Falling in love with an Escort, a fictional story by Joanna Jet

"That will never happen to me" you say with ultimate confidence but do
not be so sure. I am an escort and I can assure you that it does
happen. Sometimes you do not notice it early enough to be able to nip
it in the bud. By then you may have reached the point where I may start
to think "Yeah, this is possible, I can make this work!" but have you
considered the hurdles you will need to overcome whether you are like
me, the escort or you, the guy involved in this liaison?

OK, so where do we start? How about sex? as this is the most likely
reason why we both met. It was great, right? we both got our rocks off
big time and either one or both of us shot our loads like never before.
When we get together, it's fireworks and we seem to be able to read
each other's sexual cues and do the right thing at just the right time.
Then it comes to the pillow talk afterwards and we seem to always have
something to talk about and our time together always seems to end far
too quickly. You walk out of the door after a big cuddle and a tender
kiss and as I shut the door, you are already trying to work out when
we will meet again, as you know I could never show that level of
emotion unless I truly had feelings for you? errm, actually no, it may
simply be that I am randy bitch that knows how to give a true GFE, that
I have seen enough men to know how to push the right buttons and I am a
naturally good conversionalist, which means that I am simply a real pro
who knows how to get a regular clientele.

We move on a couple of days and you think, "why don't I give her a call,
ask her out for a drink?" so you pick up the phone and call. Unbeknown
to you, I have had a shitty day, a bunch of no-shows, an abusive
arsehole on the phone and a guy who was too big and didn't seem to care
that I had tears streaming down my face from the pain and then, later
that evening, the phone rings. I answer and hear the voice of one my
favourite clients, one that treats me like a human being and seems to
enjoy my company for more than just the sex and he says "Hi, it's Joe,
how are you doing? I'm in the area and wondered if you fancied a
drink?".
This is where I make the ultimate mistake. "Sure, why not" I say, as I
think how nice it would be to lose myself in alcohol and have a nice
chat with a friendly person. "Great" you say as you now know that I am
endeared towards you and I am willing to give up earning time to be
with you.

So we meet at a local bar and I am glad to see you and you are pleased
that I did indeed show up and was not simply pulling your strings. We
start to chat about our usual things and you ask "How was your day?"
and as a pro I automatically reply "Oh you know, the usual, nothing
special but OK" and the first screwdriver goes down all too easily so
the second one chases after it and by the third, the pain in my arse
starts to numb and my professionalism starts to slip and by the fourth,
I start to mention details about my personal life, which is not such a
good idea, but you seem to have a look of understanding in your eye,
which tainted by the vodka, gets me talking a bit too much. The fact
that I am now talking about things that you would not usually expect
to hear makes you feel even closer to me and the attraction grows
stronger.

Then the cellphone rings. The tired look in my eye suddenly vanishes
and my eyes sparkle at I talk to one of my regular clients, asking how
his daughter did in the skating tournament, whilst at the same time,
arranging a date and time for his next visit. Now of two things can
happen at this stage. Either, it dawns on you that I am just one hell
of a pro who knows exactly how to make her clients feel good and you
realise that maybe, just maybe, I know you just a little too well and I
consider you nothing more than a valued client or..... you feel a
strong pang of jealousy that I seem to be getting on so well with
another man and you wish that the sparkle in my eye was only ever
pointed in one direction, yours. If it is the former, then I have just
lost one of my regular clients as you see that I can duplicate quite
easily that bond that you thought was quite unique, you no longer feel
so special and all you see in front of you now, is a hooker who is
simply damn good at what she does. Or it's the latter, you now see
every one of my clients as potential competition and you decide that it
would be so much better if you took care of me and got me away from
such a torrid business.

Time moves on a little bit and it turns out you were the type that got
the pang of jealousy. So you start sending me flowers, I got
lovey-dovey emails and you tell me how special I am and it now becomes
clear to me just what the situation has led to and I now have to make a
big big decision. Do I tell you straight up that it was a big
misunderstanding, that I should have never let things get this far? and
hope that I will not get a nasty kickback, that you will not call me a
cheap whore who teases men, is incapable of love and is just, at the
end of the day a money grabbing bitch and then hang up the phone on me
as I am left yet again to stare for a few hours at the bottle of Valium
and sitting next to it, enticing me, the large bottle of vodka. Or do I
go down the other road and roll with it, accepting the love and
affection whilst knowing that things will only get more complicated
from here on.

So I jump in all the way, now we are an item and we go out for a meal
together holding each other closely and feeling the warmth from each
other as we walk down the street to the restaurant. The meal gets off
to a perfect start and the wine is fine and then it happens, it's that
cellphone again, ringing it's dreaded tune, begging to be answered,
vibrating across the table trying to work it's way closer to my hand
and I look at you. I can see that you do not want me to answer it but
I need the money, I always need the money, there is never enough for
what I need to do and it never comes in fast enough and in an instant
my hand snaps to the phone like some possessed demon and my suggestive
inviting voice oozes down the phone line. Oh no, it's my best client,
the financial broker with the Porsche who always tips me extra, buys me
gorgeous lingerie and who always has a joint waiting for me every time
I arrive at his fabulous penthouse overlooking the whole city and to
top it all, he has a great body and is a wild wild fuck. What am I to
do? he wants to see me in an hour, wants me to stay the night, he says
he has a special treat for me and I know just how disappointed he gets
when he can't get his favourite girl, usually shunning me for a few
months, leaving me to wonder whether he has a new favourite? and so it
happens, "sure darling" I purr down the phone "I will be there.... yes,
I will wear that La Perla set you bought for me, with the garter and
stockings I promise" and in a final whisper "with no knickers of
course". During this whole conversation, I can see you shuffling
uncomfortably in your seat as you know that we will not get past the
entrees, that I will get up, get my coat, drop by the apartment to do a
quick change into "that" lingerie and that within the next couple of
hours, some stranger you have never met is going to be fucking me
senseless, taking me from behind, holding on the garter belt, driving
his cock deep me into whilst I will most likely be squealing in delight
just like I do with you.

So, where it does it go from here. Well, the call will come a day or
two later and once again, it comes down to two possible outcomes. The
first is where you say "Look hon, I think you are the greatest and I
think so much of you but I just can't handle the thought of you fucking
other guys, even if it is only for the money. It is obvious you like
what you do and I can't make you stop so we will just have to go our
own way. Sorry hon, but it ain't going to work" and the valium and
vodka now glow like neon signs on Broadway, whispering to me "you know
it is always going to end like this, why put yourself through it?". Or
perhaps the conversation will go something like this, "Hi hon, I was
really upset when you had to leave but I understand why you did and
what I really want is for us to be together and I will do whatever it
takes to make that happen. I will look after you, give you the things
you need but I just need to know that you will be mine" and I reply
"OK, come over and let's talk about it" knowing that this is the stage
where it will all fall apart, that it will be over and we will both be
heartbroken as we both realise that we simply cannot make it happen but
a there is faint glimmer of hope and I hang on to that for that brief
period of time before you turn up at my door.

"You earn how much?" you say in astonished surprise, you whole body
lifting from the couch, "where does it all go?" and then you learn why
girls like us do what we do, it is the need to be the perfect woman,
that unrelenting need to perfect oneself and the willingness to spend
anywhere between $20,000 and $100,000 on cosmetic surgery and
procedures to reach that goal and even should your love be so strong as
to be willing to spend that much on me so that I give up the game and
become your one and only, will I remain faithful? will I miss the
variety? will I miss the guy in the penthouse? and finally, will you
still love me when I turn my cock inside out and call myself a true
woman? or does it really boil down to the fact that you love my cock
and the way that I use it?

Before you let yourself fall in love with an escort, consider how high
the stakes may be and be aware of just how much each or both of you
will have to change to make it work. Sometimes, the status quo is the
best option and perhaps accepting that it will always be business but
with a personal edge is the best way to go.
Will Prince Charming turn up at my door and sweep me off my feet? Maybe
he will but I doubt he will show up as one of my clients?

Truth or fiction? Let me just say that I keep the valium and the
vodka at different ends of the apartment.

The End.