I'd learned my sexual prowess in the hands of Sadie, our married neighbor. Since I'd turned eighteen she had been my mentor. I was pushing twenty when she told me she was leaving the area because of her husband's health.
I was devastated. Sadie looked into my sad eyes, "I really believe you're good enough to make yourself a little career out of your abilities."
"A career?" I asked, as she reached to the bedside table and held out a small card.
'MANON' I read 'Discreet service for ladies with taste.' There was a telephone number.
"It's run by a friend of mine. Ask for Ron Vincent." Sadie whispered, her fingers stroking my belly, as she told me exactly where this establishment was.
"You'll learn much there, Jack---and I do believe you could set up for yourself. There's a host of lonely ladies around. Don't waste your talent." Then her fingers stroked over my semi-erect cock. "And don't waste it now."
. Within a week I found their house empty. My sex tutor had gone. And for a while I felt desperately deprived by her absence. I was about to start at the local university and the more I went into it, the more I realized that money was going to be very tight. It was then I found Sadie's card in my shirt pocket.
Was there really something in this for me? Getting paid for making women happy. Too good to be true? I had to find out. So I rang the number on the card.
A fruity female voice answered and I asked to speak to Ron Vincent.
"Mr. Vincent is extremely busy. You can make an appointment you like." I imagined some fat biddy all tight lips, too much make-up and thick spectacles. But I made an appointment for the following afternoon and hung up.
I was there promptly the next day. The office was up a lane just off one of the main streets in the city. A narrow staircase led to a landing with three doors. 'Manon' was the clear black and white sign on the first door on the left. I knocked and entered to find myself in a small office with a desk, a leather bench, and behind the desk a severe looking blonde, haired pulled back tight, face scowling her suspicion. "Can we help you?" It had been her voice on the phone. Well at least she wasn't fat and didn't wear spectacles.
I told her I had made an appointment to see Ron Vincent. She gave me a stare that made me feel as though I was something that had crawled out of a dead rat's belly. Then she picked up her phone mumbled something, listened, gave me another cold glance as she put the phone down. "Mr. Vincent will see you in a few minutes. Sit there." It was a command rather than an offer as she indicated the leather-covered bench. Watching her pounding on her keyboard I wondered if such a severe woman could ever have a lover. Little did I know.
From time to time she would glance up at me and her head would shake imperceptibly.
Ron Vincent turned out to be a little chubby man who instantly had me thinking of Danny De Vito. Bright and cheery he asked me a few general questions about myself, said he rarely found younger men really up for the job but added that anyone recommended by Sadie must have something to offer
"And I do have some clients who ask for------something younger." His small eyes glowed as he added, "There is a test which all new applicants must go through---a suitability trial if you like."
He stood and walked to a large mirror on the sidewall. I followed him. He dabbed at a couple of switches alongside the mirror and the next second I was staring into a small room containing a large bed, a stool and a small table on which stood a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"Our testing room. In a few minutes a lady will be seated on the edge of that bed. I want you to imagine she is a client demanding to be physically satisfied."
He looked at me. "You have any objections to being viewed in action?"
I was just a little taken aback by the suddenness of it, "You mean---now?"
"If you're up for it." His glance and lascivious smile made it quite clear what he meant.
After only momentary hesitation I agreed. "Good," Ron Vincent said, and he nodded towards a door alongside the see-through mirror. "A little room through there for you to strip down to your
underwear. Then through the other door and you'll find the lady waiting. Just stay cool, son."
I didn't like being called 'son', and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to go through with it. But as I stripped down in the small, neat changing room I began wondering what the woman waiting on the other side of the door would be like. Some old biddy, I guessed. Just to test me.