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Treat a hooker to lunch
There’s a curiousss fellow who has decided his reputation is not worth much and has agreed to associate himself with me, in spite of my dastardly character. He is a wordsmith of the first tier. I am proud to have him edit my stories, he makes them flow more smoothly and read more understandably. I do want to say that I tinker with my stories even after his final edit, so whatever anomalies you may find are probably mine. Thanks Curiousss.
I saw a new ad for massages on the internet site that everyone looks at for their city.
“I’m so happy to be here in Northern Colorado from Seattle. Come see me and find out how the boys in Seattle get treated. You won’t be sorry. I’m a horny blonde with a nice smile and really want to meet you. $160 per hour, but don’t be afraid to ask for special treatment. Give Brenda a call at (123) 456-7890” The ad said, and it had the picture of a blonde hottie, with her face blurred, wearing almost nothing, showing a trim youthful body with a great ass.
I called the number, supposedly talked with ‘Brenda’ and made an appointment. I live out on the plains, so I had to drive a couple of hours to get to their location, which was in a private house about an hour north of Denver, right off I-25 in a suburban addition. There really wasn’t any city close by, so it had to be out in the country, but there were lots of houses around.
I got there and was greeted by this blonde, thirty year old cutie with a sexy smile and extra nice eye teeth. Something about girls with big eye-teeth and a fun smile make me want to go conquer the Huns and lay my spoils at her feet, or something.
She said her name was “Brenda, welcome, come this way,” and she sashayed in front of me in her bikini bottom and high heels with a sheer white teddy on top, but she did have her nipples covered through the negligee.
She led me into a roomy bedroom with a bed and a massage table set up. She said, “That’ll be one sixty honey,” I drooled all over myself as I counted it out to her.
“Just go ahead and make yourself comfortable” she said as she turned and went to a cabinet to get her oils and a towel out. She had her back to me as I took my shirt and pants off.
I just had my pants down around my ankles, was wrestling with my shoes bending over and cursing myself for not taking them off first. I sported a pretty nice erection through my green colored jockey briefs; then the bedroom door opened.
“You’d better get out of here. I’ve called the cops and they’ll be here in five minutes,” said this forty – five…ish, hooker – looking broad to my hostess.
“I have a client in the other room and he got rough with me so I called the cops…you better get dressed, honey,” she repeated, this time to me.
My ‘therapist’, Brenda, panicked, “Oh, my God,” and she ran out of the room, with my money.
I began to think how smart I was for not taking off my shoes first, and pulled my pants right back up over my deflating hard on, grabbed my shirt, got the buttons misaligned and took off out of there.
I could hear shouting from one of the other rooms in the house as I lit out of there on the way to my car. I drove away before any police cars showed up.
As I drove, I thought, “that bitch, she just scammed me out of my money,” and I turned around and headed back to the house to get my money back.
When I turned the corner about ten minutes after I’d left, there were two police cruisers parked in front, on the wrong side of the street, like they’d exited their cars in a hurry and ran into the house.
I stopped, backed up and went around the block. There was a little park with a pond and a public bathroom on the northern edge of the subdivision, so I pulled in and thought I’d use the facilities. As I came out of the bathroom, the little blonde from the house, Brenda, came walking up. She had street clothes on this time, but it didn’t detract from the fact that she was truly a great looking girl.
“Hey, you still have my money,” I told her.
“Not any more, I gave it to Linda,” she said.
“Linda, the older lady who kicked me out?” I asked.
“Yeah, she’s the boss lady. She called the cops on some guy who wanted to do anal and not use a condom. He roughed her up a little I guess. The cops are over there right now sorting things out,” she replied.
“I saw that.” I said. “Well, what are you gonna do?” I asked.
“I don’t know, this has been the shits. I flew canlı bahis in here from Seattle, she said I’d make a ton of money and I’ve hardly had any calls,” she lamented.
“There’s a restaurant over there, let’s go get a bite to eat and wait it out. We can come back in an hour when things cool down,” I offered, pointing off towards the Northwest.
She was reluctant, “Naw, I think I’ll just wait here.”
“Suit yourself; you owe me a hundred sixty dollars or a one hour appointment. I’m not leaving here till I get one or the other.” I got in my brand new green Buick LeSabre to leave.
As I backed out of my parking spot, she ran towards me, “Hey, wait. You going over to Johnstown to eat?”
“That’s what I figured to do, but I’m also thinking about going back to the house and telling the cops you got my money,” I fibbed.
“Don’t do that. Hang on, I’ll go with you, unlock the door,” she said, perturbed at my threat to talk to the cops. She hopped in and her frown became a sexy smile.
We actually had a nice lunch. She was pleasant, all alone in the world and was just a great looking hooker from Seattle. We had a great conversation about our past, our futures and about the hooking scene in Colorado, what her prospects might be for success here. She asked a lot of questions about who, what, where, when and how things went in Colorado.
She was one of the ‘new age’ hookers. She didn’t work the streets, but worked off the internet. Her prices were considerably higher than the street girls, but her clientele, by and large, were also higher class and could pay more – and we did!
After lunch, we went back to the house but there were more cops this time so it obviously had turned into something serious. They were all over the place, eyeing us closely as we drove by, but I kept right on moving.
“Oh, shit, we can’t go back there now,” she said, “But all my stuff is there, all my money and clothes. I didn’t take anything with me when I left.”
“Let’s just leave for the day and I’ll bring you back here tomorrow,” I volunteered. “Whatever happened in there will not be good for you; you’ll be on their radar if they question you and they might even arrest you for prostitution, if that type of thing goes down.”
“You’re right,” she said, “would you mind? I don’t have any ID, or even one dollar on me. I just pulled my clothes on and split when Linda said the cops were on their way.”
We drove the two hours back to my little town. She asked if we could stop at a liquor store and get a bottle of wine for her. I fixed two nice steaks and we had baked potatoes and corn on the cob with them. She drank the whole bottle of wine and we had a great fun conversation. Nothing sexual had happened. She was being totally non-sexual, just talking like an old friend and getting to know me, letting me get to know her. It was kind of cool, actually.
After dinner, she wanted to see the rest of my house, so I showed her around. I’d made the second ground floor bedroom into an office; she saw my bedroom, the bathroom and living room. We’d eaten in the kitchen, so she knew all about that.
I took her downstairs and showed her two more bedrooms and another bathroom, as well as a living room and laundry. There also is a kitchen downstairs, so it serves as a second apartment, or just more facilities. She was impressed.
We came up the back stairs and she looked out of the back door. “Oh, you have a hot tub? I love hot tubs,” she giggled.
“Yeah, I sit in it all the time, watch the planes go over to land at DIA. It’s cool to sit out and watch the stars and the satellites go over,” I said, dreamily.
“Is it full and hot? Can we get in it tonight?” she asked.
Now, this hot tub is just sitting out in the open in my back yard. I do have a privacy fence around the back yard, but it has cracks in it and the neighbors can see into the yard. So, quiet, is the password for using the hot tub, if you are naked and want privacy.
She wanted to use the hot tub and shucked her clothes right there on the ground beside the tub. I laid back the cover and she got in, buck-assed naked.
“I’ll go in and get some towels, be right back,” I told her, pushing down my erection as I rushed into the house.
She was spread out and smiling like an acre of Kansas sunflowers when I got back. I quietly got into the tub, my cock bouncing, and she snuggled up beside me.
I never thought hookers kissed their clients. This one kissed me.
“You’re my knight in shining armor,” she teased me. bahis siteleri “You saved me from the Sheriff. Now you’ve dragged me off and hidden me in your cave and are about to have your way with li’l ole me,” she giggled, batting her eyes flirtatiously.
“Aw shucks, ma’am,” I laughed, “Tweren’t nuthin’.”
She started humming quietly, almost singing but without words. She had a really pretty, melodious, soprano voice. She straddled one of my legs with one of hers and rubbed her bare little pussy on my thigh, grabbing my arm and encircling herself with it.
We had a long, deep, sensuous kiss and her hand floated in the water, landing on my really hard cock. She ever so gently slid her pussy up and down my thigh, from hip to knee and back. She smiled at me with those perfect eye teeth, that pristine mouth and luscious puffy lips.
Brenda was a free spirit. She was everybody’s girl, she was nobody’s girl. She was as lonely as anyone I’d met, but she was flamboyant, friendly to all, kind to everyone I ever saw her talk to and pleasant to be with. She’d always give a dollar to a homeless person or leave extra-large tips for the waitress.
She did have a dark side, though. Lurking beneath her pleasantness was a paranoia. When it revealed itself it was ugly, threatening and unmanageable. She would come under its spell and there was no comforting her, no allaying her fears, no quieting her provocative, confrontational spirit. She’d even become combative.
Brenda stayed with me for a week that first time.
We went back the next day and finally got in to get her clothes, but her money had all been stolen as well as some of her electronics. She and the woman who’d promised her the moon had words, but I just sat in the car and stayed out of it. It was up to her to come with me or stay there, and I promised I’d wait for an hour and then leave, with or without her.
As I was about to pull away she came out, crying, dragging two duffle bags and a suitcase. She needed consolation but wouldn’t take any. I loaded her up and we drove away silently, her sniffling. Like I said, she was just alone in a world full of people who wanted to use her for her looks, pay her and be gone. Though I tried to befriend her, she wouldn’t really let me in.
However, spending a week together in my home served to expand my understanding of her. I loved her approach to life and, when she was happy, I was serenaded with her sweet and melodious voice.
Brenda loved to drink wine and drank at least a bottle every night; sometimes well into a second one. She gave great massages, loved anal play, loved to kiss, loved to be naked, loved to be caressed, loved to laugh, loved to have sex and had dynamic orgasms.
But, when her ‘dark cousin’ came to visit her, she was frightening to me. I often wondered if she would harm me in the night. She slept downstairs, locked in one of the bedrooms, on those nights. She locked herself in, away from me. I wonder if she thought I’d harm her in the night. What hell for her to have to abide.
After a week, she wanted to go back to work, feeling the need to earn money, to do something. She asked if I could take her to Denver. From my home, we had logged her onto the internet and placed several ads for her. I’d bought her a throwaway cell phone and she could take calls off it.
I paid for a week at one of those ApartHotels and she began taking her paramours there. I’d taken pictures of her in my back yard and she was hot, so we had some new photos to display with the ads. This was in the days before the restrictions about showing genitalia and breasts. I liked to write, so I wrote her some very seductive, alluring ads.
Her phone rang off the hook as we were heading into Denver. We had to hurry so she could start booking and making some money. It looked to me like she was going to make a killing.
Brenda and I stayed in touch. She’d rent a car and come out to see me three or four times in the next six months. These were times when she wanted a few days off, to get out of the city and relax in my hot tub. She wouldn’t even call, just show up at my house with a few bottles of wine and her happy playfulness.
“I’ve finally figured it out!” she proclaimed to me on her third stay at my place.
“Figured what out?” I asked, amused at her.
She was scratching and rubbing her nipples like crazy, they were hard as diamonds and sticking out like the cork out of a bottle.
“Your hot tub has too much chlorine in it and it makes my nipples itch,” she laughed. bahis şirketleri “It makes me so fucking horny.”
“You know, my nipples itch all the time, too. Is that what does it?” I asked seriously.
We laughed hard. I never measured chemicals in the hot tub. I just drained it and refilled it about every two or three uses, dropping a couple of bromine tablets into it when I did. It obviously was too much bromine.
Brenda called and came around less and less. It had been a couple of months and I hadn’t heard a word from her.
My phone rang in the middle of a cold January night.
A sobbing Brenda said, “Bill, I’m in Jail. I need your help. Could you come to Castle Rock and bail me out. I’m in the Douglas County Jail. I think my bail is like, four hundred dollars.”
“Brenda, what were you arrested for?” I asked sleepily, incredulously.
“Bill, I don’t wanna get into that now, will you please just help me?” she said.
“Why are you in jail, Brenda? I gotta know that before I drive all that way,” I demanded.
“Ok, the fucking cops picked me up for drunk driving, but I wasn’t actually driving. I was sleeping in my car alongside the road with the key in the ignition. They reduced the charge, but I don’t know what the actual charge is. They also say there’s a warrant out for my arrest, they’re just holding me on the drinking, but the charge is for fighting in Cripple Creek. I have a ‘failure to appear’ warrant up there,” she said with tears, humiliated and angry.
“Brenda, I’ll be up there, but it will take me until this afternoon. I have to wait for the bank to open at 9:00 am, so hang on.” I disconnected.
I’ve been around hookers and strippers a lot in my life and I know they all have problems, sometimes very serious ones. So, I took a thousand in cash with me, because I was thinking that she may not even know how much it would take to bail her out.
I finally got her bailed out; she leaned on me, crying all the way out to my car.
“They hurt me, Bill. I need to sleep and eat. Can we go to your house, I need to rest up and get my strength back,” she said, without further explanation.
I never asked, just drove all the way back to my house, four hours. She cried and then slept in the car, her head on my lap, a blanket that I had in the trunk spread out over her bruised body. She’d lost weight in the two months since I’d seen her.
I made her chicken noodle soup, a grilled lunchmeat and cheese sandwich with a glass of milk and a dill pickle. She devoured it, and I put her in the shower. She had no clothes, other than what she wore from the jailhouse; she’d lost everything she owned.
She stayed a week, again. By the end of the week, she was antsy, snapping at me and wanting out of my small town. She wanted to be back in the city. I told her to slow down; her life was unmanageable as it was. I asked her to let me help her but she demanded a ride back into Denver. I relented and paid for a week at an ApartHotel. We put up some more ads on the internet, and then she demanded that I erase all the pictures that I’d taken of her. I bought her another throwaway phone and some clothes and toiletries.
This time when we parted, she seemed glad to be shed of me, despite my kindness and attempts at helping. Her demons were rearing their ugly heads and she was in the heat of battle from within herself before I left her room.
Being a man who has frequented the hooker scene in Denver for decades, I know a lot of them, and I know a lot of the customers. I had recommended Brenda to some of my friends through the months that I’d known her and one or two of them kept a line of communication with her.
I never heard from her or saw her again, but one of my buddies told me she had returned to Seattle pregnant and lost the baby. She went into some sort of a mental breakdown and they put her in a state hospital in Washington State for a while.
She got out eventually and I heard she was working down in Colorado Springs when she found out she had brain cancer. Brenda passed away about seven years after I met her for the first time. She was thirty seven. Rest in peace Brenda ….!
This is a true story. I have changed her name and some of the minor details as well but the story is true.
It’s a tough life for those folks on the street. Mental disease drives many of them. I have compassion for them, though they are the scourge of society to many. Most of them are bright, but unable to function because of various demons with which they wrestle.
Thank you for reading my story. The courtesy of your vote is appreciated.
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