ESCAPISM

Tonight's client is some rich woman who owns one of the big art galleries in the downtown area. She is married, so the agency asked for complete discretion. That means not wearing my usual outfit of a tube top, microskirt and thigh-high stockings held with a garter belt. Hell, I am not even wearing high heels, my favorite loop earrings and plastic bangles, or any makeup.

I am dressed as casual as possible while trying to look at least a little eyecatching. It is not comfortable. The last time I wore jeans was years ago and these are so tight they could pass for body paint. The fabric simply refuses to stop getting wedged up my ass.

Normally, I would have serious doubts that anyone would pay to fuck me looking so plain. After all, I am the bland, boring looking type if I do not spice myself up. However, the client explicitly requested a petite brunette if the agency had one. The woman even offered to pay extra if the girl they sent had blue eyes and freckles.

That is oddly specific. It is also the understatement of the century, considering how it basically describes me.

I have been biding my time outside the hotel for about half an hour, smoking and playing Barbie Sparkle Blast on my phone. Only until I am sure no one is going to pay me any undue attention do I decide to walk into the lobby. Picking the half-finished cigarette still in my lips, I toss it on the ground and crush it under the sole of my fake converse.

The old guy at the front desk gives me the stink-eye as I pass him on the way to the elevators. While it is true that I do not look even remotely close to my usual slutty hooker self, I sure as hell also do not look like a five star hotel guest.

When I reach the elevators, I push the call button several times. I cannot stop myself from biting my lower lip or looking around anxiously. If anyone walks up to me and starts asking questions, I will probably end up running away or saying something stupid. I can deal with people in bed, not outside of it. People skills have never been one of my strong points.

The damn thing takes ages to arrive. When it finally does, another old guy steps out, offering a polite nod and a smile as he walks past me. I avoid his eyes and answer with a smile and a small wave of my hand, the kind shy children offer when pressured by their parents to say hello to a stranger.

Once he is gone and I am alone in the elevator, I roll my eyes, let my hand drop, and sag against the wall. God, I really suck at dealing with people.

When I arrive at the appointed room, I can hear soft music playing behind the door. I pull out my compact mirror from my purse and make sure my hair has not pulled a stunt on me. Not like it has given me any trouble since I decided to let it grow to my lower back, but still, my work hinges on appearance. Once I have tightened my ponytail for good measure, I knock a couple times.

A blonde woman with long hair opens the door almost immediately and gives me an appraising look with her green eyes. I take note of the pretty sundress she is wearing, an odd sight around here.

"Are you the girl from the agency?"

"Yeah," I reply easily.

"Come in." She smiles and gestures toward the dimly lit room.

As far as first impressions go, this client seems nice and I already feel at ease as we walk in. Looking around the luxurious room, the small coffee table between the sofas in the main area catches my attention. It is set with two large plates, two smaller ones, a wine bottle with two glasses and a couple candles. So, this client wants companionship and not just sex.

I feel a pang of sadness. This woman is married. Do people not marry in order to find a lifelong companion? Is that not the whole point, to have someone always there for you?

"I got us a little something to eat. If that's okay with you."

There is something in the way she does not meet my eyes and gestures tentatively toward the short table. I cannot tell what is up with her, but I accept the offer anyway, despite not being all that hungry.

"Thanks," I say, dropping my handbag on the sofa closer to me.

We sit on the carpeted floor with our legs curled to one side and begin eating in silence. The little something turns out to be a grilled chicken breast with a side of salad and something that looks like pie for dessert.

"I hope you don't mind my choice. I tried picking something anyone would like."

I finish chewing a mouthful and swallow before replying. "It's nice. Thanks."

"Well then," she says, raising her glass of white wine. "To a fine dinner."

Smiling, I raise my glass and clink it against hers.

After a couple minutes of silent eating, she speaks again. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"

"Maxine."

"What?"

Used to that kind of reaction, I smile and exhale some air through my nose. "I know. A little old-fashioned."

However, what happens next is not what I am used to. Clients usually follow my response up with a good-humored laugh while acknowledging that my name is indeed peculiar for today's standards. This woman frowns and stares at my face.

"Is—is that like your work name?" She clears her throat.

Now I am getting confused. I frown and turn my head to look at her slightly sideways. "No. It's my real name."

The woman stands up suddenly and dashes toward one of the walls. She fumbles with the control for the lights, and a second later the apartment becomes fully illuminated.

"Max?!" she says, her eyes wide. "Max Caulfield?"

I practically jump from my seat on the floor. "Do I know you?"

In response, she gathers her shoulder-length hair and pulls it behind her head.

"Victoria!" My knees feel weak and I flop back onto the coach. There is something to be said about the lasting impression Victoria Chase can leave on a person. Even to this day, more than a decade later, her presence still fills me with anxiety.

Victoria releases her hair and laughs nervously, looking past me at the tall panoramic windows that line the main area. "I didn't recognize you. Your hair is so long."

And you are a prostitute. The thought goes unsaid, but I know it is looming large in the room.

This entire situation is the very definition of awkwardness. I never expected to stumble on anyone from my highschool days back in Blackwell Academy. After all, most of them were a bunch of pompous rich kids. Why would any of them hire a prostitute? I can see some of them maybe hiring a high-end escort, but not a simple prostitute, even one as expensive as me.

"Well, this is awkward," Victoria says after a while.

Her voice pulls me out of my thoughts and brings the anxiety back to the forefront of my thoughts. Almost like a reflex, I grab my purse and begin digging inside hastily.

"Do you mind?" I ask her a second later, holding up my cigarette pack so she can see it.

Victoria at last looks at me, seemingly startled that I said anything at all. "Uh—no. Go right ahead."

Wasting no time, I pull a cigarette and place it between my lips. I grab the lighter and fumble with it for a moment, failing stupidly to light the damn thing. My hands are shaking.

"Here," Victoria says, closing the distance between us, "let me." She gently takes the lighter from my hand and lights it, putting the flame close to the tip of the cigarette.

I lean forward and puff a couple times to get it going. After the first actual drag, I exhale, feeling relief fill me. "Thanks."

"Can I have one?"

Saying nothing, I hand her the pack.

She takes it and pulls one of the white cylinders out as she sits on the opposite sofa. "I never imagined you'd smoke."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't just keep going through life stuttering and hugging myself at every failed social interaction." I move my hand to draw attention to the cigarette between my fingers. "All of that became this. For some reason it's more socially acceptable."

I say the last part rolling my eyes and with some contempt in my voice. Of course my words hold more confidence than I actually feel, bolstered by the calming influence of the nicotine.

"So..." Victoria says after a couple minutes.

There is no need to complete that sentence. I know what her question is. Although she could have the decency to finish it, considering what she is asking.

So, how did the promising young photographer end up as a whore? I sigh, perhaps too dramatically. "You remember what happened back then with Jefferson, Nathan, Rachel, Chloe..."

"Yeah..." she says, looking down at her crossed legs. Yeah, how can anyone forget that fucking horror show, right?

"Well, not long after, I hit rock bottom. It was then I found out that being close with someone helped me forget. You know, a little kissing, some touching. Then, one thing led to another and I began making out and having casual sex with whoever wanted me. Did that through college."

I pause to take a drag from my cigarette.

"I was desperate to forget, and doing—you know—the kinky stuff, helped even more. All the excitement and embarrassment. So, I began doing whatever my partners came up with, no questions asked."

I pause again and cannot help laughing derisively before taking another drag.

"I did a lot of crazy shit, and you know what they say, if you're good at something, charge for it." I gesture at my entire self with both hands. "So, here I am."

Smoking helps me relax but I still feel pretty anxious. What if Victoria pulls one of her classic reactions? At least the ones I remember her for. Fortunately, she says nothing and just looks at me with a serious expression on her face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I reply instantly. "I enjoy what I do." I do not like people thinking I am pitiable because I sell my body. It is not like I do it because life has me cornered or anything.

Another silence begins stretching between us. This time, I break it. I can already feel my ears getting hot because of what I am about to say.

"So..." The unspoken question is, hopefully, obvious enough. Because even if I have grown more confident with the years, and even if the nicotine in my system is helping, social interactions are still my kryptonite.

Victoria's expression turns to recognition after a second. "No, Max. I don't think I can go through with this. Not after..."

"Maxine," I clarify, "never Max."

"Huh?"

"It fits me more now, don't you think?" I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my face on my hands. "Considering what I do."

I am aiming for sensual, but the fact that I cannot look Victoria in the eye is probably detracting from the effect.

"Right," she says absently, again looking out the window.

The city does look beautiful from up here, but I doubt she is all that interested in the view.

Since my confidence is boosted by information that she has apparently forgotten she volunteered to my agency, I decide to keep pushing. My old bully can pretend all she wants, but she still asked for a girl that looks precisely like me.

"You already paid," I tell her, standing up.

"Oh." Victoria looks at me like she is just seeing me for the first time. "That's—that's okay. I won't ask for a refund or anything."

I purposefully bend forward at the waist to put out my cigarette in the hotel branded ashtray. It is not like I have big tits or anything, but I still want to show my cleavage off.

Victoria wants me, I know that. Hell, she has been wanting me ever since highschool. That much became obvious the moment I learned who my client is and connected that to the request she made to my agency. Was that why she was so mean back then, a kindergarten crush kind of deal? Am I her one that got away? Anyway, even if I am bad at handling people, when it comes to sex, I have more experience than most.

When her gaze is drawn into the loose neck of my shirt, I bite my lower lip to contain the triumphant smile. Unwilling to give her any more time to hesitate, I straighten up and quickly remove my shirt over my head. Boy, do I have a treat for her. The only things covering my chest are a pair of very red heart shaped pasties, each barely the size of a nipple.

Victoria gasps but does not make any sound I can hear over the sound of the music playing in the room. I notice, though. Since I have a hard time looking at people's eyes, I tend to focus on other parts of their faces, like their mouths. Without a doubt, I saw how her lips parted suddenly if only slightly.

"Changing your mind?" I say, probably too cheekily.

"I..." She shakes her head and closes her eyes, making a pained expression. "We shouldn't."

Shrugging noncommittally, I start undoing my jeans. "Wait until you see all the goods to decide."

I begin slightly swaying my hips, and then slowly drag the waist of my pants down with my thumbs. The motions are purposefully meant to show off the very low cut red lace panties I am wearing underneath. The fabric barely covers my front and only reaches halfway up my ass.

Even before I started working as a hooker, I decided to go through electrolysis depilation. Since razor burn and waxing down there are basically hell on earth, and I love how my skin feels afterward, I did not hesitate to go through the long treatment. It being permanent was more of another pro than a con for me.

Being completely hairless feels awesome when touching myself or fucking, and it allows for infinitely more outfit choices than the alternative. If Victoria's blush is anything to go by, my choice of underwear is having the intended effect.

I smile at her while biting my lower lip. This time I even manage to look into her eyes. They have darkened noticeably. I have her now.

The attention she is starting to focus on me, coupled with her obvious arousal, is getting me excited. That is a good thing. Arousal makes me more confident and assertive—way more than anything else. Nicotine has nothing on the drugs the human body itself can produce.

Practically on autopilot, considering how much practice I have, I strut toward Victoria. I place my hands on her knees and uncross her legs, leaving them slightly parted. She offers no resistance. Enjoying the feeling of her warm skin under my hands, I decide to push my luck and slide them along her thighs. The skirt of her dress slides right along and ends up all bunched by her hips. She is wearing simple purple panties with a little bow on the elastic.

The cute dress and the cute underwear seem at odds with the Victoria I remember. Despite never dressing overly masculine or anything back in highschool, I never imagined her wearing something so stereotypically feminine. I cannot say that I dislike it.

I straddle her legs and grab her face with both hands, nudging it closer to mine. Her eyes are already closing when I tease her out of the moment.

"Maybe we should stop," I say.

Victoria's answer is to grab my face and make our lips collide. Yeah, I did not think so.

Used to giving people what they want, I automatically match her ferocity, which elicits a delicious guttural moan from her. I swallow it and suck on her tongue as she plunges it deep inside my mouth.

One of her hands slides down to my lower back and the other goes up to my hair, pulling the elastic tie away. When my hair is free, she grabs a fistful and pulls.

"Ah." I cannot help the noise that escapes my mouth.

Probably taking that as her cue, she moves on to start kissing my neck. She mixes in licking and nibbling for good measure. I love it.

We go on like this for about a minute and I am already humping her desperately.

"Oh, shit," she says when she touches my underwear. "You're soaking wet."

I nod furiously as I try to rub myself against her hand. She notices. It is not like I am trying to hide it, anyway.

"You're such an eager little slut." She grins like a shark at me.

I nod again. "I am."

Without any more ado, she slides her hand inside my underwear and starts rubbing me. "Do you get like this for everyone?"

My response is immediate, practically a reflex. I shake my head. Of course I get this wet with everyone, but despite the teasing tone Victoria is using, I know the answer she actually wants. It is not a matter of business, merely my nature in the bedroom. I love to please. Right now she could almost ask anything of me, and I would do it, gladly.

The very next instant, I find our positions reversed. She looms over me on all fours as I lie prone on the couch under her. Without any care, she simply rips the pasties off my nipples. The prick of pain it causes mixes deliciously with the pleasure of her mouth practically swallowing my entire left tit.

Victoria sucks on my breasts like they contain the last drops of water in the desert. It makes me moan like she is already fucking me hard, which she most definitely is not.

I find her wrist and guide her hand between my legs. "Please," I beg.

She obliges, plunging two fingers in as far as they go. The sudden fullness makes me wrap my legs and arms around her and cling for dear life as she begins pumping mercilessly.

Not a minute later, my orgasm comes hard and suddenly. It is a big one. Thank God, because I needed it after all the tension and awkwardness.

After a few aftershocks, my body goes limp. I can already feel myself smiling like an idiot. Nothing compares to the afterglow of a good, hard fuck.

"You're so beautiful," Victoria says, running her fingertips along my collarbones.

"Thank you." It is not that I am overconfident about my own appearance, but more the fact that I excel at going with the flow. If my partner wants to compliment me, I accept, whether I agree or not. They probably want their opinion reinforced, anyway.

I do not perceive myself as ugly, either. However, the way Victoria said it, with a hint of reverence or awe? I am not all that, either. That is just the simple reality of it.

"I remember one time in highschool," she says after a minute of comfortable silence. "You pissed me off by doing—" She laughs derisively. "Well, nothing really."

At that, she sits up straddling my hips and covers her face with both hands.

"My God, I used to be such a bitch, didn't I?"

I say nothing. Victoria was a monumental bitch indeed. It seems like she acknowledges it now, though. There is no need to rub salt in the wound.

"Anyway," she continues, running her fingers through her hair, "I was so pissed off, I fantasized about fucking you like this and taking pictures so I could show everyone what a hypocrite you were."

Without any warning, she lets out a loud sob. Reflexively, I sit up and hug her.

"Shh, shh. It's okay. That's all in the past now."

Still sobbing, she says, "I know. That's not it." Then, she abruptly breaks out of my embrace and pushes me back a little. "I mean—oh, fuck, that sounded so bad—I'm sorry."

Before I can get a word in, she adds, "Sorry about what a raging cunt I was back then. Not about fucking up my wording. Well, I guess I'm sorry about that too. But that's not it!"

When I try to say something, she covers my mouth with her hand. It still smells of my secretions. I love it. My God, what a pervert I am.

"Thing is, now that I've done it—now that I've had you." She pauses to take a big breath. "Well, all I can think about is how I want to keep seeing you."

I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way. "That's okay. I can fit you in as a regular. I'm sure I can work something out with the agency to get you a discount."

"That's not what I meant," Victoria says after a second, scratching her temple with her index finger.

It takes me a couple seconds to work out what she is trying to tell me.

"Oh—oh, you mean like actually going out. Not just sex."

"M-hm."

Now it is my turn to smile derisively at myself. "I'm no good for you, Victoria."

"Why? Because you're a hooker? I don't care."

I drop back onto the couch and cover my face with a forearm.

"You only say that because you think sooner or later I'm going to quit." I remove my arm to look at her face. "You're probably thinking something along the lines of covering my living expenses so I don't have to do this anymore."

Her eyes widen marginally and she says nothing. A silence that speaks volumes. I exhale a short laugh through my nose.

"You're not the first one to offer."

After what feels like the most uncomfortable silence of my life, she finally says something.

"Are you like, a nymphomaniac or something?"

Of all the ways she could have asked me the reason behind what I do. "No," I reply, "I'm not addicted to sex."

"Then?"

I comb my bangs back using my fingers and take a big breath. "Well, I guess I am, in a sense."

Hoping that she will interrupt me, I make a pause. This is not something I am entirely comfortable talking about. It does not bother me too much, either, but still...

When she says nothing, I sigh internally and continue.

"It's my coping mechanism. It never stopped being ever since I started. Every time the memories come back, this is the only way I can cope." I raise a hand when I see her jaw working. "And no, the shrink doesn't help. I already tried."

That last part is a lie. I have never sought therapy. It would land me right into a mental institution. I would not get much further beyond the time travel thing before I am committed.

"But you'll have me, then."

Again, I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way. "What about when I crave some dick?"

She makes a face. "I mean, I like it too, but there's toys, right?"

"It's not the same. Fucking a man is different. Sometimes I crave how that feels. You know, their size and build, the scratch of beard, the smell—"

She waves her elegant hands in a panicked sort of way. "Okay, okay, I get it."

I do not stop. A flustered Victoria looks way too pretty and is way too entertaining to pass up.

"I mean, I'm sure you're positively delicious. Just from looking at you still dressed." I bite my lower lip and smack both her buttocks at the same time, which earns me the most exquisite yelp and indignant glare.

"Well," she says after a while, "it's not like I'm offering you exclusivity, either." Again, I notice her eyes wander toward the large panoramic windows. "You'd have to put up with me having a husband. It's only fair that I put up with you fucking some random guy from time to time."

She makes a pause and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she adds, "I'm willing to try if you are."

My instincts are about to take over and tell her that I am hers to do as she pleases, but I manage to rein them in. This is not just about what position I should adopt next while we fuck. I cannot take this proposition lightly.

As I consider the pros and cons, I have an epiphany. The connection is so obvious. Well, I have to consider the fact that I have a very peculiar mindset. Perhaps that is why Victoria fails to see what to me is lying right in front of us in plain sight.

"How about," I start slowly, "I become a bridge between you and your husband?"

"Huh?" She looks at me with obvious confusion.

I am about to roll my eyes when I recall the words of a guy I used to bed in college. Since I exhibited several characteristics of people in the autistic spectrum, he told me that I should always assume that I am not communicating with people in the same wavelength. In practical terms, that means paraphrasing instead of getting frustrated.

"Well, since you're hiring hookers despite being married, I assume there's some issues between you two."

She rolls her eyes. "Uh-huh. And?"

"Well, I'm sure he's doing the same."

Victoria clicks her tongue.

"Hey, don't be a hypocrite."

"Fuck you, Max." She tries to get up, but I grab her wrists and hold her down.

After a short struggle without much actual strength behind it, Victoria gives up and rests her ass on my hips once more.

"Fuck." She glares at me. "Fuck you, Max. Yes, I'm sure he's out there fucking someone else. Which is why he's been neglecting me and acting like a fucking ass. Which in turn is why I'm doing this. Which makes him an asshole. I'm not a hypocrite."

I roll my eyes at her. "You probably married for money and position. Don't act all butthurt."

Like the strike of a snake, she quickly frees one of her arms and raises her hand, ready to slap me. I let go of her other wrist and close my eyes, covering my face with both arms.

When the hit never comes, I slowly uncover my face and find Victoria staring out the window with a faraway look on her face.

"I did," she says, her voice nearly a whisper. "But it still hurts."

I reach up and grab her hands, interlacing our fingers. This time I am going for broke.

"Okay, here's my proposal. Hear me out. I can fuck you both."

Her eyes widen and I feel her hands trying to leave mine. I strengthen my grip.

"I'll move in. That way I get what I want, you don't have to touch your douchebag husband ever again, and you get me full time. It all stays between us. Neat like a well tied ribbon."

A whole range of expressions crosses Victoria's face. Her eyes widen, her jaw strains, her lips tighten, her expression becomes pensive and her eyes close, and then she goes through them a few times more. She even opens her mouth a couple times as if ready to say something. Each time, I encourage her by tightening my grip and caressing her hands with my thumbs.

"You know what?" she finally says after a couple minutes. "That's not such a bad idea."

"Right?" I can barely contain the huge grin pushing on my cheeks.

She lets out a dramatic sigh and rolls her eyes. "I'll run it through him the next time I see him. But in the mean time, you're not going to accept any more clients."

It irks me a little that she is trying to take the reins of my life already. On the other hand, I do like forceful, so I nod my assent.

"Okay. No more talk." She pushes my hands until they are pressed against the sofa beside my head. Then, she leans forward and whispers in my ear, "Right now, I want to get my money's worth."

I shudder at the promise of what is to come.

FIN

Author's Note: There's a severe, horrible and unforgivable lack of Maximum Victory in this world. I'm always striving to amend that, sparse as my posting is. Hopefully this didn't come out too rushed and I managed to convey what I wanted, and in turn, you had fun reading it.