I spent the early part of my FBI career eating pussy for the city's most prominent business women. No one pressured me into doing it, but that was the assignment. Do I regret my involvement? No, in fact I often reminisce on those days. I'd never subject my current trainees to those types of activities but I can honestly say that it changed my life for the better.
Here's what happened:
The year was 2007 and I was surrounded by family at Quantico, Virginia for the ceremony. I became an FBI agent like my retired father. Where most graduates beamed with pride, I found myself being lukewarm over the whole thing. It was an undeniable achievement, my family was so proud, especially my dad, and I felt like I'd accomplished something by just being there. It gave me purpose.
On the other hand, despite my belief in the justice system, dealing with hardened criminals for the rest of my life was questionable. Plus I'd been assigned to a field office on the other side of the country, away from family and friends, to a place known for freezing temperatures.
Life's major twist came as I left the ceremony with my family. We were headed to my favorite pizza place when an FBI agent in a suit stopped us and wanted a moment of my time. Hard edged, straight faced. Agent Esparza was his name. The man who changed my life.
In a private room he congratulated me for the tremendous accomplishment, which I could tell he was trying to butter me up, then he laid it on me.
"This will be short. Do you want a counter-intelligence assignment at a fashion place? It'll bolster your career within the ranks. Interested? Yes or no?"
I remember studying the lines on Agent Esparza's face. Nothing moved. Counter-intelligence? No wonder he was so strict, I remember thinking, because those guys don't mess around. I needed to answer right then and there, but all I could think about was my family waiting in the auditorium.
"Dangerous?" I asked.
"No."
"What's the assignment about?"
"You'll get briefed once you agree. I'm running the op. New York. Yes or no?"
A month later I got a tiny apartment in Manhattan with cash to support myself. By early September the plan came to fruition and I'd gotten the job working for Madame Isabelle at the French boutique. It was a gorgeous place, a haven of luxury with a slice of European elegance. Everything there was imported from France, from big name designer brands to hand-tailored garments.
I'd worked retail in my youth so passing Madame Isabelle's tests was easy. The interview process couldn't have gone smoother. I suppose that was the reason Agent Esparza chose me for that job, though he never outright said it, because I have skills that aren't taught at the academy.
She was the target, by the way, suspected of -- wittingly or unwittingly -- operating a hub where 'friendly' nations passed information amongst their spies. I was there to keep tabs. To dig deeper. I didn't have backup because it was a preliminary investigation. We also didn't have a warrant yet so wiretaps were out of the question.
Once everything was set I hit the ground running. It was a typical 9-5 job, the kind you'd see at any clothing store, only with stricter standards and a demanding clientele. There were less than a dozen employees who rotated shifts and I eventually considered several of them to be friends. In many ways, that simple life was the life I'd always envisioned for myself, before joining law enforcement.
Two months later, my life took a second twist.
"Kimberly will be leaving us," Madame Isabelle said. "Are you comfortable in the dressing room?"
It was closing time and she approached me by the register. What amazed me the most about Isabelle was that she had this uncanny ability to appear fresh at all times. Early in the morning, late in the day, time meant nothing to her. Her posture was always correct and her clothes were always pressed. No wrinkles or lines on her outfit. She always smelled of flowers. In her early 50's, she did everything possible to appear young.
"Yeah, that'd be great. Wherever you need me."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Have you worked in the dressing area before?"
"No, Madame. I've always worked on the sales floor."
She paused for a moment, studying me. "Do you feel comfortable providing... personal services to clients? It's a crucial aspect of the dressing room."
"I'm totally comfortable with that. Actually, being hands-on with clients is what I love most."
She kept her eyes focused, assessing my body language, and for a moment I wondered if she figured out that I was law enforcement. Her eyes roamed my body. Wondering if I'm wearing a listening device? No. She examined my body the way a talent scout would judge young models for desirability.
"Your first dressing room shift will be on Monday," she said. "You'll need a little more training, then we'll take things slow and see how you perform."
"Sounds great, thank you."
Madame Isabelle, ever the perfectionist, trained me in the art of the dressing room. And I used the word 'art' because that's how she described it. All clients must be treated like royalty, which was how she was taught as a young employee in France, where she'd served movie stars and politicians. She instructed me on how to speak, how to present clothing, and the proper way to dress women efficiently.
It was also the start of my sexual odyssey.
The second week of October we had a client named Tania Montgomery, who my boss stressed was an influential figure in the financial world. Early 60's, streaks of gray hair in between black, very sophisticated. With the emphasis my boss gave toward treating Tania like royalty, it made me wonder if she was a spy, but I dispelled that after meeting her.
"I have new subordinates," Tania said. "They're around your age. I want them upgraded. Can you do that?"
"Yes, I can handle anything."
"Can you make them look like European socialites? Within reasonable budget, they still need to prove themselves."
"I'll make them the hottest products in town, second only to you."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Flattery will get you everywhere. Here's a $100 tip in advance, more if you do a good job."
The associates were young -- two white girls, one hispanic -- and I could tell they were green to the industry by how sheepish they were around their boss. They were dressed for a typical office environment, wearing blouses and office skirts, but Tania Montgomery expected a higher standard.
My colleagues gathered a selection of clothes and I worked my magic in the dressing room. Their body types were different and I fitted them with Chanel, Dior, and Saint Laurent. It was a learning experience. I'd never handled three clients together and they'd never had a group experience. That's what made it so fun. They were shy at first, undressing in a booth with the curtain pulled. It became apparent that open curtains would be the faster route.
Every so often the tips of my fingers would brush against their skin, it was almost like they were leaning into me. As if our light banter created an atmosphere where touching was to be expected.
When we finished, the girls had two bags full of clothes which totaled over $7,000 and they were thrilled. I ran their transaction and they used the company card. My co-workers were helping other customers, then I noticed Tania Montgomery leaving a backroom with my boss, both of them with a straight face.
The girls thanked me again before heading off to lunch. Then I noticed my boss looking at me with a questioning expression on her face.
