Volume 4: Family Ties

I swore I would take this story with me to the grave but here we are, opening up my sins on this page.

So this was back when I first started in the industry and lets just say the country I’m from is not exactly favourable to this kind of work. I started off touring country towns as I thought it would be safer and I would be less likely to get caught (I was young and naive).

Through my tours I met another working girl called Chantele* who I developed a good working relationship with. We’d call each other before and after each booking to give some semblance of security (so there would be at least someone that knew where we were) – and occasionally to share escort stories and vent.

One day I was touring in the deep south and everything was running as normal. Screening protocol went fine and the deposit for the booking had cleared. For all intents and purposes, nothing appeared out of the usual.

So I drive myself to the address given and it’s this gorgeous farmstead with fields as far as the eye can see. A tall man in his mid to late 30s greets me on the porch with a beaming smile and introduces himself as Jimmy*.

I hold my breath every time I’m first meeting someone new or entering their home but Jimmy* is doing everything to make me feel comfortable. He gives me a quick tour of the house and explains the history of the building and land. I take note of the numerous family photos dotted through the building, some photos are very old (and a bit creepy, I note). He explains the farm was originally his granddaddy’s but passed down to him and been in the family for several generations. He makes me feel at ease as he gives me the grand tour.

I clear my throat and ask about payment as I will get a ‘duress call’ soon if I don’t get my payment. “Oh my stars,” he exclaimed, in his increasingly endearing southern accent, “of course! Sorry ma’am, it’s just that I’ve never done this sort of thing before” he says as he pulls out an envelope from his pocket. He hands me the envelope and offers to make me a lemonade.

I count the amount and then call Chantele*, “Payment collected, 2 hours starting now” I curtly say on the phone in my most ‘no nonsense’ professional voice. “…I wonder if he plays the banjo?” Chantele* teased as I stifled a smirk and ended the call.

I join Jimmy* in the kitchen where he’s cutting lemons for the lemonade. “Why don’t you put that down and come over and give me some sugar?” I say in my most seductive voice – yeah I know, I was clueless in my youth as to what was actually sexy, I cringe at all the one-liners I used in the past. He puts it down and he approaches me, almost trembling.

“I’m sorry, it’s just….” he stammers, “it’s my first time”. I chew my lip, sometimes inexperience can be good as you can direct them in what you’d like them to do. Then again, it can also be a lot of work. After a pause, I let out “First time as in, with a working girl or first time ever?” He stood there aghast, “First time with a working girl!” he exclaimed, “I’ve just recently separated and I…”
“I know just what you need,” I said with a knowing smile.

I beckoned him closer.

He was almost shaking when I pulled him closer by his shirt. Gently, his lips met mine and I planted a soft kiss.

Unbuttoning his shirt, I took in every inch of his body. Hard, sinewy and defined, he was definitely used to working the land. My hands had a mind of their own as they roamed his body and explored every inch.

We slowly made our way upstairs into the bedroom where I slid my summer dress down my body.

Jimmy* let out an audible gasp as his eyes feasted on the image in front of him. The late afternoon sun was streaming through the windows and bathed my soft supple body with it’s radiant amber light.

He finally broke the silence, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” he said as his big arms wrapped around me and pulled me towards him, kissing me with much more fervour and urgency. We fell back onto his bed, our bodies entwining as we became acquainted passionately, and repeatedly.

It was approaching the end of our booking and the sun had just gone down when we heard a commotion out the front along with lots of banging and shouting. Jimmy* jumped from the bed, “Quick! Hide!” he yelled frantically, “Hide!!”

Next thing I know, I’m shoved under the bed and have my clothes scrunched up in one hand and my cash in the other. Jimmy* had just dressed when the door flies open. “Who the fuck’s car is that?” I hear an enraged woman screaming. Now, the thing about being called out is that most people don’t like it, and given the opportunity, most will lie. Jimmy* was the same.

“It’s Bobby’s* car!” Jimmy* exclaimed. I cringed, the car was clearly a rental. “Bullshit!” the woman countered. There was a long drawn out pause that seemed to last an eternity. I held my breath and cursed his words – separated, my ass, I thought.

Her sobs broke the silence.

“You said that once you left her, you would come back to me,” she said between the tears. Oop, maybe she’s not the wife, I thought, feeling the story getting juicier. My initial terror shifted to curiosity to complete interest – what can I say, I’m nosy. I felt like a bystander or some secret voyeur into these small-town people’s lives.

I could hear him consoling her and could hear kisses in between her hitting him over and over. She was starting to relent when she spotted something on the dresser, a small, pink non-descript pouch I keep my condoms and lube in. I could hear her get up and snatch it from the dresser. “What the fuck is THIS?!” she yelled, even more inconsolable. Shit, shit, shit, I thought to myself as I realised what she had found. She threw the pouch’s contents at him as I see a condoms fall to the floor like confetti. Don’t pick them up, I thought, trying to telepathically influence her, lest she see my under the bed. I could see their feet from under the bed, he moved closer to her and drew her close.

Finally he said, in almost an inaudible whisper, “You know I’ve always loved you, we just can’t. Do you want me in jail?” I stopped dead in my tracks, how young is she? I thought. Suddenly I was once again washed over with a feeling of dread, am I here witnessing a crime? I chewed my lip and considered my next moves.

I tried shifting as much as I could to see if I could gauge an appearance and age, without being seen. I figured if she looked very young, I’d bust out of there, birthday suit or not and stop it. Unfortunately I couldn’t get a look without compromising my position so once again, I chewed my lip and considered my options.

By now they had started moving closer to the bed, the noises getting louder and louder. Oh god, I thought, oh god, this is really happening. I really should’ve made a bee-line for the door, said something, done SOMETHING but I was still frozen on the floor. My head was reeling. I started doubting my own morals and existence, am I the sort of woman to sit by as a crime was committed against another woman? Also, why would this guy that seemed so normal do this knowing I was in the room? I figured he probably thought I had as much to lose as him, not being able to report him without also outing myself as to why I was there, curled up in my birthday suit under his bed.

Her voice broke my train of thought, “Ma and Pa tried to keep us apart, but we were made for each other”.

What.

I had to stop and process the words I just heard. Surely I didn’t just hear that. I listened out for any signs that I misheard or that I misinterpreted what she had said. Surely not, I thought. Although that’d explain the jail comment…

If you were there, you would think it was a ridiculous sight. There I was hiding under a client’s bed, naked, with my cash and clothes scrunched in both hands listening to two people have sex who were possibly related. My face would’ve been frozen in a state of disgust and terror.

What the fuck?! What the fuck?! What the fuck?! I repeated to myself, almost like a mantra as I continued to lay there.

Finally, my worst nightmare was confirmed when they were laying there after they’d finished up and started discussing their life together and how her ex-husband didn’t know their kids weren’t his. Everything felt so surreal. This doesn’t happen, I thought to myself. This ‘hills-have-eyes’ incest shit doesn’t happen. People joke about this sort of thing happening in small towns but it’s not real. Oh but it was.

Just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse, it did. You know when you’re in peril, like a car accident or something, and time feels like it’s moving slowly? Well the next moments were exactly that. My ringtone echoed out through the room blaring. Looking at the flashing and noisy device, it felt foreign in my hand. Trying my best to silence it, I accidentally answered it in my panic.

“Why the fuck haven’t you called? You never take this long to respond. Also, why have you not answered my messages?” Chantele* barked over the phone. Before I had time to hang up or respond, I was looking up at the angry face of Jimmy’s* sister/lover.

I don’t even recall exactly what she said as she dragged me from under the bed by my hair, all I remember was a flurry of curses she shouted. I was also screaming my lungs out and struggling to get away as Jimmy* also tried in vain to get her off me.

She latched onto my hair for dear life and I was certain she had ripped chunks off from the shooting pain from my scalp before I managed to land a kick to her face and get her off me. Jimmy* held her in a bear hug while she seemed to spout every curse in existence. “Go!” he shouted at me while struggling with the enraged woman in his arms.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I tripped down the stairs and landed at the bottom with a thud. My shins were in agony from the fall but I was running on pure adrenaline. My phone had broken apart in the tumble so I just grabbed the pieces and continued running.

Still naked, I raced to my car and thanked every deity that I was still clutching the keys. Scrambling to get the key in the ignition, I see the crazed woman flying out the front still naked and carrying a baseball bat. I whip the car in reverse and go to pull out. Not quick enough, she managed to clip one of the side mirrors as I leave.

Hyperventilating and constantly checking my rear-view mirror, I didn’t dare stop until a town over some 50 minutes away.

Finally, when I was sure that I hadn’t been followed, I pull over and with my hands still shaking, slowly put my clothes back on. It was then that I remembered that Chantele* tried to contact me what seemed like hours ago.

My hands could barely put the battery and case back on my phone as I was still shaking so badly.

The screen lit up as I switched it back on, immediately I dialled Chantele’s* number. “Are you okay?! What happened?! What the fuck?! I called the POLICE because I thought I was listening to you being murdered” Her words streamed out, I could barely make out what she was saying. Suddenly I felt the tears stream down my face, it was then that I realised I had never been more scared in my life. Finally I uttered, “I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m out of there. I’m at another town now but will check into a motel. I don’t want to talk about it right now but I just want you to know I’m okay”. She let out a long sigh, knowing better than to press for details but clearly relieved I was safe, “Okay, call me tomorrow.”

I collapsed on the bed once I got to the motel room, too exhaused to even change or do anything.

In the morning, after collecting my thoughts and having a long, hot shower I called Chantele*. Her tone was cautious but still very concerned. I explained that I was found by a woman known to him and a fight ensued, I got away and I was more or less okay. I didn’t go into all the gritty details as I was too exhausted for questions. “I’m just glad you’re okay, call me when you get home so I know you’re safe” she said.

Returning the hire car at the airport was a treat. When questioned about the damaged side mirror, the best lie I could come up with was that I hit a deer. She raised an eyebrow, “deer out this way?” I muttered something and paid the fees without complaint, wanting to crawl into myself and die.

I swore to never do country towns again.

…

Several years later, I met a lovely gentleman in New York* who booked me for several hours. During the course of this booking he mentioned that he would’ve loved to meet someone like me but in his younger years but there was never anyone that came to small towns like his. As fate would have it, he was from another small town near where the incident occurred.

His face was beaming as he went on to tell me this ‘crazy’ story about how in a town over from his, the sherriff came to follow up on a call and discovered an assault had occurred between a guy and the escort he booked, who happened to be his sister. The word across town was that his wife left him because she had suspicions about them but could never prove it. It wasn’t till the sherriff came out after a call from a ‘concerned neighbour’ that it all was revealed.

They were both found naked, him with scratch marks caused by her and her with a black eye. My kick must’ve connected hard, I thought to myself. “How did they know she was an escort?” I asked, my face turning pale. “Oh they found a tonne of condoms scattered around the bedroom, toys and a wad of cash by the bed”, he responded, still excited about his story. So that’s what happened to my money, was all I could think.

They apparently got done for both prostitution and incest charges and were the talk of several towns for a few years. I smiled at him, trying to play it cool, “you don’t say..”