You can call me Sly. Everybody else does. Of course, I have a real name, but nobody's used that since I was a kid and beat the snot out of friends who tried mocking it.
I'm writing, or at least trying to write this because S-
Christ! I almost got myself in deep shit there. She uses "Vicki" as her name for most clients, though occasionally she'll come up with some other name, depending I guess on the client and maybe the circumstances, or maybe how creative she feels at that moment. I get a kick out of it. I'm the only one that knows her real name and where she lives, and she wants it kept that way.
Anyway, I was saying that I'm writing this because "Vicki" seems to enjoy writing about our little business, and I don't see why I shouldn't try it too. So, here goes.
If you're like most people, I know you'll want to get to the sex part soon. Oh, for God's sake, show a little self-control. I'll get there soon enough.
I'm not much of a writer. I quit school early, and most everything I know comes from the streets, though Vicki's been working with me some. So, this is gonna be a little rough.
I met Vicki when she and some lah-di-dah college senior friends were off on a kind of coming-of-age mission in the Village, trying to prove how cool they were. Jesus, what lambs to the slaughter! Babes in the wilderness. Too good to pass up on, I sweet-talked and shamed them into hooking up with me and some buddies. Well, we showed them a good time, by Jesus. We all got drunk and wound up in somebody's apartment. There was a lot of fucking. Me, I'm not stupid. I swiped a camera and made a record of the events for later use.
Vicki really fell into my hands when a month later she came sniffing around, desperate to find a discrete abortionist. I obliged, but I got the doc to give me a copy of his bill.
I couldn't believe my luck. Here was this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous piece of ass, mine for the taking. I sent copies of the pics and the paperwork to her. We met at my apartment. I indulged myself by having this spoiled upper-class babe, Princess, I called her, get down on her knees and suck me off. To my pleasant surprise, considering her background, she did a pretty good job of it.
Then the dummy thought she was done. I wized her up pretty quick. I told her just how much it was
really
gonna cost her. Well, no surprise, she couldn't raise that kind of dough in secret, so I offered her the chance to earn the money working for me.
Long story short, she accepted the terms.
I gotta say, I was impressed with her work. Once she accepted the situation, she made the best of it. Not only was she beautiful, but she could be really sexy when she wanted to turn it on, and she sure has a way with guys. She didn't even mind trying some new stuff.
I've run hookers before, so I recognized talent when I saw it. I could tell, too, that while she wouldn't admit it, she enjoyed the work. Partly it was the sex and partly the forbidden adventure. Partly too, she realized she was good at it. So, when she had made enough to pay me off, I suggested that we partner up. She could keep her day job, and I'd set her up with clients at night and take my commission.
She jumped at the chance.
Anyway, we've been at this for a while, now. With her looks and talent, we've been doing quite well. I've taught her a few techniques that have improved her performance (and our income). She's a very quick learner and is always up for new stuff, though she's balked at some of my ideas. For a couple of them she just glared at me and told me if I thought that that was such a good idea, I could damn well do it to myself, she sure as hell wouldn't. At a few more she just dissolved in helpless giggles which, I told her, doesn't sit well with clients.
So, she's the marketable half of our partnership, and I've gradually and grudgingly learned to respect her, and not just for her body and her talent, either. I've learned to refer to her johns as "clients" and to me as her "agent". Makes her feel "professional", she says, which seems important to her. Whatever. Pays to keep the staff happy.
Speaking of which, she even spent time cleaning my apartment, which I'd never thought to do. She told me to stay the hell out of the way while she went around muttering something about "decent working conditions". I just watched her and thought how good she looked even in cutoffs, with her hair tied up and no makeup.
My part is to find clients for her and to vet them and to protect her if anything goes south. Finding clients isn't all that hard. You'd be amazed at how many upscale guys know somebody who knows somebody who travels in my circles.
Okay, you've been patient long enough.
I figured I'd tell you about this one time when I had set up an incall date for her at my apartment that got a little wonky. She always prefers incalls, so I try to accommodate her as much as I can. She says she feels safer with me around.
Anyway, the guy shows up fifteen minutes late, for starters.
