of times, I knew I needed to get things under control. After pulling her knees up over my shoulders, I wrapped my  arms around her legs and held her so tight that she couldn’t move her hips. As I reentered her, her eyes and mouth went wide open and when I got to really thrusting, she took to alternatingly flailing her arms, slapping the bed and grabbing my ass and hips – well not just grabbing, she also dug in her fingernails. When I came, she let out a series of little throaty squeals and then seemed to relax – arms flat on the bed and eyes closed. Before I pulled out, I felt warm liquid gush against my crotch as she uttered a long low moan.

After I pulled out, Shelley insisted on being the one to take off the rubber and after she did, she held it up, as if admiring the deposit in its reservoir. “Damn this fucking STD shit! If it weren’t for that, I’d have gotten to feel all that get squirted inside me. I bet by now you and Kay ride bareback don’t you? Damn that makes me jealous!”

That surprised me and I didn’t really know how to reply so I just told Shelley that she was terrific in bed and maybe we might do this again some time. I thought it might help the situation if we just lay side by side and facing one another. Besides if she wanted to talk, that would give her the chance. After all, my client Kay wanted me to get any intel that I could. Maybe Shelley would give up something of value.

She seemed to ignore my reply and went on, apparently on an intel gathering mission of her own. “How did you two meet anyway? I mean you’re out of town so much, it must have really been luck. Hey speaking of being out of town, when you are, do you think about her when you jack off?”

For probably the first time at the party I was able to tell the truth. “Shelley, truthfully, I haven’t jacked off since I met Kay.”

“So you must be fucking everything with skirts down there in, what Georgia or … Where the hell is it you work anyway?”

Again I got a chance to tell the truth: “Shelley, honest to God, I am not fucking anybody in Georgia, Alabama, Florida or anyplace around there.”

Then she turned on her sweet face again, eye partly shut, like a partial wink. “Just teasing. You know Randall, you’re really fun to tease.” Then taking my soft dick in her hand, “and it’s really fun to play with your penis. I’ll have to try and picture Kay when you shove it between her legs. She must have been scared the first time – I mean you’re so big and I don’t think she had a partner until you. Does she like to give you head? Come on Randall, you can tell me.”

“ I don’t kiss and tell.”

Sounding disappointed, she came back with, “You’re not going to tell Kay about our mind blowing fuck?”

“Like I said, Shelley, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re really old fashioned. Don’t you know telling’s half the fun? Well you might not kiss and tell but Jim and I sure do. After we exchange stories, that’s when we really get it on.”

Not having gotten anything from me on the sex life I was having with Kay, she took a new tack. “Jim says Kay is really productive at work and bills lots of hours. How does Kay like working at ABC?

I told her that I was convinced that the job at ABC was really important to Kay. (Another real truth on my part. After all, Kay had hired me to fuck her so she could prove she wasn’t lesbian.)

“Jim says she has a really promising law career. Randall, you must have learned lots of legal stuff from her. Maybe even stuff that helps you in your work?”

That was such an obvious loaded question that I almost thought it was actually innocent. Well not everybody has what it takes to spy. I insisted that Kay had never told me anything about her job except the name of the firm and that she had something to do with liability. Then Shelley decided to go soft: “Oh come on now, Randall, surely Kay must tell you more. You know Jim and I truly understand how tough the long days and workweeks must be on her and the other associates. I bet she unloads on you all the time.”

I told her that whenever I managed to get back to the Baltimore area, Kay and I concentrated on our relationship. Then I told another truth: “And besides, the only interest I have in law is whatever it takes to keep my tits out of the wringer.”

“Randall, you don’t have tits. Just a pretty big dick.”

“Just an expression. Okay the only interest I have in law is whatever it takes to keep my dick out of the wringer.”

Then she started in asking how Kay and I had met and what drew us together. I just repeated what Kay had told me – that we had met at a Unitarian Church singles event. Then I thought I’d lay it on a little more. “You know Shelley, when I think about it, maybe it’s that the time spent with Kay is like being on vacation. When I’m here on a weekend, we relax, cook, listen to music, go jogging, take in a movie, stuff like that.”

“And I bet you two fuck like rabbits too.” Seeing my frown, she took off in another direction: “Did Kay tell you this was a switching party? I mean like warn you that she’d be fucking somebody else and you’d be doing the same.”

I  replied that warnings applied to unpleasant stuff and the fuck we’d just had was anything but unpleasant.

“Randall, how do you feel about Kay fucking somebody else tonight?”

I was about to tell Shelley that fucking never spoiled a pussy when there was a knock followed by her husband Jim telling us that we needed to go back to the great room for good night drinks.

From the number of people already in the great room, Shelley and I must have been the last ones to get back. Jim was standing in front and appeared about to propose a toast. Shelley looked around and seeing Kay, guided me over to her and in a low voice: “Kay, I hope your evening was as strenuous as mine.”

Kay gave me a funny look – one that I didn’t know the meaning of. Hadn’t she known that the party was to be a switching affair? Had she known and was now sorry that she hadn’t told me? Had Robbie been a lousy fuck? Was she somehow jealous of Shelley? I didn’t know whether I should dread or look forward to the conversation that was sure to come when Kay and I were alone again.

Leaving the Carney house, Kay didn’t ask me to drive. We weren’t more than a few minutes on the way and she was already asking. “You ended up with my boss’s wife. That wasn’t by chance, you know.”

“Of course it wasn’t. And this Robbie whose name tag you picked – was that rigged too?”

“If it was, they must have wanted to see how I’d deal with a real turd.”

I told her I was sorry it went badly. I didn’t bother asking her for details because I knew she’d cough it up later.

Then out came what really interested her. “Hear anything I should know?”

I told her about all the questions Shelley had asked and how I’d answered them. Then I summarized with something like: “Look Kay, my take on Shelley’s questions is that she was supposed to find out how loyal you are to ABC and find out if I’m a real boyfriend or just some sort of an alibi stand-in.”

“You think you convinced her?”

“I think I convinced her that you’re on the up and up with ABC. From her questions, I gathered they were suspicious of your relationship with Randall. Maybe they still are, but I sure as hell didn’t give her anything to reinforce their suspicions.”

I took Kay’s “Uh huh” to mean that she believed I had at the least not hurt her cause and she didn’t say anything more during the drive back to her apartment complex.

Although she had already paid me for the rest of the night, until she had parked the BMW at her place, I didn’t know what was coming next. Would she send me on my way? Question me again? Or ask me in for some more servicing? I got out and hesitated by the passenger door until she let her intentions known in a low voice, “Randall, I think you need to take my arm and walk me in like you can’t wait to get me in bed again?”

In spite of all I’d experienced at the party, it was only then that I fully realized how far ABC might go in checking out employees. In other words they might have a PI watching. I quickly walked around to the other side of the BMW and kissed her as I took her by the arm. We walked to her apartment, rubbing hips and exchanging pecking kisses all the way. I also thought about the possibility of her apartment being bugged. Apparently Kay didn’t think so or hadn’t thought of that because once inside, she acted her old cool self. Pointing to the sofa, she said we needed to have a talk.

We had no more than sat down when she must have realized that she’d gain more with some cordiality and politeness. “How about a night cap? Cognac, whiskey? Or?”

After we’d settled down with the cognac and a snack, Kay turned to me with an expectant look and surprised me. “Well how was Shelley? A good lay? Did she suck you off? Did you lick her pussy?”

That took me aback. Was she actually jealous like it sounded? She must have noticed my jaw dropping because she continued without waiting for me to answer. “Randall, I’m your paying client and I’ve got a right to know.”

Not being a sharp lawyer like her, I didn’t have an answer so she persisted: “Randall!”

Normally I’m not a kiss and tell type but Kay was a paying client. Starting hesitantly and with her pestering, I ended up giving her a blow by blow account, skipping only my flashback in the big basement room. Up until then, the interaction with Kay had been hot and cold. In fact, mostly she was cold and could only be nice when she realized it was necessary to get cooperation. As I got into the nitty-gritty’s of the tussle with Shelley, Kay appeared ever more agitated – squirming slightly like she wasn’t comfortable sitting, moistening her lips, shifting her shoulders. I suspected what it was and got confirmation when I felt her hand on my thigh.

With a woman like her, not used to being sensual, you’ve got to walk a fine line – encourage her but don’t move to fast. I put my hand on hers and went on giving her all the dirty nitty-gritty’s. When she turned her hand over and grasped mine, I wound down my tale of fucking Shelley and leaned towards Kay. At first there was no response to my kiss. I persisted, then her lips parted, a slight shudder when our tongues met, her tongue responded, she squeezed my hand harder. I knew what was to come and I knew it would really be something but I couldn’t push too hard too soon.

Continuing kissing, I put a hand on her belly and inched it upwards, at first only nudging the bottoms of her breasts. From her upper body movements and her writhing tongue, I knew she wanted her breasts fondled and I was only too glad to oblige – on the outside of her sweater and the sport bra.

“Randall, my bra.” And indeed fondling tits through a sweater and sport bra isn’t a very satisfactory sensation, for fondler or fondlee. She had her sweater off in nothing flat. I started fumbling around looking for a clasp or zipper but Kay cut me short with: “Randall, it’s a sports bra. No closure.” And over her head it went and out tumbled those bountiful C (or D) cups, now free for fun and games. The idea of a tit fuck went through my mind, but first things first. For the moment I was in heaven and couldn’t get enough of kneading, fondling, nipple pinching, kissing, sucking, you name it, she responded to it all. Returning to her mouth, the coppery taste told me the outcome was no longer in doubt, the only questions were how soon, how wild things would get and where we’d do it, on the couch, on the living room rug or in bed.

Under her skirt I felt a wet panty crotch. She helped me get them off. The distinct scent of female sex was in the air. My fingers trolled in her slit, pausing at the top to circle that little super sensitive nubbin. Kay had her hand on my raging erection, at first attempting to masturbate me through my slacks. Giving up she unbuckled and unzipped me. I lifted my hips and she worked the slacks and shorts all the way down my legs and off over my feet.

Laying on our sides facing one another on the couch, we played – intensely. I had three fingers vibrating inside her and at the same time the thumb of the same hand was massaging her clitoris. Her hips were oscillating so hard she had trouble concentrating on the hand job she was doing on me.

“Randall”, she gasped, “let’s go in the bedroom.”

I couldn’t have been more agreeable and we couldn’t  have gotten to the  bedroom faster if Spock and Kirk had beamed us there. Kay seemed to make a dive for the bed, roll onto her back and spread her legs as in one motion. Things were so rushed and intense, we almost forgot the condom. Her hands were shaking so, she wasn’t of much help putting it on. No matter, it wasn’t my first rodeo. This time there was no real resistance, just a warm firm surrounding as I worked my way in, all the time accompanied by her moans of ecstasy.

We ended up being pretty compatible. I’d thrust all the way in but before I could withdraw all the way for another stroke, Kay had already thrust upwards so we were groin to groin. Then she’d drop her hips back down as if to be ready for my downward thrust. Neither of us lasted long and before long we collapsed together in pile of sweaty flesh. I forgot about the damn rubber until we had cooled down and rolled apart. There it lay on the towel between us, sticky all over and hopefully still carrying my entire spent wad. She didn’t seem to be worrying so I never bothered to say sorry.

I pulled the blanket up over our rapidly cooling bodies and rolled on my side to face her. I hadn’t doubted that she’d want to talk. Just how soon was another question but the answer came soon enough. “Randall about tonight….”

At that point it still wasn’t clear to me whether she knew ahead of time that the party was going to be switching affair. That answer came soon enough too. “When we drew names and paired off, I wondered what for. Oh I’m so stupid, even when Robbie took me to that bedroom upstairs.” (So she hadn’t been fucked in one of those compartments in the basement room.) “He treated me like a whore. Grabbed me by the shoulders, hips against mine, I could feel his erection against my belly. Hand under my skirt. Pushed me down on the bed and his hand was in my panties, all the time he’s kissing. It hurt when he stuck a finger in me – the shit went right for my vagina. When he finally noticed I wasn’t ready, he had the nerve to ask what was wrong. Randall, I didn’t dare push him off and walk out. That just wasn’t an option. Who knows, I might not only not make partner, I might get pushed out of ABC completely.”

It occurred to me that with her obsession to become a partner, Robbie’s treating her like a whore wasn’t all that inappropriate.

“Fortunately among the stuff on the nightstand was some lube. I told him I was just a little dry so he slicked up his middle finger and stuck it in me. I was still tight so it still didn’t go in right.”

At that point I had a pretty good idea what might be coming next – Robbie would lose his erection and start beating her. But I was wrong. He never got the chance because Kay was more resourceful and determined than I’d thought.

“The only excuse I could think of was that I needed to play with him to get hot so that’s what I said. Robbie was only too glad to get out of his slacks and shorts and fortunately, he was still hard. I did a good job acting like I really was excited with his dick and pushed him onto his back and began masturbating him. As he got to really grooving on that, I thought maybe I could make him come and that would be it. That wasn’t to be – no the dirty fuck sat up and pushed me on my back. When he straddled my chest, I knew what was coming. It’s so disgusting, I didn’t really know what to do. But shit, Randall, I’ve read…..” She sniffled.

I said some comforting bullshit and urged her to go on. (I like to hear a story of depravity now and again too.)

“Then he put it in my mouth. I guess I wasn’t enthusiastic enough because he grabbed my hair and jerked my head back on forth. That hurt, but I got the point: Please him or there’d be more hurt. I got cooperative real quick and - this is not so easy to talk about.”

The kinky side of me wanted to hear the rest. I put on my most sympathetic face. “It’s okay. You can tell me Kay. Please I want your trust.”

Nodding her head first, she went on. “Randall, I don’t have much experience with that but I knew I had no choice. I would have to satisfy him. I bobbed my head up and down on his penis, all the while sloshing my tongue around to generate spit. Until he came, it hadn’t even occurred to me that his semen was going to be in my mouth. Anyway after what seemed like an eternity of me fucking him with my mouth, I heard him - a sort of animal like groan: ‘Ummmm, umhhh! Oh Fuck!’ Then I felt his squirt and a sticky blob was in my mouth. As soon as he pulled his soft penis out, I made a move to spit out in my hand but again he grabbed my hair and tossed my head back. ‘Open your mouth! Show me my come on your tongue! Now swallow!’ What choice did I have? Oh Randall, I feel so used.” Then she did something I was sure she hadn’t done in a very long time. She sobbed deeply and uncontrollably.

I held her and kept repeating “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

After she quieted down, I fetched the cognac bottle and glasses and we had a nightcap sitting up against pillows propped against the black padded leather headboard. The sobbing was over, just a few sniffles. I wondered what was coming next. The answer came soon enough. She had more to get off her chest.

She began with a few sobs. Then out it came. “Today was the first sex I’ve had since university.” She must have seen my jaw drop and my eyebrows go up. “Really Randall. In my freshman year. At first nobody asked me out. There were prettier girls around. Then suddenly, in the middle of the spring semester, a Signa Fu frat guy suddenly asked me out. I thought finally someone appreciates me.”

“He took me to a movie and afterwards said we could go back to the frat house and have some snacks and drinks. They weren’t supposed to have female guests that late but he said there was a basement room that the campus police didn’t know about and hence never got checked. We had some chips and whiskey with coke. I started getting a little heady and he made his move. He sweet talked me and it wasn’t long before we were both naked. He couldn’t get enough of my breasts. Kissing, kneading, pinching my nipples. He straddled me and put his hard dick in my cleavage. He told me how much he liked my big beautiful titties. When he came, there was stream of sticky semen all down between my breasts. Then the door opened and one of his frat brothers came in with a laptop. When he said he had something to show me, my heart dropped. The video showed me, face, tits, pussy, everything. The only thing you could see of the guy who tit fucked me was his lower body.”

Kay did some more sobbing.”

“The two frat guys wanted to know how I’d like to have the video on the internet. If not they needed a favor or two. The favor or two turned out to be ten. That was the number of naked Signa Fu pledges they brought in to fuck me. For the pledges it was some sort of traditional rite of passage.”

Kay sobbed even harder than before. I was speechless. All I could do was hold her close and stroke her back. I knew there was more to come once she got the sobbing under control.

“I tried to curl up and hide my body but they played the video again and said it’d go to girls in my dorm and to students in my classes. I had to take these pledges one after another. For 3 or 4 of them, it was their first time and they had troubles getting hard. Two of them couldn’t get hard and the upper classmen made me suck so they’d get hard enough to penetrate me.”

“After it was all over, the pledges filed out with the second guy. The first guy, my original date, told me to get dressed and get out. They were done with me. I pleaded with him. Why did they pick on me? He gave me this snide look and says ‘Cause you got big tits. And shit, a plain bitch like you ought to be glad frat guys like us want to put our dicks in you.’ Oh Randall, I was so crushed.”

Again more sobbing. I knew she wasn’t done.

“The rest of the semester was a horror. I always had the feeling of being stared at. Just hearing somebody giggle, I’d shiver. It was even worse seeing a guy wearing something with a Signa Fu logo. But I’ll say one thing, these guys from Signa Fu must have kept their word. I never had reason to believe that they’d put the video online or told anyone. After all, it is a fraternity with a long tradition of military honor.”

Even I, bail jumper, itinerant worker, tramp, male escort, couldn’t help thinking: ‘What fucking honor?’ Kay had more to tell.

“After the school year was over, I transferred to another school, out of state. That’s when I started wearing a sports bra just so my breasts wouldn’t attract attention again. And in law school, I kept on wearing the sports bra.”

“And you kept on hiding your luscious breasts at ABC?”

“Yes Randall. Sometimes I think maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. I’m not so pretty. Maybe there’d be some guy who’d get so worked over my breasts, he’d overlook the other. Anyway, now it’s not really an option. I can’t just suddenly show up for work in a  normal bra. Everybody would think I’d had a tit job.”

Kay really had a problem. Here was a chance to make use of my military experience (such as it was) – advise her to make a frontal feint and attack on the flank. “Kay, what you need to do is distract people’s attention away from your tits while you gradually let them get bigger?”

She looked at me like I’d just announced that I’d been born on Mars.

In the few months of working for Jolene, I’d learned a few things about style, good taste and the importance of appearance. Right when I first saw Kay in the TGI Fridays, it was pretty apparent that she was definitely not into makeup and style – almost like she was doing her utmost to be a plain Jane. It had crossed my mind then that with her facial type, given a good facial makeup and hair styling, she’d remind me of Charlie (aeronautical engineer and Maverick’s girlfriend) in the movie Top Gun. In other words, Kay had potential.

“Kay, you need to work on your grooming. But start slow. Get your eyes done. Eyebrows and lashes first.” I told her about the place where Jolene sent me. “Then try some facial makeup, very light at first. At that point, then switch to a softer sports bra so your tits look a little bigger, just  a little so it’s not too noticeable. People might notice that your breasts look bigger but they’ll just think that maybe they didn’t see you so well before. Then you get your hair styled maybe even tinted. Switch to an even softer sports bra. After a few weeks, get some hair fillers for more volume. Don’t do it all at once, do all this over maybe 6 months. Then switch to a regular bra but just don’t pick one that makes little tits look like big tits.” Taking a breast in my hand and hefting it, I continued, “you don’t need to exaggerate these beauties in the least bit.”

An appreciative smile replaced her amazed look, but I could see there was still lots of doubt. Maybe she really didn’t want to look good. Lots of feminists think that way. Men are supposed to admire them for their deep intellect and the wise shit they say. Trouble is, in the male mentality, a man’s most important organ is his dick. Hell, in German they even have an expression that says just that: ‘Sein bestes Stueck.’ Men think through their dicks, or at least they think through what they’d like to do with their dicks.

“Randall, I’m just not into ass kissing. If that’s what it takes to make partner, then fuck them.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Here was the woman who’d paid me 600 bucks so I’d pretend to be her lover and fuck her and who’d gone to a switcheroo party, all to enhance her chances of getting promoted! And she’s not into ass kissing? I couldn’t help thinking about Audrey, the businesswoman client from California. Her sexy good looks hadn’t kept her from running a big company and de-balling male subordinates. And her hard-as-nails management style hadn’t kept her from fucking like a mink either. It occurred to me that Audrey could teach Kay a thing or two so I got to thinking about how things worked for her.

“Randall, why are you so quiet? Did I upset you?”

“Look Kay, think how it goes down when you walk in to a negotiation with an adversary. You walk in looking like a plain Jane, the other side thinks that with your plain looks, you must be a real smart bitch to get where you are. Their minds sharpen up, they get real careful and you’ve got some tough dealing ahead of you. On the other hand, you walk in nicely made up: eyebrows, eyelashes, facial makeup; wearing a fashionable conservative business suit with nice protrusions on your chest; your male adversaries are going to be thinking you got your job because your boss likes having nice stuff around for after hours entertainment. They’re going to get careless. You play your cards right, you can stick it in and break it off.”

“Randall, really. You don’t know some of the characters in my business.”

In spite of the doubt in her words, from the look on her face, I knew I’d made an impression so I went on. “Kay, besides there’s the physiological aspect. When you look like I think you could look like, men are going to get hard-on’s. You know what that means? Blood that they need in their brains is gonna be in their dicks.”

For the first time since meeting her in the TGI Fridays, she actually laughed – really laughed, even giggled. “Randall, and does holding my tit give you a hard-on?” Without waiting for an answer, she reached for my groin. “Oooh, it does, doesn’t it?”

My answer was another surge of blood and a gasp as I felt her tug my foreskin back. Letting go, she started to caress the head but since I wasn’t completely hard, the foreskin came back and got in the way. “Kay, hold it back on the shaft with one hand and use the other to …..” Kay, was an avid learner and I was rock hard in nothing flat. Like most inexperienced hand job givers, she started the hard pumping way to soon and I had to slow her down and teach her a few moves.

When she stopped and nuzzled up to kiss, I thought that maybe now she wanted to be fucked. But I was wrong. “Randall, what I did – had to do with Robbie – I don’t know – but. Would you …..?”

So she wanted to give head. I said ‘yes’ with a wag of my tongue in her mouth, knowing of course that she’d be needing some instructions with that too. As I’d expected, her concept of giving head was to take me in her mouth snugly and bob her head up and down. I taught her to surround me with mouth open wide, breath heavily and lick the head, letting her tongue linger on the hole and go round and round on the corona.

There’s something extremely erotic about giving instructions and watching the student do the practical work and I knew pretty quickly that I wouldn’t last long enough to give her a complete course in blow jobbing. With a “Kaaayy!” and some hard breathing, I let her know the lesson was coming to a climax.

“Randall, is it …., do you want …?”

I somehow gasped out that it was up to her. With her lips snugly on my dick, she not only bobbed up and down rapidly, she also sucked! I had a mini-flashback of one whore the Army construction engineers called ‘125cfm.’ (For you white collar readers, 125cfm refers to performance of an air compressor used in construction and mining – ‘cfm’ meaning cubic feet per minute.)

I wondered if Kay would also do what the troops said of Miss 125 cfm. It turned out she did. After I came, Kay kept on sucking and completely milked me out. I never heard the troops say whether Miss 125 cfm swallowed or not. Kay didn’t, but she didn’t spit out either, at least not right away. Instead she crept back up and hesitated with her mouth over my chest. It came close to grossing me out when she deposited the whole works, semen and spit, on my chest.  But she more than made up for that by using her big tits to spread the sticky mess all over my chest. Then she collapsed on top of me.


The next morning I called a cab and on the way home the whole business went through my head. When Jolene recruited me, I’d imagined male escort work to be escorting some lonely older woman to a play, museum, restaurant, etc. and then getting her to ask for some extra service for which she’d pay me a ‘tip’ in an agreed upon amount. Remembering Denise, the cardiologist’s wife, that’s how my career had started.

However, the character of the dates had somehow mutated to where I felt more and more like some kind of therapist. And real conscience conflicts had developed, like after the date with Wasim’s wives. That got me to thinking about how I still hadn’t decided what to do about that. After all, as far as I knew, Wasim was still traveling around the country carrying money to unsavory characters who might drive a truck into a street party, shoot up a disco or worse.

Last night had been something else, actually a whole new ballgame or more new ballgames. Acting out the part of a realtor boyfriend in a long term relationship, participating in a switcher party and at the end giving personality therapy – not to mention sexual therapy. And giving Kay a pussy trim – what was that in politically correct terminology for a pussy trim? Female grooming?

Life would be a lot simpler if more clients were like Denise – older, overweight and under fucked.

You read about people who get bored with their jobs because of monotony and lack of opportunity for creativeness. I sure couldn’t complain about monotony. Just the opposite actually, and the date with Audrey came to mind. What guy with a so called ‘normal’ job ever has to play the part of a stallion and canter around on all fours chasing a woman who’s pretending to be a mare?

I wondered what would come my way next and when. Down deep, my wish was for Denise or at least a Denise type – uncomplicated and appreciative, just needing nice friendly service.

Ever careful and not wanting anyone to see where I could be found, I had the cab drop me off a few blocks from the strip mall where I lived over Marvin’s bike shop. I was ready to collapse in bed and pass out but I knew it was better to go on a bike ride now and sleep later when the day got hotter.

I was really beat to shit. The day before it had been TGI Fridays (thank God it’s Friday). After the exertions with Kay and Shelley, all the stress pretending to be a hot shot realtor and the personal counseling, today was surely ‘thank God it’s Saturday.’

Already tired after riding the half hour it took to get to Gwynns Falls Park, I wasn’t in the park very long before I started looking for a picnic spot to lie down and doze. Finding one, I leaned the bike against the table and laid down on the bench. I woke up to see two no-nonsense guys wearing suits and sunglasses looking down at me. As soon as I sat up, suit 1 sat next to me while suit 2 kept standing as if on guard in case I ran.

Suit 1: “Mr. Chester, we’d like a word with you.”

To my dumb look, he continued, “You are Arthur Chester, aren’t you? Or you forget? We understand. You been sleeping. You get woke up. You forget the name you’re going by now. We understand.”

My asshole slammed shut with a crash. Then I knew – the gray Suburban in front of the J&B office! I’d thought then that it might be mob types muscling in on Jolene’s business. But these guys didn’t have the mob look and besides, they were too polite.

“Oh, by the way, I’m Special Agent Fanton, FBI.” He flashed his ID and badge and hand swinging towards the guy standing, “And this is Special Agent (SA) Wolmershouse.”

I was thinking about giving these guys the slip and running off into the woods when a gray Suburban came creeping along. Fanton continued, “Don’t even think about running Art. My partner is a trained athlete and so is the driver of the Suburban.”

They must have heard my asshole slam shut because Wollmershouse went on, “Look Art, no need to be alarmed. We’re not interested in your sleazy background. Step into the car please, it’ll be more comfortable in there.”

The side door opened and they motioned me to the middle seat row where another suit was waiting. “Good morning Art, I’m Supervising Special agent (SSA) Rickard. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

I sat next to him and didn’t say a word.

Rickard opened with a bad cop line: “We’re not interested in all the shit you been into. We’re interested in, what shall I say, one of your Janes. Or do you call your customers Janets? Surely, you got your own vocabulary in that slimy escort business.” Then with a cynical laugh, “J&B Associates! What a joke. Like it was some kind of respectable business that shows rich people and companies how to get outta paying taxes.”

By then I knew the cat was out of the bag and I’d regained some composure. “Actually, we say clients.” Rickard, playing the part of the bad cop, gave another cynical horse laugh. Remembering that lots of FBI agents are lawyers, I added, “Why not ‘clients’? That’s what lawyers call their customers and they fuck them too – in more than one way.”

SSA Rickard must have been a lawyer because his face got red and his arm tensed. I thought he might take swing at me but he got himself under control in time. Turning to SA Fanton, “Get this slimeball outta my sight!”

So outside we went, Fanton, Wollmershouse and I. Walking back towards the picnic table, Fanton took up the good cop routine. “Look, we know some guys get into a bind and have to do stuff they wouldn’t otherwise do. So what’s your story? Divorce? Lose your job? Fight with the boss? Debts?”

So maybe it wasn’t about my jumping bail. I should have known the FBI wouldn’t send four people after a guy who jumped bail a couple decades earlier. And I doubted that they’d want to do the job of the Baltimore PD vice squad. What’d they want? Why the good cop/bad cop routine? Did Jolene have a human trafficking sideline and they wanted me to help nail her?

To Fanton’s questions, I just shrugged my shoulders so he went on. “Look Art, we just wanna have a friendly talk. SSA Rickard’s actually a nice guy. Can’t you be a little more polite?”

I shrugged my shoulder’s again. Back in the Suburban, SSA Rickard forced a smile. “Are you going to be seeing Fatim anytime soon?” Now I knew what this was all about. The FBI must have been watching Wasim even before my date with Fatim.

I put on a confused look. Rickard tilted his head sideways and gave me a condescending look before holding out his hand to Fanton, who pulled out a stack of photos and handed them over. Gloating, Rickard showed me the first. There I was with Fatim in the Wit & Wisdom bar at the Four Seasons. I wondered how far their photo collection would go. The next one showed Fatim with her middle finger of one hand going into the tube formed by the curled fingers of the other hand. Then the one of Fatim sliding a pile of bills over to me. Then Fatim and I, hand in hand, leaving the bar.

Rickard had been handing each successive photo back to Fanton. Showing one of Fatim and I entering the lift, he asked. “You want to see more?”

I shrugged my shoulders as noncommittally as I could.

The next photo showed Fatim unlocking the door to the 8th floor suite. Rickard still held a pretty good sized stack of photos. Could it be? Had they prepped the suite and recorded me in action with Fatim and Gul?

Then SSA Rickard made his threat. “Look Art, we don’t need to give this stuff to Baltimore PD Vice. It’s up to you though.”

Of course, they wanted something from me and it had to have something to do with Wasim and his travels. I tried playing dumb by being a smart alec. “I didn’t know I had that much influence with the FBI.”

“You don’t dickhead. We have influence over you. Your choice, Art. Cooperate with us or we throw you to the wolves. And your pimp boss, Jolene, she can’t save your slimy skin. You see, she hasn’t been greasing palms with the Baltimore PD. Even worse, she’s somehow managed to not buy protection from the local Italian cultural association. So you see Art, we got you by your ass, by your cajones – oops I mean caglioni.”

I couldn’t see any way out except to ask what the hell they wanted. Actually, having been shown the photos of me with Fatim, I knew it had something to do with Wasim. “So what is it you think I can do for you?”

“Look you immoral shithead, we’re not talking about what we think you can do for us. This discussion is about what you are going to do for us. Am I getting through to you?”

I gave in. “So what is it you want me to do?”

In an instant, SSA Rickard’s expression transformed from contempt to smug satisfaction. Then in a condescending tone, “Art you are going to help us nail Wasim Al Manwari. Now I want you to sit down over there on that picnic bench with SA Fanton and SA Wollmershouse. They’ll fill you in on exactly what you’re going to do. Okay?”

I nodded agreement, the side door opened and Rickard waved me off without a handshake.

On the picnic bench Fanton and Wollmershouse sat on either side of me. Fanton explained that they were sure Wasim was bringing money to various Islamic mischief makers around the country, but so far they hadn’t been able to follow him and find out where. Tracking the finances hadn’t worked because Wasim did everything with cash. Not only cash, but cash in the form of used bills with non-consecutive serial numbers. The FBI wanted to nail Wasim and they wanted to know where he sourced the used cash. The amounts they thought he was disbursing were way too large for a bank not to report.

Finally Fanton got to the point. “So look Al, here’s the problem. When Wasim goes on one of his cash carrying missions, we never find out in time to get a tail on him. Under some front corporation name, he rents a suite at some big luxury hotel and parks his wives there. If we ask the embassy where he is, they say in a diplomatic sort of fashion that he’s shacked up fucking one or all his wives. In reality he’s out bringing money to Islamic assholes all over the country.”

Something sounded funny to me. “So if you got trouble tracking numb nuts Wasim, how’d you get me on candid camera with his wife at the Four Seasons?”

“Luck. Somebody on another op thought you were somebody else and started taking pictures. We ran the photos through face recognition. Your face was a dead end but Fatim’s was in the system connected to Wasim.”

Finally some good news! My face wasn’t in the facial recognition data base! Fearing I might show too much joy at not being in their system, I kept quiet and waited for them to go on.

Wollmershouse broke the silence. “We’re not gonna give you anymore on our intel. You only gotta know what you gotta do – period! Period, fucking period.”

I just looked at him.

Fanton realized Wollmershouse had gotten out of line and in a phony friendly tone, “Okay look Art, next time as soon as you get a – whatever you call it – a date, a job, I don’t know. As soon as you know you’re gonna see Fatim, you call this number.”

After showing me the number on a scrap of paper, Fanton told me to memorize it. I did and he went on with some does and don’ts.

Then the question hit me. If face recognition came up blank, how had they connected me to J&B and Jolene?

The two SSA’s looked at each other. Wollmershouse was the one to answer. “Your hair. The frosting. It was on our photos. We knew you were an escort, all we had to do was look at photos on escort service websites. Hell it was easy. You were the only one with that frosting.”

Under my breath, I swore at Jolene whose idea it was for me to get that Mitt Romney look. Then it hit me, why didn’t they just get Jolene to call whenever Wasim made a booking? Fortunately the answer came to me before I could ask the two SA’s. All Jolene had to do was grease some palms at the Baltimore PD and the FBI wouldn’t have any way to pressure her. If I tried to duck out, they’d sic the Baltimore PD on me, or even worse do some digging into my background.

I knew Wollmershouse had something else on his mind and it had nothing to do with the little 007 job they wanted me to do. “So this raghead bitch Fatim picked you out of the J&B stable, because of your frosted hair? Or because of the LH734? I always heard those raghead men don’t have much hanging. Did Fatim just wanna know how a big one feels?” He laughed like he thought he’d just created a joke for Saturday Night Live.

I really wanted to make some crack about how he must be jealous of my schlong or maybe ask why he was so interested in male escorts. My better sense took hold and I just looked at him.

He wasn’t done yet. “Oh yeah, what’d she say to your foreskin? Them raghead dudes are all cut, you know. Was she scared of your trumpet?”

Fanton shut him up with a reproaching look and turned to me. “As soon as we get your call, we’ll have some last minute instructions.” Then he took out his cell phone and had quick exchange with someone – obviously with another agent because a gray Ford sedan appeared. Before they got in and left, I got another warning against trying to get out of what they wanted me to do.

Alone again, I got to thinking about whether I could just disappear. After all I had enough cash to take a bus anywhere in the country and start over. Trouble was, I didn’t know how intensely they were watching me and if I tried to skip out, they might dig into my background. On the other hand, even if I did the spy work they wanted done, I had no guarantee that they’d leave me alone afterwards.

Witness protection program? That’s for people threatened by the mob. It was the FBI that was threatening me, not the mob. Besides, what I needed was a pardon for the shit that I didn’t do a couple decades ago. The same shit that got me into jumping bail – bail jumping that these G-men didn’t seem to know about. If I brought it up, then they’d have even more to threaten me with.

Then I got to thinking. These G-men ought to be so glad to nail Wasim that they’d do anything for me – even get rid of my bail jumping problem. On the other hand, that was assuming the FBI had a conscience and then I had to laugh. There’s that old saying ‘a stiff dick hath no conscience.’ From what I’d seen of  SA Fanton, SA Wollmershouse and SSA Rickard, I’d put more trust in the conscience of a stiff dick.


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