Chapter Two
"Tonight?" I asked
"Tonight," he said.
"David, I," I started but he cut me off.
"Tricia," he said, "you can always find a reason to put things off. So now make a decision."
I took a deep breath and said, "okay, let's do this."
He grinned, that boyish grin that always got to me.
"So, get up to the bedroom and get one of your work uniforms on," he said and slapped my ass hard enough to make me yelp.
I don't think, in my entire life, before or since, I have ever been as nervous as I was during that trip up the stairs.
In the bedroom, I stripped naked and couldn't resist standing in front of my full-length mirror.
DAMN! I looked good. The hairless look was working and the things they had done for my face and hair at the spa were really spot on. I did look like a 40-something whore. "God, I hope they like stretch marks," I said, very softly to myself, running my fingertips over my belly.
I chose the black underwear.
The garter belt first. It actually highlighted the way my waist had disappeared, replaced with my stretch-marked belly and big ass. I had to think hard and then remembered the time I had been a bridesmaid for my cousin Beverly to find the last time in my memory I had worn a garter belt and nylons.
But I remembered how. I rolled the nylons and then worked them up, carefully, doing that double-jointed thing I believe is linked to the lack of a Y chromosome thing to twist around and get the seams straight. I adjusted the hooks to make sure the nylons were held high and tight.
The panties were so sheer the slit of my pussy and the fullness of my labia were fully on display.
The bra did its job. It lifted and put several inches of cleavage on display. The blue veins and freckles showed nicely.
The skirt was just a skirt, and the top just a top. I selected the black pumps with white tops for shoes.
I was never much of a jewelry gal, but I did have some costume jewelry from various Halloweens and a very nice jangly turquoise bracelet and necklace set, a souvenir from a trip to Four Corners where Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico met, the only place in the United States where four states touched. It was also a bit of a tourist trap and Indians sold their silver and turquoise there at very reasonable prices so I had these nice pieces.
I stopped at the mirror again and said, "are you really going to do this?"
The image in the mirror didn't answer, but she smiled knowingly.
I took a deep breath and started down the stairs to meet my husband who would soon rent me out.
He whistled when I walked into the room.
"Oh yeah," he said, "I'd kiss you but I don't want to mar my moneymaker."
He took both of my hands in his and said, "Okay, toots, last chance to say 'no'."
I smiled and said, "nope. Let's go sell my ass. Well, rent it out anyway."
It was Friday night so we went downtown to one of the big hotels. He parked the car and opened the door for me like a gentleman.
As we walked into the lounge my bowels suddenly went hot and watery with my nerves.
"Oh God," I said, "where is the bathroom in this joint?"
He chuckled and pointed.
I barely made it, walking with that, oh-shit-I'm-squeezing-my-asshole-shut walk we've all had to use from time to time.
The panties were no problem but I was certain this would be diarrhea so I pushed the garter belt and nylons down too.
It was explosive and stank. I sat while my bowels emptied, shuddering a little.
Finally empty, I wiped and flushed and wiped and flushed and wiped and flushed until the paper came away clean.
I stood, awkward in the stall and needing to adjust things, but finally got panties and garter belt up and seams straight.
I washed my hands and rinsed my mouth, checked myself in the mirror, smiled, smiled again until I got it right, and went back out to where David was waiting in the lobby.
"Second thoughts?" he asked.
"No," I said, "just nerves, but I'm okay."
"And you're sure?" he asked.
"I am," I said.
He walked me into the lounge then, my hand lightly on his arm which he held crooked in that way you see in old movies.
At the bar, he helped me into one of the bar chairs, not really stools since they did have a back, put his lips near my ear, and whispered, "you remember the procedure?"
I said, simply, "Yes."
He left me there then, going to one of the hubcap-sized tables that were scattered around the room.
I ordered a Pina Colada, thinking sucking the drink from the straw would probably be the best look for a hooker.
The television was showing some football game, something in which I have essentially zero interest, but I looked at it anyway.
The drink came and I took a sip, thinking as I did, I needed to be careful. I really did not want to get drunk.
The first approach was almost laughably awkward.
"Buy you a drink?" he asked and when I looked he could not have been more obviously a college student if he had had a big sign on his chest saying "College Student."
"Thank you for the compliment, sweety," I said, "but I'm pretty sure you don't have the price but you're welcome to talk to my manager over there if you'd like."
He smiled, a very nice smile, and left.
The bartender chuckled and said, "for the record, you're welcome to stay but be discrete. We do have a reputation."
I flashed him my very best smile.
There were three more approaches before one got past my suggestion to "talk to my manager."
He was handsome in that stout way of many senior executives I had met during David's climb up the career ladder. Steel-grey hair with a well-trimmed goatee gave him a distinguished look. The cut of his suit said he was well-paid, as did his expensive and well-shined shoes and the fancy Rolex Mariner on his wrist.
"Are you available?" he asked, putting it right out there.
"At the right price," I said, following the script David and I had worked out.
"And what would that be?" he asked.
"You'll need to talk to my manager," I said, nodding in the direction of David's table.
He smiled and nodded. "Very professional," he said and went to join David.
It was hard, but as David and I had discussed, I turned my back on that table and my attention back to the television. I heard voices but they were too low for me to hear the dialogue. The bright flash told me David had taken his picture, so I knew they had made the deal for me.
The longest five minutes of my life passed before I felt a light touch on my arm.
"Your manager said to hand you this," he said and handed me a sealed envelope.
It's a good thing I had spent so much time in the toilet earlier because I felt my bowels go hot again with another adrenaline rush.
IT WAS REALLY HAPPENING!
I pasted a smile on and turned to face him.
He was holding out his hand, so I took it.
"Henry," he said, "but call me Hank."
"Patricia," I said, and touched his arm in that way all women know how to do to show interest, I think it's in the genes, "call me anything you want but Patty is what my clients call me."
"So," he said, "it's your town, where can we get dinner and a drink or six?"
"Full dinner or just good sandwiches and beer?" I asked.
"Hmmm," he said, looking me up and down, "I think just sandwiches and beer."
I sucked a bit on my straw, trying to look as slutty as possible, and then hopped off of the bar chair, took his hand, and said, "come with me sugar."
We held hands walking down the street to "Moe's," a fixture in downtown where they served good bar food, beer at precisely 34 degrees, and had live music every night.
Since it was a Friday night, early in the evening, the place was packed but Hank passed the hostess a folded bill, I thought it was a hundred, and miraculously, a table opened up.
At the table, he ordered a pitcher of beer, without asking what I wanted, and asked for menus.
I ordered a "Slopper," Moe's signature sandwich, an oversized half-pound burger served open face, covered with a mild green chili, and accompanied by a heaping pile of hand-cut French fries. Hank had the Reuben deLuxe.
The band wasn't bad. The frontman had a Les Paul and a Marshall stack and was pretty good. His backup was adequate. They featured oldies from the doo-wop era and I enjoyed them. Plus, they weren't too loud for conversation.
And it was an interesting conversation. Hank was, it turned out, a civil engineer working on a major hospital renovation. I told him I had noticed the fencing and the work going on and he waxed eloquent about what they were doing.
Plates cleared, mouths wiped on the cloth napkins, and the second pitcher on the table, he stood and said, let's dance.
I'm a pretty good dancer for all that I'm a big girl so I went, not bothered at all that we were the only couple on the tiny dance floor.
The lead singer was doing a passable Bill Medley homage with "Unchained Melody," and he offered me the classic slow dance position, my right hand laying in his left, my left on his shoulder, his right on my hip. We stood a moment, catching the beat, and then stepped off. He led well and we were, I thought, pretty good.
When I band started into "Great Balls of Fire," I expected him to walk me back to the table but instead, he grinned and spun me into a very good bop.
I was a little winded when that ended and said, "I need to visit the girl's room."
He smiled, patted my ass, and said, "hurry back."
I did need to pee. I don't hold beer very well. But also, I had had a thought.
So I sat and peed and stepped out of my panties when I was done.
While I was in there I opened my purse and took out the little envelope Hank had handed me. It was the, well, the "work order" I guess you'd call it. I looked at the, well, the "services" for which he had signed up (I was still having trouble with the nomenclature at that point). "Anal," and "Spanking (light)." Okay, so now I knew what to expect.
Then, awkward in the stall, I took off my top, got the bra off, put the top back on, and stepped out to wash my hands.
I laid the bra and panties on the sink while I washed my hands and the girl who walked in saw them and giggled. "Someone's getting lucky tonight," she said as she closed the door to the stall.
