“Are you sure you’re okay? Want me to pull over? There’s a rest stop about a mile up the road.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I really am.” Lindsay Anastacio pressed her forehead to the passenger side window and rubbed two fingertips against her shut eyes. Despite claiming otherwise, she did what she could to combat the torment swirling through her as Jim Mayer drove his 2018 Audi A3 sedan along U.S. Route 50 toward the town of Oakfall near the Nevada-Utah border. Lindsay’s excitement for a daylong shopping spree had been ruined by the harsh reality check she received first thing this morning at the Sulaco County Sheriff’s Department.

“Hi. I’d like to apply for a sheriff’s card.”

Once the older, heavyset woman behind the counter realized Jim was accompanying Lindsay, darkness crossed her eyes, and her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “You’re wanting to work at the brothel? Get a job there?”

“Yes.”

She snapped a desk drawer shut. “Have you applied for a sheriff's card before?”

Lindsay pivoted her torso to the side in an act of self-preservation. “Umm, no.”

The woman treated her with a look of unmitigated fury but still handed the paperwork over. “You're so young. So pretty. Why do you want to throw your life away and become a good-for-nothing whore? Is that something to strive for? To be proud of?” She spat the words out through gritted teeth. “How could you do this to yourself? To your family? Have you no respect for them?”

Lindsay wanted to run off and hide, to cry and scream, but her body became petrified stone as she clutched Jim like he was her lifeline. No one had ever belittled her quite like this.

“It’s wonderful to see you again too, Irene,” Jim said in a sarcastic tone. Protective instincts took over as he guided Lindsay back to the lobby. “The law in these parts doesn’t approve of us. Just fill out the application. They’ll fingerprint you and run a background check, and you'll talk to a social worker – the county wants to be certain no one is forcing you into this – and then you'll be approved for your card and we'll be on our way. Won't be long.”

“All whores go to Hell!” Irene had to land a parting shot. “You’re going to burn forever because of this!”

Lindsay gasped again, this time at the memory of those words, as her head smacked into the cold, hard glass. For a split second she gazed at Jim, his brow furrowed, then leaned forward and covered her face with both hands while struggling to maintain her dignity.

After a minute, Lindsay sensed the vehicle slow down and come to a complete stop. She lifted her eyes and again glanced at Jim.

“Contrary to what you’re telling me, you’re not okay.” He put the vehicle into park. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on? Are you still upset about what happened at the sheriff’s office earlier?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m upset!” Lindsay undid her seat belt, opened the door, and staggered out to the parking lot. Her hands shook like she was freezing and she clamped them underneath her armpits, despite the July sun searing the asphalt pavement all around her.

Jim had pulled over at a rest stop about fifteen minutes from the state border which offered travel info, washrooms, and vending machines. Lindsay plopped down on the curb.

There within seconds, Jim nestled so close their shoulders bumped. His hand gripped her wrist and their eyes connected. “I told you earlier, you can’t let Irene affect you. She’s a mean old bitch who lives alone because no one wants her, and she’s jealous of you. She wishes she was as young and gorgeous as you.”

Ignoring what happened was easier said than done. Mean old bitch or not, that woman shed an alternative light on Lindsay’s situation. Was accepting a job at Happy Ending Ranch the right move? When her medical results came back this morning and she was cleared to work, Lindsay was sky-high with excitement. But now, mere hours later, it had been replaced with overwhelming doubt. Do I really want to go through with this? Her stomach quivered, the knots tightening and creating a stranglehold.

What right does that hag have to talk to me like that? Back in Citronelle, things were different. Lindsay was on a first-name basis with over half the town because she worked at the fairgrounds every summer. A monumental event for the community, all the residents enjoyed it. She always met them with cheerfulness and was never impolite. Her parents raised her to be respectful of everyone, especially her elders. Mom says a smile is the best makeup any girl can wear.

This whole harebrained scheme of leaving home at eighteen for a controversial job could end in so many horrible ways. What if Lindsay made a misstep and got thrown in jail? The head honcho in town, Sheriff Spaeth, held a vendetta against the brothel and its employees. Being arrested would be terrible but would pale in comparison to her parents ever finding out why she'd left everything behind in California and run off to Nevada.

Whore.

The term hit hard. Being called one shook Lindsay to her roots and provided her first reality check for the new life she’d chosen. It was taboo to say that word in the industry, but in all fairness, it was the truth. I am a whore. Not yet, but soon.

Lindsay hadn't heard the other ladies use it yet. They referred to themselves as working girls, working ladies, courtesans, or providers. Those terms sounded somewhat acceptable. Colt mentioned “prostitute” a few times yesterday but said it was a dirty word too. Not as dirty as whore, though.

Did Lindsay want to lie on a bed and let a random man fuck her for a living? Once his time was up, chances are there'd be another waiting to use her next. Scarlett said this past Saturday, she had sex with eight different guys over fourteen hours.

Eight. Different. Guys!

As much as she wanted to visit the upscale lingerie boutique in Oakfall that Pamela recommended, Lindsay needed to compose herself before getting back into the car. “I’m gonna use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

Though no one else was inside, Lindsay locked herself in a stall, anyway, and breathed in deep, labored breaths. Tears sparkled in her eyes. Seriously, am I cut out for this?

*

“You're awfully quiet. It’s unusual for you. Haven’t said much of anything since we left the rest stop.”

Lindsay startled as she whirled to face Jim. She grated her teeth into a smile and hoped it didn't appear as anxious as she felt. “I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

Driving on the highway, Jim swept the hair on his forehead back as he took a moment to inspect Lindsay. Oakfall waited at the next turnoff. She’d gone to the sheriff’s station in a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting checkered blouse to maintain her modesty and not rouse any suspicions.

But once they got out of Flagstone, Lindsay stripped down in the front seat to skintight denim shorts with frayed edges and a fluorescent orange halter top that clutched her nubile form in all the right places. Sexy was an understatement. In all his thirty-five years of working at the house, Jim had never seen a woman as stunning as Lindsay.

Even better, she was untouched with zero experience. Screwing her boyfriend back in high school meant nothing. Lindsay was as pure as the driven snow, yet also rife for the picking. Innocent until proven filthy? In time, this gal would be a popular commodity – a featured attraction – for the brothel.

But only if things stayed positive and people like Irene were kept out of her life.

Jim was quick to realize yesterday that Lindsay wasn't the stereotypical girl who sought work at the ranch. She had a wonderful, close-knit family and was raised the proper way. Outsiders would never believe that. Sad, but true. Lindsay didn't come from a fractured home. There were no past hardships to speak of. She'd never been beaten or molested by her father.

The fact was, most of the ladies who'd come and gone over the years at Happy Ending Ranch had decent backgrounds. They’re normal girls. It was a misconception amongst the ignorant masses that every working girl was abused by her dad and up to her eyeballs on drugs.

That's the only reason she chose this life, right? Hahaha! She'll be dead in five or six years from an overdose.

In reality, no, that wasn't the case. Still, Jim admitted there were a few who'd been through some difficult struggles, whether at home or otherwise. Like women and men in every line of work. Doctors, lawyers, construction workers, you name it. And yes, prostitutes too.

“Where are some of your favorite places to hike?” Jim could have said he realized Lindsay was in a negative frame of mind and asked if she wanted to discuss it. But there was a better way to go about this. He could tell she was rattled over what happened earlier and now second-guessed her decision to leave the sanctity of her family. I don’t want her to bail on us and go running home. Courtesans obtaining their sheriff's card through Irene (and her sharp tongue) was a necessary evil.

What’s worse, it needed to be renewed every six months.

Lindsay tucked one leg beneath her. Last evening, Jim inquired about her interests so he could list them on her biography page for the website. Lindsay mentioned that, more than anything else, she loved to hike.

“The Clouds-to-Cactus Trail, without a doubt. My dad and I hike it two times a year.”

“Clouds-to-Cactus Trail? Where's that located?”

“California. It begins in Palm Springs and ascends over ten thousand feet to San Jacinto Peak.” Lindsay blinked at Jim a couple of times before adding, “It's twenty-one miles long and can be difficult for beginners, but Dad and I have hiked it so many times it's old news for us these days.” She put her hands behind her head. “We're pros.”

“Impressive. I used to go hiking a lot back in the day.” Man, I haven’t done any of that in thirty years. Where did all the time go? It just flew by. “Two miles up, huh? I bet it's freezing cold when you get to the top, even in the middle of summer.” Or is it? He didn't know.

Jim glanced at Lindsay again, torn between his professionalism and a potent desire. He was elated earlier when Colt requested he be her chauffeur for the day. Jim assumed Colt would want to drive Lindsay to Oakfall himself but opted to spend time with Pamela instead. Those two need more time together. They can never have enough. “Twenty-one miles, huh? How long does it take to hike?”

“It's an all-day hike. Sixteen hours. We only hike it in May and October when the conditions are favorable. In the summer, it's not advised because the temperature reaches one hundred and twenty degrees.” She rubbed the base of her neck where her pulse beat in spasms seconds ago. “At one point, there's no water for eight miles. I ain’t cappin’. We tried this past December on a whim, on my birthday, but it was a bad idea. The higher altitudes were covered in snow and ice. Dad didn't want to risk it, so we turned back. The summit was negative-ten degrees.”

“I have a friend who likes to mountain climb west of Vegas,” Jim said. “In the springtime, the ground is hot and sunny, he says, but at the top of the peak there could be a blizzard going on.”

Lindsay raised an eyebrow. “Mount Charleston?”

Jim glanced at her sideways. “How’d you know?”

“I've always wanted to hike there. Its elevation is higher than Clouds-to-Cactus.”

“Then why haven't you?”

Lindsay pivoted and gazed out the window with an emotionless stare. “My parents are the type who never want to leave home. Driving twenty-five or thirty miles east to Palm Springs has always been a major family outing. Basically, they never leave Citronelle.” She wiped her sniffy nose with a tissue and refocused on Jim. “I've only been to Los Angeles twice, though it's one hundred and forty miles away, and San Diego once. We went to the zoo when I was a kid. I've seen the beach one time. That's it.”

“Ouch.” Jim grimaced, reached over, and patted the back of her hand. “Sounds like you’ve led a sheltered life. I feel for ‘ya.”

Lindsay stretched her lips. “I was determined to bust out of town after high school and find something new and exciting to do.”

“Like becoming a sex worker in a brothel?”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “The industry has always intrigued me.”

Jim enjoyed talking with turnouts like this and learning about their backstories. No two were ever the same.

“I've been doing lots of reading on it this past year, wanting to make an informed decision, and have a lot of respect for all working girls.” She lifted her hand in explanation. “I find it amazing what they do, what they offer. Mad props to them. I realize it won't be easy, but there's the opportunity for major money. I can save up for college. And who knows? Take a trip or two around the world too.” She glared out the window once more, silent for several seconds. “Neither would be possible if I continued to sling corn dogs for the rest of my life.”

Jim cracked up with laughter. “You hated that job, huh? You've mentioned … your disdain … for it a couple of times.”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“We're glad you chose Happy Ending Ranch, but did you ever consider anything else? Something like stripping? Webcamming?”

“I did.” She let loose with a lopsided grin. “Stripping, at least, yes. Webcamming never crossed my mind. There is a strip club in San Diego I did a lot of reading up on too. But in the end, I thought escorting would be more enjoyable. More money too. Besides, I wouldn't like working in a loud, hectic strip club. I've never been much for teasing. I like action. There are drugs and dangerous temptations, horrible people, everywhere in them. Brothels are stricter – they are forced to be because they're regulated by the state – and working at one seemed, I don't know, safer.”

“You won't have any problems at Happy Ending Ranch. Colt runs a tight ship. Much tighter than his father ever did. Take Nicolette, for example. She's worked at every brothel in Nevada and says ours is her favorite. Sahara and Riley have been offered jobs closer to Vegas, but they always decline, though the potential for money is greater there. They love Colt and the fact he lets them be themselves.

“Those brothels in the populated areas such as Vegas, Reno, Carson City, customers are treated like they’re on an assembly line. It's robotic and a bottom-line business, and those girls will stab you in the back if it suits them. Here, and at other smaller houses, girls cheer each other on. There are petty conflicts, sure, but Colt prefers a family-style atmosphere. Ours is a no-drama house. He takes care of all the girls and they take care of one another too.”

“I like the sound of that.” Lindsay’s face was beaming as she enjoyed the desert scenery. The dance of sunlight across immense, wide-open spaces and endless mountain ranges made the natural environment of Nevada a sight to behold. Many tourists didn’t realize the state offered so much more beyond the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas. “When I did my research on the Internet, people said Happy Ending Ranch had the chill vibe you speak of. It was a determining factor in me coming here. Pamela mentioned yesterday other brothels try to steal her away too.”

Jim chuckled. “A waste of time, wouldn't you agree? Pamela isn't going anywhere.”

“Since you mentioned Sahara and Riley, I must admit, I think their relationship is wonderful. I'd like to work with them one day. You know, party.” Lindsay blew out a breath. “It takes a lot of guts to want to have a traditional wedding ceremony in a church like they do and invite all their friends and family too.” Her complexion paled. “I mean, if it were me, I'd be scared to death to tell my family I was in love with another girl, let alone invite them to the wedding.”

“It takes guts and is brave on their part,” Jim said. “But it also shows how much they love and care for each other. Sahara and Riley are proud of what they have and want their friends and families to know it.”

“What about you, Jim? Does Colt take care of you too? The two chefs, maintenance, the bartenders? I had a good talk with Jenn last night; we were vibing at the bar.”

“Colt takes care of all his employees. He’s a great, great boss. I wouldn't trade what I do for anything. No position, no amount of money.” Jim offered another hearty laugh. “I put in seventy or eighty hours a week, but it's not a job to me. I don’t consider it a job.”

Lindsay made a face. “Okurrr. …”

“Honestly, I don’t.” He rolled his head to work out the kinks in his shoulder. “Since we were talking about stripping, there'll be times when a customer will ask for a sexy striptease and lap dance from you. Don't worry, though. Pamela will prepare you for every scenario during your training this week.”

“I don't have the faintest idea on how to give a lap dance.”

Lindsay was a downright doll, without question, but Jim wasn't interested in her that way. No, his heart belonged to Cierra Vazquez (Kenzie), and he was bound and determined, one way or another, to finally win her over … even if it took until the end of time.

“You don't need to know how to give one. It doesn't matter. Just do it. Guys don't come to us looking for a lap dance or striptease. They want the full package. All you'd have to do during a lap dance is bump and grind your body a bit, get up close and personal, and touch yourself. Any man will be eating out of the palm of your hand in seconds. Don't worry, Pamela will teach you everything.”

*

 Hmmmmm, Pamela. The corners of Lindsay's mouth quirked up.

It astonished her that she harbored such a massive crush on Pamela. They'd only met yesterday, and more surprisingly, Pamela was a woman. Sure, Lindsay had been curious about the idea of hooking up and having sex with another woman for years. How many times had she fingered herself in her private moments and fantasized about Evie, her best friend, back home? I did that the other night at the hotel. Or used her dildo and imagined it was Evie fucking her with a strap-on instead?

But Lindsay's attraction for Pamela was already a million times more intense. How is that possible? I mean, seriously? Pamela had been so gracious since the moment they laid eyes on each other yesterday. She’s just a wonderful human being with a huge heart. Pamela exuded a magnetic energy unlike anyone Lindsay had ever seen. For real, she drippin’. Pamela went out of her way, too, to make Lindsay feel welcomed and comfortable,

Lindsay wasn't accustomed to another woman being this amicable. Most of her female classmates in high school had been catty and just plain jealous. What a bunch of haters. Pamela was a toucher and her fingers often glided along Lindsay's shoulders, her back, or her forearms. It wasn't blatant and didn't seem intentional – it's who Pamela was, Lindsay believed. How many tender kisses did Pamela sneak to her arm and shoulder yesterday? I’ll be fantasizing about her instead of Evie from now on.

Pamela partook in a one-hour GFE with an older gentleman last evening. Since they had neighboring rooms, Lindsay heard every word (and every passionate grunt) between Pamela and her paying client through the thin walls separating them. I was so jealous of that boomer.

Poor Lindsay had no choice but to go all-out and fuck herself with her dildo. Imagine if it was Pamela fucking me instead, even dominating me, with a strap-on. Oh God. That would be so lit. Lindsay came three times listening to the man laying the proverbial wood to Pamela. When she would shriek in pleasure, Lindsay closed her eyes and fantasized it was her, not the client, delivering those sensations instead. What a lucky guy.

Overall, it was a troublesome night since she wasn't permitted to leave her bedroom after eight o'clock unless she had to use the restroom. Lindsay wasn't medically cleared and hadn’t received her sheriff's card yet, so Colt insisted she stay out of sight. Zero chill, bruh. Zero chill. Business was hopping and the last thing he wanted was for a customer to see Lindsay and wind up disappointed because she couldn't work yet.

But Lindsay hadn't been thinking about work.

After the customer left, she had the urge to go into Pamela's bedroom and find out what it was like to go down on a woman. Sure, Lindsay wouldn't have a clue and may wind up slobbering everywhere, but she didn't care. The eighteen-year-old wanted to dive right into Pamela's pussy and, if she had her way, feast until the wee hours of the morning. I'd love to give Pamela an orgasm.

Lindsay considered doing just that but didn't know if it would be grounds for termination since Colt instructed her to stay put. She almost texted Pamela and asked her to come into her bedroom instead, but didn't have the nerve. I'm falling in love with her.

Was it because she felt smitten with Pamela's beauty and charm? Lindsay did a double-take last night when Pamela passed by on the way to Colt’s office. She was scrumptious with her hair loose and free-flowing, and Lindsay became lost in those dazzling-brown eyes. Every time Pamela moved, Lindsay felt mesmerized by those wondrous breasts and beguiling hips. How can she walk in those stripper heels with such ease?

And when Pamela woke up this morning, devoid of any mascara and her hair disheveled, and they crossed paths, Lindsay was blown away. I want to wake up to Pamela’s face every morning for the rest of my life.

Or did the root of Lindsay's attraction stem from the fact Pamela was so considerate yesterday and offered to loan her money to help get all her legalities in order? $350 morphed into $700. Without her aid, Lindsay would be trying to figure out a way to return home to Citronelle. I may be reduced to sucking dick in some dark alley to build up cab and bus fare. Her hopes and dreams would be shattered, her psyche forever broken. Knowing my luck, the sheriff would catch me, and I’d be thrown in jail.

But Pamela made sure that didn't happen. Who goes around offering someone they met an hour earlier a loan for seven hundred bucks?

“Jim, can I ask you something?”

“Sure thing, hon. What is it?”

Lindsay hesitated, unsure how to say this. She took the best route and was blunt. “I cannot believe Pamela and Colt are married. That's … gnarly! I mean, wouldn't most husbands be jealous? Insanely jealous? It must tear Colt apart inside when Pamela's with another man.” It tore me apart last night, and I just met her.

“It's just business, sweetheart. All it is … business.” Jim recited Colt’s motto in life and concentrated as he switched lanes and zoomed past a slow-moving tractor-trailer. “Pamela and Colt love each other very, very much. Pamela always goes back to him no matter what. She's the kindest, sincerest girl you could ever meet, and loves Colt with all her soul. He loves her to the moon and back again too. Pamela seeing a client? It's just business.”

Jim twirled his head about again. “You gotta remember, Colt has worked at the brothel for twenty-six years. His dad owned it long before he was born. It's in his blood and he's used to this life. I'm used to it as well. There's no jealousy or animosity like you'd find in a normal marriage. It may not be typical for ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent of people, but it is for us.” His jaw went slack. “This … it's our every day.”

“It's different from anything I've ever known.”

“You'll get used to it.”

Lindsay wrung out her clammy hands. “I don't know.”

“Colt told me to use the business credit card and buy whatever your heart desires today. So did Pamela. When the time is right and you've had a couple of parties, Colt says he'll transfer whatever you spend today from your ledger to Pamela's.”

Lindsay's eyes watered with tears again. “That's so Gucci of them, especially Pamela. But why are you using the company credit card? Pamela said I'd get cash.”

“Colt and Pamela never buy anything with cash. They go after credit card points. They hoard them like you wouldn't believe. They take trips all over the world and often don't pay a cent. They recently took a vacation to Bora Bora that would have cost thirty thousand dollars but paid for it in credit card points. Didn't cost them a dime.”

Thus, a significant reason why Pamela was intent on continuing to work and earn more money. They could have converted those points to cashback, but despite wanting a quiet, ordinary life in the future, Pamela loved to travel and see new places (as did Colt). With what Pamela was forced to go through on a daily basis, Colt believed she deserved all the relaxation and time away she could get.

“Wow. Credit card points?” Lindsay scrunched her nose. Is that some sort of currency?

“Pamela plans on helping you out. She wants to educate you on building credit and saving money. A lot of times, girls start working in this business – a brothel, a strip club, what have you – and wind up throwing all their money away and destroying their credit. They’re too young to know any better. None of us want that for you, or any of our employees. Next week, Pamela wants me to take you to Flagstone Savings and Loan and have you set up a checking account. I'm also going to help set up an online saving account for you, if you want, because they gain a lot of interest. Not as much as they did thirty years ago, but still, a lot more than a traditional brick-and-mortar bank.”

Another tear trickled down her cheek. “Why is Pamela being so good to me?” I’m starting to understand why girls like Sahara, Riley, and Nicolette stay at this house and don’t chase the big money elsewhere. Pamela truly is the Mother Hen.

Plus, Lindsay heard some horror stories from a few of the others about their experiences at the larger houses. They fostered a competitive, cutthroat atmosphere, and that was out of her comfort zone. I like how things are so chill and laid-back here. It’s like Sunday afternoon vibes.

“Why is Pamela being so good to you?” Jim chuckled. “Oh, easy … she likes you!”

Spank me, Mommy. Spank and fuck me. “I like her too.” Do it with your strap-on!

“Both Pamela and Colt enjoy helping all our new employees, not just you. Who knows? Your time with us may be fleeting, but they want to offer direction and put you on the correct path in life. They do this for everyone. It's who they are. They're good people.”

“I can't believe how cool everyone has been to me.” This is proof I made the right decision by branching out and trying something new.

Jim was ready to give himself a pat on the back. After being called a whore at the sheriff's station earlier, he transitioned Lindsay toward discussing her love of hiking and then Pamela, and now she was no longer upset. Lindsay was talkative and curious, and her expression danced with adoration for the past several minutes at the mere mention of Pamela's name.

<> <> <> <> <>

 “It was awesome meeting you. Thanks for having me. Let’s do it again in the future, shall we?” Several hours later, Pamela rose from her bar stool and offered Charlie Winters an affectionate hug following their GFE extravaganza. A virgin no more, Charlie’s date with Pamela lasted three hours and included, for him, a pair of toe-curling orgasms. Pamela proved to be a sexual dynamo and delivered far more pleasure than he ever hoped for.

Although a prostitute, Pamela was authentic, and the exact opposite of what Charlie expected out of traveling 2,000 miles from home to lose his V-card. Certainly, Pamela bore no resemblance to those wild hookers and coked-up strippers on The Jerry Springer Show.

Pamela didn’t make it seem like their encounter was all about the money either. Sure, having sex was her job and how she made a living, and Charlie understood that. He respected it, too, and didn’t have a problem compensating her for her services. Would Pamela agree to have sex him without any money involved?

Of course not.

I bet Pamela has an endless line of guys beating down her door back home in Florida. She could have anyone she wants. Charlie wondered what it would be like to have his pick of any woman in the world. I know who I’d choose: Pamela. To be as attractive as her, as desirable. But the idea was foreign and not worth his time or effort to consider. That will never be me.

Regardless, Pamela was a joy to be with. Charlie didn’t expect such an emotional, heartfelt connection. I feel like I’ve known this gal for a decade, not since eleven-thirty this morning. What he enjoyed most – even more than the sex, which was plentiful – were those tender moments where they cuddled and spoke in bed like newlyweds. Talk about a dream come true! In between their many rounds of passionate lovemaking, Pamela listened and responded to every word Charlie said about his childhood, a flourishing career, and all the silly, off-the-wall hobbies he had in his personal life. I’m big into video games.

He wished he could get to know her better.

“Umm, yeah … I mean, is there anything else? Is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s it for me, I’m afraid. I got a few things to do.” Pamela could tell Charlie didn’t want to leave yet, but time equalled money, and she’d spent an additional sixty minutes socializing with him in the bar free of charge. In the larger brothels, that was unheard of. Clients would receive ten minutes before and after parties – if they were lucky.

But if Charlie wasn’t going to purchase more GFE time, Pamela had to say goodbye. He’d already said he had a strict budget for his vacation.

She would never push any paying customer out the door, but she’d done her part, and wasn’t against giving Charlie a gentle nudge. Pamela wanted to freshen up and hang out with Lindsay later this evening once she returned from her day out (and have sex with her too).

“The important thing is you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh yeah,” Charlie babbled. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Good, good! So did I.” Wearing a replica Michael Jordan Washington Wizards jersey several sizes too large (and nothing else), Pamela was full of positive energy as she leaned in and kissed her john flush on the mouth. Her hair was pinned up in a loose, hastily thrown-together bun that had slipped to the nape of her neck. “Thanks for helping me clean up my room at the end too. We made a mess, didn’t we?” Pamela latched on to Charlie’s hand and escorted him toward the exit. “Stockings and heels, different pieces of lingerie, things were everywhere.”

“Oh, I didn’t mind. I was happy to help.” Charlie had the most amazing experience of his life, bar none, and was floating on cloud nine. How could anything top losing his virginity to a woman who was this ravenous, this lustful, yet also so refreshing and likable at the same time?

Yet there was also a hollowness in his chest weighing him down. If I had one wish, it would be to take Pamela back to Michigan and marry her. But I … can’t. If given the opportunity, Charlie was convinced he could make her happy. I know I could! They had a lot in common, he thought, their chemistry was solid, and she was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Definite wife material, without question.

“The striptease and lap dance you gave me, it … it was fantastic.” Why is my hand trembling? “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting that any time soon.”

“I’m glad you liked it, baby.” Pamela pressed her side into Charlie’s and did a jig once they reached the front foyer. “I enjoyed giving you pleasure, making you happy.” She took a step back and put her hands on her hips.

But Charlie wanted to put his hands on her hips again. That ass was a work of art, heart-shaped and supple, and Charlie remembered Pamela flaring it out at one point during their party and taunting him with a sexy, come-hither expression over her shoulder as he enjoyed her in the doggy style position.

Without saying a word, Colt, who’d been overseeing their after-party discussion this whole time, emerged from behind the bar and approached on pure instinct, wanting to be certain Pamela wasn’t in harm’s way.

Charlie was thirty-six and had an excellent job back home in Detroit with several nest eggs stashed away in various bank accounts. His boss said he was going places. But the poor, lonely man had watched his two younger brothers fall in love in recent years and marry women they adored and often wondered why he couldn’t have a blissful existence of his own. Why do I have to travel all the way to the other side of the country to feel a shred of happiness?

What’s wrong with me? Why am I so undesirable?

Considering that happiness came courtesy of Pamela, Charlie didn’t have any complaints or regrets. Not about her, at least. Instead, his issue was his wretched, pathetic life. Its reality got to him and was quite unsettling.

Charlie had been shoved to the wayside so many times throughout the years that he’d lost all hope years ago. The secluded upbringing. Parents who always had something more important going on and never any time for him. His mother never allowed him to enter organized sports. Getting ridiculed, bullies in school, and his teenage crush refusing to acknowledge his existence back in the day.

Going to the prom? Forget about it.

Pamela pulled two clips from her hair. “This was such a fun afternoon.” Long, golden tresses tumbled across her shoulders and settled halfway down her back. Her eyes were enormous and inquisitive and sparkled in the dim light. “You’re a good man, Charlie, and I wish you nothing but the best.”

College wasn’t much better. Rejection became a never-ending cycle. Multiple girls gave him the cold shoulder when he asked them out. No one ever invited him to a party or anything fun. Weekend nights were spent studying, his nose buried in schoolbooks.

He began to feel unattractive and more insecure in his mid-twenties. His brothers were dating, even having sex, in high school. One was a star athlete, for crying out loud! Charlie watched his father die right in front of him. He struggled with health and his sexual orientation. Not experiencing something it seemed like everyone else was doing (and talking/bragging about) took a massive toll.

It fucking hurt.

As Charlie reached his thirties, the isolation worsened. It was suffocating. Was he an incel? Being an older virgin carried a stigmatizing label made worse by social media punchlines and Hollywood blockbusters ridiculing those in his position. His life was a joke, his predicament something to scoff at.

Even if he did meet someone who wanted to go on a date and (gasp!) pursue an actual relationship, how could he tell her he was still a virgin? At his age, Charlie was convinced it would be a red flag, a hurdle most women would have no interest in dealing with.

He soon gave up on the wife and kids thing. That was never going to happen. And shortly thereafter, Charlie realized that if he didn’t take drastic measures, he would one day go to his grave as a virgin.

My whole life has been an utter failure.

The desperation to love, to give, to feel, to simply be normal, and knowing he would never experience any of that unless he paid a woman who worked in some seedy, smoke-infested Nevada whorehouse an ordinate amount of money was shameful, and worst of all soul-crushing.

The ultimate humiliation.

But also, his only chance to unshackle the albatross that had held him down for so long. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Dad would skin my hide if he was still alive and knew I’d resorted to this.

“Lunch was delicious too. Thanks again.” Pamela grazed her knuckles along Charlie’s jaw. “I’m going to miss you, baby, and I’ll never forget what a good time we had.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why was Charlie feeling this way? Why’d you skip out on taking your medicine last night? Pull it together, man, and cheer up!

Somehow, Charlie bottled up all his frustration, his putrid despair, and kept himself composed on the outside.

Pamela was too preoccupied to notice, anyway, as she glanced into the adjacent mirror and stomped her bare foot upon the hardwood floor. “Oh, I look like a hot mess!”

No. His emotions at war, Charlie wanted to fold Pamela into his arms and tell her she didn’t look like a hot mess, she looked like an angel. His angel, one who’d been sent down from the high heavens to grace not only his life but the lives of everyone around her as well. She said she sees guys like me all the time.

No matter what, he couldn’t allow Pamela to know what was going on inside of him. So, he kept his words safe. “Nah, you look great.”

Charlie envisioned Pamela’s thick, shiny hair spread across a pillow beneath him on their wedding night. Man, I’d give anything to be with this gal. The thought of making love to her as she wore her bridal gown made his stomach flutter and pulse quicken. I’d sell my soul to the devil. Visions of them being jarred awake by a crying infant or chasing a toddler through the house sent his mind into overdrive. Charlie could picture forever with this woman. He’d only met her this morning, but that didn’t matter.

This felt right. They felt right.

Together.

I love you, Pamela. I’d do anything to make you happy. Please, come with me. Leave this place and I’ll spend the rest of my life taking care of you.

She crossed her arms and jutted one curvaceous hip to the side. “Great? Are you serious? I look like I just got fucked! Anyone could tell by looking at me. It’s good I don’t have anywhere to go tonight, don’t you agree? Time to hit the jacuzzi and listen to some chillstep.” Pamela inhaled a deep breath that lifted her magnificent breasts to the top of her lacey chemise in a shockingly sexy way. “All right, thank you again.”

Charlie’s insides were about to explode. I don’t want to leave you. I can’t leave you. This was too much.

Way too much.

“Have fun during the rest of your vacation in Vegas.” She squeezed his wrist and offered her most heartfelt smile. “I’m hoping you hit the jackpot and can retire to that four-hundred-foot yacht just off the coast of Hawaii you’ve been dreaming about.”

Yeah, and you could retire there with me.

Pamela gave him one last kiss. “Come back to the ranch in the future and visit me again, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah … of course. Told you I would.”

She rubbed her hand along his side and he tensed beneath her touch. “Bye, baby. Be careful going back to the hotel. Send me an e-mail once you arrive so I know you made it there safe and sound, okay?”

Charlie trudged out to his rental car sixty seconds later and wondered how the hell he was ever going to be the same with Pamela’s charming, girl-next-door demeanor and pinup body forever etched into his mind. What am I doing? I just walked away from the one and only woman on the planet who should be my wife!

“You all right?” Back inside the parlor, Colt embraced Pamela and cradled the side of her face upon his shoulder. “Everything okay? Are you hurting at all?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Sore, but fine.” Pamela stepped away and glanced down with strained, uneven breaths. “Charlie was a sweet man and respected my boundaries. I don’t have any complaints about him.”

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Colt lifted Pamela’s chin with a finger so he could gaze into her eyes. “That party was longer than what the typical customer usually gets.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Three hours is nothing.” She ground her teeth and glanced away. “Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.” Colt took Pamela’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll never stop worrying about you.” He brushed her cheek with a kiss and pulled back, his eyes full of sincerity. “Never stop loving you either.” He swiped his thumb across her chin. “You want anything from the kitchen?”

“I could use some alcohol.” Though she refused to admit it, Pamela somehow wrenched her back with Charlie and was in a fair amount of discomfort. But she was strong-willed and didn’t complain about the many aches and pains of her job all too often.

Besides, if she did, Colt was the type who’d drop everything and insist they go straight to William Morris Stewart Medical Center in Valley City so she could get treatment in the emergency room. Pamela appreciated Colt’s concern but believed he went way overboard when it came to certain things, her health being at the top of the list. A good soak in the tub, and my back will be fine.

“I’ll pour some vodka for you.”

“Can I have the next hour off? I’d like to relax for a bit.”

“Of course. You can take two.”

“No, one will be fine.” She closed her eyes and sighed far too long for Colt’s liking. “Any other girls busy?”

“Aaliyah and Riley are seeing clients.”

“Awesome! Sounds like we’re off to an excellent start in terms of sales today, huh? I know Kenzie had a customer as well. I could hear them clear down the hall. All those wild grunts and screams excited Charlie too.”

Pamela made a motion to leave but spun on her heels and focused on her husband with a curious expression. “Has Jim called or texted you? Any idea when he and Kayleigh will get back to the house?”

“Should be within the hour.” Colt brushed several strands of hair away from Pamela’s forehead and held on to a single lock because it was so soft and silky. “He says Kayleigh is looking forward to getting her feet wet and seeing a client or two tonight.”

Pamela tapped her foot like she was listening to an easy beat. “Oh, wonderful! Perfect timing too. Hopefully, I’m finished with my tub and all freshened up by the time Kayleigh gets back.”

“You got plans for her tonight?”

Pamela smiled, somewhat playful, somewhat wicked. “Maybe!”

Outside, meanwhile, Charlie’s universe had shattered. He was crying, a blubbering pool of tears, and amid a mental breakdown. I shouldn’t have to pay someone eighteen hundred dollars just to be nice to me! …

(End of Chapter Four - to be continued)