A New Way of Seeing Things Pt. 03 Ch. 17

"You had to take your clothes off?"

"I didn't have to, we could technically say no to any request, but we got a percentage of the bill, and the bill was bigger and the tips better if I did. To be honest, that's when I first realized I've got an exhibitionist streak—I was always flattered that a guy would pay to see little old me naked. The pricing was done a la carte. A client would start out with a basic massage. A 'joyful release of the dragon's essence' was extra, but I can't ever remember a client not paying for a handjob. Taking off your top was a few dollars more, taking off your shorts a few dollars more than that. Letting them touch you was also on the menu, but no insertion allowed, although I had a few guys I trusted enough to 'slip' and get really close. I had a couple of guys that liked it when I worked from up above their head and 'accidentally' let my boobs hang in their face while I massaged their chest. Using the girls to get him off—'the dragon exploring the mountain valley'—was an extra charge, and a prostate massage was pretty good money, probably because some of the girls wouldn't do it. I did—once Betty explained how there was a little trigger for his gun hidden up in there, I'd snap on a glove, throw on some lube and go rooting around. They went off quicker, they left happy, and I got my table back for the next client. Of course, talking dirty was free and a good way to move them along too."

"Yvette, you make this sound all so normal... How did Bob feel about all this?"

"To me it was normal. I know it sounds weird, but it really was always just a job. A job I liked, but still, and any moral conflict I might have had went away when I saw my paycheck. We paid the rent and had enough for real milk too, not the powdered stuff! And when we finally saved enough money to buy a real bed, I thought we were rich! It was used, but still, it had a real frame and a real mattress with a box spring and we weren't sleeping on that disgusting carpet! As for Bob...he wasn't too sure about things at first, but he got used to it. I never gave him any reason to think it was something more than a job. I always wore my wedding ring when I worked—it seemed to cut down on guys asking me out after my shift, although a few tried anyways. But I never once had any desire to see any of my clients outside of work. Bob was then and still is my guy. The clients knowing you were married helped with the tips too, I think."

"How?"

"I think some guys genuinely felt guilty that a married woman was in such a bad way that she had to give them handjobs to make money and so threw a few extra bucks my way to make themselves feel better. Other guys though, they really got off on having another guy's wife perform that service for 'em. You could always tell who those guys were," Yvette said with a laugh. "They always wanted to know if they were bigger than my husband. I always told them they were, which was a lie as often as not, but I always told Bob the truth. After a while he got to like hearing about my day and didn't seem to have a problem hearing a client's dick was bigger than his, or how much he had in him. He knew he was the one I was coming straight home to after work.

I've always liked trying to figure out what made people tick—guess that's why I went into psychology-so the work really was interesting, I was a young women getting paid to look at and touch naked men. The truckers were definitely not model material, too much time behind the wheel, but the military types from the base were fun to look at, and I always liked checking out their packages no matter who was on the table—the variety was amazing! These huge guys with tiny little peckers, wimpy looking young guys with whoppers...it was fascinating to see the big tough he-men exposed and vulnerable. I always looked at each client as a puzzle I was being paid to solve, seeing what it was going to make him happy and make him want to ask for me again while being as efficient as possible. The women were tougher, though."

"You had women clients?"

"Uh huh. Not many, just three, but they were all regulars. One was the classic bull dyke trucker, hard to tell she was a woman until she took off her clothes, another was the wife of a trucker client of mine—they'd run team up and down the coast and stop at the Dragon, the wife got hers while he watched and then the husband would get his while she watched and then and then they'd be back on the road. And then there was this sweet little white-haired old lady, grandmother-librarian type, who I think preferred to believe this was a legit massage that just always got a little out of hand. I never figured out how she had gotten there in the first place. She never asked for anything, didn't really talk; Betty just gave me a list of what she wanted the first time and it never changed after that. Me with my clothes on, giving her a back and butt massage followed by some breast work; labial and clitoral massage, she'd get flushed in the chest and breathe hard and see you next time. The women were tough though. I didn't know what they liked; I barely knew what I liked—Bob had to convince me I was not committing an unpardonable sin by touching myself. I never did it before I moved in with him because there was zero privacy and I was afraid I'd be struck down by the divine hand and my parents would know why. Thankfully all my clients, even the women, were very patient with me and kept coming back, God knows why.

So anyways, I worked there for a year before Bob insisted I start going to school, too. I worked there all the way through college while Bob graduated, went to work for a local accountant, got fed up with working for someone else and started his own business. Betty was one of his first clients, although I think she was always a little suspicious that we might have been working together to rip her off. He did right by her though, and he eventually had her doing well enough to buy out a competitor the next exit down and open a second location. I finally left when I started student teaching.

So to answer your original question, Bob's business got off the ground, we felt that despite crushing student loans we were making enough to pop out three kids in five years and put a roof over their heads, I went back for my Master's once they were in school, and Bob and I played responsible youth team coach and PTA member in public. We saved our "relaxed attitude" for behind closed doors and vacations without the kids, and kept our private life private, pretty successfully, I like to think. And then the boys were out of the house and we moved up here and couldn't see why we needed to keep it behind closed doors any more. Or curtained windows, although the neighbors seem to disagree."

"Do your children know?"

"What, about my job? No, I haven't told them, but only because I worry more about putting images in their head they can't unthink than me being ashamed or embarrassed. But if any one of them had dared try as stupid a move as Bob and I had, I would have trotted it out as an example of what they might have had to do to make things work. As for our relaxed attitude, well, we we're never ones to tell them that sex was bad or that the human body should be hidden away, but we did try to teach them some common-sense discretion. We didn't go into details about what was going on behind our own closed doors, just to knock and wait until invited in. Now that they're grown up they at least know enough to call before dropping by so we have time to put something on. And that's our story."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, wow. And thank you for listening and not judging. Sympathy I appreciate but it's not necessary; judgement I don't appreciate and really don't need. "

"Oh," Gwen stammered, "it's not my place to judge. I think a lot of us had to make difficult decisions starting out—I know I did!"

Yvette smiled. "Sounds like a story I'd like to hear if you don't mind telling it. Like I said, I love to see what makes interesting people interesting. It's the psychologist in me. But no pressure—if it's too personal, I understand."

Gwen hesitated. If anyone would understand the conditions of her employment under Miss Ritter, it would be this woman. Not too long ago she would have considered her circumstances then every bit as dire as Yvette's, but she would not have spoken a word of it, either. But since then there was the growing realization as to what it had truly been, and that rather than bad it had taken something as good as Tim to change...there was also a feeling that it might be safe to open up to this woman.

"Really, you don't have to tell me Gwen," Yvette said, sensing reluctance. "Maybe you could tell me how you and Tim ended up on the beach that day?"

Bob chose that moment to stick his head around the doorframe. "Steaks are done—" he saw his wife's bare back and grinned. "Should I close the blinds?"

"We're eating on the deck," Yvette countered, her attention still on Gwen, studying her. "Can you get me a clean shirt from the laundry room? I did wash this morning." She waited until Bob's head disappeared from the doorway. "I'd still like to hear your story Gwen, later," she said with a smile. "As little or as much as you'd like to tell me. I get the feeling you've had some very interesting experiences in your life!" She picked up the bowl of zucchini. "And by the way," she said, giving a hint of a smile, "Your husband has a great body and an absolutely beautiful dragon."

"Oh, uh, thank you," Gwen stammered. "Bob's is very nice, too! It certainly does get big."

"The head does at least, especially when properly inspired."

The shirt Bob selected did not leave much to the imagination, the faded yellow tank top thin enough to clearly show the imprint of Yvette's nipples and areolae beneath it, but it was sufficient to sit out in the open in the early evening light. The conversation was lively, not of the day's events even though the topic was not intentionally avoided, but of married life, and children, and businesses, of the many things the two couples had in common. For once it was not an effort for Gwen; she found the McCallums refreshingly honest and funny, and just very nice to be around. It was Tim who finally suggested it was time to go, long after the lake's surface had turned black and the lights of houses on the distant shore twinkled from the line of trees forming a dark border against the night sky above. Gwen reluctantly agreed. "It's a bit of a drive home," she offered as a sort of apology.

"You could stay here tonight," Yvette suggested. "Plenty of guest rooms, and we're told breakfast on the deck as the lake wakes up is very nice."

"I'd love to," Gwen said truthfully, "but my friend—she boards her horse with us—she's staying at the house, and she turned out the horses this afternoon. She was expecting us back this evening, and if I know her she's probably already done the evening chores; I wouldn't want to leave the morning chores to her, too. Besides," she added, feeling the need for something more, "We didn't bring a change of clothes."

"No need for 'em," Bob said with a grin. "We have the blinds, and robes for breakfast out here in the morning. The neighbors haven't complained about that yet."

"We understand," Yvette offered with a knowing smile. "Maybe the next time you come you could plan to stay overnight?"

"I—we-would like that, right Tim? And we'd love to have you to our house, too! It's set back from the road, and we have a pool, so you can wear as much or as little as you'd like!" Gwen blushed and fell silent, feeling the offer sounded a little too eager.

"Sounds like fun," Yvette said, hugging her. "We're so glad you came." The Slut purred at the feel of Bob's semi-hard length beneath his shorts when it was his turn to embrace her.

"You okay to drive?" Gwen asked as Tim turned the truck on to the dirt road leading away from the lakefront. "You had a lot of sun today."

"And a lot of excitement. But yeah, I'm fine. You can take a nap if you want, I'm good."

Gwen said nothing but remained alert in the darkness, wanting to be another set of eyes for Tim. Her mind was still active as they drove, thinking, evaluating, asking what-ifs as it always did when her attention was not required elsewhere.

"Definitely a lot of excitement," Tim heard the soft voice from the gloom of the truck's passenger seat muse. "My mother always warned me about men and their dirty minds. I don't think she ever considered the possibility her daughter would be worse than a man."

"Your mother was right about men having dirty minds," Tim replied. "And I'm sure mine is way worse than yours. I've had years to develop a pretty extensive catalog of nasty thoughts."

"Were those things you said in the woods today some of them?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then I think mine is catching up with yours pretty quickly." She paused. "Can I be honest with you?"

"You always have, as far as I know."

"When you said those things about the guys in the water and what they would be doing later, I got really excited thinking about that. I know it's just pretend, but what if they had really done that...right then, in front of us? Would you have been mad"

Tim laughed. "Wouldn't have blamed 'em. I was a little surprised they chickened out and left when they did—I guess none of 'em wanted to be the first to jack off in front of their buddies. I'm pretty sure Bob wanted to reach down and give himself a few strokes in your honor on the boat."

"Really? You sure it wasn't Yvette who had his attention?"

"I think you both had his attention, but I'm gonna bet he spent more time on you trying to wish your legs open."

"Did you want to do the same for Yvette?"

Tim shifted uneasily in his seat. "Well, she was naked, and uhh, she seems like she's really, I don't know, sexually confident, which I think is attractive as hell in a woman..."

"You like confident women? Then how did you end up with me?"

He laughed. "Because you were one of the most confident women I had ever met and still are. Hell, when I met you I thought you were a little bit arrogant, even. Most of you equestriennes are; I guess it comes from learning how to make a half-ton animal do whatever you want with a tap of your heel in the ribs."

"It's a very gentle tap, they barely feel it," she protested. "Maybe I was confident around horses, but I wasn't around men, and definitely not in bed..."

"You were confident in bed, too—you were just very confident a once a week schedule to accommodate my needs was enough. Wasn't my preference, but I just figured I just an over-the top horn-dog and you weren't. Everything else about your personality was...really attractive, so it was pretty easy to work around the bedroom. And then it seemed like you started treating your sex life like you did your riding, getting some instruction, lots of practice and pushing your comfort levels a little, getting the confidence to try out what's in that dirty mind of yours."

"I like when you try out what's in your mind, too," she replied softly. "Like in the woods this afternoon. Makes me feel like I have a partner in crime."

"Yeah, gotta admit that was pretty wild. Wasn't sure you'd do it. Charlie would have a stroke if he ever found out about that."

"Because he still thinks I'm stuck up cold fish of a wife," Gwen added, finishing the thought.

Tim cleared his throat. "Well...I think, uhh, maybe he's not so sure, anymore..." Tim paused. "My turn to be honest...remember the undies you gave me to hold on to the night of the dinner? In the locker room?" He added needlessly. "And then I hung 'em on the rearview?"

"Yes, where everyone at the gas station saw them," Gwen answered slowly. "Then they got put in the wash and are in my drawer now. Why?" She glanced up at the mirror as if to confirm her story.

"I put 'em in the wash after Charlie got a hold of 'em and stuck his nose in the crotch."

"WHAT!? How...?"

"We went out to look at a job the next day, and I was gonna leave 'em on the mirror because he's always giving me shit about what he's getting and I'm not, so I wanted to show him I'm getting some, too. Stupid guy shit, I know, it's none of his business, but I'm a guy, so...but I chickened out and threw 'em in the glove compartment before I got to his house. He found 'em in there anyways and thought I either they were mine or I had someone on the side, so I told him the truth. He didn't believe me, especially after I told him how I got 'em, but I think he really wants to."

"Oh my God Tim, really?" Gwen cried, Tim thankful and a little surprised her tone was of amused disbelief and not anger. "Did you tell him everything?"

"Not everything, just that we were in the locker room and your underwear was in the way," he said with a smile. "I didn't tell him they were already gone when I got there, and don't worry, I didn't show him the picture you used as bait—that's tucked away safe in my phone when I need a pick-me-up. I just told him enough to drive him nuts wondering."

Her hand began to pet the hardness under his shorts. "You think he would have believed you if you had showed him the picture?"

He hesitated, the sensation in his lap distracting him from the composition of his answer. "He probably still would have called bullshit cuz' you can't see your face in it, but it would've been a hell of a lot of fun watching him drool over it and try to figure out if it was you. I know it sounds bad, but I've always liked it when guys look at you—like those guys on the beach today. It makes me feel like I've got something really special, something that other guys would kill to have, like a nice boat or a car. It's also that someone as pretty as you would be with a guy like me. Sorry, I know that sounds pretty shallow. I don't own you."

"I think I like being owned and shown off sometimes," she admitted with a giggle. "So he really sniffed them?"

"Your undies? Practically inhaled 'em. He really liked your perfume," Tim answered with a laugh, leaving out his friend's earthier evaluation of her musk.

Gwen was quiet for a moment, gently stroking his length. "If you want, you can show him my picture," she finally offered.

"Really? You don't care if he saw you like that?"

"I don't care if you don't..." she lied. The idea excited her, a chance to tease the man who had considered her a cold fish for so long. She knew she had changed so much since that night they had double-dated in his car..."but you can't send it to him, and you can't let him know that I said you could. Maybe let him see it accidentally? But you have to tell me what he says, either good or bad."

"Oh, it'll be good, I can guarantee that...X-rated, but good."

"Then I want to hear that, too."

They were quiet for a moment, the hand on his lap still. "So you never answered my question," Gwen said quietly. "Did you want to show Yvette what you thought of her confidence?"

"Did I want to? I've got a dirty mind, remember? So, yup. But I didn't think that would have gone over too good with either you or her. And even then Bob would have had to have gone first. Guess I'm just as chicken as those guys in the ski boat." He glanced down at the hand in his lap. "I'm gonna be a sticky distracted driver if you keep that up. Maybe I can pull off down one of these roads, we can put a blanket in the back and look up at the stars?"

"Along with a million mosquitos," Gwen laughed, removing her hand. "Maybe we could just stay in here?"

Tim grinned and scanned the roadside ahead. "McKendry's Auto Body," he said, reading from a sign as he pulled off the 2-lane highway into the parking lot of a closed repair shop. "Trick I learned in high school. Nobody's going to notice another truck in a parking lot full of cars." He selected a spot at the end of the row, away from the glow of the single floodlight on the building. "View's not the greatest," he announced, unbuckling his belt and pushing the seat back, "but what I want to see is in here."