Private Relations (10 page)

Chapter 17

“Honestly, Jesse. I had no idea he was there.”

Autumn sat across from me in the lobby of the Trump SoHo, yet another swanky hotel located in downtown Manhattan. Her steel-blue eyes conveyed genuine concern, and she knew I wasn’t one to ring the alarm without just cause.

“David hates me,” I said. “He blames me for him losing his job even if he was the one who fucked up his story.”

“He’s not going to write about what he saw,” Autumn said. “You know the kind of people who attend my events. CEOs, politicians, socialites. If David so much as
hinted
at anyone in particular, they have enough money and power to make his life a living hell.”

“He thinks he’s a true-crime writer now. He wants to do an investigative piece on the dead girls out in Long Island.”

“As if I invite streetwalkers to my events? Please…”

I looked around the lobby, paranoid that another reporter could be lurking in the shadows, recording our conversation or live-tweeting it for the whole world to see. Yet all I saw was the modern decor: marble floors, beige and brown leather chairs, and illuminated glass sculptures that cast yellow light onto the walls. Autumn crossed her legs, clicked her high heels against the carpet.

“So, how was the rest of the party?” I asked.

“You mean after you and Vanessa had your little rendezvous in the pool? Seeing you two in there was like watching
Romeo & Juliet
. You know, the one with Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCaprio?”

“I’m a nineties kid, too. I remember.”

Autumn suggested we go to the bar, despite the fact that it was dark and overpriced, even by Manhattan standards. The floor was the color of slate, the seating a mix of black chairs and cushions, while industrial-style lighting shone down from the ceiling. We both ordered glasses of champagne, then surveyed the growing crowd who’d arrived looking for sex, mingling, or both.

“Should we play our favorite game?”

“By the bar,” I said. “The brunette with the bald guy. She’s a pro, he’s treating himself to a piece of ass for the night.”

“I don’t know. They look pretty chummy.”

“He could be a regular client of hers. No business like
repeat
business.”

Over the years, Autumn and I enjoyed playing Guess the Escort, where we attempted to differentiate genuine couples from those that involved an envelope full of cash. One night, Autumn even saw one of her girls out with a client, and made a note to remind her not to drink too much champagne while on the job.

“Do you remember your first booking?” Autumn asked.

“How could I forget? You set it up. Wealthy couple on the Upper West Side, in the Dakota, no less. I felt like I was walking onto the set of
Rosemary’s Baby
.”

“You thought I’d sent you to have sex with a pair of devil worshippers?”

“Stranger things have happened. Starting with my high school years. I’m set to relive them fairly soon.”

Autumn, after I’d given her a full download, thought it was a terrible idea. Certain skeletons were better left in one’s closet. Yes, Bobby should have known better than to fuck a teenage boy. And yes, perhaps my experience with him had shown me that sex could be commoditized -- but so what?

“Your life is a lot better than some people’s, Jesse. Nice apartment, good money. Go back to Philadelphia, take a walk around your old neighborhood. I did that here in Queens a few weeks back. Jesus, it was depressing.”

“You really have no regrets getting involved with sex work?”

“No, I don’t. And you shouldn’t, either.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It was good for you, Jesse. Without escorting, you wouldn’t be the confident person you are now. Guaranteed.”

I finished my champagne, ordered another glass. Autumn had some serious explaining to do if she expected me to buy what she was saying. For instance, how the hell did being an escort influence who I was as a person? For me, escorting was nothing more than a way to earn money -- not a lifestyle choice, and certainly not a reflection of my character, either.

“Look around, Jesse,” she said. “Look where we are now. This bar. This hotel. This city, even. We’re in our element. We
know
that sex sells, because we’ve done it ourselves. How many people do you think come to New York each week? And out of those, how many end up paying for sex?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why does it matter?”

“They’re lost, Jesse. Desperate for some semblance of excitement in their lives. That’s why they pay for sex. The variety, the thrill. That for one night, they can let go of their bourgeois existence and live a little.”

“All right. I follow. So what does that have to do with us?”

“Besides the fact that we provide the thrill? You and I will never be so naive to think that a spouse, a house, and white picket fence will make us happy.”

I took a swig of champagne, pondered what Autumn was saying. She had no qualms about how boring she thought most people’s lives were. Have sex with enough strangers, she said, and you start noticing patterns. Marriages holding on my a thread; husbands desperate for a quick lay when their wives had stopped putting out years before; and even the occasional woman looking for a handsome gentlemen to pay her a bit of attention.

“And then you have poor Vanessa,” she said. “Married to a gay man who wants nothing more than to have sex with you.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You should find him someone,” Autumn suggested. “The poor guy looked like he needed it.”

“Oh, he found someone all right. He went up to the fourth floor, remember? Had himself a grand old time from what I heard.”

“Good to know.”

“Oral and anal,” I added. “At the same time, no less.”

“Well, there’s a visual…”

Before I knew it, my second glass of champagne was gone. I didn’t want to go back to Battery Park just yet, but I knew that I had to be on the road tomorrow. Story of my life. Just when I thought of staying out all night, I had somewhere to be the next day. Was that something everyone had to deal with? Dueling desires competing for their attention?

“What are you thinking about?” Autumn asked.

“Life. This could take a while.”

“Do you want to fuck?”

“Come again?”

“Hopefully,” Autumn said. “I think we both need it. I’m friendly with the concierge; he could get us a room no problem.”

I weighed her proposal. We hadn’t slept together since our senior year of college, when a Fourth of July weekend and enough alcohol for an entire Christmas party found us between the sheets at the TriBeCa Grand Hotel. The sex was good -- that much I remember. Two whores in bed was always a recipe for fun.

“I’m going upstairs,” she said, standing up. “If you’re interested, I’ll be waiting.”

How could I say no to an ultimatum like that?

*
    
*
    
*

Autumn lay naked atop the white sheets of the bed. Her body cast a soft shadow on the walls and she knew just how to tease me. She cradled her breasts, then slipped a hand between her legs and let her fingers disappear inside her pussy.

“Quite the tease,” I said.

“Shut up and take your clothes off.”

I peeled my eyes away from Autumn for one quick second, just to note that the curtains were still open. The city lights were like lanterns in the dark, each one a symbol of life to remind other urban dwellers that they weren’t alone.

“Only if you say please.”

She brushed her foot between my legs. “You’re already hard.”

“In my defense, you
are
fingering yourself.”

Autumn slipped her fingers out from her pussy, then slipped the digits inside my mouth.

“Like what you taste?”

I swirled my tongue around her finger, then grabbed her ass in my hands. She liked it a little rough, that much I remembered. I leaned in, bit her bottom lip and tugged. My hands still on her ass, I gave it a final squeeze before shoving her back onto the bed and stripping naked before her.

“Open your legs,” I said. “Touch yourself again. Show me how you--”

“No.”

“No?”

I didn’t know what to make of her mock resistance. Slowly, I crawled into bed, draped my body atop of her own. My cock lay on her stomach, warmed by the heat of her skin. When she pressed her hands against my chest, I rolled over, let her take my cock into her grasp and jerk me off in slow, torturous strokes.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “Feels good…”

“I remember what else you used to like, Jesse.”

I knew what she meant, but I didn’t think she would bring it up so quickly. I gazed into her eyes, noted how she slipped a finger in her mouth, sucking until it was good and wet. She took that same finger and dragged it along my shaft, my balls, until it reached the pucker of my ass.

“I won’t do it unless you want me to,” she said. “It’s up to you.”

My hips jerked violently, and I clenched shut before she could even think of entering. Autumn retreated, apologized. She wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want her to.

“I do,” I said. “I… I like it.”

“All right, then. So, how do you want to go about this?”

I got out of bed and went into the bathroom. The lights gave the space a soft, ambient glow -- and the shower was definitely large enough for two. I turned on the hot water, waited as the steam rose into the air. When I stepped inside, I took time to wash my body from head to toe, ensuring I was clean and ready.

Autumn joined me a few moments later. I guided her beneath the shower head and let the water cascade over her beautiful naked body. Her breasts glistened as if she’d just stepped out of the sea, and looking further south, I noted that like many other women these days, she waxed
everything
.

“Take a picture, Jesse. It’ll last longer.”

“Funny.”

“Like you’ve never seen a bald pussy before? All the Park Avenue moms get them these days.”

“But no matter how much Pilates they do, they’ll never be as beautiful as you.” I kissed her lips, her breasts, got on my knees and licked a trail down her stomach. Autumn lifted my chin with her fingers, told me to look her in the eye.

“That’s not what we had planned, Jesse.”

“Who says I can’t warm up a bit on you?”

“Let me,” Autumn said. “I want to.”

I stood up, turned around. I heard Autumn open the bottle of body wash, felt her hands smooth over my back and shoulders. Her fingernails dug into my skin, dragged downward towards my ass. When she seized my cheeks in her hands, I couldn’t help but yelp a bit, enough to make her giggle in return.

“Easy, Jesse.”

“Bite me.”

“I can think of something better…” Her finger brushed over my hole, tracing the entrance in a delicate swirl. I took breath, let myself relax and open up to her. Slowly, she made way her way deeper inside, going further and further until she finally hit the spot that could make any man moan. She moved back and forth, again and again, then slipped another finger inside.

I shut my eyes and leaned against the glass wall of the shower. Autumn picked up her pace, thrusting with greater and greater force. Her left hand reached around to grab my cock, where she jerked me off as she continued to finger my ass.

“I’ve got you now,” she whispered in my ear. “Come for me.”

I let myself go, let out a cry as she hit my prostate one last time. I came in her hand, gushing in a spasm of hot bursts. Autumn slid her fingers out from inside me, released my cock from her grasp. Funny how having sex in a shower left little to no clean-up. Despite doing something many considered “dirty” we were both completely clean.

“I haven’t come like that in years,” I said. “You’re incredible.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls. Or, at least the ones who pay you.”

“True. Doesn’t mean I always mean it.”

We kissed, caressed and fondled a bit longer, until I returned to the position I’d started in. Down on my knees, I kissed her stomach and told her that she wasn’t the only one who could use her tongue to orgasmic effect.

“You always were good at eating pussy,” Autumn said.

“Who says that’s what I’m eating? Turn around and bend over. Your ass is mine.”

*
    
*
    
*

We’d left the shower and settled back into bed. Clean bodies, dried hair -- and in my case, a quick gargle with Listerine -- left us as clean as we began. The clock read just after midnight, which meant I had to leave soon. Once again, part of me wanted to stay. Another bed, another beautiful woman, one who knew just what kind of person I was… but loved me anyway.

“I can’t stay the night. I wish I could.”

“Of course you can stay the night. But you choose not to. That’s your decision. Own up to it.”

“You don’t have to get bitchy about it. I have shit to take care of back home. You’re meaning to tell me you don’t have
anything
in your past you wish you could go back and work on?”