My name's Katie and I'm 46 years old. I'm happily married, 5'4", brown hair and eyes, 135 lbs, 34C, with ample hips and a heart-shaped ass. I have two daughters in college. My husband, Jeff, travels almost two weeks a month. I have a full-time job as a professional at a large hospital, but I have evenings and weekends free.
I love my husband very much, and have no desire to leave him, but for the last three years, I've wanted to augment the family income since my husband's business has been struggling.
I've always had men stare at my boobs, and check out my ass, and it's always enjoyable to have male attention. But then one day, something happened that sort of opened up some repressed feelings I must have always had.
I was having lunch with a long-time friend from college my college days, Caroline, whom I hadn't seen for several years. She is knock-out gorgeous at 44, a buxom blond with a beautiful face who has always had to beat men off with a stick even with a wedding ring on her finger.
We spent a few hours catching up, drinking wine into the late afternoon, and the conversation turned to sex and men. I had decried my husband's lack of attention and my feelings of neglect in the sexual arena. We chatted back and forth, and then because Caroline was a little tipsy, she accidentally blurted out that she did some escort work on the side. She said she was pleased to have solved the 'lack of sex' problem as well as adding some much-needed cash to the family pot.
I was floored, to say the least.
I inquired further, and the long and short of it was that she worked for an escort service that specialized in well-preserved, shapely, beautiful mature women. Married housewives were not just part of the mix of 'associates', they were preferred.
This was amazing to me, as I never would have suspected such a revelation from Caroline, but I had to admit she had the goods. She was quite good looking, well built and well maintained.
She told me that she worked once or twice a week, usually in conjunction with some kind of conference or convention. In addition to the typical Friday or Saturday night outing with a conventioneer, she did occasional weeknight work with a few 'regular' local clients she had developed over the course of the three years she had worked as an escort.
She said not all of the work involved sex - sometimes she was just arm candy for a dinner party - but usually the man would request some sort of sexual play, which she had learned to greatly enjoy. She called herself a 'provider', and was proud of the services she provided to her satisfied and happy clients.
She said her escort company was always in need of more women to join the firm and provide services, and she giggled that I was just the kind of woman that was perfect for their upscale, elite clientele. I was afraid to ask what 'sort' of woman she thought I was, since I think she meant it as a compliment.
I asked if her husband knew about it, and she said that he did. I was amazed he'd handle such a thing, but she assured me that the average of $3000 per week, after taxes, that she earned had gone a long way toward assuaging his fears of losing her. Even he admitted that her libido was far advanced of his, and she was much more calm and friendly since she'd began this work.
She intimated that it kind of turned her husband on, to think that his wife was so hot and desirable that other men would pay money to have her. In fact, their best sex was after she'd been on a 'date', and she had more sex with her husband since she had started working as an escort.
Go figure.
That was enough revelation for one day for me, so the conversation veered off that subject as I'd had all the information I could handle for a while. But when I got home, I started thinking.
That's always dangerous, you know. Thinking.
I wasn't what you'd call a 'sexually experienced' girl in college. I'd only had sex with one other boy before I married my husband, and it was somewhat less than satisfactory. In fact, it was horrible.
Ever since I had turned forty, I'd actually noticed I thought about sex more than when I was younger. My desire for sex had increased, while my husband's had waned. I suppose I was a late bloomer in the libido department.
So, since I really hadn't had any broad experience of men in my past, it was kind of an attractive thought to sow a few wild oats at my advanced age. Getting into bed with men of different shapes and sizes was becoming an intriguing concept for me, once I began to think about it.
Thinking about making a couple thousand dollars extra per week - now there's a thought! I liked how many problems that would solve at home, and relieve pressure. And the idea of being paid for sex, no matter how tawdry the connotations, was always a little bit of a naughty turn-on for me.
Thinking about how my husband was gone so much of the time, leaving me home alone for a week at a time. And honestly, I wasn't getting nearly enough sex! I had a far more active sexual relationship with my vibrator than with my husband, and that's not what a girl wants at all.
On the other hand, I never thought of myself as a prostitute. I'd always thought of 'hookers' walking street corners in shabby, slutty clothes. But Caroline had talked of evening gowns, galas, Champaign, and five-star hotels. So maybe being an 'escort' was not the same as being a 'prostitute', exactly.
I stewed on this subject for weeks. And in the end, one night when I was feeling very horny and my husband was out of town, as usual, I called her.
"Caroline, this is Katie," I said.
"Hi, Kate, let me go to the other room away from the TV..." She put me on hold and then picked up another phone in a quiet part of the house. "Hey, what's going on?" she said.
I almost lost my courage, but I heard myself whisper, "I want to talk about...ah...that job opportunity we discussed a few weeks ago at lunch."
"Well, it's about time," she giggled, "I wondered if you were ever going to make the call."
That was kind of embarrassing. But I forged ahead. "I've been thinking about the money, and the kind of clientele you described, and maybe...I'm thinking about exploring the idea a little further."
There, that didn't sound so bad.
Caroline said, "You won't regret it, Kate, just let me have Robert call you. He's my manager, and a very sweet and understanding guy. I know you'll like him and you'll like what he has to say. I certainly did, and I've never regretted it."
We chatted for a while longer about other things, and then hung up. I was almost shaking with fear, excitement, dread, horniness, worry, and I had a 'falling' feeling in my tummy that was at the same time horrible and thrilling. I was a mess when the phone rang not five minutes later.
"Hello?"
"Is this Katie?" A man's voice.
"Yes," I said cautiously.
"This is Robert Casey, I'm a friend of your friend Caroline. We work for the same company, and I am her manager."
"I see." Still cautious, me.
