Join the Club, Part II

I have always been turned on by the extreme, the unusual, and the singularly dirty. But no matter how hard I claw the sheets fantasizing about multiple partners alone with my silver bullet vibrator, I inevitably chicken out when it comes right down to real-life encounters. Soberly approaching an unusual sexual experience, my stomach flips around like a young girl on the monkey bars, my breath gets short, and my bowels turn over, until I’m feeling more nauseous than aroused. In my personal life, this is the moment when I can turn around and spend the day watching America’s Next Top Model reruns on the couch. But in my professional life, I’m forced to work through the discomfort and make myself press forward like a young professional invited to a boring party with a lot of networking potential.

Kind of like getting a second tattoo, knowing what was about to happen made my second encounter with public group sex less terrifying if just as painful. At least I now knew that in addition to the exorbitant rate I was collecting, there would be a scrap of terrycloth to make the experience more bearable. I was escorting Tom, a regular who I have written about before, as both a big spender and kind of a pain in my ass. Getting married 20-odd years ago had no dulled his appetite for kink, and it seemed as if he was game for pretty much anything out of the ordinary. He would tell me stories about the scads of other hookers he had seen over the years, both in the city and in his business travels (he found the Japanese flesh trade particularly titillating).

He was a nice guy and generous, but every once in awhile he would do something like pull me into the bathroom at his office where we usually met after-hours, push me down on my knees and say, “I’m going to pee on you now.” I honestly would have been willing to do it for the right price, but fully clothed on his office floor with a cab ride home in front of me was not a way I was willing to have it go down. The biggest problem with Tom, though, was that he really hated condoms, and every session was a tug-of-war over the issue of safe sex. As he tried repeatedly to push his naked penis inside me, my refusals always seemed to make him angry, until once he finally busted out with, “Don’t you want to have my baby?” in a tone of voice that suggested I was nothing short of stuck-up if I didn’t.

It seemed surreal to me at the time, but now it seems to make a relative kind of sense that this slightly unhinged and very perverted individual wanted to set me up as his piece-on-the-side, old-school style with my own credit cards, apartment, and possibly even love-child. I might have more expensive jewelry if I had taken him up on the offer, but I am at heart a slacker. That kind of situation would have required me to be on call for all Tom’s crazy whims and demands, not to mention having to pretend that I found him fascinating and thoroughly enjoyed his company all the time instead of just for an hour or two.

Still, he was a pretty nice guy despite his idiosyncrasies, and the most generous financially of all my clients. So although I did not want him as a baby-daddy, I did enjoy having him as a customer. It was in this spirit I agreed to go back to La Trapeze.

I think my previous visit had been late on a weeknight, so this time there was a lot more action. Tom wanted to walk through the whole place and weigh our options, so we weaved through the upstairs rooms, stopping to watch a couple energetically humping here, two girls in a 69 there. I pressed against the wall to let another couple down the hallway, but as the small Asian female passed me, she stopped and gave me a questioning look. Her partner said something of which the gist was “Wanna have sex with us?” and Tom nodded in the affirmative, at which point the Asian girl started sucking on my nipples. It came out of nowhere and I wasn’t yet particularly turned on, so it felt more awkward than anything and I found myself wondering if she actually liked girls or if this was just something she did for her man. Towering several feet over her petite Eastern frame, I felt a little like Godzilla, about to crush Tokyo.

It was interesting to me that with a girlfriend that looked like most men’s porno fantasies, the guy seemed 10 times more interested in me than her. When we moved to a private room, it became even more apparent that he was pawning her off on Tom so he could turn his attention to me. She was also following directions just a little too enthusiastically, bouncing up and down on Tom’s cock with no more human attachment to the situation than a sexbot. She had to be another professional. But while I went down on her partner, he gave her an impromptu tutorial, leaving me in doubt to the nature of their relationship.

“Miki – watch how far she does that,” he barked as I took his shaft into my throat. “That’s how you should be doing it.”

“OH WOW” she chirped in a heavy accent, actually clapping her hands in excitement. It was clear that she barely spoke English, but she nodded her head and widened her eyes at me happily to show her awe of my deep-throating skills.

She went back to expertly riding Tom and her boyfriend flipped me over and made a move to slide inside of me. “Not gonna happen,” I deadpanned, gesturing toward the little bag where he undoubtedly had condoms and lube and whatever else comes in the sex scouts kit. “Come on, just for a minute,” he wheedled.

“Condom,” I replied. (As a side note, what is it with these guys wanting to ride bareback in these kinds of situations. I mean, Tom knew I was a prostitute, and this guy didn’t but he at least knew I was enough of a slut to be at a club for the purpose of sexual encounters with strangers, and these are the unknown waters he wants to send his bare dick into?)

While the girl I now doubted was his girlfriend kept Tom busy, he reluctantly snapped on a condom and started fucking me hard and deep. “Did you tell me your name?” he asked, to which I responded simply, “No.” Part of the deal with a swing club date and part of the reason you can make so much money for one, is potentially fucking other people. This guy was cute, and I didn’t particularly mind, but I didn’t see any reason why I had to humor and coddle him the way I did Tom. Toward the end he whispered in my ear, “Can I have your phone number?”

“I don’t think so,” I said evenly, but I was a little taken aback at his nerve. At first I thought he could tell I was a prostitute and wanted to utilize my professional services, but in retrospect I think he just used his massage parlor date to keep other men occupied while he scammed on their wives and girlfriends. It seems weird, but in that context it was him asking for my phone number that shocked me, not the totally random sex we’d just had.

I later found out that Tom hadn’t even particularly enjoyed being with the Asian girl; he’d spent the whole time looking over at what we were doing. Seems it wasn’t just the other guy that came to swing clubs for a more authentic experience – Tom too preferred my regular-girl charm to the sleeker model. In a complete reversal of the real world, these guys in the swing club were all trying to trade the porno-perfect hookers for sex with some guy’s flabby-thighed wife. Since I could use a few hours with the thighmaster myself, the guy with the mail-order Asian probably didn’t realize that I was as purchased as the hardbodies.

I guess it's the fantasy that counts?