For the next couple of weeks Karen barely had a moment to herself. Clearly there was a network out there that she had inadvertently tapped into and word was getting around that she was quite good at what she did. The week she saw Lisa she saw another woman, Carol, and the week following she had three other possibilities but took a decision to limit herself to two meetings a week, possibly three for repeat customers.
'Customers', now that's a strange word,' she thought. "It sounds like I'm selling something."
She pondered that as she went to the toilet for a pee. Sitting there, after she had finished, she fought the thought that she was selling something, because the only 'something' could be herself and would not do. She wasn't an escort, a prostitute, a whore! Was she? Her pitch to the women who called for a date and asked what it might charge was simple.
"I don't charge anything, " she would say, adding that "some of my companions" she liked the word 'companion', "leave a 'thank you', but only if they want to, and I certainly don't demand it."
But as she pondered her new reality -- one, which an observer might add, had become quite lucrative-- she was finding it hard to maintain the line. But not to do do was unthinkable. Married for 24 years mother of one, grandmother of another, Karen had a sense of herself to maintain. Prostitutes and whores were common women who had nothing to offer than what was between their legs and between their shoulders. Karen was an educated, cultured woman. She read books, went to chamber music concerts and art galleries. No, no she wasn't like those women. Was she?
She liked the money, though. Her husband had left her well provided for--she owned the apartment she lived in, was debt free, and he had left investments that produced a tidy income--but the gift she received from her encounters gave her resources for pure indulgence. Perla under garments, Jill Sander outfits, and a stunning Yves Saint Laurent skirt that turned heads whenever she wore it (well, only twice but each time she turned heads of both sexes). And she could easily afford her personal trainer Dex, and a manicurist and waxer, Poppy, who made house calls. Life was pretty good. Speaking of Dex she was due any minute for a catch up.
The doorbell rang and Karen, who had been sitting on a couch in her living room reading a magazine, got up to open it. She was wearing tight black compression pants and a loose-fitting black tee shirt under which she wore a sports bra. She looked at herself in the mirror as she approached the door.
"Not bad, if I say so myself," she smiled.
"Hi, come on it," she said to Dex.
Dex entered. She too was wearing compression pants, iridescent pink, that emphasised the narrowness of her hips. and a baggy lime green tee shirt that flattened her chest. She'd had her hair cut short and looked more boyish than ever.
"What a doll," Karen thought.
"Come on it, can I get you anything," Karen said. "Tea, water?"
"No, all's good," said Dex in her businesslike manner. "We'd better get started."
"I've set up in the living room. Well that's where my yoga mat is and resistance bands."
"Before we start, tell me how it's going. How long can you hold a plank position."
"I can now do it for a couple of minutes, maybe three."
"That's progress. Are you seeing any improvement?"
"Well, I think my stomach is flatter." said Karen lifting her tee shirt to expose a much less flabby tummy that Dex had seen before.
"Tighten your stomach muscles," Dex said. She then prodded Karen's tummy.
"Not bad, Karen, not bad at all. You doin' this every day?"
"Yep, every day. I'm determined, Dex," she said with a smile.
Dex returned it.
"So I see. So core strength is improving? You're getting good control over your pelvic floor?"
"I think I am. I don't think it's there 100 per cent, but nearly."
"I have an exercise we must try that out to see how well your control has developed."
Karen thought what did she have in mind? And answer:
"I'm game.'
"Maybe later," Dex said. "For now I want to get a good look at you."
Karen turned to look at her and slowly took off her tee shirt. She could feel Dex's eyes boring into her, almost through her. Her nipples involuntarily hardened, she felt a twinge between her legs. Is this the morning I get to fuck Dex, she thought. Dex asked her to turn around.
"Ass is looking good, Karen. Those glutes exercises are paying dividends. She stood behind her and had a feel of her right buttock.
"Very, nice, Karen. Turn around, please."
Karen turned to face Dex. She was about a foot from her. She looked at that remarkable face; it's nearly perfect skin, her slightly aquiline nose, high cheek bones and high forehead. She was a gorgeously androgynous creature. Karen's reverie was interrupted by Dex talking.
"Raise your arms, Karen. I won't say it a third time."
"Yes, ma'am," Karen said getting all Army. But she wasn't prepared for what Dex next.
She took a half step forward, hooked her fingers under either side of Karen's sports bra and lifted it off her. Karen's tits wobbled a protest at being released from their prison so quickly but settled down smartly. Dex stood there watch her nipples harden and extend; in no time at all you could have hung a par of coffee mugs from them.
"My, we're perky, aren't we? said Dex.
"You don't need an invitation, do you?" replied Karen.
"All in good time, this is a physical examination."
Dax the moved behind Karen and repeated what she'd done on their first meeting, cupped her hands under Karen's breast and weighed them as one might a fresh melon in the market. Karen found this hugely erotic and was silently willing Dex to squeeze her nipples. The trainer was seemingly oblivious. She raised Karen's tits only to let them go.
