The coffee at this restaurant was said to be good, and it might be for someone used to the usual American coffee. I am from Europe, and I am used to GOOD coffee. My favorite is Mocha Java, the coffee I brew at home. Most visitors gladly accept the mini carafe of hot water I serve them with their cup of coffee so they can dilute the taste and the color.
But Freddie and I were not here for the coffee. We had just met at the hardware store and decided to share what was new in our lives. He was married to a classic lady he had met on his travels. She absolutely dripped sex droplets like a jungle rain and Freddie was always delighted to watch males of all stripes to be turned on by her.
But it was clear also that here was a look-but-do-not-touch situation. Her relationship with me, however, had progressed a tad further, we flirted with each other shamelessly, knowing that this was just a pleasant and harmless entertainment. Freddie enjoyed the interplay. But Mireille's flirting with me belongs to another story. Anyway, I am glad Freddie is unaware of my fantasies, especially the favorite of mine where she is working for me as a call girl.
This story is about Frances who was introduced to me at Mireille's birthday party. Everyone knows that I am a widower and everyone seems to be bent on playing matchmaker. Frances was good looking, bordering on beautiful, had a slim body that made her look like a teenager when seen from behind. She even walked with a bit of an ass wiggle. She would be a very sexy package if she would only take care of herself.
Her hair was always in disarray like she had just finished a Marathon run. She dressed in a nondescript way as if she wanted to disappear into the crowd before someone noticed her. She was a widow; her husband had died in a car wreck three years ago while they were in the middle of their divorce proceedings. When we met she had a distinct aura of 'leave me alone' around her. Frances had not made a great impression on me.
That's why I did not recall having met her when Freddie started talking about her. But after a while it clicked and she slowly came into focus. As it turned out, Freddie did not know her too well. If they met by chance they might share a cup coffee and chat a bit, but still he had gleaned enough from their occasional talks to get a blurred picture of the problems she was facing.
"You know what gripes me the most about that situation is that scoundrels can live a good life and nice people like Frances are kicked around by fate," Freddie was telling me. "And since she always was a housewife she doesn't have any job skills. Naturally, she can't find a job that is paying enough to keep her head above water. It's hard to watch someone you know lose everything, the house, the car, and be out on the street."
He continued for a while longer, telling me what a wonderful person she is once you get to know her a bit, and I wondered if we are again playing a matchmaking game here. Especially after he said "I wished you could come up with a solution, you are so knowledgeable in money matters. Maybe you can give it a thought, that girl is in need of help." He gave me Frances' phone number and I promised to think about it. And I did.
When I called her the next day I explained how we had met, and that I had heard about a problem she had, and I hinted that I might be able to help her. I set up an appointment with her for the next afternoon at three, asking her to bring with her all pertinent data, payments due, balance etc.
She rang my doorbell at exactly three. She even had made up her hair and wore a hint of makeup. Today everything about her said 'notice me a little bit, but not too much'. After I had seated her I got two glasses and a bottle of a nice Spaelese Moselle wine, a wine that is so smooth it just begs for another glass and then some more. I made some small talk to get her relaxed. To help create this feeling of a relaxed atmosphere even more I leaned back deeper into the cushions of the couch and crossed my legs.
This and the wine seemed to have their effect. I had her talking about herself, her early childhood, her parents, and her school. From there I switched to her chances for a job, considering her education and past job experiences. Well, you know the answer already.
The time had come to get to the heart of the matter at hand. I asked her to sit next to me on the couch and give me the details of her financial situation, how far in arrears she was on the house, the car, credit cards, and so on. It was a bleak picture, there was no hope left in her, she had run out of options and she knew it.
I wondered why she even bothered to keep her appointment. But I was glad she did. Now that I had a chance to look her over closer I felt that she could well be my second girl. Her figure, her face, her skin, the way she walk-ed, - all were positives as far as I was concerned.
"Here is what we can do. I can get you a well paying job," I explained.. "I can free you of all your problems, no more arrears. Are you interested?" She was perplexed and sat still and stiff next to me.
I continued, "what I just told you is absolutely true. Listen carefully for a few minutes and keep your mind open. First I will pay off all arrears, including all late penalties. Then we will pay off the credit card and cancel it. You will get another card with your name on it from me that will be used for all your purchases. You will use cash only for such things as tips and such. All payments for your house and your car will be made automatically from my account. You will be absolutely free of all money worries. I want you to be relaxed and happy so you can devote your energy to your job instead of having bleak thoughts. There will be additional benefits I will explain later. Does this sound good so far?"
It took a few moments before she could manage a very quiet 'yes'. Her yes also carried with it the question of 'what do I have to do' to earn all that. t was time to explain.
"You remember that I asked you a while ago to listen with an open mind. You have done a great job so far, continue to keep your mind open for what I have to say. Let's start with, 'I have no job skills'. That is not quite true. When we are hired, all of us have to give of ourselves to get paid, whether a masseuse or a lawyer. What we give depends on our job skills that gave us the chance to get hired in the first place.
You have practiced your skills at pleasing a male and making him happy while you were married, maybe even before getting married. All that was not a free contribution as most wives think. Wives receive in turn the security the male supplies. Without that security a female is on her own. That's where you are presently.
If you come to work for me you will have that security again, even to a much higher degree. All you have to do is making someone happy. Forget the word prostitution, Just compare a call girl's bringing happiness and fulfillment to someone who needs it with the lawyer who let's himself get hired to get a man off the hook who had killed and raped two women. Isn't the latter case a distasteful prostitution compared to the other?
Working for me you would be a professional, as any other professional. You will be able to leave behind you warm feelings, a grateful, thankful client; and you will feel satisfaction in a job well done. You as a professional will do your job out of necessity to make a living. This is different from the girls who prostitute themselves to gain fame, or to receive a gift of a pearl necklace, or even just for a free dinner.
Now I mentioned two more benefits. I will set up an annuity for you, into which I will pay every month, and I will enroll you in a health insurance program.
You will turn over all payments to me. You are required to have no less than twenty dollars in your possession at all times. If you run low you just take whatever you need out of a drawer I will show you. But you will use your credit card whenever possible.
Now go home and think it over. Come back to morrow at four and ask any question you have, I will answer them fully. I know you will have to wrestle with preconceived notions, but in the end you will make an intelligent decision. Let me know tomorrow."
Frances did not rise from the couch immediately. She kept looking at me as if she had just been transported to Egypt and I was the Sphinx. When she left she grabbed my hand with both of hers, thanked me for taking the time to talk to her, and promised to think about what I had told her.
The next morning around nine the doorbell rang just as I had finished reading my web mail. It was a pretty teenager, or very early twenty something, carrying a clipboard. There was a little courtesy smile, but basically her face was serious. She introduced herself as Frances' daughter Jennifer and asked for a twenty minute discussion with me. And yes, she really called it a discussion.
I invited her in, settled her in my favorite chair, and wondered out loud if she would like to join me with a cup of coffee. She declined, but she would accept a glass of plain water, she informed me. Once I served her water and poured another cup of Micha Java for myself, I settled my frame into the cushions of my couch, waiting for her to start what she had called the discussion.
"My Mom does not know of my visit," she started. There was a distinct undertone of dislike for me in her voice. "I have a few questions you will hopefully answer. When my mother and I talked last night, she told me a most improbable story about you promising to not only wipe out her debts, but also to take care of her financially from there on. And even more impossible for me to swallow, you asked my mother to become a prostitute."
She looked at me as if expecting a denial of some sort, or at least an apology. I knew I would disappoint her on both counts. I leaned forward and closer to her and went right to the counter attack with, "I judge you about twenty, an age I remember distinctly and with fondness. The world was full of wondrous things and the harsh and cold reality was still in the future. And having been there I should tell you what is in store for you, whether you like it or not. I will not do that, but you can see one of the harsh realities happening right now to your mother.
The sicker a patient is, the stronger must be the medicine. Cute words will not help your mom. Yesterday I explained to her that she had only one job qualification and I had the feeling she realized I was right. What other talents can she offer an employer? Many of us do not particularly love our job, but we need the financial security the job affords. Your mother would have the most secure of all. No more worry about anything except what color blouse to buy, or what to have for dinner.
I am sure she explained to you the financial side. Now to your second objection. A call girl is as much a professional as a lawyer. Maybe we should call them intimate entertainers to get you off that word you don't like. Their clients leave happy and satisfied, not true of every client of a lawyer. If you have any other solution, I am sure your mother as well as I would love to listen to you."
I settled back into the couch again and waited. She kept staring at me, trying to bring some order to her thoughts and then formulate an appropriate response. Her efforts did not bear fruit and she finally told me she would talk this proposal over again with her mother, rand she enjoyed meeting me and she wished me a nice day. I knew right then that I would see her again soon.
I was right. She walked in behind her mother at four. And this time both accepted a glass of wine, probably to quiet their nerves. I couldn't blame them, a big decision was to be made, and I am sure they had wrestled with this till it had been time to leave for Frances' appointment with me. I was wondering if they had thought about the two points we had not yet discussed.
Settling back into my cushions I waited for Frances to start, which she did immediately. Her voice was clear and steady when she said, "I would never accept such an offer from any other man except you, and that's a compliment. Did we discuss everything or did you leave something for after I accepted?"
"Yes, there are two items. The money I spend to dig you out of the hole you are in is technically a loan, secured by a second mortgage on your house. That means you will not have to come up with cash should you leave me. There is no interest, and for every year you stay with me the mortgage reduces by one thousand dollars.
Then there is one other item, our personal relationship. I will be your pimp and as such have a certain privilege. You cannot refuse intimacy, in other words if I want to fuck you, you will be available. This is standard in the industry. There are no further contract items. Oh, I almost forgot, I will get you a separate cell phone that is strictly for the business. Just one more. You have to select a name you want to use in your professional career.
I will tell you the time and [lace of you appointments, plus any particulars if needed such as how to dress etc. If the client has any idiosyncrasies that I know about I will let you know also. "
I then turned to Jennifer and said, "as to you young lady, you can stop worrying about your mom, she is in good hands."
She surprised both her mother and me with her answer. "I stopped worrying when I met you this morning, you are kind and considerate and a pleasure to be with. I wouldn't mind coming to work for you some time."
The next days were busy days, lots of paper work, shopping at Victoria's Secret or sexy outfits.