This is one in a series of stories based on the premise of selling myself as a call girl catering to rich and famous women, managed by CaCee Cobb, Jessica Simpson's former personal assistant. For the background story, you should read "Serving Jessica", but this story can also stand on its own.
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I'm kind of in the dark as my cab moves down Wilshire Boulevard. Not literally, of course - it's just before 1:00 in the afternoon. But I'm in the dark about my latest client, the woman I'm about to see. CaCee must have been incredibly busy, because all I got was a terse text message: "New client - today at 1, Four Seasons Bev Hills, rm 1024". She's never done that before. I always know who my client is, at least a name. But not this time. I pay the cabbie and hop out in front of the hotel.
With no direction from CaCee, I've taken the elegant route, wearing alluring but tasteful makeup and dressed in my newest outfit, a slinky, teal and white dress that falls just above my knees and makes me look and feel older than my 23 years. I'm feeling good as I take the elevator up to the 10th floor and stride down the hall to the identified room.
Fact is, I'm just glad to have a new client. The past month has been pretty sparse. Neither I nor CaCee could figure it out, though she thought maybe it was because of the Christmas season - everyone being super busy with the holidays and all. Whatever the reason, all I've had in the past few weeks is a couple of studio execs. Both were in their early forties and still very attractive (and very, very appreciative!), but they just weren't what I'd come to hope for. I guess I've been spoiled, but anyone short of a hot Hollywood actress or music star is a minor disappointment.
It's not a money thing, you see, though that's very nice. For me it's the sex that makes this job so great. Meeting someone beautiful and famous, making love to her, sometimes having her make love to me, it's just beyond my wildest dreams. But lately it just hasn't been there, and to make matters worse, I haven't been getting time with Jessica or CaCee, either. In the past, Jessica was always very needy, and CaCee usually wanted a quickie at least once a week (part of our deal), but of late Jessica has been totally obsessed with her boyfriend, Tony Romo, and CaCee just seems to be incredibly busy. So my draught has been an extended one. I've been horny for a two weeks.
But hopefully that has now changed. I knock on the door and wait, still wondering who my new client is, if she's someone famous or just another rich Beverly Hills lady. Then the door opens and there she is. I recognize her immediately and am pleasantly surprised. It's Cheryl Hines, from "Curb Your Enthusiasm". There is a momentary pause as she just looks at me, kind of a "Are you who I think you are?" look. Then there's that huge, enchanting smile that I know so well from television. She greets me with an enthusiastic, "Hi there!" then adds, "I'm Cheryl."
"Uh .. yes, I know," I say, a bit surprised that she thinks I wouldn't know her. "Very nice to meet you. I'm Milene."
Again a slight pause, her expression pleasant but somewhat awkward. But she snaps out of it. "Come on in," she says, opening the door wider. Then the big smile again as I walk past her. "Cute dress!"
I thank her and pause a few steps into the room, waiting for a cue as to what to do next. "Sit down, sit down," she says, fluttering aimlessly around the room. Her response is familiar, that nervous initial reaction that I've seen with other client the first time. She has a pitcher of Cosmopolitans from room service and pours one for me without asking. I take it with a polite "Thank you," and sit down, watching her as she continues to move about.
Cheryl is dressed very casually, not at all like a "star". Her plain but fashionable white blouse plunges just enough to show off a little cleavage, and her designer jeans cling perfectly to her, showing off a nice round butt and hips that have that little extra width of maturity, without being "broad". Her feet are bare, which I find very sexy. Overall, her appearance matches exactly with my image of her - elegantly simple, common, totally unpretentious. She could easily be mistaken for one of my neighbors, or a friend's mom. A friend's young and very, very hot mom.
She sits down next to me on the couch - close, but not too close - and smiles nervously again. "Oh gosh, this is a little weird. Sorry." I assure her it is okay. "I know," I say calmly, "let's just take it slow. It'll be fun." I reach over to touch her knee as I say it. She smiles and seems to relax a bit. "Yeah, it will be fun, won't it?"
We talk for little while as we sip our Cosmos. It's small talk, a common way to fill that uncomfortable time before the real action begins. I tell her how much I like her acting, how I loved her in "Waitress". The sentiments are sincere, and she seems to really appreciate them. I ask her about the business, about being famous and dealing with the paparazzi following her around, then listen to her answer in that sweet, southern drawl that just drives me crazy. And as she speaks, I can feel her relaxing, getting more comfortable with me and with the situation, more into the moment.
She even asks a little about me. "Milene, huh? That's such an interesting name, pretty." She thinks on that a bit, then tilts her head and laughs at herself. "Ohhh, I'm so dumb!" she exclaims. "That's not your real name, is it?"
"No," I lie with a smile. Of course, her assumption is a reasonable one. No one in the sex business uses her real name. It's just not a smart thing to do. Except, of course, I never expected to be in this business, and without thinking the first few times, I used my real name (but only the first name!). Once I wised up, I decided to start using a "professional name". I even had it down to a couple choices - Lila or Lydia. But then I had the exquisite experience of hearing Dana Delaney crying out "Milene!" as I licked her to her fifth orgasm of the night. I decided then and there that that was a joy I would not give up. So now I just use my real name and let everyone assume it's a fake. Best of both worlds.
"Well, it's a nice choice anyway," she concludes sweetly.
There is a long, awkward pause. Just as I am thinking that it's time, that it's up to me to get things moving in the right direction, Cheryl does it for me.
"You know, I've never done this before," she says. Cheryl seems to feel the need to explain. Or perhaps she is just filling the silence, or responding to an uncomfortable feeling inside her. Whatever it is, I can also see in her the subtle signs of arousal. She is ready to get started.