We met on a double call-date. The two men were out-of-towners but not the noisy conventioneer type, and each had a separate bedroom in the hotel suite. During the preliminary get-together in the sitting room there was no hint of group sex, and I paid only scant attention to the other hooker. Zoe was a silver-blonde with the tawny skin coloration of a brunette; nearing thirty, she had been in the racket a long time, an experienced whore, almost an old pro. Or so she managed to convey to me later on. She was putting on weight but still appeared pretty enough, although somewhat coarse-featured. Coarse-mannered, too, as I found out shortly. A half-hour in privacy with my client left him exhausted, and I slipped into bra and panties to head for the bathroom and a quick wash in case he worked up energy for a second round of fun. As it turned out, though, Zoe was already ahead of me. Surprise!
Some surprise. The door wasn't even completely shut; I just touched the knob and pushed and walked in. And there she was, stark naked, parked on the can. I froze in the doorway, pretty revolted by the sight but too flustered to make a move. She smiled then, and even her voice sounded coarse:
"Oh, it's you, Dana. Come on in. Come on, I'll be through in a minute. Just shedding the dew off the lily."
I started to turn away but then realized it would have been an act of rudeness to a sister in the trade. So I stayed there and bent over the sink, turning the water on to wash my hands, just to give myself something to do. The flow from the tap didn't quite drown out the other noise, though, "the dew off the lily", and my embarrassment increased. I could actually hear the hiss and gush and splash from inside the toilet bowl.
Zoe simply ignored it. "Hey, you know something, honey? I wish we would have made it a foursome instead of splitting up like that. You're the cutest thing I've seen around in ages. And I sure get tired of the same old jazz over and over."
"Uh-huh. Might have been fun." I didn't believe that, of course, but it was hardly the time to disagree.
A moment afterward, I heard the toilet flush. Somewhat relieved, I straightened up from the washbasin. Zoe was straightening up, too, and I couldn't resist taking a look at her, just a hurried glance at the pit of her belly; was she a natural blonde? I sure had my doubts. And yet the fluffy public growth turned out to be as bright as the silver-blond hair on her head.
She grinned, patting herself there, evidently conscious of my curiosity. "I dye it. Nice job, huh?" Then, still fingering the yellow strands in a kind of self-complacent caress, "I keep it dyed for the nibblers."
"The nibblers?"
"Yeah. The freaky-type Johns, the cuntlappers. They love it this color/Turns 'em on."
"Oh. That's interesting."
"Matter of fact, it's dyed all the way under. I've got plenty of hair down there, way down underneath. And some of the Johns, well, like I say, they're real freaky, you know?"
"I'm sure they must be."
"Not that I've got much right to complain, though. I'm just as freaky as any of them, I guess."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, kiddo, real freaky… "
I saw her coming toward me, a massive mountain of flesh, all hollows and hillocks. To wash her hands, I figured, stepping out of her path. Only I didn't step far enough and all of a sudden she was looming close and then kissing me, kissing me on the lips, kissing me and poking her tongue into my mouth. And it was the craziest sensation-she kept kissing me and I kept thinking only one thought, she hasn't even washed her hands, and my stomach began to rebel and churn queasily. I didn't get sick, though, not even when the tip of that long tongue dove deep into my throat and lodged there like a hook, a barbed hook that refused to be spit out or swallowed. But then she pulled away a little and ended the kiss abruptly, and I heard the sound of a popping vacuum and realized that my own actions had been pretty weird, too, queasy or not, I had kissed her back! Oh shit, I must have been sucking on her tongue, that big hot wet thing in my mouth, I had wrapped my lips around it and sucked…
"You can open your eyes now. Kid? You're kind of innocent for a hooker, you know?" She chuckled. "Yeah, a foursome might have been fun. Tell you what, let's swap phone numbers and meet for a gab session one of these days. For a cup of coffee and a little conversation, maybe. A girl can get pretty darn lonesome in this racket, right?"
It must have been the wistful note in her voice that got through to me. I nodded my head and probably wouldn't have objected if she had kissed me again. I almost expected her to. But she just patted me on the cheek casually and then swung around and strolled out of the bathroom. Still without washing her hands! My face flamed suddenly and I bent over the sink to douse myself with cold water. And yet I hadn't forgotten what she said about loneliness, and the idea of exchanging phone numbers appealed to me. Admittedly, I could all but taste her tongue in my mouth even then, that monstrous female tongue, but I didn't feel sexually stimulated by it, just vaguely conscious of the novelty, the strangeness. Anyway, I sure wasn't worried about becoming a lesbian.
Innocent, she had called me. And the judgment was accurate, oddly enough, if it could be said of a whore at all. Maybe I'd better lose some of that innocence before it became too big a burden to bear; it seemed only logical, didn't it? So far my innocence had only led to loneliness, oh yes, it was time to do something about that. Even if it meant a change in the direction of my life. Any change would be for the better at this point! I certainly needed a friend, and this interesting creature, older and more experienced than myself, just had to be a likely prospect. And if she wanted to play around a little, well, why not? After washing her hands, though!
Before the double-date ended, we managed to trade phone numbers without much fuss, even including full names, a sign of sincerity in our profession, Dana Thorpe. Zoe Madrigal. Hers sounded phony, but that was pretty much standard in the trade; a hooker assumes a new identity often, especially an old pro who has been around too long and has to keep covering her tracks for one reason or another. Anyway, this one suited her and had a nice ring to it, Zoe Madrigal, an exotic-sounding name for an exotic-looking woman.
Exotic was the word, sure enough. Still a bit coarse, true, but I had already revised my original estimate of her by then, finding the dyed silver-blond hair quite attractive now, a striking contract to her dark eyes and tawny complexion. And even her body appeared less plump under close scrutiny; the extra few pounds were well distributed, augmenting some of the more strategic spots to bring out a kind of latent womanly charm. All curves, no angles. There was an intriguing hint of thick fleshiness about her, a soft solidity, a fullness of lips and breasts and thighs, and the total impression was greater than the sum of its parts, something apart from mere beauty, a thing of pure sensuality. Unless maybe her overture of friendship had stirred my imagination too deeply and blinded my eyes to her imperfections! In which case I could only consider myself fortunate, blessed with a benign sense of vision that would see my friend forever at her best.
Anyway, I had no hesitation about returning her call a few days later, after getting the message from my telephone answering service. Nor was I slow to accept when she invited me over to her place, for coffee and conversation, ostensibly. Or at least that was what I expected, just a drink perhaps and lots of girl-talk; after all, we were just dipping our toes in this big new ocean, testing the temperature of the water to avoid the risk pf a permanent chill to our budding relationship. Why rush?
Why indeed? Only our date got onto an unexpected tangent right away. Zoe had just hurried home from a commercial deal and was about to bathe; she asked me to come into the bathroom and keep her company. I did so unthinkingly at first, but soon felt a bit uncomfortable standing there and seeing her cavort around naked as she adjusted the tub faucets and poured in the bath oil. But there was an advantage now, too, since I could stare at that big body without being sneaky about it. Those sleek calves. Rounded thighs thickening to heavy haunches and domed buttocks, the dark crack revealing only a suggestion of color. Enough to prove her point, though, silver-blond way down under! Where every tiny ripple seemed to have a sexy significance…
Yes, sexy, I had to admit it. Even now I could feel a kind of weird heat seeping through me. Such a puzzlement! Could I really get like this just looking at a woman's bare ass?
Zoe had finished her preparations. Then, quite nonchalantly, right in front of 'my eyes!, she sat down on the toilet again and made those same awful splashing noises. I felt myself blushing pink at least, if not beet-red. She couldn't help but notice.
"S'matter, honey? You embarrassed?"
"A little."
"Aw, come on, what's to be embarrassed about? In our business, anything goes. Didn't you ever make it with a John who went in for this sort of thing?"
"N-no. Uh, what sort of thing?"
"This. Just what I'm doing. Taking a leak. I used to have a rich old geezer who loved it."
"Oh. You mean he liked watching you?"
"Watching me? Hell no, this guy got into the act. I mean right into it, soaked, you know?, that was how he got his jollies."
"Hmph. There's no accounting for tastes, I suppose."
"I'll say. He used to pay me a small fortune, too, he liked the way I could get excited just doing it to him." The liquid rustle had ceased and Zoe was wiping her crotch brazenly, exhibiting no shame whatsoever. "Yeah, it always got me steamed up somehow, and I didn't even like the old bastard, how about that?"
"You, you didn't like him?"
"Oh, he was just another John to me. And you know how it is with us hookers, kiddo. We all get bored with men after a few years in the business. Hasn't that happened to you yet?"
"No… not really… "
She shrugged at that and then rose to get into the tub. I lowered the toilet lid and sat down upon it, feeling a bit more comfortable physically if not mentally. And pretty soon, as the conversation became less crude, I began to relax and just enjoy being there. Zoe was quite a talker, a yarn-spinner with a fine sense of humor; she knew dozens of jokes and anecdotes that kept me in stitches. I found myself liking her more and more, liking her just as a friend, of course, even though she had practically declared herself and was sizing me up as a prospective lover, no doubt. By this time I was fairly sure she wanted me in bed.
Curiously enough, I didn't mind that. My body was beautiful but hardly precious or untouchable, considering how many men had used it. After selling my flesh so often, couldn't I offer it to a friend for the sake of friendship? I may have been rationalizing, true, but by now the idea of a small gay affair between us seemed pretty much a foregone conclusion. Just being there with Zoe and feeling so relaxed was enough to make me want to come back again. I had found a friend and didn't dare risk losing her, not for such a minor thing as a little offbeat sex. And besides, hadn't I already made a decision about losing my innocence?
Strictly speaking, of course, I wasn't that innocent to begin with. I had been at least mildly intimate with a girl a couple of times, an almost inevitable stage in every youngster's development, both of us doing it with an experimental attitude. And since it hadn't meant much, well, I knew my own lesbian tendencies ran too shallow to worry about. I simply wasn't the type to get bored with men. So let it happen, I figured, whatever was in the cards for this relationship of ours, let it happen here and now.