The Hooer's Tale

THE HOOKER'S TALE

The date was set, the church reserved, bride's maids dresses were ordered, and the bride's dress was fitted and ready. The reception dinner menu was set, and the invitations had gone out. The only thing left were the 'I do's and the 'I pronounce you.' My suit was cleaned, pressed, and hanging in my closet, and my nerves were more than a little on edge.

The escorts were rehearsed, the groomsman had been instructed, and the minister had been paid. Everything was ready, but then she said, "We have to talk."

My blood went cold and I actually got dizzy. I waited. "I need to tell you something," my lovely bride told me the morning of the wedding. Without the ability to speak, I simply waited again. "You know I entered college without any scholarships or help from home, right?" I nodded, dumbly. "Well, I needed a way to earn an income."

Again, like a mechanical character at Disneyland, I nodded, without replying. "Well, I found a job that paid well." She stopped and waited for it to sink in, but it didn't. I just stood there gazing at her tortured smile.

"Okay?" I managed. I pictured myself standing before the church, apologizing to people as they left shaking their heads and tossing birdseed to the pigeons that gathered in front of the chapel, glad to get what wasn't going to be thrown at the bride and groom as they left the church. I had a picture in my mind of me standing before the empty church watching people drive away.

"Okay," I finally said, "where was this job?" I didn't think to ask what it was doing, but I lamely asked where it was.

"Hollywood," she said, relieved I hadn't asked what it was doing.

"And?" I said, waiting for the punch line.

"They paid me to be their date," she said so quietly I could barely hear her.

"And?" I repeated, having expected her to tell me she was a hired killer, or a mob boss, or a bank robber.

"And they paid me to do things," she said, amazed I didn't catch on.

"They didn't asked you to kill people?"

"No," she said emphatically. "Of course not. They paid me to be their date."

"Not to kill people, or steal diamonds, or rob banks?" I said, relieved.

"They paid me to have sex," she said bluntly, not able anymore to avoid the truth.

"But not to kill anyone?" I said.

"Of course not."

"That's a relief," I said, letting out a big breath.

"I was a call girl," she said, trying to make me understand.

"But you weren't a murderer," I said. "I was prepared for something bad," I said.

"You don't think being a prostitute is bad?" she asked, incredulous.

"My mom worked the streets after my father left," I said. "I thought you were going to tell me you did something awful," I said. "A hooker is not awful. It's the American way," I said.

"You don't think selling sex is awful?"

"Better than selling dope, or shooting people. No, I think not taking advantage of all your resources is dreadful, at least dumb," I said.

"You don't mind that I turned tricks for money?" she asked innocently.

"Sex is not evil," I said. "Selling sex is just good business sense. Would I mind if you had a second income? Only if you lost it at Vegas," I said, shaking my head. "I didn't tell you about my mom because I wasn't sure you'd approve, but you know I think prostitution should be legal, right? I am not against allowing people to pay you for giving them pleasure."

"But I didn't know if you thought it was a good job for your wife to have had," she said.

"How could I approve of the occupation, but disapprove of the people who had it?" I asked. "I not only have always thought hooking should be legal, it also should be regulated with health requirements and immunizations. Actually I am proud that you had enough courage to go into the industry sex. You go girl," I said taking her into my arms.

"The important question is, do you want to quit just because you hold a marriage license?" I kissed her. "Well, do you?" She pulled back and looked at me.

"I... well, I really didn't think of continuing, but it would help us get started," she said timidly. "So, you wouldn't mind if I continued to work?"

"Would I mind having more income to get a nicer place? No," I said, "I wouldn't mind. Would I mind for my wife to be a part of what I think is a legitimate profession? No," I said. "I am relieved it wasn't something bad you had to tell me," I said. "Like a paid assassin or a used car salesman."

"I love you," she said. "You want to get married?"

"Only to you," I said, pulling her to me and kissing her.

The wedding went off without a hitch. The escorts escorted, the groomsmen stood marvelously and looked handsome, the bridesmaids looked lovely--even in their silly dresses--, and the food was happily eaten at the wedding reception dinner. I danced with my bride and she danced with her father. Also, the honeymoon was a lustful, exhausting success. My mother had passed away long before, but I thought about how much she would liked Claire and the wedding.

After our last sexual romp she rolled up on her side and looked at me with that seductive look she gets and said, "So, shall we advertise, or just join a service and let them handle the mechanics?"

"A service knows what they're doing," I said. "I think we should leave the business to the business people." She nodded. "It'd give us more time to enjoy your time off," I said, putting my hands on her naked bottom, pulling her against me.

We finished our honeymoon the next morning at the hotel breakfast buffet. After a full night of lovemaking, we each had a full plate. I had hash browns, Eggs Benedict, and a waffle, with fruit on the side. Claire had over-easy eggs, sausage, and pancakes, with orange juice.

After breakfast we went to the pool and stretched out in the Palm Springs sun. "The service will probably want me to work out of a hotel," she said.

"It should be a nice hotel," I said.

"Of course," she said. "Your wife deserves the best. That's why I have you," she added. When we got home after our honeymoon in Palm Springs, we looked for a good service and picked out one to contact. We sent pictures of her, details about her experience, and testimonials from two of the friends she worked with, who happened to be former roommates.

A week later we heard back from the service and they said they were thrilled to have her working for them. The hotel they assigned her two was only ten miles away, far enough to be away from our area but close enough for her to drive, although I figured I would take her and stay close. We told them she would only "work" three nights a week, they were fine with that.

The first night she was to work we drove to the hotel and I got a room of my own. Because the service had an agreement with the hotel chain they gave me a room at a good price. We figured having me close was worth the price of a room for me. She stayed with me until the service called and gave the room number. The service had a man assigned to the hall outside the three women's rooms who worked for them at that hotel in case there was any problems.

At eight o'clock she got the call. Her 'client' would be there at nine. The service had suggested she go by another name while working, so she picked Jewel. Jewel was to meet her first client that night, so she left my room to meet her first customer with her new name and her new job and her husband's approval.

She was to meet a man who said his name was Ryan, and often they also used fake names, who said he was a banker from San Francisco, and that he wanted all night and was willing to pay. The service took his credit card number so if he stayed all night they would charge the higher amount. If she chose only to do until twelve, they would charge the lower amount. The difference was she would make twice as much for an all nighter over a midnight gig.

She asked what I thought and I told her she should go for the bigger pot. She smiled, kissed me, and nodded. As she left for room 222 she said she would see me in the morning. At nine the next morning my phone vibrated on the nightstand next to my bed.

"Good morning," I said. "How was the banker?"

"Interesting," she said. "I'll tell you over breakfast."

We met at the restaurant and I found a table with two chairs. It was breakfast buffet and we both loaded up. Over waffles, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage, she told me about her banker.

"He was a feet man," she said with a smile. "He wanted me nude, but he was only interested in my feet. He paid big bills to wash and massage my feet and toes," she said. "He didn't go near my pussy," she said laughing. "He only looked at my boobs," she added. "Liked my ass but didn't touch it. Just wanted to look, mostly at my feet. Strangest night I have ever spent."

She grinned. "Had a guy in college who just wanted me to tie him to the chair then insult him. Told me what to call him, even. He wanted me to tell him he was a worthless piece of shit."

"Did you?" I said.

"You bet your ass. For $300 bucks I would call him an ostrich if he wanted me to," she said.

Her second customer was a horn dog. He wanted to fuck constantly, to do her in every which way, missionary, cowgirl, doggy, standing, and spooning. He paid the service five hundred, of which she got four, to do whatever he could think of for two hours. He said his name was Don, which it probably wasn't, and he was from San Diego, which he also most likely wasn't. He said he was horny, which he proved that he was.

One unexpected side effect from her new "job" was that she wanted to tell me all about each one. On the plus side, I enjoyed it mostly, but it also meant hearing about other people doing things to her I liked to do myself. It was like hearing about how much someone enjoyed another chef's cooking. Not terrible, but also there are down sides.

Having a wife who is a 'working girl' is not any worse than having a wife who is a professional dancer or an actress who does love scenes with the male lead, and the money may be as good and you are basically your own boss. The service pretty much gives her her space and lets her determine her own hours.

When my mother began hooking we had no idea what she was doing to get us through hard times, we just knew she loved us and would do anything for the family. With Claire it is different. We are not destitute, but having sex for a living is still not the worst thing in the world. They take medical precautions and even offer health insurance.

When she confessed to me that she had been a sex worker in college, I figured she might end up doing it again. Of course, I was right. I knew she liked doing it, liked the excitement, the money, the sex for the most part. She also liked the drama of it.

After she had been at it again for a few weeks she came home and told me about her latest strange customer. "He just wanted to photograph me naked," she said. "He never touched me. He took closeup pictures of every part of my body, my pussy especially. I think we should write these up," she said. "Write a book. 'Tales of a Hooker.' I think you should write it, and I'll live it," she said.

She watched my reaction for a minute, then said, "What do you think?" I shrugged. "Will you do it if I ask you too?"

"You could dictate stuff to me," I said as my interest grew.

"I think our story would make a good beginning," she said. "Housewife is hooker in college. Goes back to the trade with hubby's consent. I think it would work. Don't you?"

I smiled at her enthusiasm. "We could start with the foot guy," she said. "Do the photo dude. What do you think?"

"I think you have an idea," I said.

"I think we should include how turned on you get hearing about my customers fucking me. I think the cuckold reader would identify with that," she said.

"You think I am a cuckold?" I asked her.

"It doesn't matter what I think," she said. "I think the cuckolds would like that." I nodded, accepting her point.

"And I think we should tell about when we swapped with Marcy and Mark before we were married. It would show how we feel about monogamy," she said.

I got on the computer and wrote out an outline, then I got 3X5 cards and wrote notes about particulars so I could arrange them in an order n the floor. When I got them all laid out in a logical order I picked them up in a stack in the order I thought they would go and had Claire tell me again about her experiences in detail.

"I think we should have some graphic, juicy sex scenes in there," she said. "I think readers like the explicit sex. Maybe we should read some porn and get an idea about images and phrasing. Don't you think?"

I agreed that it sounded like a good idea. I thought it should be written from her point of view, so I had her tell me about her experiences in as much detail as possible. We managed about a chapter every few days and in about a week we had a real manuscript. She even stayed home when she usually went to work and we wrote, and talked out the story. We have a friend who works for a publishing company and has a degree in English and we asked her proofread the text. She is quite liberal and liked the book.

In four months we had an actual finished document. We titled it The Hooker's Tale. We decided to self publish to avoid all the waiting between submissions. We had some pretty lurid scenes as told by the young hooking housewife as she earned money by blowing clients and fucking cowgirl like a rodeo star. We had both gotten pretty excited by the possibility of getting it published.

We found a printing company in Michigan and had one thousand copies printed. We did some blog interviews and the book caught the interest of a San Francisco bookseller and we got a phone call for an interview on a website in the Bay Area. The blog master's name was Grant Holloway.

We needed an author's name so we came up with Charlotte Houser. Charlotte got five interviews after the Holloway blog. We sold the thousand copies in two months and ordered another five thousand. Claire had gone from a housewife hooker to a celerity ex-prostitute author in just three months.

What had started out as a way of getting through college for her had bloomed to a weekend housewife job to an author on the interview circuit and giving talks at colleges in the psychology departments on sexuality and social awareness. She had done well, and the money she made paid for a new home and a car. Selling sex had done well for her, for us. She became a sought-after voice in support of the sex trade.

I am proud of her for what she has done and all the things she's accomplished since turning tricks for cash while in college. Her working as a call girl out of our home now has led to a better income, raising our standard of living, and finally the book and all that's come with it. A lot of men would never allow their wives to work in the sex trade, but if it is good enough for my mother it is good enough for my wife.

THE HOOKER'S TALE

Opening: As I slid my mouth over my first ever client's rigid cock, I glanced over at the stack of bills on the nightstand and smiled to myself. Not only would I be able to pay the rent, but I would be able to buy enough food to keep my roommate and I eating for the rest of the month.

She was in the room next door and between us both with clients, we would be able to put money down on that car we had looked at. She was fucking a man who said his name was Clint, but he was no more a Clint than she was a Rose. She had been the roommate that told me about working for the service and working as a call girl.

Not only was I fucking and sucking for money, but I was engaged to be married the next summer. My concern was how would I ever be able to tell Jason I was a college-town hooker on the weekends and my scholarship money actually came from the wallet of men who fucked me after paying their five hundred dollars for my time.

Oh well, that is something I will have to figure out later, because right now I have a cock to suck. I look at it and smile as I slide my lips over the fleshy tip. I have a job to do, and I am determined and stubborn enough to want to do it well...