Chapter 5

Rain was never a big problem for me when I first came to Louisiana. I loved Florida for its sunny weather, the beaches, tourists who never slept, so moving to Louisiana wasn't so bad, except in the summer when hurricane season started; but even so, the days were so illuminated that they made a good contrast for people like me who did not arrive in time for the distribution of melanin. 

Surely the first thing that came to your mind was: typical girl with such a big family drama that she needs a lot of help. I didn't follow that pattern. I decided to fight for myself and get ahead. Some decisions better than others, but no one could accuse me of staying in a bed and letting my life go to shit. That's why I ended up in Louisiana. 

I'm not going to bore you with sad details from my past. The point was, I was in my apartment with more serious problems than a drug-dealing stepfather or an addicted mother.

My problem had a name: Patrick Jones. 

That fucking pig was very good at keeping anyone. The girls at the agency warned him: he only leaves you when you no longer serve him. At the time I thought he wasn't a big deal; I was always used and being used by a stranger was not a big dilemma for me. 

It was my first mistake: underestimating Jones' range. When he saw that I didn't mind being used in the slightest, he found a way to make it fun: my two-year-old baby, Sunny. That dog discovered that he did have a weakness and was taking advantage of it a couple of weeks ago when I told him that maybe it was time to look for more options besides being his companion. It annoyed me to go to those events where rich people looked at me like his shit was made of gold. I thought I would do well in an erotic line or maybe in a strip club; something less flashy than dressing in silk and wearing expensive perfumes.

Again, serving others was not a problem, things got complicated when it got personal, which was happening with increasing frequency in recent months. Guys who didn't want to share me and wanted something exclusive, perhaps out of fear that I would loosen my tongue since some of them were politicians and high profile people. Instead, Jones didn't want anything serious with me, no wife or mistress, she was just his favorite whore and he felt he had the right to call me and screw up meetings with other clients. I no longer knew how to explain to him that he couldn't cancel other appointments because he wanted to use my time as if I were his alone.

It was the reason I called that lawyer. The reason why he was entering his office; I didn't mind being a prostitute, but it did bother me that Jones tried to dominate my life. I didn't like feeling pressured or tamed. She considered me a free soul, with the only commitment to give Sunny everything I never had. It was my greatest ambition. 

That expensive office was the first one he set foot in, although the owner of the insurance would be the same as the others. My clients were the filthy rich type. They were all the same: dominant, cold, arrogant, self-centered; you can add any adjective and it fits perfectly.

In Florida I was not so lucky. My clients were what the street allowed; there were good or bad days. Sunny was the product of a mistake, and she's no less loved for it, but it was the main reason I fled to Louisiana. My friend Wendy told me about this agency for rich men where you earn well, buy you expensive clothes, and pamper you like a princess. At first it was like a dream job because most were clients who liked it clandestine, but then came those who were like Jones, who didn't mind holding hands with a prostitute at a social event. 

She had to admit that Bradley was attractive. A well-groomed beard with a few gray hairs, which he confirmed to me was over thirty. He was the type of client who went easy on himself. One of those who make the work more bearable at least in sex. 

I was a little intimidated because usually the agency made the appointments. My job was to attend the established site; however, since he summoned me, I had my doubts as to why in his office. In any case, I arrived prepared for a deal, knowing that this man wanted something in return; no one helps another person because he is a good samaritan. 

It didn't take me long to be received. Her secretary gave me curious looks from time to time, but she never looked at me reprovingly. She suspected it was because she didn't even know what she did for me or what could happen in her boss's office. 

Upon entering I noticed that his face was serene, without showing anything. It wasn't the first time she'd seen a man who didn't throw anything away in his expression either; it was the facet of him, the way he deceived the rest. 

"Welcome back, Claire," he greeted, rising from his chair to extend his hand to me. I took her out of courtesy because she wasn't a bitch with no manners either. Sit down,” she requested, sounding friendly. It was another mask. Simple formality. 

He looked at me for a moment. They did it all the time. Sometimes they were more subtle than others, but in the end it seemed fair to me: they had to prove that they would pay for good merchandise. 

"So you want to stop being Jones's date?" she asked, her gaze meeting my eyes. 

I didn't understand why, but his penetrating gaze made me sick to my stomach.

Can we skip the questions? I replied, telling myself that I wasn't here for a friendly chat, nor was I here to talk about my life or the reasons I wanted to stop seeing Jones. She said that she could advise me and I am willing to listen. If you want any payment for the favor, I suppose I can make an exception.

I went to the point. What was the point of going along the shores? I'm sure he wasn't one of those who had time to play the good Samaritan and, for that matter, neither was I. He had a new client in a couple of hours and he needed to do girly things to keep him. He really wanted other options besides Jones. 

Bradley laughed, which made me frown. He cocked his head and focused on my eyes. During the time he had been in that office, he hadn't diverted his gaze towards my breasts, which were a little exposed to be noticed, perhaps in a sign that he knew what was coming. She was prepared without a bra and skirt in case her fantasy was to do it in the office. 

“I'm not interested in fucking you, Claire. His tone of hers was low. It wasn't condescension, nor was it disgust or even disappointment, but sadness. I didn't know why her answer puzzled me. I had never been scorned in my life. 

You must understand that she was not ugly; in fact, she considered me fucking beautiful. Size C boobs, firm butt, long legs; Tall, green eyes that, if she rained, took on a grayish cast. Trust me, it was what the men wanted from the agency. However, the way she rejected me gave me a little pang in my chest. 

"So you invited me just for being a good person," I answered with all the sarcasm you can put into the sentence. 

He still smiled sadly.

I'm not looking for that from you. I don't really want anything from you. You told me about your daughter and I hate Jones enough to make him a little angry; that's all.

He showed nothing but sympathy. I had a hard time believing that he was sincere because he knew them. They were all looking for the same thing: to use. They did it with sex, with marriage, with children, at work; all men were equal. He could not be the exception; I was just disconcerted by his game. 

"This is a game?" Any way to play the good man? I inquired, to add: "Because if you want to play like that, I can do it too." The innocent girl who meets an exemplary man? I can play that. 

Some prefer whips, others shackles, a threesome, but if your fantasy was to play the Savior, then so be it. 

He laughed again, but this time he denied at the same time.

“Honey, I really think you misunderstood me. I'm not playing. You just don't interest me. I have no need to pay for sex; less than doing it in exchange for something. she sighed, ruffling her blonde hair. Her gray eyes were alluring; they looked as cloudy as a storm. 

“Listen, I feel like we're wasting time here. I have to pick up my son in a couple of minutes. When you really want to come over and talk about legal matters, you know where to find me,” he spoke, this time not looking at me. Like it's not worth it. They had done it before, when they got what they wanted. It didn't bother me, but at that moment, for him to do it, it was like poking my chest again. It really wasn't worth it to him; not even a powder. 

Getting naked in front of another man—or two—was nothing. Having a threesome with a married couple was nothing either. Letting myself be groped by a fat bald man was insignificant; Bradley going through his cell phone without giving me a second look was like the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to me. 

For that reason alone I got up from my chair without saying a word. I would rather continue to be touched by Jones than allow this man to treat me like dirt.

He knew it was a matter of time before he showed what he was: the same as everyone. 

• ────── ✾ ────── •

 

Wendy gave me that confused look she got when something got past her. She used it constantly; she was a good girl, but too stupid. "Just like that she rejected you, really?" She — she She looked me up and down, showing that it was impossible. 

" I know ," I complained to myself. 

She wasn't the most beautiful in the world, but when they use you for sex you must have something good. Even before I was a prostitute, I served to attract clients to Malcolm, my drug-dealing stepfather.

- Just like that. Maybe he's gay? "I wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time I'd seen him at an event. He had been holding hands with Jones for months and he attended the same parties as Bradley; in all of them he was alone. When Jones introduced him I didn't think it was more than a mockery to his enemy because he always attended events unaccompanied. Jones wasn't talking about anything other than his contempt for Bradley Dempsey, but he had no idea why so much rancor. 

"It could be that he likes to play spades." Have you looked it up on the internet? Those firms always have information,” she suggested. Well, maybe she wasn't that stupid. 

I fired up my laptop, typing Bradley Dempsey into the browser. Immediately, I found information that I already knew: yummy to gross. He had a son, which maybe didn't jibe with my theory that he was gay. Although, there were those who had children. I found a story about him, about a firm in Seattle. I went in to browse. 

There were pictures of him with a pretty blonde: Loreine Mulbery, his ex-wife. Well, another minus point for theory, but it was still not enough. I also found another photo of him with a redhead who, I had to admit, was very beautiful. Maybe younger than him; the article claimed that he had an affair with her, while he had not yet divorced her; Apparently, his ex did not want to sign the divorce papers. The note explained that Bradley was more than ten years older than the girl. 

Wow … his smile was different from the one he gave me in the office. Una looked happy. Did she love her? She didn't think it was impossible, but she knew men like Bradley, and they didn't even love her mother. 

"Well, he's not gay," I whispered, seeing his smile, trying to find a justification for his face. He had to look like this for another reason. It couldn't be because of that woman. 

"Or maybe he is and that's why he's not with the girl," Wendy replied, which seemed like a bit of a crazy option to me. She wasn't sure, but my being yelled at me that he didn't like to play plumber. I denied to my friend. I'm leaving, I have clients to see. You? I nodded in response; she had a stock trader waiting for her sweet experience. Jones allowed it? He asked doubtfully. 

I turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow in annoyance at her comment. "Jones doesn't own me," I clarified, because it was the truth. 

The day I called Bradley I had a heated argument with that man. He told me that he wanted me for himself. That if he took me away he would take me away from Sunny. The thing was, the lawyer was right. He couldn't take my daughter from me because she could. And as long as he didn't pay the bills for that apartment, I guess he should stop this stupid idea of ​​not wanting to share my pussy. 

• ────── ✾ ────── •

 

He was the type of man who seemed to me the worst thing a prostitute could find. The client tied me to the bed and penetrated me without delicacy. Fortunately, she had no feelings that she was being forced; I came knowing what we would do. She did not consider me a victim. It was just a job. He got a payment from it. But it bothered me when she squeezed too hard, or when she wouldn't let me have a say because she was a whore.

However, he complained to me, he could find someone else who would give him what he wanted, so I got into the role, pretending that it was pleasurable. 

Did you expect a sad and depressed girl because she was a prostitute? Make no mistake, because at the end of the day that job was just as normal to me as being a teacher. She gave something and received a payment. She kept telling me that she wasn't going to let the memories and shit get me down.