My name is Victoria Lovejoy. My uniform is a tight pencil skirt, chiffon blouse and high heeled black leather shoes. The sexy secretary look works for me. I charge five hundred dollars an hour and typically pull in three thousand dollars a week. Between the money and flexible schedule, life in Manhattan is pretty good.
I have two appointments scheduled for today and after giving a morning blow job to one of my clients in his office, I'm on my way to my second appointment; a lunch date with a tall Texan named Jim.
Jim's text read, 'Rm 1505. I'm here.'
I've never been stopped by security in any hotel. I carry myself confidently through the immense lobby with my nose in the air; blending in with every other young professional woman going about her business.
I softly knocked on door. Jim answered it with a smile.
"Come on in, beautiful."
Jim was a tall blonde drink of water from Texas working as a security analyst for a huge international oil company here in Manhattan. He likes to kiss though, like other escorts, don't kiss clients. What a twisted logic we share; willing to let a man penetrate almost every hole in your body for money but deny him the intimacy of kissing. When I first started seeing Jim, I'd give him my turned up cheek his when he tried to kiss my lips. But lately, I let him give me a peck on my lips.
I stood waiting by the door. He handed me five hundred dollars which I counted in front of him before shoving it in my bag.
"Want a drink?" he asked.
"No, thank you," I said, setting my bag on a table.
He threw some ice in a glass and cracked open a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey.
Jim was one of those clients who gets off in five minutes and spends the rest of his hour talking. He complained about how expensive it was to live here and how women don't talk to you unless you're a hedge fund manager.
"Women don't talk to you unless you drive a Porsche," he said, sitting beside me on the bed.
