Quirky Quill

“It’s okay, no one will see us,” I promise Josie. “Come on, baby, bend over for me.”

She’s shy and nervous, which is half the fun for me. Helping people step out of their comfort zone is so rewarding.

We went over the scenario for tonight in excruciating detail over the phone last night, so I know exactly what she wants. Still, I get that it’s scary for her now that it’s actually happening. It’s one thing to have a fantasy, yet another to act it out. This was her idea though, not mine. She’s the one who wanted to have sex on the balcony of her hotel suit. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m simply fulfilling the role of hot male in her fantasy. This isn’t about me, it’s all about her.

It’s always about the woman.

“That’s it,” I praise Josie when she grabs the railing with both hands and bends over, her ass in the air. I run my hands down her back before lightly spanking her ass. She’s still fully clothed, and I know just how to remedy that.

Josie needs me to take things slow, I can tell. She’s never done anything like this before. There’s a reason why she wanted to meet for coffee three times before finally deciding that she wanted to go through with this. She needed to feel safe with me. The fact that she’s giving herself to me now means everything. It’s one of the things that excites me most about the work I do – that I can help women let go, give into their desires, and stop caring about what other people think. They need to be in the here and now with me, and somehow I have a talent for helping them do just that.

I push up the skirt of Josie’s skirt until her ass is on show for me, straining against bright red panties.

“Naughty girl,” I whisper. “Did you wear those for me?”

“Y-yes,” she whimpers.

“Beautiful.” I move one hand between her legs, grunting when I feel how wet she is already. Sometimes it takes me effort to get turned on. I’ve been with women who made me feel like I needed to close my eyes and pretend I was fucking someone else. That doesn’t happen often, thank God. I’m attracted to so many different body types that it usually doesn’t take much for me to be ready to go. Josie is absolutely stunning, so of course I’m already hard for her.

I grab her panties with both hands and warn her to brace herself. Without any more warning than that, I yank so hard that they rip. It takes three tries, but then the panties are off, nothing left but scraps at our feet. It’s what the lady wanted me to do, and I am happy to deliver.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” I murmur, “and so wet for me, Josie. So fucking wet.”

She moans when I start to finger her, and she looks back at me over her shoulder. My eyes lock with hers, electricity buzzing between us as I keep going. She bites her lip, and I smack her ass in response. She gasps, her lip springing free again.

I keep going, staring into her eyes the whole time. I pay close attention to every little sign: the flutter of an eyelid, her hands clenching tighter against the railing of the balcony, her legs shuddering as she gets closer, the way she bites her lips when she gets shy again… I respond accordingly every single time, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

“Let go for me,” I order, keeping my voice deep and seductive. “Come for me, Josie.”

When I enter her with two fingers, my thumb still circling her clit, she cries out. I thrust hard and fast, and sure enough…

“There you go,” I groan. “Fuck, I can feel you coming all around my fingers, Josie. I need to be inside you so badly.”

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Yes, please.”

Keeping one hand between her legs to play with her, I use the other to unbutton my pants and free my cock. I’m so skilled after three years in this line of work that I can put on a condom with one hand. It’s simple, really - tear off the foil with your teeth, pinch the top, and roll it down your erection in one smooth move. It’s an artform, really. I’m a motherfucking artist.

Josie lets out the most beautiful and sexy sound when I enter her, rocking her hips back into me. I stay still, letting her run the show for a while. Then, slowly but surely, I take over until I’m slamming into her again and again. I could come right now if I wanted to, but the lady is paying me the big bucks, so of course I will make it last. She deserves to come again, considering how much money she wired me before we met in the hotel bar.

So I make her come again.

I don’t get how some men don’t manage to make their woman come. Once you know where everything is – clit, G-spot, you name it and I know how to find it – it’s really no rocket science. Especially when you take time to find out what makes a woman tick. Ideally, you should just ask them, and I often do, but even with my one-night stands that I don’t get paid for and who I don’t always have in-depth conversations with, I always get them off. I have eyes, you know? I can see the signs. I have ears too, and a woman’s moans are like a map to her land of pleasure. If you care, truly care about giving a woman all-consuming pleasure, then you find a way to do just that. No excuses.

When I’ve made Josie come again, I completely let go, allowing myself to come too. I make sure to tell her how hot she is, how beautiful, how amazing she feels, all that good stuff. Words of affirmation are big, especially in the bedroom. Or in this case, on the balcony.

“Wow,” Josie breathes. “Jared, that was…”

I smile at her using my alias. I obviously didn’t start working as an escort using my own name. Instead, I went with Jared Thunder. Cheesy, I know, but it does have meaning to it. Jared means rose in Hebrew, which is funny considering the fact that one of my sisters is named Rose. All of us Storm kids have flower names. And as for Thunder, surely you can figure that one out for yourself, right?

“Was it everything you wanted, babe?” I pull her upright and into my arm, kissing her tenderly.

“Yes,” she murmurs, leaning heavily against me. “It was… Wow.”

She only paid me for an hour, and her time is up, but I don’t want to leave right away. I don’t have anything to do tonight anyway, so I stay for half an hour to cuddle. I can tell she needs that so she won’t feel cheap. She’s not, of course, and as for me… I’m definitely not cheap, trust me.

If you want me for an hour, that’s 500 dollars. Do you want a full evening date that lasts four hours? I can do that for 1500 dollars. If I stay overnight and have breakfast with you as well, you’re looking at least 3000, but that could get more expensive depending on what you’re looking for. For 24 hours I charge 5000 dollars at the minimum, and a complete weekend is at least 8000.

I’m told you I’m not cheap.

Josie and I kiss goodbye when I feel she’s okay to be left on her own. I play the role of the guy that she picked up at the bar, not mentioning money at all. Some women don’t mind being reminded that they paid me for companionship and sex, but others feel ashamed that they resorted to this. I don’t think there’s any shame in it, but I get that it feels different for Josie.

I think the reason why most women don’t stop at one session with me is because I can sense what they need. I somehow know not just how to make them come, but also how to handle them outside of the bedroom. Josie needs to be handled with care, so that’s exactly what I do.

“Are you free next weekend?” she asks right before I leave.

“Call my agent,” I tell her with a small smile. “I’m sure we can set up a date.”

Her face falls a little. I think she was hoping I’d set a date with her myself, but I never do that. I do everything through the agency. It’s safer and more transparent that way. Seems less like I’m an illegal hooker and more like I’m a perfectly professional escort. The agency knows, of course, but they pretend right along with me that I don’t perform sex acts.

“I had an amazing time,” I assure her. “Trust me, Josie, I’ll be praying you will call for another date. Already looking forward to it.” That’s not even a lie, which is exactly why I’m good at my job.

***

Walking into the house, I know right away that it’s not a good night. Both Lennox and Chrissy are on the couch in their pajamas – something that is definitely not normal on a Friday night. Chrissy may be 30 years old already, but she acts like she’s still in her early twenties. She likes to sleep around a lot, so Friday night she’s usually on the prowl. Lennox is 22 and just as wild. Not with men, she’s not big on sleeping around, but she does like to go clubbing. That’s usually a Saturday night activity, though. On Fridays, she often goes to her parents’ house for dinner and a movie to hang out with her 14-year-old sister Raven.

Both girls home, in their pajamas, watching Sex and the City? That can only mean one thing.

They’re on their period.

I check my phone, pulling up the calendar. I keep track of shit like this, because it severely affects my home life, with these girls being my roommates. I had them scheduled for… yeah, I was right. This wasn’t supposed to happen for three more days. I guess they’re early. When they synched up a couple of months ago, I thought that was neat. I wouldn’t have to keep track of two periods, and I’d be done with emotionally unstable women in one fell swoop. Oh boy, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Two at the same time is so much worse than one after the other.

“What do you need?” I ask the girls, taking off my jacket and kicking off my shoes at the door. “Heating pad? Painkillers? Tea? Chocolate?”

“Yes,” Chrissy groans. “Yes to all of that.”

“Drama queen.” Lennox rolls her eyes at me. “It’s really not that bad.”

Funny thing is that I know for a fact Lennox has it worse than Chrissy. She has extremely intense pain during her periods, sometimes even causing her to call in sick for work. Yet Lennox hardly ever complains to anyone about it. She simply bears it. Chrissy however… She always acts like she’s dying. I find Chrissy’s approach refreshing to be honest. If I would bleed from my penis about five to six days each month, I would want to be on the couch too, with a heating pad, painkillers, chocolate and… well, no, not tea. Something way stronger than tea.

I get the girls everything they could possibly need, along with a glass of wine for Chrissy. Lennox doesn’t drink since her stepfather is an alcoholic and she had to watch him go to rehab when she was 17. That cured her from ever wanting to drink anything with alcohol in it.

“A package came for you,” Chrissy tells me. “It’s on the side table. Oh, and since you’re getting up again anyway…” She wiggles her wine glass in my direction.

Rolling my eyes, I take it and pour her another glass before grabbing the package.

“What is it?” Chrissy asks curiously. “Sex toys?”

“Yes, Chrissy, sex toys.” I roll my eyes. “I just had sex with a client, and I’ll have sex with another one tomorrow night, but of course I need sex toys to please myself in between.” These two girls and Luke Davis – one of my best friends – are the only three people in the world who know that I’m Jared Thunder. Everyone else thinks that I am… Well, I’m not sure, since I change my lies every single time. But they definitely don’t know that I’m an escort. No wait, let’s not sugarcoat it. An escort is a legal profession that doesn’t include sex. I’m an illegal male prostitute.

“I’m not saying they have to be toys for you,” she replies, lifting her shirt to put the heating pad on her belly. “They could be for the many women you please each week.”

“I already have all the toys I need.” I wiggle my fingers at her, stick out my tongue, and then grab my cock through my pants. “You should know, you sampled all of them.”

Chrissy shrugs. “Wasn’t good enough for me to want to keep coming back.”

“Please, bitch, you loved it.”

Lennox shudders. “It always creeps me out that you two used to fuck.”

Maybe it should be weird, but it was only a couple of times, and we stopped long before she became my roommate. When you’ve slept with as many women as I have, both professionally and recreationally, you tend to have a quite casual view on sex.

“Stop deflecting, Jared,” Chrissy taunts. “What’s in the box?”

“What’s in the box?” I say in my best impression of David Mills from the movie Se7en. “What’s in the fucking box?”

Lennox laughs. “He’s never gonna tell us, Chrissy. Give up.”

She’s right. I always get packages, and I’ve never once told Chrissy what’s in them. She could just open one when I’m not home, but she wouldn’t do that. She’s an annoying drama queen, but she’s also one of my best friends, and she wouldn’t betray my trust like that. It’s not even that I would mind all that much if she knew, but it’s so much fun to taunt her with it. Lennox knows, but she always pretends she has no idea either.

“I’ll go open this in my secret lair.” I hold up the package like it contains all the secrets of the universe.

“Fucking weirdo,” Chrissy grumbles. “I’m here, bleeding out so badly I might die, and Quill still won’t let me into his bedroom to see all the stuff that is in his many boxes.”

“Bedroom is off-limits,” I remind her for the millionth time. It’s the one room in this house no one is ever allowed to enter. I almost never bring girls home with me – definitely not clients. Sometimes a one-night stand, but I fuck them on the couch and then send them on their way. I much prefer to go home with them. My bedroom is my sanctuary. The only place that no one but me can enter.

Just to be sure Chrissy won’t burst in here after one too many glasses of wine, I lock the door behind me. I tear open the box, happy to see that it’s indeed the Funko Pop I ordered.

Yes, I collect Funko Pop figures.

Not something you’d expect from a guy who fucks women for money, now is it? I had a few growing up, but I didn’t truly start collecting them until I moved out of my parents’ house at 18 and got my own place. I’ve never shared this weird hobby with anyone. I can’t even explain why. Well, Lennox knows, but she doesn’t count. She and I don’t keep any secrets from each other. The day she moved in, we made a no-bullshit pact, and we uphold it to this very day. Not even Luke knows about my Funko Pops.

The entire wall across from my bed is one giant cabinet with sliding glass doors. There are shelves upon shelves of figures behind those doors, all on display for my eyes only. I flip on the lights I installed in there myself, beautifully highlighting each and every one of them. There are still empty spots, and I get to fill another one today.

I already have some series completed, and I recently started on the Harry Potter collection. I’m not one of those freaks who keeps every figure in the box, because I don’t collect them just to sell them later or merely to say that I own them. I’ve never really understood the fun of keeping the box. I simply take out my figure of Hermione at the Yule Ball, and put it next to the one of the very same book character in her Hogwarts uniform.

Stepping back, I observe my ever-growing collection. God, I love these figures. The very first series I completed was that of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Granted, there are only thirty Pops in that collection, so it’s not as impressive as it sounds. I’ve got a bunch of Star Wars Pops as well, but I’m not anywhere near close to completing that collection. Harry Potter will take forever to complete, but I love the books and movies, so I don’t mind that it’ll take me a long time. It’s so much fun whenever I get to add a new one to my collection.

Once that is done, I take a quick shower and put on my sweatpants and an old shirt with a hole in it. Once I’m comfy, I join the girls on the couch.

“Chocolate?” Lennox offers.

“Wine?” Chrissy adds.

I shake my head. I am not some health freak, I definitely do indulge in alcohol and sweets from time to time, and I eat my body weight in food every single family holiday, but I can’t do shit like that every evening. Part of my job is to look good. I don’t spend every single morning in the gym only to ruin my six pack by eating terribly and consuming alcohol.

“Your dad will kill me if I show up tomorrow with a hangover,” I tell Lennox, since her stepdad Manny is my personal trainer. The man is a machine, and he keeps me in excellent condition. It’s expensive to train with him every single day of the week, but I can definitely afford it. Or rather, my clients can.

Some may find my fees way too high, but they don’t realize they don’t just pay for sex. They pay for me to keep myself in great shape – healthy foods, good workout gear, a personal trainer, a comfortable bed, lots of skin products, and so on. They also pay for me to keep up with current affairs so I can actually keep a conversation going without coming across as a dumbass. They pay for me not to sleep with anyone else on the day I am seeing them, so that I can go at least one round and sometimes even multiple rounds with them. They pay for me to buy nice clothes to wear, get my hair cut every couple of weeks, and so on.

I’m not just someone who shows up and has sex with a random woman. I am a goddamn professional.

“I always thought whores were interesting people, but you are so boring,” Chrissy teases. “No chocolate, no wine… Where’s the joy, Quill?”

“Sex,” I reply immediately. “And money, of course. Sex and money. They make the world go round.”

***

I can't wait to hear what you guys think of the start of this book!!!