Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
It’s quite the change because before I left New York City, my lovers were “vanilla” as they say. I didn’t know better, to be honest. My three go-to positions were missionary, doggy and cowgirl. Maybe some reverse cowgirl, if things were getting wild. But now, it’s not enough. I’ve had my sexual appetite whetted and it’s impossible to put the beast back in the cage. I need filth, and I need it now.
Growling, I down the rest of my drink and motion for the server to refill my glass. The older gentleman does so wordlessly, and then continues wiping down the bar, knowing better than to intrude on my fucktastic mood. What do I do? The animal within has been awakened, and it’s not exactly going to be satisfied with some boring-ass socialite who thinks the Kama Sutra is the newest diet fad.
Suddenly, inspiration strikes. My sister-in-law worked for an escort agency called City Girls, and maybe they can help. Why not give it a go? It’s just money. Of course, Patty was the classy type of escort before she met my brother, and I’m not exactly looking for classy at the moment, but you never know.
As a result, I whip out my cell phone and look up City Girls online. Sure enough, there’s a toll-free number and I step outside the bar to dial.
“This is City Girls,” a woman answers. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m interested in booking your service,” I growl, looking around to make sure no one’s listening. Fortunately, the street’s deserted except for a doorman on the far corner, and he’s glancing off in the distance.
“Of course,” the woman’s dulcet voice replies. “Your name, sir?”
I hesitate.
“James Montlake,” I say finally. Spur of the moment, I decide to use a fake last name because my real last name, Montgomery, would be too obvious.
The woman clucks her tongue. “Thank you, Mr. Montlake. Now what can I help you with?”
I pause for a moment.
“I’m looking for someone beautiful. Young. Full-figured. Sassy and full of spice. And oh yeah, dirty too and I mean fucking filthy when it comes to pleasing a man. Can City Girls provide that?”
The woman laughs throatily. To be honest, she doesn’t even sound surprised at how this conversation is going.
“Of course, sir. Our aim is to provide a broad selection of options in order to fulfill our clients’ fantasies and needs. Now, if you’ll just hold on a second, I’ll pull up a few profiles to send your way. May I get your contact info?”
I give her my number, and then of course, most importantly, my credit card information. We hang up, and within ten minutes, my cell’s beeping. I open the message, and sure enough, there are links to the profiles of three young women. They’re certainly full-figured, which I appreciate. They wear body-hugging cocktail dresses while smiling prettily for the cameras, and their make-up and hair are flawless. But I want more. I need filth, and this cocktail dress thing isn’t going to do it.
But then I begin reading the descriptions, and one girl catches my eye immediately. In her profile, she writes that she enjoys “pleasing men” and “being used like Daddy’s toy.” Is this woman serious? I thought City Girls was too classy for shit like this, but evidently not. Immediately, I select “Simona” and forward my request to City Girls. Within minutes, a date is booked.
With that, I snap my phone shut and look around a bit. The street’s still deserted and it’s a chilly night in New York. But now, I have something to look forward to because the beautiful and bodacious Simona is on my schedule, and I’m looking forward to trying her out. Hopefully, she’ll shake me out of this fucking funk.
With that, I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk home, shoulders hunched against the bite in the air. My life may be cold and lonely now, but with a wanton, willing, and utterly filthy woman in my bed, it’s about to heat up to an extreme.
2
Simona
* * *
I’ve been working with City Girls for about three years now, and it’s a little depressing when I think about it. Making a living as an escort isn’t the type of life any girl dreams of when she’s growing up, and yet here I am.
But what led me to this profession? Certainly not my childhood, which was pretty idyllic. I grew up in a leafy suburb of New Jersey as an only child to two older parents, and I had a goal: to be a children’s book author when I grew up. I’ve always wanted to tell stories about cute little balloon animals who live in a balloon village and do fun things like pop each other unexpectedly (okay, maybe that’s a little too much). But drawing and writing are activities that I enjoy, and it’s sad that instead of becoming an author, I’m paying my bills by seeing men for money.