33 comments/ 31772 views/ 43 favorites My Friend The Call Girl By: imhapless At the time that my story starts, Jamie and I gotten married six years previously. I distinctly remember the minister at our 300 guest wedding with seven bridesmaids and groomsmen, and $20,000 worth of flowers, asking "Do you Jamie Elizabeth Snowden take Blake William Benson to be your lawful wedded husband...forsaking all others...until death do you part?" I also distinctly remember her saying "Yes," as she made goo-goo eyes at me, which I interpreted as a vow that she wasn't going to fuck anyone else while we were married. I took a similar vow, while making almost identical goo-goo eyes at her. I always felt that Jamie and I were a good match since we had similar goals in life and liked many of the same things; however we had enough differences to always make things interesting. For example, Jamie was very competitive, having played sports fiercely most of her life, while I was more laid back and a consensus-building type. While I was athletic, I never had the drive necessary to truly succeed in sports. Also she's more social building many superficial relationships, while I'm an ambivert, enjoying social situations but preferring to establish only a few meaningful relationships. As would fit someone with the best upbringing by well-connected wealthy parents, Jamie got a great college education at one of the top schools in the Eastern U. S., and landed a job as a pharmaceutical sales rep. She got her high-paying job by relying not only on her education and intelligence, but her good looks. It seems that Big Pharma wants only good looking people calling on hospitals and doctors, I guess to distract them from the fact that they're getting raped monetarily. Anyway, since Jamie is five feet seven inches tall with a one hundred twenty pound nicely proportioned body, with long blond hair, a winning smile, and sparkling almost neon-green eyes, she's been very successful; so much so that she's been able to write her own ticket as far as drugs that she sells and territory are concerned. Jamie has explained her reasons as to why her territory has to take her away from our high end condo three nights a week or sometimes on weekends – something having to do with the major drug that she's responsible for having a limited though highly lucrative market, although I don't really understand it. I don't like her being gone three nights a week, let alone on some weekend days; I'm lonely and I crave companionship. Anyway, I often have bumbled along on nights that she's gone going to movies or ball games, or bowling, with male friends; but mostly I end up sitting home watching TV. My job doesn't require travel – in fact I almost don't have to leave my condo area (I can even get work done at the pool or in the extensive health club) if I don't want to. I do on-line sales of proprietary computer software and hardware that make renewable energy systems much more efficient, and integrate them smoothly with the electrical grid. Actually, I invented the proprietary items that I sell and can do the software transfers from my high powered home office computer, and I only have to oversee the hardware manufacture (in a suburb of the major city that I live in) for a few hours a week. Since I'm at home a lot during the day, I know most of the neighbors, something not really normal in most American condo buildings where you only see other people from your building if you go to the monthly condo meetings. The other residents tried to talk me into being president of the condo association although I was able to resist – but I did agree to manage the books of the association. Our condo has got four two story residences on each two floors, and a one story residence on each floor. The two story residences have an office and three bedrooms in addition to a kitchen, large living room, and three full bathrooms. The one story residences have a small living room, kitchen, bathroom, powder room, one bedroom, and a small den. * * * * * * The one story residence, 5B, next to our 5th floor entrance, 5A, is rented by a woman who looks too young to afford the rent for a condo in our high end building. I'd guess that she's twenty three; Jamie and I are only twenty nine so I guess many others in the building think the same thing about us, especially since we own our condo and don't rent. The young woman's name is Cecile Wilson. Most occupants are not around during the day on weekdays so they don't know that Cecile is home most weekdays and often has from two to four visitors a day – all male. Cecile's appearance, and the stream of male visitors, led me to conclude early on that Cecile was likely a high priced call girl. Even though I had my suspicions about Cecile's profession, it's not a subject that I broached with her the three dozen or so times that I saw her at the pool or the health club the first year that she lived in 5B, for two reasons; 1) as long as she doesn't bother anybody, I could give a shit what her profession is, and 2) it's not something that you bring up in casual conversation. What is Cecile's appearance, you ask? Surprisingly, the first year that she lived in 5B I only saw her with makeup on twice that I can recall. She normally wore a conservative one piece suit at the pool, and inordinately bulky shorts and shirts when in the exercise room. In the hallway or going to and from the lobby she almost always had on pants and a long sleeve shirt. In public, she usually had her long, shimmering, brown hair in a bun, and usually wore clunky black glasses, although I was quite sure that she had 20-20 eyesight (the lenses looked like plain glass). She obviously made a great effort to disguise her natural beauty when not interacting with clients; however, there was no way possible for her to disguise her magnificence completely. Cecile has an almost perfect face, massive boobs that even conservative outfits can't hide, and exceedingly long legs with thighs that any artist would love to try to replicate on canvas or in stone; and an ass commensurate with her sculptured thighs. She's almost six feet tall and slim, though definitely not too skinny. My relationship with Cecile was pleasant, if not friendly, the first year that she lived in 5B. We knew each other's first and last names, would always smile and say hello if we passed each other, we had more than a few fluff conversations when working out or at the pool, and the one time that we ran into each other at the local Kroger we had a five minute discussion about how best to cook and serve organic vegetables; she was a real health nut, not only as it related to exercise, but food too. Things changed one Thursday about one in the afternoon – a day that Jaime was out of town, to return Friday about 6:00 p. m. * * * * * * I was leaving 5A to make one of my twice weekly short jaunts to my hardware manufacturing facility when I heard yelling and banging in 5B; that was highly unusual especially since the condo units have excellent sound insulation. I listened at the door and didn't like what I heard; it sounded like a guy was pummeling a woman. I banged on the door and said "Superintendent; open up." It got quiet for a few seconds, although I thought that I heard sobbing. Then a deep male voice said through the door "Get lost, we don't need anything." "Open the fucking door or I call the cops," I replied when I still heard the sobbing. A big guy flung the door open and yelled "It's none of your fucking business now get the fuck away from my girlfriend and me..." He was going to say something more, but when I saw Cecile on the ground and what I thought was blood I didn't let him finish. As part of my keychain I have a cheap self-defense tool. I don't even know what it's called, but it is a really hard piece of plastic with a straight section with finger-receiving depressions, two rounded ends that extend past the hand when holding the straight section, and a stump with enlarged head that extends between two fingers. The obnoxious guy was taller than I was, even though I'm six feet two inches, and probably outweighed me by thirty pounds, so I grasped the tool in my right hand and hit him in the mouth with the enlarged head of the stump as hard as I could. He staggered back as I moved toward him and hit him a second, and then a third time. The third time he tripped over Cecile's prone body, hit his head on her marble foyer floor, and he was out. I helped Cecile up, led her over to a padded chair, and closed her front door. She had what was going to turn into a black eye, blood coming from her nose, and some scrape marks on an arm and leg. She was dressed in negligee and despite my best efforts to concentrate only on helping her I could not help but notice her phenomenal tits and otherwise fantastic body. "Are you OK, Cecile?" was my first stupid question. "Can I get you anything?" "I'm hurting now," she moaned, and then after a deep breath continued "I'll be all right, but can you get me some paper towels for my nose, and a cold compress from the freezer?" I quickly did as asked, and while she applied the compress to her eye I wiped the blood away from her nose. "Who is that asshole?" I asked, nodding my head toward the prone bully. "An enraged client," she mumbled. "We should really call the police," I said while finishing up on her nose. "No cops," she quickly replied. For the next few minutes we went back and forth about calling the police, but it was clear that she didn't want to – undoubtedly because she didn't want to be on their radar for likely being a call girl. I finally relented then said "I've got an idea. I don't want him to think that he can do this again, Do you trust me to take care of him?" "Yeah – as long as it's not in my condo," she mumbled while she winced – clearly in significant pain. I quickly went into my condo, got a couple of zip ties, a bottle of water, a bottle of booze, and – for the first time it was advantageous (aside from the money that Jamie brought in) to be married to a pharmaceutical sales rep – some sort of knock-out pills from her stash of legal drugs. I rolled the big asshole over and tied his hands together behind his back with two zip ties. Then I rolled him back onto his posterior and threw cold water into his face. He awoke, I got him up (he was way too heavy to carry), fished his keys out of his pants, and led him downstairs. I had him point out his car, sat him in the driver's seat, and then convinced him that the pills were pain pills and would make him feel better. I helped him take the pills with the water, and then talked to him – trying hard to impress upon him that he was never to show up at our condo building again – until the pills had their desired effect on him. Once he was well on his way to la-la land I poured booze on him, including in his mouth – which he gagged out – cut the zip ties and put them in my pocket, started up his car, and then locked it closed. Then I called 911 to report a drunk sitting with his car idling in our condo parking lot. I didn't wait for the cops to get there – I went up to see Cecile. Cecile's door was still partially open so I knocked as I opened it further and said "Cecile – its Blake – can I come in to see how you are?" I heard her mumble "Sure, come in." She was now sitting on a couch, with a sweatshirt and sweatpants over her negligee, with her head back and one compress on her nose, the other on her eye. "Let me have a look," I said when I got next to her. I gently removed her hand and compress from her eye. It didn't look good. "I think that you should let me take you to the emergency room," I said sternly. She started to protest but in an even sterner voice I said "Cecile, I'm no doctor, but your eye needs to be looked at. I'm taking you to the emergency room; you don't have a choice. Where are your shoes and purse?" She resignedly pointed them out to me, I put her shoes on her feet ["Shit, even her feet are awesome" flashed through my mind as I did so], and off we went – slowly. When we got down outside the building I steered her clear of the police – they had broken the bully's passenger side front window, turned off the car, and pulled him out and were loading him into a paddy wagon just as a tow truck pulled up. On the way to the hospital I called my manufacturing facility and told them that I'd be late. I helped Cecile get registered at the hospital, confirmed that she had health insurance, and then gave her my business card with my cell phone number on it. "Call me when you're done and I'll pick you up and drive you home," I told her when handing her the card. "You've already done too much, you don't..." she started to say when I cut her off. As I gently squeezed my card into her hand I said "No, listen; call me. You may need to stop and get a prescription filled. Call me, and I'll be here in ten minutes – I have no pressing business today," I said. "OK; thanks," she said, trying hard to give me a weak smile. I patted her head and left. I was just finishing up at the manufacturing facility when my cell phone rang. "Hi Blake; this is Cecile," came a relatively strong voice on the other end – stronger than when I had dropped her off. "Are you ready to leave?" I asked. "Well, yeah; but I can get a cab if you're busy," she continued. "I'm not busy," I replied in an upbeat voice. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes – the traffic is a little worse than normal. Just wait inside the emergency room and I'll come in and get you." "OK; thanks," was her quick reply. She had an eye patch over her eye and some cotton in her nose when I picked her up. We made a stop at a drug store to get her some pain pills and salve and then I brought her back to her condo. "How about I bring over something for you to eat at dinner time?" I said as she plopped down on a couch. "You don't have to..." "I want to," I said as I cut her off again. "I'll be eating alone if I don't; how about just some chicken fingers and a fresh vegetable medley?" I saw her hesitate – then remembering back to our discussion at Kroger with a big smile I added "All organic!" She laughed the best that she could. "How about if I come over with the food already prepared at six?" "Sounds good to me," she responded with a feeble smile. "Here – so you don't have to knock on the door – just come in," she said, handing me a key from her purse. I brought the food, as well as a bottle of wine and a large bottle of seltzer, over at six on the dot, and let myself in with the key that she had given me. It was only then that I actually started to look around her condo; before I was too concerned about her. It was sparsely decorated, but classy, including with a few obviously original paintings. They weren't van Gogh's, but they were cheery and well done. Cecile was sitting at her kitchen table. Her greeting and smile were much stronger than when I left her about 3:00 p. m. We chatted about nothing in particular while we ate. "I'm not supposed to have wine with the pain pills I'm taking," she said as I poured her a glass. I stopped pouring and said "Sorry – I didn't think of that." "I'm not supposed to, but I need a couple of glasses," she chuckled, nodding for me to pour some more – which I did. "You're not going to take advantage of me if I get looped, are you?" She asked with the semblance of a smile. "I'd be worse than that asshole if I did," I replied, also with the semblance of a smile, "but I don't want to have to carry your ass to your bed, so don't pass out," I continued with a chortle. "I'll try not to," she replied. Once we finished dinner and I cleared the table I noticed two things. She did have some reaction to the combination of pain pills and the one and one-half glasses of wine that she had consumed, although she was still primarily lucid; and she suddenly wanted to have a serious talk. "You probably think that I'm terrible for entertaining men all of the time," she said, not looking me in the eye and fiddling with her wine glass. "I certainly do not – how you make your living is your business as long as it doesn't tread on my rights," I genuinely replied. "How long have you supposed that I'm an escort?" she asked, this time making eye contact – with her one non-patched eye. "Since about a month after you moved in," I nonchalantly replied, sipping my own glass of wine. "Do you and your wife – what's her name..." "Jamie." "Do you and Jamie talk about it?" she asked. "Never have. Jamie is not here a lot as you probably have surmised, and it's not something that we would talk about anyway. I don't gossip, and certainly wouldn't speculate about a good neighbor's profession." After much more discussion – she was obviously both feeling me out and unloading on me at the same time – she said "You're about the only hetero guy that I've known since I've lived here that hasn't hit on me. Why not?" "Because I take my marriage vows seriously." "More than ninety percent of my clients are married," she shot back. "But I'm not them, In case you're wondering, though, physically you're the most desirable woman that I've ever seen. But I don't know you well enough to know if I'd be compatible with you, and I've never been into simply physical relationships. I need an emotional attachment to have a desirable sexual experience. So if you're insulted that I haven't hit on you, don't be." She said nothing in response to that; she just stared at me, with her one good eye, for a good thirty seconds. "You know, despite my number of clients and the intimate nature of my business, I'm lonely. I have almost no friends. My business type and hours preclude it – at least for people that I'd like to be associated with." Thereupon we proceeded with a painfully direct conversation about her private life. It concluded with me asking "So what is your ultimate goal in life, Cecile?" "I ultimately want what you have. I want a spouse – and eventually even kids. I want someone that is my one and only that I am true to, and he is true to me. I'm saving enough money so that I'll be financially independent by the time that I'm thirty, and then I'll move, give up this life, and try to find Mr. Right. But my plans are temporarily on hold because until my eye, nose, and these scrapes on my appendages, heal I'm not going to be working." An idea suddenly popped into my head. "Say, how would you like to work for me..." I started to say when she suddenly flared up. "What – I thought that you were different," she said in a high pitched voice, with all of her muscles tensed and a look of disbelief on her face. "Let me finish," I laughed. Then realizing that wasn't something I should have laughed at I quickly continued "I'm not trying to hire you for sex. I need help with filing – I'm hopelessly behind and I keep putting it off. It's something that even a Cyclops can do if she puts her mind to it. But I can't pay your normal rate," I continued, now that she had relaxed and even giggled at my "Cyclops" dig. "Which is...?" "$700 an hour, $2500 for a full night, $4000 a day to travel, plus expenses," she blurted out before she caught herself, turned red, and put her hand to her mouth. I didn't miss a beat, "I can't pay $700/hour, but I can pay $25/hour and offer a free meal now and again – until you heal." She giggled. "Monday, show me what you want me to do and I'll let you know." After another twenty minutes of light conversation it was clear that she was wiped out, so I gathered up my belongings. She gave me a hug while she whispered "Thank you soooo much" into my ear – I kept my crotch away from her when she did since much to my chagrin I sprouted a boner. I patted her head, and left. Despite the boner-sprouting at the end, I considered it a wonderful night with a friend; no real sexual overtones. I liked her as a person, and never had considered the loneliness aspect for her. My Friend The Call Girl As I was working away in my condo Friday morning, there was a knock on my door. "Hi, Blake," said a smiling Cecile, dressed in her normal conservative garb. "Hi Cecile. Feeling any better today?" I cheerfully asked. "I still hurt like hell, but I'm in a better frame of mind," she chuckled. "You probably want your key back..." I started to say, reaching for the key on a table in my foyer. "No – why don't you keep it in case I ever need to be rescued again and the guy won't open the door. I'm here because I hate to ask you for even more help after all that you've done, but I desperately need to get some groceries, and the doctor absolutely precluded me from driving with my eye patch and pain pills. Is there some time today you can take me?" "For sure," I retorted with a big smile. "How about one, one-thirty?" "Great," she giggled, actually clapping her hands together. "Just knock on my door when you're ready." Cecile and I had a great time – grocery shopping. I think that it was the first time in my life that grocery shopping was actually fun. While I don't hate it, I never particularly liked it either. With Cecile I had a blast, especially when she had humorous conversations with the vegetables pretending that they were people. The next Monday Cecile came over to my condo shortly after Jaime left for work. I showed her how all of the miscellaneous papers that were lying around my office, and spilling into the living room, were to be filed. She was very conscientious; not fast, but it was the first time that she had ever done filing, so accuracy was far more important than speed. We had lunch together, worked some more, and then I took her to the drug store to buy some things that she needed. And so, my friendship with Cecile Wilson started in earnest. * * * * * * I think that I was the only male friend that Cecile had had since she was eighteen. Every other male she met wanted to fuck her, and that was his sole purpose in interacting with Cecile. It's not that I didn't want to fuck her too – I mean she was the most alluring and sultry woman that I had ever met in my life. But I was married, took my vows seriously, and I had had other good looking women as friends in the past; so I didn't look on Cecile as just a sex object. With Cecile around, the nights or occasional weekend day that Jaime was out of town were no longer lonely. With Cecile I always had someone to do things with. Even after she healed completely – in about a month – and looked just as good as she had before the run-in with the asshole, since her normal work schedule was weekday mornings and afternoons, with an occasional overnight stay or trip out of town, we did almost everything together on nights when Jaime wasn't around. I also talked her into going to parties or mixers that the condo association sponsored, and I made sure that she had a good time at each. One thing that I learned that I couldn't do, however, was to bring her on excursions with my male friends. They were too busy either trying to hustle her, or drooling, to be good company, so she and I mostly did things just together. She also seemed to like it that way. Even when she started working as a call girl again she insisted on helping me with my filing. I soon determined that she had a great deal of intellectual curiosity and more intelligence than she obviously had been given credit for most of her life. I encouraged her and started teaching her about my business. When I tried to pay her for helping me she would always put forth some challenge – such as a race in the pool, or how long we could go on the elliptical – for double or nothing. Most times I ended up paying nothing, which seemed to make her happier than when I paid her double. I found out that Cecile was one of the most honest and kind people that I had ever met. She spent about ten hours trying to find the owner of a small purse, with no identification but almost $100 in cash in it, that had been lost at the pool; whe was ultimately successful. She told me a story about a client who had a health problem while they were having sex and she took him to the hospital and refunded his money despite his protests that she should keep it. She cried when she couldn't save a little bird that had smashed into a window in our building's lobby, and she retrieved a lost puppy and returned it to its owner and declined a reward. She over-tipped the paper boy, never gossiped or said anything bad about anyone, and never acted rude or mean even when guys hit on her. About eight or nine months after Cecile and I had become best buds she surprised me by showing me her acceptance letter to a local Community College. "I want to get an associate's degree in business administration," she announced with a big grin on her face. "Can you help me with some of my homework sometimes?" "I sure can," I said. "I'm so proud of you." She got absolutely giddy with that comment and hustled up to me and gave me a big hug. Whenever she did that I had to be sure that my crotch was spaced from hers, but I was afraid that this time she held me so long and tight that I think that she had to be aware of my hard-on; but neither of us drew attention to it. I was pleasantly surprised that as Jaime became more and more aware of my friendship with Cecile that she didn't act jealous. I believe that there were several major factors that accounted for that. The first was that Cecile and I NEVER had any public displays of affection. In private we never did anything more than occasionally hug, or sometimes give a chaste kiss on the cheek. The second was that we had developed a great cover story for Cecile's profession. The third was that Cecile started to help Jaime with her paperwork too, which Jaime was very grateful for. Fourth, I got a long time gay friend of mine – who was not out of the closet but who I knew was gay since High School – to serve as Cecile's "boyfriend" for condo association parties, and even once in a while on a double date with Jaime and me. * * * * * * Of course a problem had to develop; life is never as smooth as it had been for me the last two years. Jaime had to rush out of town for business on a Sunday morning after she got a phone call, and she was much more discombobulated than normal when she took off. She haphazardly pulled a pile of documents out of her briefcase as she was exiting, put them on the coffee table, and she asked me if I could have Cecile file them. I said "sure." I was really disappointed by Jaime's rapid departure because we were supposed to go apple-picking that afternoon; something that I really enjoyed once a year. I sent Cecile a text soon after Jaime left: "Jaime gone on bus. Apple picking this aftnoon?" She shortly replied "Have app at 11; any time aft 2 OK," followed by a happy face. We had a great time apple picking, and eating apple cider donuts, despite a number of college guys trying their best to look up Cecile's shorts when she was on a ladder, and ogling her in the donut shop. That night we had dinner together at my condo and afterwards planned to watch a DVD. Before I put the disc in the player, however, Cecile asked "What are these?" reaching for the pile of papers that Jaime had left in disarray on the coffee table." "Oh, those are some papers Jaime left in her haste that she wondered if you could file before she gets back Wednesday night," I nonchalantly replied. "Sure thing," she responded, trying to collect the papers together to pick them up. As she did so, something fell out of the pile onto the floor. I was busy loading the DVD and just noticed the downward flutter. I didn't realize anything was wrong until I turned and looked at Cecile's face. She was holding what looked like a photograph and had a completely traumatized expression. "What's that, Cecile?" "Uh...uh...nothing," she said as she quickly put the photo back into the center of the pile. Cecile will never been a professional poker player – her face clearly showed that it wasn't "nothing." I walked over to her and said "Let me see what you were looking at." "No, it's nothing," she replied, trying to subtly to exit the area with the pile of stuff in her arms. That made me more that curious. I gently grabbed her arm and said "No, I really want to see it; what's the big secret." As I relieved her of the pile she slumped down onto the couch and put her face in her hands. About halfway through the pile there were three six by nine photos; of Jaime; naked; with a different guy fucking her doggy in each as she hammed it up for the camera. I dropped onto the living room rug; two of the photos and the rest of the pile of stuff drifted down to the floor as I sat there stunned with the third photo in my hand. "I'm so, so sorry," Cecile said, putting her hand on the side of my face. I looked at her dumbfounded. "Maybe they're old photos before you two got married," she said trying to find something positive to say. "She didn't get the butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder until two years ago," I mumbled in reply. After a long pause during which Cecile asked if there was anything that she could do I finally said, "Cecile. I need to be alone to try and digest this. Even though you're my best friend I don't want to talk to anyone right now. Please." I'm sure that I had a tear in my eye. I know that Cecile did when she gave me a hug just before she left – it was the only time that she hugged me that I didn't tent my pants. After a good half hour cry I bitch slapped myself and said into the mirror "Action, not pity, you fucking wimp!" I was a whirling dervish as I buzzed around the house looking into all of Jaime's dresser drawers, boxes she had on the closet shelves in several different rooms, and her office files. One of her desk drawers was locked so I busted it open. I found at least a dozen incriminating, appalling, pieces of "evidence." It wasn't a question of whether Jaime was cheating on me, but for how long, and with how many different guys. I went through multiple stages of anger, humiliation, angst, and shock, the only consistent thread being "How could I have been so fucking naïve?" I didn't sleep that night. Monday I looked and felt like hell. I got little work done, and had even less luck in deciding what I was going to do about Jaime. I heard a knock on my door about two in the afternoon. It was Cecile with a pitcher of Margaritas, quite surprising since I never had more than one at a time in my life, and I never saw her drink more than one either. Cecile barged into my apartment. "Listen, stud," she said as she placed the pitcher on the coffee table, "I've canceled my appointment for this afternoon. I called your little minions at your manufacturing plant and told them that you'd be out of commission this afternoon. We're going to get shit-faced drunk. Tomorrow you'll figure out what you're going to do about the little wifey." I started to protest; it was futile. I scattered all of Jaime's papers that had dropped on the floor the night before – except the three photos – near our fake fireplace, and took the glass that Cecile was holding out toward me and chugged it. Boy it burned. Cecile was on a mission to get me not only drunk, but happy-go-lucky. After an hour of hilarious stories and six drinks – maybe more, I lost count – she finally succeeded. I passed out sometime before it even got dark outside, the first time since I had graduated college seven years earlier. I was prone on the floor next to the couch, and Cecile was passed out on the couch with one of her arms dangling down and touching me. Sometime later I started hearing ringing in my ears. After the third time that it stopped and started again I determined that it was the land line phone. I stumbled to it and had enough presence of mind to look at the caller ID. It was the bitch's cellphone. I pulled the phone plug from the wall, went back to the couch, moved Cecile over, and fell asleep spooning her. Cecile and I woke up in unison in the middle of the night – I guess it was more like 4:00 a. m. rather than nighttime. Her first comment, made with a shit-eating smile was a doozy. "You're the first guy that I ever slept with that didn't fuck me, killer." I got with the program. "When you look at yourself in the mirror, you'll know why, Broom Hilda," I mumbled in reply. "You're no prize yourself – if fact I can't tell if I'm talking to your face or your ass, buttface,"she responded, and then laughed hysterically at her joke. We both got up, went to the bathroom, drank some water, and then fell asleep next to each other, fully clothed, on top of the bedspread in the master bedroom. I woke up about eight o'clock with the smell of bacon and eggs in the air. I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen. "Breakfast in two shakes," Cecile said in a sing-song voice. "I thought that I was going to have to light a stick of dynamite to wake you up," she cackled. I felt like shit, and cringed when I saw myself in the mirror. "This is definitely the worst that I've ever looked in my life," I said aloud. Then I looked at Cecile. She had obviously showered and changed clothes, and even applied some light makeup. She looked like a billion dollars – no one should look that good, ever, let alone after hanging one on the day before. "I associate with you for your charm, not your looks," she quipped in response to my criticism of how I looked in the mirror, as she flipped an egg over. "Now sit your ass on a chair and try and hide your face behind a cereal box so that I can keep my breakfast down." I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started in. The grub was good – real good – and I inhaled it almost as much as ate it. "Glad to see a man appreciate my cooking," Cecile laughed as I finished my third egg, half a pound of bacon, and fourth piece of toast. "Are you going to finish that bagel?" I asked, pointing with my empty fork to the quarter of a buttered bagel sitting at the edge of Cecile's plate. She laughed and tossed it onto my plate. It disappeared into my gullet in a nanosecond. After Cecile cleared the dishes and loaded the dishwasher she grabbed my head between her hands and looked me straight in the eye. "I'm busy today and have an overnight, but I'll be around tomorrow after noon. Let me know if there is anything that I can do, but you have some real decisions to make. However, you need to talk to Jaime in person before you do anything precipitous, hear?" "OK," I mumbled, and then nodded my head a few times to emphasize it. Cecile gave me a chaste kiss on the lips – the first time that she had ever kissed my lips. "Ugh, you're disgusting," she chuckled. "Shave, shower, and brush your teeth before you do anything else." I laughed, nodded, and she was gone. * * * * * By the end of the day on Tuesday I had returned to the sober/living, cleaned the condo, photographed all of my evidence and/or digitally read it into my computer, and backed it up on a thumb drive. I hadn't talked to anyone except my software assistant and the foreman at my manufacturing facility. My cell phone was filled with messages, most from Jaime and some from her parents and even mine. I had no interest in talking to her, and thought that it was just fine that my mailbox was full and my land line unplugged. I had basically decided what to do, but was still working on details, when Jaime frantically came into the condo Wednesday morning, twelve hours before she was supposed to arrive. I saw that it was her and then looked away. "Blake, I was so worried," she said with what appeared to be real concern in her voice. "You weren't answering the phone and I was sure that something was wrong." "What the fuck could possibly be wrong, my darling faithful wife," I snickered, with as much sarcasm as I could mount. She turned white, and brought her hand up to her mouth. Her eyes fell on the papers she had left on the coffee table, still there, but now in a neat pile. She started shaking. "Let me show you my little pile of goodies," I said with just as much sarcasm as my previous statement, as I grabbed her by the arm and led her to the evidence I had laid out on the kitchen table. "Maybe you can explain this shit," I barked. After a few deep, choking, sobs she started babbling. "Blake, I love you; it didn't mean anything; I got so competitive and wanted to be number one in sales; I was just closing some business deals; I'll stop, I promise; we've got to get past this; you're the only one for me; I'll get pregnant, we can start a family," etc., etc., etc. Finally I tuned out. I walked into the master bedroom, grabbed all of her clothes from the closet and dresser drawers without any care as to what condition I left them in, and threw them into the guestroom. Some landed on the bed, most on the floor. Jaime stood in the hallway sobbing, and eventually fell to her knees. When I was done I went to the kitchen, found the lock that I had purchased the day before at a hardware store, and installed it on the master bedroom door as she continued to sob and chant "no, no, no." Once the bedroom was locked – as well as my office, which already had a decent lock on it – I left. I went to my manufacturing facility, then to dinner, then to a movie. I got back to the condo about eleven at night. Jaime was sitting on the couch in the living room; she looked like hell; her mother and sister were there. "Why are you here Candice?" I asked with irritation in my voice, staring at my mother. As far as I was concerned, she was a typical condescending rich bitch. I had always met her more than halfway to keep peace. No more. "Blake," she said, obviously taken aback by my attitude, "Cheryl [Jaime's sister] and I want to offer you any help that we can so that you can get past Jaime's mistake." "Mistake?" I laughed. "Is that what you call it? Did you show your Mom the photos, dear?" I sarcastically asked Jaime. She looked down, refusing to make eye contact. "You know what you can do, Candice; get Jaime to un-fuck the three, four, ten, however many, guys that she fucked, then we can talk." I stormed to my bedroom and locked the door. Surprisingly I slept well that night. When I got up the next morning Jaime was gone. There was a simple note. "I've decided to go to Mom and Dad's until you can calm down and we can talk some more. Don't throw our future away, Blake, we can get past this. Love, Jaime." I had Jaime served with divorce papers at her parents' house on Monday morning. There were two sets. The first asked for a mutual divorce, 50-50 split of assets, on irreconcilable differences. The second asked for divorce on the basis of adultery with copies of five pieces of evidence that left nothing to the imagination attached to it. My simple note – "I haven't filed either of these yet; you choose which one. I need to hear from you by 9:00 a. m. tomorrow. If I don't hear from you by then I file number two. Have a nice life." There was a knock on my condo door at about 6:00 p. m. Monday night. It was Cecile. "Let's go out for a pizza – my treat," she said with a big smile. "I don't..." I started to say, which she was obviously prepared for since she immediately blurted out "have any excuse not to. Let's go!" "OK," I said, "I need my wallet," as I started to walk back into the condo. "No you don't; my treat; you only need your keys," she smiled, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the condo while she picked up the keys on the table next to the door and handed them to me. We ate at our favorite pizza place – one with all organic ingredients, of course. Cecile tried to be as upbeat as possible, and it did help some, although I was still morose compared to my normal demeanor. Once I was full, since we were in an isolated part of the restaurant, she held one of my hands and asked "Have you decided what you're going to do?" My Friend The Call Girl "Yeah; I sent her two sets of divorce papers today, one conciliatory, the other pugnacious, and told her that it was her choice. I'll file one of them tomorrow morning." "No chance of reconciliation?" "I've thought long and hard about it. There is no way I can forgive or forget. Fidelity is very important to me, and obviously she doesn't give a shit about it. I don't even intend to talk to her again." Cecile kept switching her gaze between her hand on mine, and my eyes. Finally she spoke. "When your divorce is final I want first crack at you." "What?" I asked, sure that I hadn't heard her right. "You're my best friend – PLUS, I'm in love with you. Once we go on our first date I'm done with my present job; I have enough confidence in myself now to get another job, and I don't care if it doesn't pay squat. I've got enough saved to last me until I can land you – and I will if you give me a chance." I was stunned. I had no idea that Cecile was actually in love with me. She interpreted my silence to be reticence rather than what it really was – shock. I was wondering how in the hell she didn't know that I would not only "give her a shot" but would fall madly in love with a goddess who was already my best friend. Just the thought of sex with this supernatural being suddenly made not just my dick, but my entire body, tingle. "I know that you're probably reluctant to have a former call girl as a girlfriend, but I promise you that you won't regret it if..." "Shutup!" I barked. Then I rose and kissed Cecile hard on the lips. After a couple of seconds she got with the program, rose up from her seat, and we kissed passionately over the table. When we finally un-locked our lips I sat back down. "If you're crazy enough to be in love with me, let me tell you my plan. We keep our relationship as is until two weeks before my divorce becomes final. At that point you quit your job, I sell my Condo, and you break your lease. The day that the divorce is final we go off to a resort for a week, and if after that you still want a relationship we move to another part of the country, we get an apartment together, and if you're still wacky enough to want me, we get married." Cecile put her hands up to her mouth and actually started crying. We held hands as we walked back to our condos. I never felt more alive and Cecile was virtually giddy. We passionately kissed – and I didn't care that my cock was sticking her in the crotch – before she went into 5B and I went into 5A, staring at each other with big smiles on our faces until the doors closed. That night I knew that I wanted the plan that we had outlined after pizza to work out more than anything else that I had ever wanted in my life. However, I was expecting complications, and the first one came when at 7:50 a.m. Jaime's father, James (never Jim or Jimmy), called. When I heard his voice I steeled myself. "Hello Blake, this is James Snowden. I was hoping that I could get Jaime an extension of time of an hour from your 9:00 a. m. deadline so that we could have a chance to meet." "Meeting isn't going to change anything, James." "Blake, you have nothing to lose. If after you meet with me for an hour you still want to proceed with a divorce I will guarantee that Jaime will choose the irreconcilable differences option, and things will move along quickly. Please, you owe me that." I didn't owe him shit – but in view of how I wanted my relationship with Cecile to move along, speed was at a premium. "OK, where should we meet?" "I can be there in a half hour." "See you then," I said as I hung up. The meeting with James was worthless – except to confirm that he had no idea what I was really like. He essentially was trying to convince me how economically advantageous it would be for me to stay married to Jaime; how rich I'd end up. He did everything but offer me two million in cash to stay married, and promised that Jaime would sign a post-nuptial, that he would guarantee, that would give me another two million if she ever cheated again. "Sorry, James; you've done the best that you can for your little girl, but no deal. I'm still trying to figure out why she wants to stay married – I would think that she'd be happy to have me not cramping her style." "Cheating wasn't 'her style,' Blake; she just lost focus on what was important." "Sorry; I haven't. Be sure to have her get the signed papers to my attorney this morning." James actually looked sad when he left – probably not because he was getting rid of me, but maybe because his little girl was going to have to go see a shrink. * * * * * The day finally came. The divorce was final. Both Cecile and I would be moving out of our condos in ten days. I had sold my condo and all of the furniture in it (except for my computer equipment) that Jamie didn't want, and Cecile's thirty day notice for her lease was up, and she had sold her furniture too. I had all but finalized the sale of the hardware part of my business to my employees. Jaime didn't show in court, only her attorney, for the final hearing. The only reason that I showed was because I immediately wanted a copy of the decree in hand. After court, when I knocked on 5B, my luggage for our trip to the resort was already packed. I expected Cecile to be ready to go. She was, in fact, ready to go – but not on a trip. She was naked except for high heels and an ankle bracelet. I almost creamed my pants by just looking at her. "We have time to get better acquainted before we go to the resort; plus I don't think you'll make it in a two hour drive," she giggled, motioning to my severely tented pants. Cecile dragged me into her condo by my tie. Since her bed had already been carried away by its purchaser, her couch cushions were on the floor of her living room. As we passionately kissed she undid all of my clothes, took off my shirt, moved my boxers down, and handled my cock and balls. Meanwhile I was thoroughly enjoying massaging her huge, perfectly shaped, mammary glands. There was a problem, however; I was so excited I was about to blow, just like a horny teenager. I broke our kiss and mumbled "Cecile, I'm about to go off like a volcano." "No problem," she mumbled back, then grabbed my cock in such a way that what felt just seconds ago like it couldn't be stopped was now in neutral. "You've got to eat me first, stud, then I'll make sure that you get off properly!" She broke away giggling, laid down on the couch cushions, and spread her magnificent toned and tanned thighs, exposing her scrumptious looking pussy. I removed my shoes, stepped out of my pants and boxers, and with only my socks still on went after her honey pot. It tasted and felt even better than it looked. Her clit was gigantic and sensitive, her lips moist and succulent, and the inside of her pussy felt nice, though strange. I do believe that she had a real orgasm – which I couldn't allow myself to be sure of because I had heard that call girls don't get real orgasms – but if it wasn't real it was an Emmy-winning acting job. A little while after the peak of her orgasm, while I was still licking her pussy and manipulating her tits with my hands, she mumbled "Now make love to me." I lithely shinnied up her body and buried my cock in her moist pussy. It took a few seconds to do that, however, because her pussy was much more snug than I had imagined that it would be. When I was balls deep she kissed me as she wrapped those magnificent thighs around me and then a unique experience – she started contracting her pelvic floor muscles in earnest. I could not fucking believe how powerful they were. I excitedly reciprocated in and out while she seemed to just as excitedly pulsate her muscles. The result was that I quickly ejaculated an all-time load into her sweet pussy. A few seconds after I started ejaculating her pussy clamped down on my cock even harder and we both screamed and shook. I don't know if I passed out, but I was delirious. Cecile held me tight. I finally regained full cognizance, rolled to the side – getting a delicious jolt up my spine when my cock popped out of what now had become its favorite place in the world – and gazed into her face. She was smiling widely. "Those were the first two real orgasms I've had in as long as I can remember," she chirped, still grinning. "You know why?" "Because I'm such a remarkable sex god," I replied with a laugh. "You wish," she chuckled, and then got serious. "I had orgasms because we made love; we didn't just fuck. I really do love you Blake." "And I really do love you too, Cecile; even before you just rocked my world with sex so much better than what I've experienced before that it's like a different thing altogether." She gave me a big kiss. "In addition to being in love with me, you know why the sex was so good?" she asked, so giddily that she could hardly contain herself. "Because you're a sex goddess?" I replied. "Almost right," she giggled. "I have a very unusual vagina and powerful pc muscles." "Really, how's that?" I inquired while squeezing a boob. "My vagina is slightly ribbed – according to my OB/GYN unique in her experience. It doesn't pose a health problem, but instead of being smooth the walls of my vagina have irregularly spaced ribs – which cocks REALLY like." "Seriously?" I responded. "Seriously," she shot back. I knew that my cock sure as hell loved her pussy. "What about the powerful pc muscles?" I continued. "I use a device that assists in doing Kegel exercises. It has eight springs and can measure the clamping force of your pc muscles. I use all eight springs and can exert a clamping force of about eight and one-half pounds – and the maximum the device can measure is nine pounds." "Holy shit – I certainly did feel you clamping on to me, and it was fabulous. Actually, 'fabulous' is too tame a word; I need something more dramatic – help me figure one out." Cecile smiled; "How about 'sextastic?'" I chuckled. "How about 'maxi-sextastic?'" "I'm OK with that; now suck on my boobs while I play with your balls, and then we'll get up and go on vacation," she snickered, while reaching for my scrotum. After sucking and playing we fucked again – actually, correction; we made love again, because that's really what it was. We finally got dressed, I loaded our suitcases into my car, and off we went. On the drive to the resort, Cecile snuggled up to me until we were about an hour into it. They she backed off and said "Blake, I have four things to tell you. I need to now before we go any further. Ready." "Ready," I replied with a smile. "First, my name is not Cecile Wilson. It's Barbara Godden; 'Babs' for short. I have a complete set of fake IDs so good that I was able to sign my lease for the condo and buy my car using them. If things work out between us I intend to jettison my old identity completely so that I break all contact with my four years working as an escort." "WOW – you could work for the CIA," I whistled in response. "You're great at that hiding your identity thing. Should I call you 'Babs' from now on?" "Don't call me 'Babs' unless and until you're ready to 'put a ring on it' as Beyoncé sings," she chuckled. "OK Cecile; what's the next revelation?" "I stopped working as an escort the day that I told you that I loved you, and accelerated my Community College course curriculum so that I'm completely through with my first year and have three credits toward my second year." "That's fantastic," I genuinely replied, for more than one reason. "You're full of surprises." "I'm not done," she chuckled. "Third, I've come up with a new concept for a primarily Internet business that I would like to start up; I'll pitch the idea to you after our resort visit and if you like it we can go into it 50-50." "I can't wait to hear about it," I smiled. "Finally; and this is the only one that makes me squirm," she sighed, and seemed to blush. "If you have any questions about my work as an escort you need to ask them this week, and I'll honestly answer them. After this week I never want to even allude to it again, and any mention of it will really piss me off....So, if you have any questions, ask them this week." It was obvious that this topic made her nervous. Since I had long ago determined that I didn't care about her past profession – although I'd be telling a lie if I didn't admit that I was very pleased that she had stopped working as an escort more than two months ago – I didn't really have anything else I wanted to ask her. But I couldn't just leave her hanging. So I came up with what I thought was a clever response. After an appropriately long pause I said "I really have only one question, and then I'm done for good." She looked at me expectantly. "You say that you charged $700 an hour, right?" "Yeah," she hesitantly replied. "Well now that I've made love to you I wonder; why did you charge so little? You should have charged one hundred times that!" She got a big smile on her face, kissed me on the cheek, and then put her head on my shoulder. It was the last time that we ever talked about it. * * * * * * Our time at the resort was phenomenal. I'm sure that no one has ever had a better honeymoon, even though we weren't technically on a honeymoon. For me it was doing all sorts of activities like snorkeling, swimming, jet-skiing, hiking, playing beach volleyball, trap shooting, and drinking with your best friend, and then dancing, snuggling, and kissing a goddess. That didn't even count the sex which truly was other-worldly. The only – and I mean only – problem that I had after seven days was that my cock and tongue were both so sore that I was in pain. But it was a truly contented and satisfied pain, because I was the happiest that I had ever been. After the first day at the resort, when we fell asleep in each other's arms after she rode me reverse cowgirl while massaging my balls, it was a forgone conclusion that I would ask her to marry me – which I did on the fifth day. She said "Yes," and then proceeded to give me the best blowjob in the history of mankind! I would have gotten married the day after we left the resort, but since Cecile/Babs had never been married, and since she had a few – a very few – relatives that she cared about who she wanted to be there, we actually waited three months and had a small, though entirely proper, wedding ceremony and reception, in our new city. Within nine months after we had moved to our new city, Babs got her associates degree in business administration, we worked together in my software business, and by three months after that we had launched her new business using a proprietary system that she had come up with for maximizing exposure on the Internet using hybrid search term recognition. However, now three years after its launch we decided to sell her business – for seven figures – because she has something else to focus on. Babs, my best friend, sex goddess, and the love of my life, is pregnant with twins!