MaryAnn was a features writer and associate editor for a regional magazine. When she returned home from Las Vegas, she wrote her assigned article about a high class hooker. Then, under a pseudonym, she wrote a much more erotic article on the same subject for one of the country's leading men's magazines. She hoped the erotic version would be suspected to be first person account of sex for pay in Sin City, because, in a large measure, it was just that.
Within a week her writing was done. She hit "send" and away the stories went. She wiggled her toes, stretched, sighed, and realized it was time for her aperiodic heart-to-heart talk with her best friend and sweetheart for life, her former husband.
"Ron, darling, that was a great adventure wasn't it? I'm so glad we decided to have an open marriage. Being a widow is a bastard but being able to satisfy my sex drive knowing you would have approved allows me to enjoy the sex. And boy did I satisfy it and enjoy it in Las Vegas! I'm sure you could tell by the noises. You always loved to hear me make them didn't you lover?
"Best of all that I was paid a nice sum to fuck a stranger. And what a lover the stranger was. He was so good I'd have paid him five hundred bucks. I left him with a smile on his face. Did you enjoy watching as much as you used to in real life?"
She know Ron didn't watch. He was dead these last two years, and she wasn't religious or otherwise superstitious, but her conversations with him kept her in touch with his memory. MaryAnn was so good at concocting a conversation she wondered if she cold sell fiction. Perhaps, if a market for porn returned.
She continued, "As usual I'm out of step with society. We whores -- and that's what I am now, huh? -- are looked down on. Well C'est la vie. I did it because I wanted to, and I kept the money to boot. In fact I doubled my earnings in another poker game. All that my love and I don't have a single regret. And I owe it all to you, my husband, who suggested we obey the first part of the Hippocratic Oath that tells us first do no harm. If we do that we are free to enjoy ourselves.
The thought of her departed husband brought tears to her eyes. She did miss him so much, but as he often said, "Our being in love doesn't mean we own each other." Talking to Ron helped chase away the bugaboos that still accompanied widowhood. She missed him so much, and their "chats" helped.
Then, she lay back and savored the memories of Ron and her wild adventure in Las Vegas. She had dozed off when the phone rang.
"Hello," she said.
"Hi Maryann, guess who this is?"
Oh hell, one of those annoying calls! She refused to have an unlisted number because she felt she got enough feedback from her articles to make it worth the annoyance. With an audible sigh she answered, "I have no idea who you are."
"Well I'll make it easy for you. The last time I saw you, you had just given a young guy a blow job, then another fucked you hard while you screamed with ecstasy so loud the walls shook." MaryAnn was sure she could hear a suppressed giggle in the voice. And no wonder, it had to be Judy her neighbor in north San Diego County and the woman she shared a wild night with in New York.
"You did indeed make it easy Judy." She replied. "You were rather well occupied too as I remember. You were on your hands and knees on a bed. A young, very well hung, dude from Harlem was standing behind you pounding away. You tried to make a flippant remark. but your humor didn't come through because you were in the throes of another grand orgasm, the third that I knew of. So how's that for a memory, you little red-headed slut?" She hoped her own suppressed giggle was understood.
This time Judy's giggle was real. "You know what? We are two of a kind. I don't know anybody else I could talk about such stuff with. Who would understand that nice, respectable women could have a slutty streak running through them?"
MaryAnn answered, "I know only one other person I could talk about such thing with, and he is not a woman. Furthermore he has been dead for two years."
"Still miss him eh?"
"Yes, I talk to him all the time. In fact I just finished a while ago. But you didn't call to talk of our foibles. What's up? You have a stack of young studs stashed away up there in our rich suburb?"
"Nope. I just wondered if you had some free time next week. I'd love to buy you lunch at 'The Hideaway.'"
MaryAnn was glad to accept. "If you want to meet in that out of the way joint, you must have some hot stuff to talk about. Let's make it Monday. Okay?"
She knew Judy well. They were so similar in so many ways. Both had crept into their forties. MaryAnn had lost her husband a couple years earlier. Judy was divorced when Josh Copeland had made her his third trophy wife and ensconced her in a multi million dollar house in a fancy inland community of millionaires and billionaires -- no nine-to-five peons in what was euphemistically called "The Ranch."
They first met when MaryAnn wrote a magazine piece about how Judy, an interior designer, had renovated her new digs. They met again two years ago when both of them were seeking high adventure in Smitty's Colorful Club in New York City. As the name hinted Smitty's was actually a sex club where white women could meet young black guys and satisfy their secret yearnings.
MaryAnn was delighted to accept the luncheon invitation. One week later she showed up at the rather obscure restaurant. The Hidaway featured expensive but mediocre Mexican food. MaryAnn guessed that Judy had chosen it because it wasn't crowded and they would have the opportunity to discuss their exploits.
Judy was already there sipping a glass of wine. The bottle, one with a French label, was on the table. Without asking she poured one for her friend. "Drink up," she said with a smile.
MaryAnn took a sip then looked at the bottle. That didn't help "Good stuff, she said. "I'm not familiar with the brand."
"It is good stuff, appropriate for a reunion of two passionate and very evil women. At any rate drinking expensive wine is just one of the benefits of being a trophy wife."
"And the others?"
"In my case one is having a damned handsome husband who is a fantastic lover when he feels like fucking me rather than someone else."
MaryAnn nodded in agreement at that. Josh was a handsome dude, albeit one in his seventies. Every time she saw him MaryAnn compared him to Bert Lancaster in the movie Atlantic City. A night with him wouldn't be hard to take as long as the Viagra held out.
Jody continued, "And a generous prenuptial agreement is another perk. This marriage won't last forever. I might get wrinkles, or sag before he loses his virility. So far I love my situation. He gives me all sorts of freedom. He knows what I do in New York for example. Stuff like that excites him. He has shared me with some friends. I guess I am in fact a whore, huh?"
Was this déjà vu? MaryAnn had proclaimed her self a whore to her husband just a few days earlier. She answered Judy, "I suppose it is technically. But so what? If we have something valuable and someone else wants to buy it, who is to deny us the right."
