Authors: Jessica Page
Copyright (C) 2014 Jessica Page
Layout Copyright (C) 2014 by Creativia
Published 2014 by Creativia
eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)
ISBN 978-952-7114-36-0 (mobi) 978-952-7114-37-7 (paperback)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
To my mother,
A strong, beautiful and intelligent woman who raised me to understand that life is made up of choices with consequences — some good and some bad — but in the end they all help shape who we are.
Always be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle.”
Not in my wildest dreams could I have predicted this is where my life would be today. Most people don't wake up one morning and say, “I want to be an escort,” but that's exactly what I did. Don't get me wrong, it's not exactly a dream job, but working at some box store for minimum wage wouldn't be either, and that's exactly what would have happened if I'd stayed in the small town where I grew up in Minnesota. I'd probably still be living in some rundown house, married to a man I hated, with at least two kids by now. That might work for some people, but not me. It may be harshly stereotypical for a girl raised by an alcoholic mother with an absentee, jailbird father, but it doesn't change the fact that it's the sad reality for many others like me. That's the life I was born into and it would likely have been the life I died in, if I hadn't made the choice to do something about it. I would say that things are better now, but life has quite the sense of humor, and it took me becoming an escort to have the chance at this better existence. That's not exactly something you'd print on a high school guidance brochure. But when opportunity knocked on my door and I took it — right or wrong — I've never looked back.
It all started about seven years ago, just after my high school graduation. I was eighteen and I'd finally had enough of my mom's creep, loser boyfriend venturing into my room late at night. Most of the time he just stood in the doorway creepily staring at me as he mumbled things about how 'tight my body was' and wondering 'what I tasted like', but that night was different. I remember being woken up to the sound of the cheap floors creaking beneath his weight as he approached my bed. I felt suddenly sickened by overpowering smell of the tobacco on his clothes and his breath as he leaned in to smell my hair.
“God you smell so good,” he purred in his raspy voice.
“Get the hell out of here!” I demanded before he placed his filthy, nicotine-stained hand over my mouth. The look in his eyes told me he wasn't going to stop this time. I bit his hand as hard as I could and kneed him in the chest, causing him to stumble back a little. I didn't have time to defend myself from the hard slap he sent across the face. I remained a little disoriented as I felt him climb back on top of me. When he greedily reached for my pajama bottoms, I seized my opportunity and grabbed for the lamp on my bedside table. I remember smashing it as hard as I could over his head, knocking him unconscious.
“What did you do to him?” My mother cried, stumbling into the room ignoring the broken pieces of porcelain on the ground as she bent to tend to him.
“Are you serious? Isn't it obvious?” I'd asked, dumbfounded that she hadn't figured it out. “Your fucking creep of a boyfriend just tried to rape me!”
“You little slut liar!” she screamed, wiping blood off his head with her tattered grey housecoat, “He would never do that to me! He loves me.”
I stared at her in disbelief for what felt like a long time. I knew my mother was a pathetic individual, but a woman who would pick this sad, sleazy excuse for a human being over her daughter didn't deserve to have one.
I'd had enough of this house and this life. If she was happy living like that I couldn't stop her, but I wasn't going to. Not anymore. A part of me was sad I hadn't killed him as I listened to him telling her ridiculous things about how he was sleepwalking and that I'd attacked him wanting sex even though he tried to fight me off. I quickly packed up a bag of belongings with the few hundred dollars I'd managed to save from working at the local diner, and got the hell out of there, moving to downtown Minneapolis to start fresh.
It was terrifying to be in the big city alone. I mean, living with my mother hadn't been a glamorous life, but at the very least I never had to worry about a roof over my head and food in my belly. At first, I found a cheap motel to stay at and to say that it was awful would be a slight understatement. I had my high school diploma, but that wasn't exactly a gateway to good employment. The little money I had didn't last long and for a while I even considered going back. But I decided to quit the 'pity party' I'd been throwing myself and I managed to get a job doing something I was familiar with— a 24-hour diner. It wasn't a fancy place, but it was clean and it put some much-needed money in my pocket.
After about a month, a man joined by a few of his friends came in during one of my midnight shifts. I learned that he owned a high-end bar downtown and that the others with him were members of his staff. They flirted harmlessly and were easy to get along with. Apparently they liked to gorge on greasy food after a busy night. To this day I still don't know why he offered me the job. I don't know if he actually thought I was a good waitress or just felt bad for me because I was young and cute, but I lucked out and he offered me a job as waitress in his bar. It was a place that was rather selective about their clientele. Then again, an establishment that charged as much as they did for drinks would only be appealing to certain individuals. It was the kind of place where customers paid handsomely to be served and liked their service to include a side order of cleavage and shameless flirting to boost their already inflated egos. I was good at that job. I was pretty enough to get people's attention and smart enough to keep it. I'm not the most beautiful woman in the world — far from it — but bronzed skin, long black hair, grey eyes and high cheekbones are a conversation starter, and after that my well proportioned breasts did most of the talking. It's funny because I've had people tell me it's conceited or arrogant to use beauty to get ahead, but the sad truth is you need to make the most of what you're given in this life, and I didn't have the luxury of not using everything I could.
About eight months into my employment at the downtown bar, I was starting to have a little stability in my life. I had an apartment with a roommate, a few friends and I was starting to feel somewhat content. Little did I know that everything was about to change — that's when I met Senator James Clarke. Although he wasn't a stranger to politics, at the time he was a newly elected senator. I remember being mesmerized by this gorgeous man in his early forties, wearing a suit that probably cost more than everything I owned, combined. He wasn't exactly a regular, but he did come in from time to time when his employment brought him back to his home state. He was always charming and a pro at innocent flirting, but he never really paid me much attention — until one fateful day. I remember it was busy that evening and I couldn't help noticing how handsome he was as he sat down alone in my section. It was the first time I'd had the opportunity to serve him.
“Can I get you a drink?” I asked him with my most flirtatious smile.
“Bourbon on the rocks and whatever you're having, Kendall,” he offered casually, casting me a sexy smirk as he read my nametag.
“I can't, I'm working. Besides, I'm not twenty-one, so the boss has me under strict orders to behave,” I replied innocently, still flirting with him.
“When do you get off?”
“Well then, I'd like to get that bourbon now and then, once you're off work, you can have a soda with me.”
“All right, fine,” I laughed before walking away.
I finished my shift and joined the senator at a booth at the back of the bar. “I wanted to have a little more privacy. I hope you don't mind.”
“No, not at all,” I smiled sitting, down across from him.
“Do you like working here, Kendall?”
“Yes, I do. Everyone's nice enough and the tips are good. Do you like being a Senator?”
“So you know who I am?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Of course I do. I do have interests other than pouring and serving drinks,” I replied, watching a sexy smile overtake his lips, reaching his pretty brown eyes.
“What are your plans for later on?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“I don't know,” I replied honestly. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I was making good money, but there wasn't much left over at the end of the month. “Maybe post-secondary at some point. We'll see.”
“There should be no 'maybes' when it comes to school. You're bright and will go far if you want to. Don't let hardship limit your potential,” he said, his voice full of conviction. I couldn't shake the feeling that he had some experience with this, somehow.
“Easier said than done, sadly,” I offered, taking a sip from my glass of water. “Don't think I didn't notice you didn't answer my question about your job. That was a good redirect.”
“Redirect…” he repeated retrieving his buzzing cell phone off the table. “Good word.” He sat silently looking at something on his phone. “I'm sorry,” he offered, putting the device back down on the table. “These are the times I dislike my job.”
“What do you mean?”
“I've been in politics a long time and it's never really done. That makes it hard to focus on what I want to do. And right now all I want to do is get to know the gorgeous woman before me. She deserves my undivided attention and these are the moments when my job is frustrating. Otherwise, I love it.”
My heart raced at his words and I could feel the blush settling on my cheeks. I'd never had anyone talk to me like this before.
We spoke for hours. He was smart, kind and actually seemed interested in what I had to say. He was flirtatious, but not in an obvious way, and he somehow managed to make me feel special. I know that's odd, but it doesn't change the fact that it's true.
He told me had to go back to Washington D.C for meetings and asked if I wanted to accompany him as his guest. At first I thought I'd misheard him; I mean, it isn't every day someone asks you to pretty much be a prostitute, but I hadn't misheard. That's exactly what he wanted. He was offering me a week long, all-expenses-covered invitation to join him. He said I could think of it as an all-inclusive vacation. At first I couldn't help feeling deeply insulted and was all kinds of freaked out. I mean, you hear countless stories about women being charmed by beautiful men before they disappear never to be heard from again. I still can't explain it, but something about him made me say yes. In hindsight, it was a bold and reckless decision and probably had something to do with my youth as well as some deeply rooted daddy issues, but I didn't end up dead and it turned out to be the decision of a lifetime.
For an entire week I was whisked away to his house in Washington. While he worked attending committee and business meetings, I was living out my very own version of “Pretty Woman” with money to shop all day and fancy dinners in the evening. I kept holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop because it was just too easy. Nothing this crazy could be normal. I was convinced there was something wrong with the guy; maybe some crazy, weird fetish or something he would eventually subject me to, but by day four he still hadn't tried anything with me. No kissing, no touching, nothing. As messed up as it sounds, I had actually started to develop a complex because of the lack of action on his part. He was attractive and one of the nicest, most generous, most thoughtful people I'd ever met, and after four days I actually
him to try something on me. I mean, who asks a woman to accompany them for a week and then doesn't try anything? Like nothing, not one kiss or one arousing touch. Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate someone trying to be respectful, but this brought a whole new dimension to the saying “taking it slow.” Besides, I decided I wanted him and if he wasn't going to make a move, then I was. To say I was mortified when he rejected me is somewhat an understatement. I just couldn't understand why someone would bring me all the way there, shower me in luxury and then turn me down for sex. I couldn't figure out if there was something wrong with him or me.
James was suave and sophisticated, and had this uncanny ability to seduce a person without them even knowing he was doing it. I'd watched him do it for days and it was a skill he had perfected. It didn't matter if the person was male, female, gay or straight, James could entice anyone into doing whatever he wanted. All he had to do was use that silky smooth voice of his and he could bend a person to his will, a skill I'm sure had a lot to do with his success.
The next morning he surprised the hell out of me when he climbed into the shower with me. The things he made my body feel were unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. I remember afterwards feeling a little conflicted by what had just happened, given he'd turned me down the night before. After our first sexual encounter I asked him why he said he wasn't interested in me given the fact that he clearly was. I'll never forget his response, it taught me one of the most valuable lessons I've learned to date —
Never let someone seduce you. You give up too much power that way. Always keep it on your terms. To seduce is an art form, and the truth is that seduction occurs on many levels, whether it be physical, intellectual or emotional. Seduction is the enticement of behavior, and it's incredibly powerful.
The next two days were filled with some of the most earth-shattering sex of my life. He taught me things that would make a porn star blush, and not because they were raunchy or kinky, but because of the way he did them. The way he looked at me made me feel like the sexiest person alive. The way he touched me made me feel like my skin was on fire, and the way he kissed me made my insides feel like they were exploding with pleasure. I wasn't a virgin when I met him, far from it, but the boys I'd allowed to touch me were just that — boys. James was a man.
On the final evening of that week he brought me to a private dinner party, with guests ranging from businessmen to politicians, no spouses allowed. There were, however, an abundance of attractive men as well as women much like myself to keep guests entertained. James introduced me to a tall woman I guessed to be in her fifties. I remember thinking that she wasn't exactly beautiful, yet there was something about her that was completely captivating. Her whole demeanor dripped elegance and she moved with a distinct pose and purpose that could never be mimicked or taught. All eyes in the room followed her every stride, unable to look away.