Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“So, I went in for an interview. Told the woman I was twenty-one. I looked it. But she laughed and said I had to show her ID. So, I told her I was eighteen. She said she had no problem with that. That her clients liked younger men. Said they would love me. She hired me on the spot. But said there were rules. Under no circumstances was I to have sex with a client. I told her that wasn’t something I was looking to do. So, she sent me off to HR, which was basically an overweight middle-aged woman behind a desk, smoking a cigarette. She took my photo for the database. I was given a form to fill out. Then, it was done. I was signed up with the agency and told they’d call me soon. I left, and they called three days later with a job for me.
“A woman needed a date to her friend’s wedding. It was her first time using an escort. And my first job, so it worked well, as we were both nervous. I picked her up in a cab, took her to the party. We danced and drank. Had fun. When the night was over, I dropped her back home, and she thanked me for a great evening. Easy. Then, a few more jobs started to roll in, and I was getting more and more popular.
“Then, one night, I was out with this woman. She was in her forties. But really good-looking, you know. She oozed class, and the jewelry she wore could have fed Tate and me for the rest of our lives. She started telling me how her husband didn’t pay her any attention. She was sure he was screwing his secretary. She mentioned how lonely she was. Then, she reached over and slid her hand up my leg. She stared me square in the eye and said she’d pay me a lot of money to make her feel good about herself.
“I knew it was against the agency’s rules, but I was young, and I thought, Hey, here’s a beautiful woman offering to pay me to fuck her when I would have fucked her for free.
“So, I said yes. And, the next thing I knew, we were going to a hotel. Then, we were in the room, and we were fucking. And, when it was over, she kissed me on the mouth, thanked me for a great time, and told me she’d be telling all her friends about me. Then, she left a thousand bucks on the nightstand.
“A thousand bucks.” He laughs, but it’s a sad sound. “I was eighteen years old with a thirteen-year-old brother depending on me for everything. So, I took the money with a smile on my face. The next morning, I took Tate out for a huge breakfast and took him shopping for new clothes.”
“Does Tate know—”
“No.” His eyes snap to mine. “And he never will. Understand?”
“Of course.” I swallow. “You can trust me, Gabe.”
He holds my stare. “I wouldn’t be telling you all of this if I didn’t think I could.”
Knowing that warms the ache I feel for him in my chest, but it doesn’t soothe it completely.
“Anyway, a few days later, she called me, asking to see me again. So, I said yes. Why wouldn’t I? It was easy money. After I fucked her in her hotel room, she told me she had some friends who wanted to spend time with me, too.”
It’s hard not to wince when he talks about having sex with those women. His voice sounds empty of emotion. Honestly, it makes me want to bawl my fucking eyes out.
“I kept escorting with the agency for a while,” he tells me. “But, soon enough, I was too busy to take jobs they had to offer, as my own clientele had grown fast. I quit with the agency and became a full-time hooker. Screwing rich women for money.
“And, for a long time, it was easy. Fun even. Fucking hot women for money—what’s not to like about that, right?”
He laughs, but it’s hollow, and my heart hurts at the sound.
“I moved Tate and me out of the tiny studio we had been renting and into a two-bedroom apartment. I got a car. I put money aside for Tate’s college tuition fund. Life was good. Or so I thought. After a while, it started to not feel good anymore. It just felt empty. Soulless. There was nothing fun about it anymore. I just started to feel dirty. Even spending the money felt dirty. And I guess, somewhere along the way, I’d fooled myself into thinking that these women actually cared for me.” He makes a self-deprecating noise. “That was stupid as fuck because, of course, they didn’t care about me. I was just a monetary means to a great fucking orgasm.