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Out of Peoria: A Story of Innocence lost.
Copyright Ron Ryder 2003
Chapter 8: Life as a “Courtesan” takes an upbeat.
Several days after my first encounter with ‘green tie’ I met Cecil again; on a Friday afternoon as I recall. As before, the ‘invitation’ came via “The Ogre” — would I be available etc etc.
When I got up there, however, there was no sign of The Ogre. Cecil’s door was ajar, and I peeped through.
“Ah, there you are. Come in, my dear.”
I closed the door behind me, wondering what to expect.
“Would you mind,” Cecil said, reaching into his deep drawer and hauling out his bottle of Macallan,
“Of course not. In fact, if I may be so bold….” “Certainly, my dear,” Cecil said, his eyes lighting up, “Delighted!”
He poured both drinks, healthy portions, reverently.
“To our success,” he said, holding up his glass.
I sipped. My first taste of Macallan. And not at all bad it was too!
“I just wanted to let you know that our meeting the other day was most successful. They have decided to increase the level of their investment. A great relief, I must admit. I was afraid they were going to bow out. But at the last minute, there seems to have been a change of heart!”
“Delighted to hear it,” I said, sipping more, and with obvious lack of enthusiasm.
“Come now dear, was it so bad. I’m sure our friend caused you no grief, though probably little pleasure, but think of it as your vital and necessary contribution to advancing the cause. I have no idea what transpired, neither do I want to know, but whatever it was it made all the difference. As a result I have decided to increase your bonus by 50%.”
This was gratifying, but surprisingly did not lift my spirits.
Cecil was silent for a while, sensing my mood. Then he said,
“I was wondering… well, the Ogre is gone for the weekend and my calendar is free for some time. I wonder whether you might like to……”
We were in the boudoir, but this time I was not on trial, but a part, an essential part, of Witherspoon Investments. My success with ‘green tie’ assured that I was a company person now. And quite a difference this made! In no time flat Cecil had my clothes off, and his, and I was on my knees, stark naked and sucking hard on his cock. Though this was reluctant, it was reluctance of a different kind to that I had experienced with ‘green tie’.
“Take your time, my dear,” Cecil said. “We have all the time in the world.”
And so it was.
I sucked him gently then. And stroked and massaged, until his cock began to come to life. Cecil was ugly, yes, but yet in another way he was not, and neither was his cock. It was large, though not too large, just right-sized for tonguing and sucking, and nicely formed. Fondling, licking, wanking gently, sucking, I settled in for the long haul. And Cecil laid back and sipped his Macallan and made all the right noises.
After an age, Cecil decided it was my turn. I lay back on the couch, legs splayed, as his lips and tongue explored my every orifice and cranny. Now it was my turn to make all the right noises. I was not simulating. Cecil’s tongue found my clit and would not let go. That tongue circled, the lips latched onto the hood, until the entire area was swollen and I was palpably aroused. Yet still the exploration did not cease. Cecil stimulated every accessible area, spreading my cunt lips wide and inserting his tongue as deep into my vagina as it would go. In and out, tongue fucking.
Like all good lovers, Cecil had learned that a woman needs time. She needs time to adjust and to respond. She needs to feel the confidence of her lover, his desire for her, and his desire to please her.
Cecil paused in his oral ministrations. Very deliberately, he placed a finger in the Macallan and proceeded with a sensitive forefinger to trace the outer edges of my cunt lips. More Macallan on my clit. His breath evaporated the liquid, leaving behind a gentle cooling/burning sensation. My body arched responding to the sensation, which did not cease. More Macallan, until the glass was empty and my entire vulva was captive to the velvet touch of his tongue and lips. A true Scotsman may have thought this to be an awful waste of the ‘wee dram’, but as far as I was concerned he would have been dead wrong. What Cecil was doing with it did a whole lot more for me than were it to stimulate merely my tongue!
Cecil tongued my cunt and clit, every millimeter of it, on and on and on, in circulating motion, deep Maltepe Escort inside, then up to the clit and clit hood. I gasped with pleasure, and this was not feigned!
Quite deliberately, Cecil poured more Macallan into his glass. Again the magic liquor stung my engorged lips and clit, exciting me more and more until, suddenly, the thought of orgasm came into my mind. On and on went the cycle of oral stimulation, the gently glow of the liquor, more saliva until my entire vulva was throbbing with impending release. Still then, that inquiring tongue tip did not relent. Probing, ticking, circling that tongue about the clitoris, licking up and down the clitoral hood. Not a micrometer escaped his attention.
Unhurried, timeless, Cecil worked my cunt and clit until I was in a frenzy to come. I wanted to come. I wanted him to make me come. My pelvis moved of its own accord in tune with his rhythm, more and more fervently, more and more urgently. But still that tongue flicked out, retracted, holding me in limbo, until in a frenzy I thrust my groin into his face, trying to force the issue. But even then, that tongue held back. The Macallan came out again, and around and around, gracing flesh now utterly gorged, the tongue flicked on and on, around and around, up and down.
My gasps and cries were now aural. Make me come, they said, make me come…..
And in the end the blessed release occurred and I was engulfed in an orgasm of such intensity my entire body shook for minutes before orgasmic collapse set in and I slumped back on the soft cushions at the end of the couch, spent, fulfilled, wholly satisfied.
When I came to, Cecil was sitting back at the other end of the couch sipping his Macallan. There was a contended grin on his face. His free hand strayed to his half-limp cock and stroked it up and down the upper surface. As he stroked, his cock stiffened, and as it awoke, so did in me a determination to tease him as he had teased me.
I played him as though he were a helpless fish on the line, fingertips, nails, lips inner mouth, teeth, everything that I had. The stiffer that cock became, the lighter was my touch. I worked it with everything I had.
Cecil’s voice came to me as though out of a dream.
“Perhaps you would like to fuck now!”
And this made me aware of my own passion, far from spent. I rose and mounted Cecil’s cock and rode him hard, and rode him slow, and rode him up and rode him down, and rode him to and fro. And still, notwithstanding Cecil’s grunts of sexual pleasure, that cock stayed firm and hard, deep within me.
At some invisible sign, we switched position, and he was entering me from the rear, pounding into my liquid cunt, again, again, again. Another change of position, and he entered me face to face, my legs wrapped around his body, urging on his penetrations deeper and deeper inside me. He pounded me with all the force his weighty body could command and I could feel it again, that sensation, rising in me, rising ever higher. Until with a final flurry of pure animal response I felt his seminal fluid spurting into me. And at that moment I came too, clenching my thighs hard around his torso, squeezing him like an anaconda, squeezing him dry, and spending myself at once.
We collapsed back on the couch, mutually satiated and exhausted.
When I came to, there was Cecil, sitting at his end of the couch, sipping on a fresh shot of Macallan and smoking a cigar. He was also stroking his penis as though for all the world preparing it for a fresh assault!
Well, my dear,” he said, as though engaged in intellectual debate, “You are quite the tiger I thought you’d be.”
For a moment I was speechless, but soon recovered.
“Well?” I said, injecting a note of indignation into my voice. “Does a gentleman supply his lady with a cigar, or do I have to go find my own?”
There we sat, Cecil and I, both sipping Macallan, both smoking Churchill’s of the highest quality, separated by the length of a couch and by thirty years of age, yet bound together by a mutual passion that both of us sensed was spent only for the moment. Cecil’s ugliness had transmogrified into, not beauty, but something more significant. Cecil was not only a ‘presence’, he was a ‘sexual being’ of the highest order.
“On reflection, I think I’ll double your bonus,” he said, tongue in cheek.
I flung a cushion at him, though, you understand, in play. I had the presence of mind to ensure that neither the Macallan, nor the cigar were in any danger.
Over Maltepe Escort Bayan the succeeding months I had several sessions with Cecil in his boudoir, and all were satisfying, all were gratifying and some were much needed after encounters with ‘green ties’, ‘red shirts’, ‘grey hair, receding’ etc. But it is fair to say that none of these encounters approached the level of intensity that this, our first encounter had achieved. If sex binds, then the gradual diminution of its intensity weakens the bond. So, although I felt bound to Cecil, the bond weakened in strength as time went by, though it did not disappear entirely until — well, let me not get ahead of myself!
Suffice it to say that on that Friday evening the negative feelings my first ‘company encounter’, the one with ‘green tie’, had brought to the fore were dissipated. I would not say I was thereafter perfectly contented with my situation, but I now saw it more like it was. After all, I was being paid handsomely to have sex with men. I was not there to enjoy myself, but to do a job. And if I did enjoy myself then this was icing on the cake. And if I did not enjoy myself, but felt instead a sense of violation, of emptiness, there was always Cecil there to pay attention to me, to apply himself to my womanly needs and to make me feel sexually integral again.
As the weeks rolled into months and the months into years, I became fully integrated in my role within the company. Jim remained the faithful ‘right hand man’, and through him I learned a lot about the workings of an investment business, indeed of business itself. My role, I realized, was in the last analysis a relatively minor one. I could influence a reluctant client to continue with the company and a luke-warm client to maintain allegiance. But without the Jim’s of the company none of this would have been worth a hill of beans. I was, to be sure, the icing on the cake, but there had to be a cake! The cake could withstand without the icing, but icing without a cake, that had no chance at all. This realization, which came slowly, helped me to place my role within the company in perspective. It also encouraged me to make great efforts to ‘learn the business’. My body, which was currently my ‘competitive advantage’ would not always be so.
But right now it was, and how I worked on that body. I oiled and anointed it. I spent hours on my ‘shave’, ensuring that my vulva would remain the glittering symbol of innocent femininity that it was. I enrolled in a fitness training program and spent hours on the machines toning muscle and burning off the beginnings of fat.
But in my mind were Jane’s wise words that it would not always be so. Nothing I could do would preserve the body of a young woman beyond its time. However you twisted and turned it, the best you could do was to stave off the more obvious signs of aging. That sweet, silky skin of the twenty year-old was the preserve of the twenty year old. It would not be long before it was, as Jane had predicted, no longer ‘hard and tight yet satin smooth’. Whatever wiles experience may have taught me would not then be sufficient compensation. I would be over the hill to compete as a courtesan…..
But in my initial years at Witherspoon Investments everything went so well, such thoughts occurred to me but rarely. Cecil was quite serious in saying he would double my bonus. As the months progressed and my success within the company continued, this did wonders for my bank balance. I was a frugal person, and I figured if I could keep this going for just a few more years, I would have a nest egg that would ensure my independence for the foreseeable future, come what may. This gave me great comfort.
I had lived in a commune foot-loose and fancy-free for a while, a blissful while, but now it was clear to me that this had been a moment in time, never to be repeated. Now I was on my own and I needed to fend for myself.
Nothing reinforced this impression more than my periodic visits back to old haunts. Every time I visited, someone had moved on. First Alicia — Jane had no idea where she was, she just vanished one day. Then Alex, who, according to Jane had found as time progressed that fulfilling the fantasies of a house of women was not the be all and end all of life. No-one knew where Alex was. He had evaporated.
Likewise Lynda, and her friend Will ‘o the Wisp. They were replaced seamlessly upstairs, but with girls with whom I had no relationship and nothing in common. Only Jane remained, and you can imagine Escort Maltepe the shock when she told me she was about to leave.
“I have this opportunity in San Diego”, she said. “It’s a ‘one in a lifetime’ thing” — where had I heard this before! “Hell, there’s so much I’d like to tell you, but I have to hit the road pronto. Leave me your phone number and let’s stay in touch.”
I did leave my number, but much good did it do me. After a week or so Jane called. “Hihowaya! OhMiGod is life hectic! OhHell, there’s my other phone going — Ohshit, don’t go away, get right back to you!”….. ‘bbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr’
This happened three or four times, and that was the end of that. I was learning the downside of the Californian lifestyle. Nothing was for keeps. In fact, nothing was for very long! Everything and everyone was on the move. If there was stability, it was in the very instability of the society and not obviously better, though certainly not obviously worse than the life-style I had been groomed for, that of housewife and mother in the mid-west. Nothing could be more stable than this, nor more boring! But the Californian lifestyle, for all its glitter was a ‘live for today’ lifestyle that, although certainly not boring, did not provide security.
Was there a happy medium? Could one combine excitement with security? I doubted this, and it troubled me. Possibly, I could gain financial independence. But what would that do for me? Would it make me happy?
For all that I was contended in my new job, I was uncomfortably conscious that this obviated the making of real friends. How could you have a friendship with someone when your life was dictated to by the need to provide sexual services to clients and if this was distasteful, equilibrate this by engaging in ‘compensation sex’ with your employer, a man who knew how to please a woman, but still old enough practically to be one’s grandfather!
And I was under no illusions about Cecil. Right now, I was his number one. But it was only a matter of time before he tired of me and some other, younger, sexually more voracious vixen took my place. Cecil was a man of means, and as such there was no thought in his mind that even vaguely constituted security, either for himself or for anyone associated with him. He was a wild spirit, who would go wherever the spirit would lead. He obviously enjoyed his relationship with me, and reveled in the sexual adventures we experienced together. Though a distance was maintained, he was closer to me at that point in time than any other human being. Nevertheless, I knew instinctively that his support would one day end and I would be left to pick up the pieces and move on.
I had money, I enjoyed the high life-style, but where was I to go from here? This thought kept nagging at me as time went by. What was my next move? I did not know, and could not fathom what it could be. I found, too, though this took some time to admit to myself that I was not only lonely, I missed women. My life revolved entirely around men, for the most part finding ways to please them. Sometimes this was fun, sometimes less so. But as the number of men that I serviced grew into the hundreds I could not help but think of Lynda and her assertion that I was a lesbian! Where was that thesis now?
Nevertheless, as time went by I came more and more to realize what was really missing in my life. And it was women; seeing them, talking to them and, above all, I finally admitted to myself, having sex with them! I masturbated often, sometimes hard, sometimes long and dreamily. And I found in my dreams that it was not the body or penis of a man that excited me, but the female form with all its grace. Often I came with the image of a glistening vulva and wide open slit starkly burned on my eyeless retinas.
I could have sex with men, Yes! I could do it as a job and I could do it, as I had with Cecil, and have fun — and even come to orgasm. But when alone, masturbating myself, when one is truly honest about one’s feelings because there is no point in not being, it was women that were in the forefront of my fantasies.
This being California, events took a turn I could not have possibly anticipated, nor, if I had anticipated it, would I have necessarily regarded it as a step forward. A woman needs security, I found. And for all my worldly wealth, I did not have it. My emancipation had been a step forward. I had learned things most people in their lives do not even dream about. But what use this if the result was that my most basic needs were not attended to?
That my next step in life would result in my becoming rather less secure than more I could not have rationally wanted. But then again, this next step was not rational. It was not rational at all.
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