There are times when a writer has a character hijack their pen, the main protagonist in this story, Sheila Gail is one such character. For long time fans of my work, you may remember a few years ago when I experimented with a web-comic and, like that comic, this story deals with very adult situations and themes. Sheila is an inter-sexed call girl and this is a look into her life that does not blink when she is working. As such, this story is very much NOT SAFE FOR WORK. And if you find such themes distasteful, you can skip this story and miss nothing about any of the story threads about the school and the Main plot. In many ways this is just a bit of world building and my dealing with a character who would not allow me to ignore her.
Enjoy, or pass, the choice is yours. Reader discretion is advised.
A Whateley Academy Story
E. E. Nalley
Cover me with kisses, baby
Cover me with love
Roll me in designer sheets
I'll never get enough
Emotions come, I don't know why
Cover up love's alibi...
Blondie, Call Me
October 10th, 2007
Room 211 Courtyard, By Marriott, Marietta, Georgia
The John went stiff and came in my mouth, a couple of sour, mediocre drops that paired well with his 'smaller than average' penis. Oh, not that you would know it by my Oscar winning performance! By that it was the nectar of the gods straight from a shaft that would make the stable dwellers weep with envy, but hey, a gurl has to make a living. I took care of him until he was back to his normal unremarkable origin and smiled him a sweet smile as he lavished me with praise. Yes, sweetie, I know I'm good. A quick brush of my teeth and I was minty fresh and two hundred bucks richer.
Don't get me wrong, I love it when a client pops in my mouth, that's easy money in my book and I don't have to worry about an argument over if he has to use a condom or not. Hell, half the time I don't even have to get undressed, just lift my skirt to show my clitty so he knows he's getting what he paid for and a little attention from the best mouth in three states and I'm out the door and on to the next one. No muss, no fuss and just how I like it. How many twenty-two year olds do you know who make two hundred bucks for fifteen minutes work?
I took the stairs to the ground floor, gotta keep in shape, ya know, and considered trolling the bar for a bit. This was a business hotel and while plenty of businessmen would and did dabble with a T-Girl like me when away from home, there were plenty more who would take offense. The last thing I need is a drunk ex-lineman fumbling through a business trip getting pissed because he thought I had a pussy. More to the point, my attire, a nice black leather not quite mini-skirt and matching knee boots with a four inch heel with a lacy white cold shoulder top and bomber jacket was more suitable to 'out on a date' than it was 'in town on business' and it gave the security guys an opening to hassle me.
It never pays to shit where you eat, so I kept going through the lobby and out to my car.
Still, it was early and I wasn't really ready to call it a night. And while I could call Tammy, the Madam who ran the 'escort service' I worked for regular to make me available again, the five hundred dollar fee the service charged only netted me two hundred, but what I could rustle up on my own was all profit off the books. Tammy was safer, but independent contracting paid more. The difficulties of being a small business, I guess.
With the engine of my Challenger going and the doors safely locked, I fished out my smart phone and checked if any of my regulars were horny and left a message. No such luck. I texted a quick 'Whatcha up to tonight?' to the list of regulars I kept in the phone and pointed the car south towards midtown.
You wouldn't think 'down South' would have a lot of tolerance for a girl like me, but Atlanta was a pretty queer-friendly town. There were close to two dozen gay bars in Mid-Town and the party 'city' of Atlanta, the Buckhead District, with a small handful of dedicated gay or lesbian places too, but most were general admittance where the 'mostly straight' crowd could rub elbows with the queer in alcohol inhibition lowered safety.
As I got back on I-75 to head into the city my phone buzzed with a text. I had it up in the little cradle I had for it on the dash so I could see it without being distracted. It was from Tony with a simple,
Had dinner yet?
I sighed and beat my fingers against the steering wheel. Tony 'Tigger' Thompson was my odd ball. They say every whore has one, the white knight or the 'Guardian Angel' who's trying to save them; Tigger was mine. He was Atlanta PD, not vice, but Organized Crime. I had gone to a call from Tammy that had gone bad with a frightening speed, showing up to what was actually a regional hub of the local wise guys who couldn't be bothered to read the damn TWENTY-FIVE point font of trans-girl in my description on the website. They weren't mad I didn't have a pussy, they were incensed. If Tigger and his boys hadn't raided the place that night, well, I probably wouldn't be telling this story.
Tony saved my life, and yeah I'm smart enough to know it.
As luck would have it, we'd run into each other again a few days later at Blake's on the Park, which is a nice, old fashioned Queer place on 10th street that even still has a drag show if you can believe it. It's where I found out I was Tony's kind of kink, one thing led to another and I got to pay him back a little for saving my life and 'show the love' as cops call it when a merchant gives them free stuff. Ever since I had been his pet project. I won't charge him, how crass would that be? And he won't give up trying to get me out of the life.
Why do I let myself get taken advantage of? Honey, ask me that again when you've stared Death in the face and a literal white knight comes to your rescue. It doesn't hurt that Tony is an exemplar either. Hey, be as mutiphobic as you want, the man is a chiseled Greek god, a twenty five on the one-to-ten scale and, well, let's just say generously blessed by Mother Nature. I sighed again and decided I needed to feel loved more than I needed to make money. “Phone, tell Tony 'where are we going?'”
I guess I had picked the right outfit to wear tonight after all.
I arrived at the restaurant, a chain Italian place that was up market for middle-class working types, which I suppose technically we both were, to find him outside waiting for me. If you've only seen pictures of exemplars in the paper, they really don't do justice to what it's like to be in the presence of one. I could tell you that Tony was six foot six, looked like a pitch man for a gym machine and had movie star good looks and even that would leave off the special...something...exemplars have. If I had a pussy, just seeing him standing there waiting for me, ignoring every lustful wife and girlfriend stare and the envious scowls of husbands and boyfriends, would have me soaked.
Let me put it this way, it was worth being worked over by a mob leg breaker to have attracted the attention of Tony Thompson. Yeah, he's that good looking.
Atlanta PD was a pretty well-funded department, they had six exemplars on staff. Not like NYPD who had an entire precinct, but we had more than any other Department in the South East. And, as such, Tony was doing pretty well for himself, since APD could be so competitive in attracting MID holders. He was an Exemplar four, and a very mild empath, he could put on spandex and run with the Atlanta Guardians, but he chose to carry a badge instead.
I guess he figured his alternative sexual preferences were secret ID enough.
I made sure my make-up was still good, if there was one thing I could be glad about growing up with three sisters it was being an expert with make-up, and got out. He gave me a full body hug and a kiss that was chaste enough for public display of affection and had just the right hint of I am going to have my wicked way with you later. “Sheila! How have you been, beautiful?”
Oh you know you are a stud when you can make a whore blush. “Keeping busy, Tigger,” I teased him. He was too playful to be Tony The Tiger, and Tigger was a bit closer to his personality, but he was definitely great. “How about you? Staying Safe?”
Yes, I had felt his pistol when he hugged me, still, always good to keep it on his mind. “No other way to live, sweetie.” He took my arm like I was a Lady instead of a Tramp and he played the perfect gentleman as he led me to the table he already had waiting.
Bottle of wine, salad bowls already set, hmmm, something was up. He even held my chair for me before he sat down himself. He poured me a glass of a really nice smelling Merlot and I broke off a piece of breadstick to chew on. “What is the occasion?” I asked him as I took a sip of the Merlot and made a mental note to make this my only glass. It was good, full-bodied and sweet and I liked it.Which meant I would get sloppy drunk in very short order if I indulged.
“I thought we would celebrate our friendship,” he replied and I was street smart enough to know he was dissembling. “Do you know it's been six months since we met?”
I let my eyes narrow a bit, just to show him I wasn't being fooled. “You missed our one hundred and eighty day mark by a week and a half,” I told him. He just beamed that movie star smile of his and dished salad onto my plate.
“I was working,” he told me. “Speaking of, I have good news. I've been promoted to Captain and assigned as the liaison officer to the Guardians.”
“Congratulations!” I enthused, and I meant it. I always was worried about Tony in OC. While the mob guys wouldn't go after friends or family, Tony was fair game and he was good at his job. “Better hours, I hope?”
He shrugged and touched his glass to mine. “Bella Notte,” he toasted. “Probably worse, given it's capes and they don't exactly keep a nine to five. But, I did get to have a conversation already with Nefertari who, believe it or not is a geneticist...”
I sighed, knowing where this was going.
It takes getting used to being around an exemplar. Whatever that...glamour...for lack of a better word, is it makes you want to try and make them like you. Generally if you were of the opposite sex, or even remotely homosexual it made you want to have them, well, yeah, you know. When I had run into Tony at Blakes I was only half heartedly trolling on my day off, and was on my second glass of wine so my lips were very loose.
I made the mistake of telling him my story.
Well, every hooker has a story of how they got into the life. Mine is a tiny bit more dramatic. See, I'm probably a mutant too. Oh I can't fly or shoot lasers out of my eyes or anything that cool. It's just when I hit puberty my eyes, which had been a fairly generic brown went blue. Not, ice blue like a Swedish Bikini Team member, nor clear and honest like old blue eyes himself, the chairman of the board, no I mean blue. Like Cherenkov radiation blue. Strange, but not anything to call the MCO over.
Then I started loosing weight. Not that I was in line for the football squad heading into high school. I was five six and one fifty or so, your basic skinny, fast kid. Then I started getting really skinny. I got down to one oh eight even though I was eating enough for three kids and yeah you can probably see where this is going. Still, mom was living in denial until my tits grew in. Yep, minus my package I was pretty hot, I settled in at a C cup, my hair wanted to be a bit past shoulder length and went from a mousy brown to this rich, vibrant chestnut. I had a heart-shaped face of a just past teen hottie with a cupids bow mouth, button nose and a twenty-two inch waist over thirty-six inch hips.
No, I didn't turn into a girl, but you'd never know it to look at me. Nor did my package turn into some crazy-dimensioned phallus that would be at home on an equine. No, it was just a nice, moderately thick, comfortably average six inchs. Between my parents freaking out and my sisters jealousy that I was better looking than all three of them, I figured I had better find myself a new place to be. So I swiped some of my oldest sisters 'club clothes' and figured the only way I was going to make a living was turning tricks.
That first year was rough, I won't lie. But Tammy found me, got me off the street and, once I was legal, working for her. Since I got my GED, and a full set of IDs in my new name, my own place, my own car and Tammy's service keeps me legal enough that the IRS doesn't come sniffing around. I just make sure I'm careful when I free lance and I have a pretty ok life considering how it started.
And I had told my entire tale of woe to the cop who saved my life. Who I admit I have a really serious crush on which only got worse once I became his project. I resisted, not because I'm in love with being a whore, while the money is nice, I know I'm in a very risky business. I resisted because I was terrified that once he had saved me, he would move on to his next project.
Yeah, I know, surprise, surprise, the tough, hardened whore is afraid of rejection.
“Let me guess,” I drawled as I got salad on my fork. “She just happens to be free to do a full battery of tests on me?”
“Well, she is curious,” Tony admitted. “I didn't give her your name or anything, just the general aspects of your story that you told me. She wants to see if your meta gene complex is active or not and if not, what might have caused your transformation.”
I shrugged expressively. “I made my peace with that a long time ago, Tigger. For whatever reason, I became this, and on the face of things, I could have gotten a lot worse, so I'm not complaining. It is what it is, crying over it at this stage is pointless.”
He ran some bread stick through the left over dressing of his salad. “Hey, if I'm up in your business, just say so and I'll...”
I leaned forward, a lewd expression on my face and whispered, “Stud, I can't wait for you to be 'up in my business!'” He smiled that little boy 'awe, shucks' smile and I swear I was tingling with frustrated lust. After having to deal with Mr. Shrimpy at the start of the night, the thought of quality time with Tigger had me rip, roaring and ready. Dinner was just a formality to be completely honest. Take me home and do me already!
“As my lady commands,” he murmured with a gesture to summon our waitress and the check.
October 10th, 2007
Apartment of Tony Thompson, Alpharetta, GA
I let Tony drive me in his BMW as once I'd made the decision on how my night would end, there was no sense in not enjoying the wine. I was tipsy enough that I knew I shouldn't be driving, but not so smashed I would wake up not remembering the night I was already fantasizing about. He kept a place up off Haynes Bridge Road in Alpharetta. It was pretty upscale, but I'm sure the complex cut him a break for being a cop and being a MID holder the department paid him very aggressively so he had no need of being on the take.
It was kind of a man cave, the whole living room was leather, but they were very comfortable chairs and the sofa was just the right height, if you know what I mean. He had the TV Captain Picard would have been envious of, all of the game consoles and a Library of Alexandria worth of game titles, his diploma from some academy up in New Hampshire and his degree were framed on the wall and some sports memorabilia. I note all this in passing as he had picked me up at the threshold and carried me through the place to his bedroom.
It’s a nice bed, memory foam and he always had it made with the five hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets I had bought him once as a gag gift. I wondered if he was just that confident to always make his bed with my sheets when he would invite me over, or if those were the only sheets he had. Come on, he is a man, after all. He laid me down on that scrumptious mattress and stood over me as he slowly pulled off his shirt. You know, I've seen comic book super heroes who were not as cut as he was, and that's saying something!
The jeans came down and yet again I marveled and wondered how he walked with that monster hanging between his legs. I had taken a tape measure to it once and it was ten inches soft. Well, maybe meaty would be a better word! My jacket already shed, I went to pull my top over my head and he caught my hands in his, effectively blindfolding me, then my nose was full of that wonderfully manly smell of him and I felt him against my cheek and lips.
It wasn't the first time we had played this game, with me 'captured and blindfolded' I just opened my mouth and accepted him. Maybe its because they carry around handcuffs, but I've yet to meet a cop, male or female, who wasn't into bondage at least a little bit. He didn't stay 'meaty' for long. Like I said, I was his kind of kink, the removal of my bra with his free hand showed my tits weren't falsies, and my skirt was around my waist and I was just as turned on as he was. I must have a massive tent pitched in my panties.
I sucked him, bobbing my head up and down and bathing him with my tongue. This wasn't a blow job, this was cock worship. I say that not in envy, I had made my peace with my situation long ago and was happy he was attracted to me. He was everything my John from earlier wasn't and I was determined to show my gratitude. I ordered my breathing around my rhythm and took him as deep into my throat as I could without gagging. I had yet to get all of him in my mouth, but it was a goal I was always happy to work on. He moaned softly in appreciation of my skill and let me finish taking off my blouse and released my hands. He was a big boy and while I stand by my boast of being the best mouth in three states, I needed my hands to do him right. One hand began to gently play with his balls which were of similar dimension to the rest of him, and the other taking a hold of the shaft I couldn't get in my mouth.
I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye as my mouth descended on his member. His eyes went wide as he felt his cock head enter my throat and I was able to get two thirds of him in me. Then, still gazing up at him, I pushed my finger behind his sack against his prostate and deliberately swallowed, constricting my throat on him. Under my finger, I felt him clinch and his balls rose up out of my hand as his manhood pulsed in my mouth and a warm sensation filled my stomach. My lips tight, I withdrew, doing all I could to extend his orgasm and my mouth was flooded with his warm, salty gift.
This was the nectar of the gods and I moaned around him to savor it and it was most definitely not a performance. I swallowed that and two more pulses before his spasms passed and I felt his hand lovingly caress my cheek.
He was still hard and showed no sign of softening.
Yeah, that's one of those things they don't tell you about exemplars. They can go, and go, and go.
He picked me up and kissed me, not caring at all my mouth had just been full of his seed as our tongues snaked together. My skirt and panties were pulled from my body, then I was laid down on the bed once more. His mouth danced down my body, kissing and sucking at my neck, his tongue lapping with the grace of a figure skater across both nipples for what felt like an eternity of teasing before it then slid down my stomach to dip into my navel. I was panting and moaning and I was so desperately aroused that I nearly came when his tongue painted my cock with his saliva.
“Oh, God,” I whispered as he gently swallowed my entire length. I was nothing special, especially not compared to that python between his legs, but he so lovingly bathed me when his big hand gently took hold of my balls and I felt his lips around the base of my shaft I exploded in orgasm. He milked me dry, gently kneading my little cherries as my hand flayed for and finally found the little bottle of lubricant on his nightstand. I lovingly rubbed it all over his manhood while he prepared my sphincter, then he shifted on the bed and kneeled between my knees, smiling down at me.
I felt his crown part me and without any resistance he slowly worked his way into me.
I know what you're thinking, I can't help it. Ever since that first time after he had saved my life, I had decided. If Tony wanted me bareback, then he would have me bareback. He was the only man who had this privilege and I made certain he would never catch anything from me! He saved my life, how could I not?
Then I felt his balls against my butt cheeks and I knew every inch of him was mine. I reached up and cupped his beautiful face in my hands and whispered, “I love you.”
He slowly withdrew half of himself then claimed me to the hilt again as he bent over me, impaling me to his bed and held down by his body weight. In and out, he owned me and then by my ear I felt his breath as he whispered, “I love you, Sheila.” I wrapped my arms and legs around him and cried as he made love to me and I waited to be filled with his seed again.
I was already coming again between us and trembling as he took me. It was nearly a half hour before he moaned my name and came deep inside me. And I elated as he filled me and drifted off to sleep completely at his mercy and loving every second of it.
I was his whore, and at that moment, it was the greatest thing I could aspire to.
October 11th, 2007
Headquarters, The Atlanta Guardians, Midtown, Atlanta
The Atlanta Guardians rented a couple of floors in a high rise in Midtown they shared with more law firms than you could shake a stick at, a double handful of C.P.A.s and a mixed bag of other businesses from around town. On the Directory they were were listed as TAG, LLC, so it seemed they understood discretion. I keep a couple of clothing articles at Tony's place because generally when we hook up it’s an all night thing and nobody wants to be seen leaving a guys apartment the next morning looking like...well, someone of my profession. The point, of course, was that I appreciated a group that could be discreet.
My jeans were tight and showed off my ass, but not into spray painted on mode, and my boots and top were easy to reuse and still look moderately dressy casual. Tony went with the jeans and polo look and he could pull it off well so we went and got my car and then I followed him over to the Guardians place.
Nefertari was a beautiful woman of mixed heritage with a lovely cafe au lait complexion and a strong face that could be stern or motherly depending on her expression with a generous mouth that seemed to have been made for that smile she greeted us with. She was dressed in a very smart looking skirt and blouse combo that was both professional and flattering of her remarkable figure. I was told to call her Alicia, even though she was probably supposed to be addressed as Dr. Thomas, and we were whisked out of the lobby and into the lair with a minimum of fuss.
I hate to say that super hero lairs do not live up to the hype of movies. There was no Avant-garde archetecture, floating clear plastic stairs, or gleeming stainless steel walls or even robots. Honestly, how can you have super heroes without robots? There were only off-tan walls, fake wood doors that would have been at home in any of the other offices in the building and very plain labels by the doors. There was even an 'Office Supplies' closet. But, in the bases defense, they DO say taupe is very soothing.
Even the lab I was brought into looked more like something you would see at a big pharma company than a place for the spandex and cape crowd. She added a white lab coat to her ensemble which, honestly, did nothing for her, and proceeded to take samples while we had a lively conversation about fashion. Yes, I know, very pedestrian, but this woman had an excellent sense of style and I learned she had been a member of her high school fashion and modeling club back in the day. I got a couple of really nice tips so no matter what, the trip was not a waste of time in my book.
I was given an intimately thorough physical and if Dr. Thomas was startled, or put off by my confused gender or my relationship with Tony she didn't show it. She was friendly, but professional, and I would have thought she treated transsexuals every day by her decorum. One of the samples required me to have some alone time in the restroom while remembering my previous evening, but in short order the machines were humming along processing everything and Alicia rather pointedly asked if Tony would excuse us.
Tigger didn't bat an eye and excused himself, leaving me and the good doctor alone in the small examination room I had been examined in. Once the door was closed, Dr. Thomas replaced 'Alicia' and she crossed her arms over her ample breasts. “Sheila, you are some kind of prostitute, yes?”
My cloak of tough girl tried to wrap me up to protect me, but, again, Exemplars have this thing where you desperately want them to like you and Alicia Thomas, MD, Ph. D. was a pretty high level Exemplar. Hey, I've been servicing guys so long, I'm pretty much full on gay now, or maybe straight would be a better description of my confused sexuality as I thought of myself as female, but, yeah if she inquired, I have to say I'd have been interested. I cautiously licked my lips and for the first time in a very long time felt a little ashamed to admit, “Yes...yes, ma'am, I am...er, I work for an escort service.”
“You practice safe sex?” she wanted to know.
“I'm clean...” I protested, but she frowned.
“Girl, that is not what I asked you.”
I blushed, badly, I felt my cheeks burn with both embarrassment, which was almost novel, I hadn't felt it in so long, but shame, too. “I don't allow clients to bareback me,” I whispered, being technically true, but lying all the same.
“Oral as well?”
My cheeks threatened to catch fire. “N...no, ma'am...”
“You strike me as too intelligent of a young woman to be that foolish,” she declared. “The myth that you cannot contract an STI though oral sex is just that, a myth.” She stared at me as if waiting for me to defend myself or claim ignorance or something that would try to mitigate what she had told me, but she was right. I wasn't stupid and I knew I was in a dangerous profession. The problem was I didn't have any skills that would allow me a job making the money I was outside of the sex trade. Yeah, sure, I had looked into doing porn, but the differences between porn and hooking were pretty small and I didn't want to move to L.A.
Her phone beeped and she looked at it. “You're very lucky,” she told me. “All of the STD tests are negative, to include HIV. But that doesn't give you a pass on this.”
“I...I work for a pretty upscale service,” I told her. “I'm not a street walker...!”
“Do you think rich men can't have AIDS?” she demanded. “If so, I have a long list to disabuse you of that notion!” She sighed and shook her head. With a gesture towards the door to indicate Tigger, she demanded, “Does he know?”
I couldn't meet her gaze anymore and looked at the floor. “He knows I'm a whore,” I whispered and I felt my eyes tearing up. “He...he saved my life...from...from a client meeting that had gone bad. The client didn't realize I was a T-girl until I got there.”
“And you repay his kindness the only way you know how, right?” I couldn't talk any more and when she reached out and took my chin to force me to look at her face the tears leaked out and ran down my cheeks. For a moment, the stern gaze softened and she dabbed my eyes with a tissue. “Sheila, I disapprove of your job, not you. I know you love him, I can see it written all over your face, but if you do love him, you have got to get out of this life, honey, it will kill you and him.”
My shame made me admit, “Fucking is all I know how to do...”
“Bullshit!” she snapped.
I rolled my eyes. “Ok, it's all I know how to do to make the money I make.”
That seemed to make her even more angry and she demanded, “How much do you make with this slow motion suicide career of yours?”
“Last year after taxes I made about three hundred and fifty thousand.” The look of shock on her face was somewhat satisfying. “I make around four hundred dollars a night on average. As I said, the service I work for is very up scale and they tip well. And yes, most of that I claim on my 1040.”
“I...I see...” the Doctor admitted far more calmly than I would have given her credit for. “Well, I can understand the...alure...a bit better now. I hope you're saving money agressively. Some of these deseases can be very expensive to treat.”
“Doctor Thomas, I don't need you to tell me I'm a dirty whore,” what was left of my pride demanded that I tell her. “I'm here to humor him. I don't know what happened to me, nor at this point do I really care. Yes, I'm a freak, but I have all my faculties, more money than I can really spend and every now and then I get to pretend I'm a good and proper girl to a man who is so far out of my league it's pathetic. Do you think I would ever hurt Tony?”
She sighed and that stern 'warrior of justice' gaze softened a bit. “Alright, I'll admit you wouldn't on purpose, but as they say, accidents happen.”
“I get tested every week,” I said hollowly. “If I ever catch something penicilin won't cure it will be the last Tony Thompson hears of me.”
Her hand came out and took my arm, as if the touch was her way of telling me in a way I couldn't refute that I wasn't as filthy as I thought I was. “You know, he's very taken with you.” I nodded, a look of sad resignation on my face. “Is the money worth so much more to you than the love of a good man?”
“Despite my appearance, I am still legally a male,” I told her. “Same sex marriage is against the law in this state.”
“Laws change...” she started, but I couldn't help but roll my eyes.
“Do me a favor and leave the dreaming to the pros down at Backstreet,” I told her, dropping the name of the city's biggest gay bar and favorite queer and straight mixing ground. “I'm sick of hearing about how great its gonna be when the Crusaders change the mind of the whole country. Look, we Queer folk have got it pretty good in this town. For the most part we get left alone, we can be out and proud without fear of being lynched and even the straights admit our clubs are the coolest ones in town. Maybe some day they'll make his and his cake toppers, but I'm not holding my breath. And I won't do anything that puts his career in jeopardy!” I took the tissue she offered and dabbed my eyes, frustrated my emotions were getting the better of me. “He's already on thin ice banging a Tranny Hooker, at least I've never been arrested for it; I'm just a really expensive date as far as the law goes. And so long as I have that veneer of respectability he can hide behind I get to pretend I have a chance with him.”
She opened her mouth, probably to argue the point when her phone beeped again. She frowned as she read what was on the screen. “Well, this is interesting,” she said finally. “It will be complicated, do you want me to invite him back in?”
I blinked in confusion and shrugged. “Sure.”
“We're not done on this topic, girl, just so you know.”
“He means just as much to me,” I told her honestly. She opened the door and stuck her head out. At her gesture, Tony ambled back in and she shut the door and began to call up some information on the huge touch screen they had on an articulated arm.
“Well, for starters, Miss Gail, you are, in fact, a mutant. Your Meta-Gene Complex is active, so we will have to test you a bit more to see if a MID needs to be issued, but that is not the only peculiar thing going on with you medically. You have Klinefelter syndrome.”
I frowned. “I don't understand, what is that?”
“Well, put simply, you are not, strictly speaking, a male. I will need to do a more through follow up screening, but my preliminary tests indicate you are genetically intersexed. What they used to call a hermaphrodite.”
I frowned. “I don't have a pus...er...vagina.”
My attempt to clean up my language amused her and she smiled. “Not what I meant, dear. Let's go back to high school genetics. You remember a male is XY chromosomed and a female is XX, right?”
“It might have been a GED, but I did earn it,” I told her a might testily. Just because I'm a sex worker doesn't mean I'm stupid. Doctor Thomas just smiled.
“Fair enough, now you, Miss Gail are actually XXY, you have an extra X chromosome and we call that condition Klinefelter syndrome.”
I looked down at my denim covered genitals and back up in confusion. “But...but I have a penis...”
Her smile got a bit wider and just a touch sad. “Most people who have this disorder do. Principally, the disease manifests itself in puberty and the general symptoms are gynecomastia, lack of body hair, abnormally wide hips and, well, sterility. That is one of the reasons I asked you for a semen sample, Sheila. I'm sorry, but your sperm count is zero, you're completely sterile.”
I sighed, feeling very strange indeed. I was twenty two and a transsexual. Having kids wasn't really something I had ever thought about. I mean, I was ninty percent female, but I didn't have the plumbing to have kids as a woman and, well, to be honest, I liked guys. At first it was what I did, but, one of the benefits of falling in with Tammy is that she really is that sterotypical hooker with a heart of gold. Not only did she get me off the streets and out of the biz until I was eighteen and got my GED, she screened the clients to the best of her ability and she was more than fair with the cash split and her not quite rising to the level of money laundering accounting work and withholding meant the IRS wasn't on my back either. I lived like a Rock Star and it was nice and squeaky clean.
And while Tigger was my absolute favorite, I did have a little orbit of regular guys I was fond of. Not enough to not charge like Tigger, but when I saw one on my calandar I was always looking forward to a good time. Its true what they say, 'find a job doing what you love and you'll never work again.'
As the conversation had gone a bit maudlin, I tried a little gallows humor. “Well, what kid would want me for a mom, right?”
Doctor Thomas didn't laugh. “Don't sell yourself short,” she commanded.
“Ok, so this Kline whatever turned me into a tranny?”
She shook her head and used the touch screen to change the view to some other reports. “No, it contributed, but I believe the culprit was your Meta Gene Complex. There are plenty of people who have a MGC who are not mutants, but every mutant has an active MGC. What I think happened was your complex activated and...well...became confused by your genetics is the best way I can describe it. One of the reasons Mutants tend to be very physically attractive is due to what we call the Body Image Template and you seem to have one. The MGC latched on to your XX Chromosomes and voila.”
“So,” I drawled, struggling to understand exactly what she was saying. “I always was going to be girly and small because of this Kline thing, but my MGC took it all the way to pretty?”
“That is essentially it, yes,” she said. “We'll need to give you a mutant classification test to see if we are required to issue you a MID. However, I have enough genetic evidence I believe that if you want, I can provide testimony and friend of the court briefs to have you leagally declared female,” she said with great weight.
Oh, be still, my beating heart.
October 11th, 2007
Headquarters, The Atlanta Guardians, Midtown, Atlanta
“Ok, what is this crazy thing on my head doing?”
“It's a multi-wave inter-cranial...um, it's reading your brain waves against known values looking for deviations.”
“And your in house guy Mouse Trap built it?”
“Yes, he's a very talented gadgeteer.”
“And the lights all over the outside...?”
“Um, well, yeah, they just look cool.”
October 11th, 2007
Headquarters, The Atlanta Guardians, Midtown, Atlanta
So I spend my day off getting poked and prodded and most definitely not in a good way. A bit of light comedy 'who’s on first' not withstanding, it was mostly a day of being stuck with needles, wearing odd looking devices in all manner of embarrassing places, and preforming strange tasks with strange machines. And to be fair, Mouse Trap was a nice enough guy, a little nerdy and with a pronounced over bite I did my best to ignore. Truth be told, I have more than one client just like him and if Tigger hadn't been there I might have been tempted to slip him my card.
Yes, I have a card. I am an escort, we are a legitimate business with a website and everything. We just don't advertise all of the services we offer. And Mouse Trap, or Paul as he insisted I call him, probably was a sweet guy who was very taken by machines because they don't talk back and likely has paid for it every time he's gotten laid. Helping lonely guys like him was one of the reasons I kind of enjoyed my work.
No, I wouldn't be interested if he tried to pick me up in a club, call me a hypocrite if you like. Just because I feel sorry for him does not entitle him to get between my knees for free. Such is life, honey, deal with it. Speaking of dealing with it, I was trying my best to deal with this MID form Alicia had given me with a sad look on her face. That meant, whatever the results of the tests were, she already knew that I was, to quote the law, 'sufficiently superior from baseline humanity in a meaningfully measurable way'.
I would have thought that my automatic choice would be the white or clear background for just Joe or Jane average citizen, but then Alicia pointed out that my name would be on the MID instead of a code name. I would be basically outing myself, and given my line of work, I can appreciate discretion. But to get a code name, I would have to apply for the Green 'Licensed Hero' level and that meant I had to come up with a costume and a handle. I'm willing to bet they wouldn't appreciate me calling myself 'Super Hooker'.
At least the Guardians were willing to go to bat for me with the Department of Paranormal Affairs. Evidently I was supposed to be issued this before my eighteenth birthday and not having done so was technically a crime. They had already filed motions to have the charges and penalties set aside due to my coming forward on my own with the Atlanta branch. Surprisingly, unlike most government branches, the DPA seemed to be genuinely helpful, faxing back an acceptance and statement of pardon before I had even finished testing.
As I began to be tempted to pull the hair out of my head trying to make this decision, Tony came back into the little room where I was filling out the forms with the two cups of coffee he had volunteered to get. “How's the war, general?” he asked as he relinquished my cup of God's Liquid Love and I took a sip. No, I'm not a coffee snob, I'm more of a coffee junkie. French Press? Yes, please! Arabica automatic drip? Twist my arm. Espresso? Yes, oh! I love it all. And I have to say, the Guardians do not skimp on their coffee. Hell, I shelled out a hundred bucks for a pound of Jamaica Blue Mountain whole beans once, so I am something of an authority.
So I savored my first sip and put on my best, 'come save me, my gallant knight' face. “You! You did this to me! You owe me, Thompson!”
“Drink the coffee before I break out the chair and the whip...Mind out of the gutter, you!” he added quickly.
I closed my eyes and smiled. “Mmmm, whips, oh, I'm sorry, you were saying how you were going to make it up to me for spending my day off here, doing this! Please, continue.”
“You have my attention.”
“There had best be explosions...”
“Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix?”
“Seen it, but battling wizards are just as good as explosions. Continue.”
“Full body massage by candle light?”
A shiver ran down my spine. “You are forgiven. Now, come help me decide on this. What did you do?” He read over my shoulder for a moment, then reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a card and laid it down on the table. On it was a mid torso bust photograph of him, wearing a domino mask and a laurel wreath crown made of gold. His tunic was white and fairly loose with gold accents on the collar and had a Greek look to it for some reason. The background was green and down the edge as the card was oriented portrait rather than landscape was Bellerophon. I looked back up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Bellerophon?”
He grinned and shrugged. “I went through a Greek phase in high school while I was figuring out my sexuality. Bellerophon was one of the original Greek heroes who tamed Pegasus and killed the Chimera. I haven't worn that outfit since High School, but I had to put something on the MID, so.”
“You made this outfit in high school? What, did you pinch an outfit from the drama clubs locker room?”
He grinned at me and even now that gave me a thrill. “Whateley was, well,different. It was founded to help mutants and let us get control of our powers and learn citizenship and...”
“You know, that sounds like...”
He held up a hand with a laugh. “Believe me, there is no variation on that joke you could do I haven't heard. The Academy gets it all the time. Which reminds me, there's an Alumni function in a couple of weeks. Would you like to attend?”
“An alumni dinner from mutant high? I wouldn't miss it, but I'm probably working...”
His grin didn't waiver. “I think I can afford your rate for one night...”
“No,” I started. “I'll have Tammy book me off...” However he made a dismissive gesture.
“Don't worry about it.”
“No! Tigger, this is important to me! You...I...”
He leaned in and kissed me, then as he withdrew smiled again. “Hey, just for one night, be my escort. That professional arm candy so I can show you off and lie to my high school buddies about how well I'm doing.”
I didn't like it, I felt very strongly that a line was being crossed that I really didn't want to cross. I had made sure that every time Tony got his way with me it had been one hundred percent free, that there was no way he could get in dutch by banging me. I wasn't a hooker as far as they knew, I was just a slutty girl friend. But this, this went places I wasn't happy about. What if internal affairs caught wind of... But he looked at me and smiled, and all my worries just seemed to melt away, as unimportant as he felt they were. I felt my head nod because I could never tell him 'No.' What he wanted, he got and that was that.
I looked at his MID for a moment, then took out my Gizmatic Communicator and launched the Wikipedia app. Within moments I had the information I needed, checked it against the app Alicia had called up on the tablet I was filling out the forms on then wrote it onto the blank for Code name.
That was who I wanted to be.
October 11th, 2007
Apartment of Tony Thompson, Alpharetta, GA
The stereo, a massive unit with more speakers than some night clubs I'd been to, was playing a soft, soothing melody on stringed instruments. It seemed like Tony had said they were cellos and violins and the piece was called Canon. That struck me as odd because you would expect something named after a firearm to be loud, but this was very relaxing.
I was laying on my stomach on the massage table he had fished out of his closet and was staring into the fire in his fireplace, hypnotized by the dancing tongues of flame. I was covered in warm oil and I felt wonderfully pampered as his huge hands worked the oil into my skin and the tension out of my muscles. It had been a very confusing day, a day my entire outlook on life changed.
Look, I realized people don't just loose weight and grow tits like I did. Some part of me knew there was something wrong with me, after Tammy found me it just didn't seem to matter. I mean, my parents hadn't really thrown me out, I had run away before they got the chance. And, as runaways do, I had ended up in the biggest big city in the region, which was Atlanta. Half, well no, let me be honest, three quarters girl and one quarter boy, I fled to where I felt safe, the Queer district. I found a name for what I had become. Transsexual. And while the other T-Girls thought I was just lucky with hormones and surgery, I had wondered for a while why this had happened. But, in short order I found eating was a more pressing concern than whys and hows.
Again it was the Queers who helped me, Jasmine, the motherly Drag Queen at Blake's who taught me how to act like a girl; how to sit with my legs crossed, to walk both demurely and provocatively and how to 'tuck' junior away so I wouldn't get embarrassed. Blake traded more than one meal for washed dishes and a fifty for the night's cleaning. And when I got desperate enough to start selling blow jobs in the bathroom it was Tammy who found me, took me in and cleaned me up.
In her private life, Tammy was bi with a lean towards girls which was why she frequented Blake's. She trolled clubs looking for new girls for her service, but despite all the stereotypes about pimps and madams, she really offered a hand up, not a hand out. Maybe it was because she liked girls, I don't know, but I would rather not think about how my life might have been if I had not been so lucky.
But now it slapped me in the face and demanded attention; I was a mutant. I was what the MCO warned everybody about in the 'Public Service Announcements' and the 'Awareness' posters at the bus stops and trains stations. It was unlikely I would turn into a Rager now, but I could have and I shuddered at the possibility.
Tony's oily hands began to kneed my ass cheeks and it was an interesting feeling being so relaxed and so turned on at the same time. Junior was uncomfortably stiff between myself and the table, requiring me to lift my ass to find a more comfortable position. His oily hands slipped between my cheeks and teased me.
“Patience, my dear,” he scolded me with a laugh while he reached under me and guided Junior to a more comfortable position. “You'll be seen to, never fear.”
“Tigger,” I whispered as I watched the fire. “What is it like being a mutant?”
His hands slid down from my ass to my right thigh and began to really work on my Semitendinosus muscle. After a long moment of intense pressure, Tony is immensely strong, it became relaxing again. “You know as well as I do,” he said softly from his rubbing. One hand left for a moment, then returned with a handful of warm oil to work into my skin.
“No, I don't,” I whispered back. “I'm a runaway who became a prostitute. That's not what happened to you.”
After a long moment, he chuckled darkly. “My folks were more upset that I was bisexual than they were I was a mutant. Well, it didn't help that my mother found me with my best friend Roger in the middle of a circle jerk.”
“Ouch,” I admitted.
“Oh, she got so upset and that led to Dad being upset and that fight was when I activated. There was a bright flash and then I could hear, for lack of a better word, I could hear the fear they were feeling. Fear I would catch AIDS, fear they wouldn't have grand children, fear I would be beaten or hurt and then the fear changed to the realization I was a mutant and maybe it was just a phase I would grow out of, because I was a mutant.” He laughed and picked up my foot and I about came from the rubbing he gave me of it. “What can I say, I didn't dislike girls, I had even gone all the way with a girl before Roger and I got to talking about it, then...well, one thing led to another. I guess I just like dick.”
“That explains why I float your boat then,” I declared with a giggle that faded into a sigh as his thumb rubbed through the arch of my foot, up my spine and directly into the pleasure center of my brain.
“Best of both worlds,” he agreed with me. “My power let me see that they hadn't stopped loving me or being my parents. They were more worried for me because of what I would likely face. My dad called the DPA and through them we found out about Whateley Academy.”
“That must have been an experience,” I declared and his laugh told me I had likely struck my mark. He set down one foot to work on the other and I sighed.
“There are not words to explain how wonderful and awful that place is,” he said after a moment of thoughtful rubbing. “Great friends, cruel enemies, teachers that could not be bothered to piss on you if you were on fire and teachers that would literally die trying to do all they could to teach us. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, yeah, that about sums it up.”
“You still haven't told me what its like being a mutant,” I reminded him. His hands began to work over my calf.
He sighed and his hands came to a stop behind my knee. “Being a mutant is realizing people will either hate you for what you can do, or practically worship you for it. I think the kids who decided to become bad guys just kind of succumbed to this nihilistic, 'Fuck them all' view. For others it was this hyper optimistic 'If I'm just good enough, they'll love me.' There is no middle ground, Sheila, they love you or they hate you, but they never ignore you.”
He helped me roll over onto my back and I smiled a sheepish little smile because my flag pole was at a nearly painful full staff. His warm, slick hands began to rub oil all over my chest, not just my nipples or my breasts, but my sternum, my collar bones, hell he even made my floating ribs an erogenous zone. I felt a dribble of pre-cum ooze from the head of my cock and slide down it. “Don't you dare cum on my table,” he ordered me. Ordered! We had played Daddy games a couple of times, but he had never spoken so...authoritatively to me. I bit my lower lip and tried desperately to think of something else.
“You know what that is like,” he told me as if he hadn't just practically brought me off through my chest. “You're an exemplar. You never wondered why you were so lucky and so many people wanted to help you?”
“I'm not a god like you,” I whispered, looking up into his face and panting with arousal.
“We are not gods, Sheila!” he corrected me sharply. “You are an exemplar two, not as high as me, but high enough. All those people didn't help you by chance.” His hands slid up to my shoulders and then onto my arm. “Now that you understand what you are, you should be careful how you use this. And understand there will be those whose jealousy will force them into the opposite direction, to hurt you just from spite.”
“Yes, sir,” I whimpered and he smiled at the 'sir'. My arm finished, he walked around the table and started on the other one. I turned away from the fire to stare at him. “Tigger, what does that mean? 'Exemplar two'?”
He paused from rubbing the oil into my elbow and looked thoughtful. “Let's say you want to get into a foot race. And you challenge an Olympic sprinter. He's trained his whole life to run the fifty yard dash. You, well, you hit the treadmill at the gym twice a week, right? And on the best of all days and God smiles on him he has a chance, a good chance, say fifty percent, of beating you.”
I sat up, startled at what he had just said. “You are shitting me!”
“Lay...down...” he ordered and I complied at once.
“No, I'm not shitting you. But then, you can go on to run the hundred, then the two hundred relay, maybe do some pole vaulting, but the sprinter? He's done. He's a one trick pony. And we're not.”
“Jesus,” I whispered, awestruck at what I was hearing. “And...and I'm considered a low-powered mutant?”
“Sweetheart, the night we met, you were worked over by a professional mob leg breaker. You never wondered why your looks weren't ruined? How you got over it in a week?” His hand closed around me and a thrill ran up and down my spine. “Don't,” he ordered and I bit down harder on my lip. He held me while his other hand rubbed oil all through my groin spreading my legs and coating my sack and the most intimate areas of me.
“Please,” I whined, my toes curling in desperation. “Please, sir, let me...”
“Quiet,” he commanded and I obeyed. My knees flexed spastically in my terrible, desperate need to ejaculate. “Here is another example. Do you think you could control yourself like this if you were just a normal human? Our minds have much more control over our bodies than they have. It lets us do supernatural things, or lets me torment my lover so I can give her an orgasm close to the amazing sensations she has given me.”
I closed my eyes as his slick, oily hand slid up my shaft and slowly back down. I whimpered as the feeling of pressure was becoming unbearable. “You know, I think perhaps we should have you tested a bit more. You may have developed some esper ability focused on sexuality, because, I'll be honest, Sheila no one has ever made me feel the way you do.” Tears leaked from my eyes and I tightly held them closed and I whimpered and whined inarticulately as my hands and toes clinched and released only to clinch again.
Then I felt his breath next to my ear. “You want to, don't you?”
“Please!” I gasped between tightly clinched teeth. “Tigger...sir...please!”
His lips pressed ever so tenderly against my cheek as his hand slid up my shaft again. “You may,” he commanded, then his lips mashed against mine and his tongue forced its way into my mouth as his fist became a vice and he forced it all the way down my cock to my groin.
Everything exploded throughout my body as the orgasm washed out of my groin and I felt my fluids leave my prostate and travel up to my cock and his vice-like grip. For a moment the pressure built and I thought I would die, right there, then even his strength wasn't enough and my semen shot out like a canon. I felt warm splatter all over my breasts and stomach as his fist milked me now, drawing out the fountain and showering me with my own semen.
The kiss ended, I slowly got control of the epileptic fit my body was jerking in and I could see the look on his face. He was proud of what he had done, what he had drawn from me, but most of all, I could see his love for me. My arms reached out to hold him around his neck and my emotions got the better of me and I burst into tears. He gathered me up against his manly chest, heedless of the mess all over me and held me as I sobbed with joy.
It was...no, I can't, I won't even try; there aren't words for how amazing it was.
October 12th, 2007
Apartment of Sheila Gail, Buckhead, GA
Friday night was always a big night for us in the trade; the week was over and everybody wanted to party. It was one of the reasons I took Thursday off so I would generally be rested up for the weekend. After that unspeakable night I had had with Tigger, I was really distracted and having a tough time dealing with the day. I didn't even get up until noon and Tony was already at work. I got my stuff and went home and felt like I had a millstone around my neck.
My phone told me one of my favorite clients had booked me for the whole night and normally I would have been excited to be spending the night with Greg. He was an ex-marine who had stepped on a land mine in Afghanistan and lost both legs above the knee. Undeterred, he had made a field tourniquet with his belt and had continued fighting for an hour and a half. He then went on to design a new set of prosthetic legs that let him walk again and sold his story, parlaying it into a book and a movie deal. I even had a picture of Greg, myself and Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson who had played Greg in the movie at the Hollywood Premier.
If he sounds like an alpha male, well, he is; he is also one of the first Marines to come out of the closet to try and have 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' sunset. Which half way explains why Greg is one of my favorite clients, the other is his favorite hobby; dancing. Greg could cut a rug back in the day, and once he got steady on his new legs, he wanted to get back in Step Up trim. I was really the only girl Tammy had who could keep up with him and once I had hit a dance studio hard core for a couple of weeks I was instantly Greg's favorite.
A night with Greg was usually a blast and easy money.
Easy because that land mine had damaged more than Greg's legs. He compensated for the loss of his testes by injected testosterone, but dancing was all I or any of Tammy's girls would ever do with him again. I think he picked me because some part of him felt like he was being true to his old preferences, but he was glad of my looks. He would always laugh when it came up and say, “Nothing looks less sexy than two men dancing!”
But I sat at the makeup table in my apartment, staring at myself in the mirror and feeling miserable. Even though I knew nothing would happen with Greg, indeed nothing could happen, I somehow felt like I was betraying Tony. I sighed again and found I almost couldn't meet my own eyes. “Tammy warned you this would happen,” I told myself and my reflection looked even more upset. “She always said trying to have a boyfriend on the side would lead to trouble.”
My reflection had no come back, but just the same the events of the past two days had me shaken up and wondering about a lot of things. Still, I had a job to do and Greg had shelled out five thousand dollars for my night and he deserved the time of his life for it. So I finished my make up and got dressed in a sequin studded silver cocktail dress I could still dance in that was a really cool one shoulder design with a pair of straps, one on top of my shoulder, the other around my upper left arm. It was asymmetrical, coming high up the left side and down just above my knee on the right and left both arms bare. I had a pair of silver suede thigh-high boots with a four inch wedge heel that not only made me look like a million bucks and went with the dress, but were actually comfortable and with my hair feathered out in a kind of retro 80s disco queen look I was ready.
I grabbed my clutch purse and got downstairs at the stroke of eight, just as a stretch white Humvee limo pulled into the round about. It always brought a smile to my face that Greg rode around in this monster on his nights on the town, as a nod, I guess to his days of service. But, gay men have a sense of style that always bends to the flamboyant. He got out himself to hold the door for me and he was a sight.
Nobody looks as good in a tuxedo as a military man, when you know those broad shoulders and that flat belly are the real thing and not just the product of a gym membership. Greg was dressed to the nines in a white tux that contrasted perfectly with his light brown complexion. He wore his head bald and he had a pencil thin mustache over an otherwise clean shaven, lantern jawed face that was dominated by his dazzling smile. The white tuxedo jacket was over a red paisley vest and matching bow tie and a miniature version of his medal of honor hung below it.
And then Greg's sense of humor kicked in. He wasn't wearing pants, but black biker shorts that showed his artificial legs, which were a tan shade that was very close to his skin color, well, the parts that weren't chrome, anyway. “Girl,” he said with a smile as he took my hand from over my heart and kissed it. “You are magnificent.”
I returned his smile and got into the limo with his gallant assistance and we set off. “You're looking very handsome tonight, Greg. What's our agenda?”
“I thought we would show them how it's done over at Blake's, then maybe a bite to eat at Bistro Niko and then we'll see what we see, right?”
“I'm your girl,” I replied, but despite my best performance, he paused as he reached for the bottle of champagne he had chilled, then poured a glass for both of us.
“Something wrong, Sheila?”
I hesitated because, like I said, Greg is one of my favorite clients and we were friendly. Lies are part of the job, but there are always those you can't help but show your real face to. Greg and I had been dancing once a month for almost two years now. I took the champagne and had a sip to try and calm my nerves. I decided I could only be honest with him, after what he had gone through, he deserved it. “I'm sorry, Greg, I have a thing going on in my private life and I was trying really hard not to let it interfere with your evening.”
He sat back and took a sip himself, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I can help? You want to talk about it?”
“Oh, sweetie, I don't want to burden you...”
He made a dismissive gesture. “Sheila, I'm out for a great time. Now, I may not be able to show my partner as great a night as I used to, but I do aim to make this your night as well as mine. So if you need to talk, lay it on me. I can't make anything worse just by listening and if it will help you have a good time with me, well, that's what it's all about, right?” He looked at me sidelong. “You find your Richard Gere?”
I rolled my eyes and couldn't keep in a giggle. “Oh, please, don't go there. My life is weird enough with out Pretty Woman references...!”
His expression became coy as our glasses clinked together. “Oh, so you did! Congratulations! I best be invited to the wedding, and I will have a dance with the bride!”
My eyes threatened to pop out of my face. “Wedding...?” I sputtered in shock, but he just laughed at me in good humor and waved his hand.
“Man, I wish I had had a camera! Sheila, honey, you are an open book sometimes. Oh, I know, you love to pretend like you're some world savvy call girl who is immune to it all, but one of the reasons you're my favorite of Tammy's girls is you do let us in who know you regular. You have fun and that, girl is the greatest aphrodisiac there is.”
“Greg...” I started, but he just took a sip and shook his head.
“Oh, I'm not jealous, Sheila! I can't be! I do envy the asshole, so he better be treating you right...”
I sighed and resigned myself to breaking one of the first rules of hooking, talking about myself. “He's a good man, Greg, a cop, and he treats me like a princess.”
“Does he know about...?”
“We met at Blake's,” I told him, and while not completely true, no sense clouding the issue. “Oh, Greg, I don't know what to do! I...”
He reached out and took my chin in his big hand. “Yes you do,” he told me softly. “You're just afraid to do it. There's nothing certain in life, honey, and if what I went through taught me anything it's that you don't know when your ticket is gonna be punched, so make the most of the time you've got. And if we run into each other at Blake's, maybe he'll be a gentleman and let me have a dance with the prettiest princess in the room.”
I tried really hard not to cry. “You'll always have a spot on my dance card, Greg. I promise.”
He grinned and topped off my glass. “Well, then let's celebrate your impending retirement, and go out in style!”
October 12th, 2007
Blake's on the Park, Midtown, Atlanta, GA
In all my years of escort work I have gone to some amazing places and done some incredible things. I've been to red carpet premiers of movies wearing clothes and jewelry that cost more than my parents probably made in a year. I had attended high fashion balls, and State Dinners. I had been on the arm of rich old men and desperately handsome young studs who saved for months to pay for that night.
But letting myself be free and dancing with Greg was a memory I would cherish for the rest of my life. I sexed it up with steamy club dances so hot the DJ yanked out a huge paper fan from somewhere and had to fan himself; as dramatically as possible, of course! We had fun with old school tangos and foxtrots and even had the whole place staring at us like something out of a dream or Dancing With The Stars as we floated to The Blue Danube dancing a Viennese Waltz.
It was one of the happiest nights of my career.
Tomorrow, I would have to tell Tammy, and then I still had all the forms I owed the Atlanta Guardians, not to mention coming up with a costume for my MID, and figuring out how I would earn my living. But that would all be tomorrow...
I wonder if the Guardians are hiring...?
No! That's to think about tomorrow! Tonight was Greg's time. And tonight was just the dance.
* Finis *