Captured

"Most of your clients will be men over 40 and many of them over 50. Is that a problem?"

"No."

"Would you date a woman?"

"Yes."

"Would you..."

"Let me save you some time, okay? As long I feel safe, I don't care who the client is. Money is money. Any other questions?"

"What limits do you have when it comes to fetishes?"

"I don't know that much about them, but I can say unequivocally, no kids, no pets, no shit, and no violence. Is that good enough?"

"Do you have currently have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?"

"No and no. What else?"

"When can you start?"

"Right now."

Autumn Daly stumbled into the world of the high-end escort business after being hit on by an older guy in a very upscale bar. The only reason she'd been there at all was because no matter what she tried, no matter who she tried it with, and no matter what 'it' was, nothing ever made her feel alive. Guys her own age did nothing for her so why not try something new?

Outside of finding that elusive thing called happiness, life was too easy for her. She was both beautiful and brilliant. She'd been her high school's valedictorian, graduated from college Summa Cum Laude, and had made straight A's in law school for two and a half years. In her third year, she was doing just as well academically, but the void in her life grew deeper and deeper leaving her feeling more hollow and more alone than ever before.

It had nothing to do with not being able to find men. There was an endless line of them willing to take a shot at asking her out, and she could have her pick of them. From the high school quarterback to various college jocks, cute geeks, and a few bad boys to a handsome high school teacher and two professors, Autumn never wanted for companionship. She'd gone through countless boyfriends and lovers looking for someone or something to make her feel alive yet the more she searched, the less she found. The truth was—she never felt anything.

Outwardly, she was mostly pleasant and had no trouble in social situations. She could stand up and give a speech or an oral legal brief without the slightest pangs of nervousness. No one who knew her had any idea how she felt inside and she'd never confided in anyone.

This 50-something man who'd asked if he could talk to her told he he'd assumed she was one of Angela's girls before apologizing and getting ready to leave.

"Wait a minute," she said. "Don't go. Please. Tell me about Angela and these girls of hers."

"Sorry, those of us who turn to her for um...female companionship...have a very deep respect for her privacy. I'm afraid I can't tell you more than that."

"Female companionship?" she asked. "So...is this an escort service?"

The man smiled and said, "A young woman as attractive as you and dressed this nicely..." He nodded at the expensive dress and jewelry she was wearing—the only such things she owned. "Could make a lot of money."

"How much money?" Autumn asked almost robotically.

"The standard rate is $2,000 an hour. A girl like you might be able to negotiate something even better."

"I'm not soliciting," she said using the perfect smile she'd been blessed with to her advantage. "But hypothetically, would a man like you be willing to part with that kind of money to spend an hour with a girl like me?"

"That's why I asked to talk with you. Angela often has her girls in places just like this if they're not already booked for the evening. Occasionally, some of us enjoy trying to find the girl she 'plants' right in front of us. Again, I apologize for assuming."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended," Autumn said flatly.

"Flattered. At least that was my intent."

"So would you?" she asked again.

"I'm sorry," the man said. He wasn't bad looking at least for a guy in his 50s. He certainly wasn't attractive to her, but Autumn was wondering how much that mattered since the guys she did find attractive did nothing for her.

"Would you um...pay for my services."

"Of course. In fact...and I'm not soliciting," he said flashing a pleasant smile her way. "I'd be willing to compensate you for your time this evening if you'd care to spend it with me."

"How long and how much?" she asked without emotion.

"Again, hypothetically speaking and making no statement about how we would spend our time together, I'd say $5,000 for two hours would be reasonable."

"And where would we go?" she asked matter of factly.

"I have a suite right here in this hotel. A penthouse, actually."

"Five-thousand dollars for two hours?"

"Yes."

"Lead the way."

After they were done, the man had been so impressed, so...overwhelmed by her set of skills...he agreed to call Angela and set up a meeting. "It just makes things less complicated," he told Autumn after calling Angela. "It eliminates the potential embarrassment of someone like me...or you, showing the other person a badge and well, you understand, I'm sure." He paused then said, "So...do you even want to know my name or tell me yours?

"I do," she said as she rolled over and kissed him. "Understand, that is. As far as your name goes, that's up to you. What I really want to know is do you wanna fuck me again?" He did and Autumn was amazed at how different sex-for-money was. All she had to do was convince the guy she was into him and he was happy. It did nothing for her, but then again, neither did sex with guys she thought she was into. But no surprise there. Autumn was rarely, if ever, happy.

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During their initial meeting, Angela told her she didn't have a booking for her that night, but assured her she would have something the next day and every day thereafter as often as Autumn wanted to work. "You set your own hours," she'd assured her.

"I actually do have one question," Autumn said. "Why should I pay you the 30% fee you charge when I could keep 100% by working on my own?"

"Two reasons," Angela replied. "The first is volume. It'd take you a very long time to build up a customer base by randomly meeting men like the gentleman who called me, and I have that right here at my fingertips," she said tapping her phone. "The second is safety. All of the gentlemen who use my services have been vetted. If you pick someone up on your own, you have no idea who he is or what might happen to you. You're quite literally risking your life." She smiled and said, "That's why."

"Okay. I'll start tomorrow."

"Perfect. You'll be meeting a man who goes by Ken. We never ask whether or not that's the man's real name. He'll tell you should he decide to do so. He's 57, not overweight, has all of his hair, and is very successful. Any other information you'll have to get from...Ken."

"What should I wear?" Autumn asked in a her typical, business-like manner.

"Not what you're wearing now," Angela said looking at her white blouse, black vest, and black pants. "Do you need an advance to buy something a little more...elegant?"

"I'm good," she told her not mentioning the five grand she'd pocketed tax free just two nights earlier.

"Fine. There will be special requests at times depending on the um...needs of the client. I'll make sure to let you know at least a day in advance if you need to look like a princess, Little Red Riding Hood, a secretary, or something in between."

"I can hardly wait," Autumn said dryly.

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"Why is it you spend half as much time studying as I do and yet get better grades?"

Autumn didn't really hear anything her roommate said so rather than answer her she asked her own question. "Do you think I'm a sociopath?"

"What?"

Autumn sat up straight, turned around and looked right at her. "Do you think I could be a sociopath?"

"Where the hell is that coming from?" Her roommate, Daphne Parks, was also a third-year law student and she really did spend a lot more time studying than Autumn and on a good day, that meant getting a 'B' for all her effort.

"They say sociopaths don't feel anything. When I'm with a guy—even a really nice guy who's great looking, I don't feel anything."

"Do you cum?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah, sure. But I don't...feel anything."

"You feel his tongue on your clit or his cock in your pussy, right?"

Autumn turned the chair around and sat back down. "That's not what I mean, Daf."

"Then what do you mean? If you feel the guy inside you and if you get off, what's left to feel?"

"I don't know. Some kind of emotional connection. Fireworks. Love. Isn't that what it's supposed to be about?"

"Yeah. I guess. But then again, who really cares, right? Isn't it just about the moment? About feeling good right then and there? If you cum, that feels good. What more is there?"

"Yeah, maybe." She looked right at Daphne and asked her, "Have you ever felt...like that? You know...been in love or had the fireworks or whatever?"

Daphne was sitting on her bed and threw her head back. "Jesus, I don't know. I guess maybe once. In high school. I had the biggest crush on this guy and when he finally asked me out I felt all giddy inside. I guess you could call it feeling...happy? Like I expected to hear music or something."

"What happened you when went out with him?"

"We did it," Daphne confessed. "But there wasn't any music and there sure as shit weren't any fireworks. It felt good, but that was it."

"So...you didn't fall in love or want to have his baby or..."

"What is wrong with you, Autumn? Where is all this coming from?"

"I'm not really sure," she said quietly. "It just seems like there should be something more to life than study, graduate, succeed, make a lot of money, die."

"Sounds like you need a priest or a guru or maybe a therapist."

"You see! I told you. Maybe I am a sociopath. An uncaring, unfeeling, heartless, lifeless sociopath. A zombie from The Walking Dead or something. I don't know."

"Or maybe you should switch teams," Daphne said out of nowhere.

"You mean become a lesbo?" Autumn said incredulously. "How would that change anything?"

"You can't know until you've tried it," Daphne countered.

"Have you? Tried it? Tried switching teams?" Autumn inquired.

"Yeah. A couple of times. It's...nice." She looked at Autumn and said, "You wanna try it?"

Autumn gave her a look and Daphne said, "With me. You wanna switch hit...with me?"

An hour later Daphne was asleep on Autumn's chest and all she could think of was, "Please, God. Don't let her think I'm in love with her."

Lesbian sex had been as pleasant as the straight kind, but she felt the same kind of emptiness. There not only weren't any fireworks by virtue of two pussies grinding together, there still wasn't any kind of emotional connection of any kind. There was just more of the same. Emptiness.

Autumn came back to her previous thought. This time it was of greater concern than her roommate falling in love with her. What if she really was a sociopath? What if she was incapable of forming this kind of loving bond that people claimed formed the basis of every romance novel or love story ever told?

At some point Autumn finally drifted off to sleep, but just before doing so she wondered if therapy might help. Because she couldn't see how it could hurt, she made a tentative decision to give it a try.

When she woke up, her eyes were stuck shut with sleep, but the smell of coffee was strong and wonderful. Daphne kissed her and asked, "How'd you sleep?" as she handed Autumn a paper cup from a nearby Starbucks. "My treat," she said as she sat next to her on the bed. She brushed Autumn's hair back and as she forced her eyes open one at a time she could tell Daphne wanted to say something.

"What?" Autumn sat up and took a first delicious sip. "What?" she asked again.

"Fireworks. Did you feel them, too?" she asked with a big smile.

"Oh. Oh, God. No. Sorry, Daf," she said in her standard monotone voice. "Nothing. No fireworks, no bells or whistles."

"Did you even enjoy it?"

"Yeah, it was...nice."

"Just nice?"

"Sorry. Just...nice."

"So you're not switching teams?" Daphne was clearly deeply disappointed and Autumn's inability to comfort her reinforced her concern that she might be incapable of making human connections.

"I don't think so," she said. Trying to say something that at least sounded like she cared, Autumn asked her, "Are you okay?"

"I guess," Daphne said trying not to cry. "I fall in love very easily so...don't take it personally, okay?"

"Jesus, Daf. You're in love with me because we fucked? Seriously?"

"I'll get over it," she said. "I always do."

Autumn forced herself out of bed, took a shower, got dressed, and started looking for the name of a therapist. Having no idea who to call, she chose the strongest-sounding name nearest to where she was living just off the university campus. Dr. Clifford Strong. "Okay, Cliff. Work your magic," she said as she dialed the number.

A week later, Autumn had completed three sessions with Dr. Strong as well as going on three 'dates' with older male clients. She felt like it had been a complete waste of time to sit there and talk. Actually, it wasn't talking. She'd say something and Dr. Strong would ask her how that made her feel. When she told him she either didn't know or didn't care, he'd just ask her why she thought she didn't know or care.

Academically, she was still kicking ass and taking names, acing every exam in every class. On the escort front, she had two men tell her they were falling in love with her and one who got off by being um...very direct with her. He was a total control freak and their time together meant dinner and drinks followed by a bedroom session that consisted of him beginning by ordering her to strip as he sat and watched. Then he'd say firmly, "Lay on the bed." He'd watch her as he told her sternly, "Play with yourself." As she got close he'd bark, "STOP!" before undressing and fucking her hard for maybe a minute before blowing his nuts. He'd roll over and go to sleep and she'd get up, shower, and leave. C'est la vie.

She gave up on therapy and focused on law school and building her clientele. She knew she could only accommodate so many men and still attend class and study the minimum amount needed to keep her grades up and that was just fine as she didn't have time to spend the money she'd already made. And that was after buying a bunch of beautiful new dresses, heels, bags, and accessories to impress new clients who'd pay her money for sex so she could buy more clothes and...

She wasn't picky when it came to men—clients, actually. If Angela referred them, she said yes. So when she called one evening telling her she had a new client, Autumn got ready to take down his contact information. "This one's a bit unusual. He's from out of town and a widower."

"Yeah, sure he is. Just like all the other liars," Autumn said flatly even though it wasn't true. Most of them weren't liars. They were married and very upfront about it. It was just her way of dealing with the endless lying on her part about how much she enjoyed being with them, how wonderful they were in bed, and how she wished she could spend more time them. Okay, that last part was true. At two grand an hour, she had no problem spending an evening with someone eating at a five-star restaurant, drinking $500-a-bottle wine, and spending maybe an hour in bed. She'd leave with six to ten grand in her purse and be no worse for wear. Other than the endless emptiness.

"He's legit. He's got a four-year old daughter back at his horse ranch in Wyoming," Angela told her.

"What the hell is he doing in the big city? Did his horse take a wrong turn in Idaho?"

"He's a retired software executive. He gave it up and cashed out when his wife got sick. They moved back to Wyoming where they both grew up. He bought a ranch and bunch of horses and spends his day with his daughter and the animals. For what it's worth, he's handsome as hell and a really nice guy."

"So why is a really handsome, very nice guy with a daughter spending time with escorts?"

"He says he's been alone for two years and he doesn't want the hassle of dating. All he wants is some companionship."

"Right. Companionship. I've heard that one a time or two already. Okay, so when do I meet him?"

"Tonight. Eight o'clock at the Fairmont."

"Room number?" she asked.

"He'll meet you downstairs in the lobby." She heard Angela laugh quietly as she said, "He'll be the guy in the cowboy hat."

Autumn actually laughed. "Okay, sure. And I'll be in my Candy Striper outfit." She'd done that once already and as far as 'dates' went, it had been one of the better ones. Guys with fetishes didn't need to talk a lot or require reassuring that they were handsome or wonderful. They just needed their fetish. Leather freaks, plushy-lovers, whatever. They were easy. She laughed again as she asked, "Is he going to try and put a saddle on me?"

Angela laughed, too, and said, "As long as he pays for it, do you really care?"

Autumn chuckled politely and hung up without answering knowing the answer was 'no.' "A cowboy hat. Well alrighty then, pardner," she said out loud to herself as she sat there and shook her head.

The doorman welcomed her as she walked inside wearing a beautiful white dress with a matching wrap, four-inch heels, a silver necklace, matching earrings and carrying a white clutch. She casually swept the lobby and quickly found the hat. She summed up the guy as she walked over. Late 50s, glasses, maybe 30 pounds overweight. Hardly 'handsome as hell', but so what, right? Autumn took a deep breath, forced her usual smile and said, "Reed?"

The man looked up and said, "May I help you?"

"Hi. I'm Autumn. Are you Reed?"

"I am not," he man told her. "But I'm starting to wish I was." His teeth were crooked and yellowing and Autumn was actually thankful he wasn't her date.

"Oh, I'm very sorry," she said. As she turned to leave, a younger man who was maybe in his mid-30s approached and nodded to her as he held out his hand. Autumn almost reached for it by instinct until she saw it was reaching right passed her.

"I guess you want you hat back now," the older man said handing the younger guy the Stetson.

"Thank you, sir," he said slipping the man a hundred-dollar bill for his help. He sat it squarely on his own head tilting the brim a bit low then tipped it to Autumn and said, "Good evening, ma'am. I'm Reed. Sorry about the little mix-up here."

Autumn was quickly sizing him up, too. He was maybe 37, about 6-feet tall, well built, great smile, even better hair, and a rather athletic body. The cowboy boots and hat in a five-star hotel in liberal Seattle, Washington, almost made her laugh, but his smile actually made her return one and Autumn was pleased to note it wasn't forced or fake.

"I'll let it slide. This time," she told him pleasantly.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said tipping his hat again. "May I buy you a drink?"

"I'd like that. But I'd also like to know what the charade was all about, if you don't mind sharing."

He waited for her to take a seat at the bar before sitting next to her and removing his hat. "I'm very good at reading people, and I wanted to get a read on you before we met."

She ordered vodka on the rocks and he ordered a beer. "And what did your 'read' tell you about me, Reed?" she said enjoying to word play.

"You're very unhappy," he said without being judgmental. "But it's deeper than that." He looked at her tilting his head from right to left before saying, "You look...hollowed out."

Her drink came and she took a sip before saying, "And how did you arrive at that conclusion, Dr. ...?"

"Harding," he said providing his last name. "Because from the time you walked in until you thought you saw your...client...and put on that plastic smile, you had that same look I wore for an entire year after my wife died."