Out of Peoria Ch. 07

Out of Peoria: A Story of Innocence lost.

Chapter 7: Life as a “Company Courtesan”.

The strange thing about my initiation to life as a company courtesan was that for the first two days it was as though I really was being installed as a head of department in a major investment company! Jim Janacek turned out to be a very nice guy. Gay he may have been, you would not know one way of the other from his appearance or his manner. What you did know was that he was polite, discreet and supportive without the slightest hint that the role reversal he was required to accept as a result of ‘sexual discrimination’ was anything other than a normal adjustment to normal corporate life. “He is appropriately remunerated!” Cecil had said. I presumed he was. But still, it would have been quite normal for him to find some way of digging in the knife. Jim never did. If he had such feelings he kept them completely hidden. Jim was the closest thing you could ever imagine to being a ‘company man’. He knew his job, he performed it to perfection, and if it irked him that his nominal position was lower than his actual one, not a single hint of this showed, not once in my entire tenure as his nominal ‘boss’.

Jim assembled the staff, two women and three men, none of whom made any obvious impression, and introduced me as the new head of department. They too, displayed no hint of any disquiet that an outsider, another young and nubile blonde?, was brought in to ‘rule’, while they and Jim remained in their slots, loyal employees.

“Please greet Ms Sandersen,” Jim said to the assembled staff, as though with a fanfare. “Our new guide and protector!” This he said without the faintest trace of irony. Part of my job, he was reminding them, was to ensure they kept theirs, no small matter in times when people were being let go right, left and center all over the country. It was not in their interests to inquire too closely exactly what my role in securing their jobs really was and it was definitely none of their business even to wonder why every new boss the Department acquired turned out to be a comely woman! Naively, perhaps, I assumed they all knew, finding out only later how mistaken I was.

Nevertheless, I went round the circle shaking hands, looking each person firmly in the eye.

“Do please call me Susan,” I said. “I’m sure we will get on very well.”

“Who was in this job before me?”, I had asked Jim previously.

“Ms Sylverton,” he replied immediately. “A most charming and knowledgeable lady --- quite like yourself, in fact.”

“And can you tell me why she left?”, I had asked.

“Ah, there I really cannot say. I have no idea. She was very successful. Everybody liked her. Perhaps another opportunity arose…?”

There we left it and from that moment on there was no further mention at all of Ms Sylverton.

Jim shepherded me through my first few days with the company with grace, a consummate professional. Together, we chose new décor for my office. We went for an uncluttered ‘look and feel’ with impressionist paintings (reproductions of course) placed strategically about the walls. I confessed myself entirely satisfied with Ms Sylverton’s choice of furniture. The desk was of Danish teak, light and elegant. The chair, a director’s chair, was comfortable and appropriate, without being ostentatious. I was entitled to a company car and chose from the pool a BMW with shaded windows and a sun roof, much like Jane’s, I reflected --- elegant and powerful, but nothing that would stand out as unusual in LA traffic.

I was also entitled to a company apartment, Jim said, hinting, though again, with the greatest of discretion, that this was not something in which I had a choice. He drove me there, a good address, and showed me around.

“Ms Sylverton was very happy here, I believe,” he said. “She liked the place exactly as it is.”

I took the hint, noting that the design and layout was discrete, but perfectly suited for romantic evening a deux! “It’s lovely Jim,” I said, “I couldn’t imagine how one could improve on it.”

I was sure you’d think so,” Jim said, again without a trace of sarcasm.

I thought to myself, not only on this, but on many other occasions, that in staffing a department, you could not improve on Jim. He performed his function to perfection. His job was to manage discretely the day to day running of the Department while supporting me, even more discretely, in every respect. Nothing more, nothing less. He was my right-hand man, performing effortlessly the many tasks that this entailed, not the least of them being providing me with the information necessary to appear to be running the department. Over time he came to be my confidante. My true role was never admitted openly between us, but we both knew that we both knew! And it did not matter.

Jim reminded me of a butler of the old school, who served his dumb-ass master faithfully and professionally, without giving the slightest hint that even could conceive of the possibility that his master was a dumb-ass! When I got to know him better and had established that he was 110% trustworthy, I asked him about this, obliquely.

“Well, my dear,” he replied, equally obliquely, “special accounts require special methods. Now if only the fat-cat clients were gay….!”

On my first evening, I returned to the commune to collect my things, such as they were. Really, of course, I wanted to thank Jane for being my benefactor and also to elicit her help in acquiring a wardrobe! In the commune I had gone around for the most part naked, or at most in a terry-cloth robe like the one Jane wore. When I went out, it was in cut-off jeans and a halter top. These were all the clothes I possessed.

Jane was ecstatic. “So you made it after all,” she said. “See, I was right. You are tailor-made for the role.”

I expressed my thanks and assured Jane that as soon as the bonuses started coming in, the commune bank account would not be the worse for it.

“My dear, I am delighted that you succeeded,” Jane said, “And any contribution you wish to make will be gratefully received and put to good use. But first you need a bit more help….”

Jane knew all the right fashion stores and by the end of the evening I had the kernel of a wardrobe, something for every occasion. Jane even allowed me my high-heel strap-ons.

“But only wear them when you know it is the right time to look really sexy,” she admonished. “This will be soon enough!”

On day two, Jim went through some of the ‘special accounts’ with me.

“Now Waterstone, that’s looking a bit jaded. Possibly need a bit of work to get them focused again. Smitherford, on the other hand is looking very good.”

One by one, we went through the list of accounts, with Jim giving me briefings on where they stood, what their internal politics were, who the influential people were. As he went through the list, he would quite often say, dryly,

“I imagine Mr Witherspoon will be having some discussions with you as regards these people.”

My relationship with Jim was unique in that, although we both knew what my role was in ‘helping’ build up the special accounts, to bolster the ones that were withering and to inch into a gallop the ones that were currently trotting, this was never at any stage openly acknowledged. Jim’s briefings always focussed on who the influential people were, but also on the advantages that these people would gain from an enhanced relationship with Witherspoon investments. He fed me with the information I would need to provide the relevant people with rationalizations for why they should maintain and enhance the business they did with Witherspoon, without at any time even faintly suggesting that these were rationalizations.

By day two I was no longer apprehensive about ‘my role’, I was eager to begin! I read through everything Jim set in front of me with alacrity, absorbed some of it, compiled lists of questions, which Jim answered, giving no hint as to whether he thought the question was naïve; the consummate professional providing me with the means to do my job. When would the action start, I kept wondering!

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I didn’t wonder for long. On day three came a call from The Ogre – would I be ‘available’ for an 11am meeting. After a suitable pause, during which I contemplated Renoir’s “Nudes Bathing”, I replied that I could in fact clear my calendar for that time.

And so, taking a deep breath, I gathered together the material Jim prepared for me and headed for the elevator. It was crunch time. Could I deliver?

Cecil greeted me with his usual charm and elegance.

“I’m so glad you were available, Ms Sandersen, this could be quite an interesting meeting.”

And therewith he shepherded me into the Board Room where three bright faces were already assembled around the gleaming oak table.

“Gentleman,” Cecil said, “this is Ms Sandersen, our new Head of Special Accounts. She is here to help me provide you with up-to-the-minute technical information as to your investments, their prospects and the possibilities there may be for improving your portfolio.”

I arranged my papers on the table, took a deep breath, said,

“Good morning, gentleman,” in as neutral tone as I could manage, and tried to look knowledgeable. This really was crunch time.

The subsequent discussion went about twenty feet above my head. Every so often, Cecil would turn to me, as if seeking support for an assertion, and his talent was such that on every occasion he provided me with enough information to either not support, or shake my head, or just raise an eyebrow as if to say, “You could do this, or you could not.” He was very good at this.

After a while, I became conscious of the notelet that Cecil passed to me under the table, beneath the view of our guests, who seemed to be becoming increasingly impatient. As Cecil was saying,

“Well, of course, I cannot but agree with you, but the market is just not cooperating at this point in time --- however…..”

The notelet said “green tie.”

Now as is only natural when men meet a new woman, all three of our guests around the table had been eyeing me, and looking for a response. None of them, of course, had received one. I was the neutral professional, an adviser to Cecil, who was conducting the negotiations. But now, I knew what to do and ‘green tie’ began to receive the odd return glance. Neutral, of course, but designed to indicate that of the three, he was the chosen one. The influence of this on the group dynamics was immediately noticeable and quite profound. Whereas ‘green tie’ had been the most vociferous critic (of, presumably, Witherspoon’s performance), his manner began to change. His colleagues, of course, had no notion at all why this was, but Cecil was quick to move in. As time evolved to the point where ‘green tie’ was getting something akin to a ‘green light’, the entire atmosphere in the room had become much more collegial. This was a joint problem that had to be worked on, Cecil said, and green tie was the first to agree.

Lunch was suggested, and it was not entirely a surprise to me that I was seated next to ‘green tie’. Nor was it surprising that during lunch, a card was passed to me under the table. A standard business card, but on the reverse had been scribbled the hotel, room number and the time. My response was entirely by eye contact. It was a mutual agreement and I am quite sure that no-one in the circle noticed, save the only person who was supposed to get the message -- and of course, Cecil!

The hotel was of the utmost luxury. I navigated the lobby, found the elevator and knocked on the door firmly, feeling nervous, but in control. The door opened silently and I entered noiselessly.

“Good evening.” The green tie was gone and he was dressed casually in slacks and open-necked shirt. “I was sure you would come.”

“You were right,” I replied. “Here I am!” This was said with a hint of little girl ‘but I know not why’. Nothing would come easy.

“Would you like a drink?” green tie asked?

I would estimate he was mid-forties and married with two children. Thickening about the waist, as many men of that age do, he was not unpresentable. I did not desire him in the slightest, but he also was not abhorrent to me.

“Thank you. A whiskey sour, if this is possible.”

The mini-bar delivered both and soon we were sitting side by side on the sofa sipping on our drinks. Green tie had also chosen a whiskey sour.”

“You are very beautiful,” he said, eyeing me greedily.

“Thank you,” I replied, eyeing him, but otherwise maintaining distance.

There was a silence as we sipped our drinks.

“I should introduce myself. Barry is the name.”

“And I’m Susan,” I said. He seemed almost to want to shake hands, but I held back and eyed him with an amused expression on my face.

“Quite formal!” I said.

He sighed, “Sorry about that,” he said. “I’m just not much good at this.”

“Not much good at what?” I asked coquettishly.

“Hell, you know!” was his reply.

So I decided to take the lead. We were not there to exchange pleasantries, after all. I moved close to him on the sofa and raised my hand to his cheek. I placed his free hand on my thigh.

“Make love to me,” I distinctly heard myself saying.

Talk about an amateur! I had to do practically everything. Even when I allowed my skirt to rise up to reveal to him my vulva, I still had to direct his hand to it. And I had to unbutton his trousers to get out his cock. And I had to suck on it for ever to get it hard, and even then it kept on collapsing before I could get on top of him.

“Hell, Susan, I don’t know about this,” green tie said eventually.

“My dear, “ I replied, stroking his cheek again. “Forget everything. Think only of your desire for me. You do desire me, don’t you?”

“Oh Yes!” said green tie hastily. “God, I’ve never desired anything so much in my life.”

“Then give yourself to it,” I said. “And relax.”

And so saying, I stepped back from the couch and stripped for him. Slowly, very slowly. Then I returned to couch at the opposite end from where he was sitting, eyes like saucers, and I opened my legs wide. I heard myself say,

“I want you to make me come!”

Clumsily, green tie leaned forward and started to lick my cunt. He had no idea at all how to do this, but he did his best. And I did my best, helping him by stimulating my clitoris so that gradually my cunt juices started to flow.

I moved so I could grab his cock and stimulate him, and slowly but surely he gained an erection. I pumped him harder and harder until his erection was solid.

“Oh God!” I said, letting go suddenly, “fuck me, please. Please fuck me.”

And wonders of wonders he succeeded in getting it in me. Hovering above me on the couch, he pumped away like a dervish and within twenty strokes he came in pints. As he came I simulated an orgasm as well as I could. You can imagine what I was thinking!

Later, somewhat recovered, he said “You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever been with.”

I replied. “That’s wonderful to hear. I’m truly flattered”

“I mean it. I feel like a million dollars!”

“Me too!” I lied.

As I drove home, two thoughts occurred to me. The first was, ‘Hell if they are all as easy as that’. The second was, ‘I’m not sure I want to do that again!’

And there you have in a nutshell the “Courtesan’s dilemma”. You get paid well, but you do not get to choose who you fuck.

Green tie wanted to set up another ‘date’ immediately. “We could make it tomorrow. I don’t have to leave until the afternoon.’”

I demurred. “One step at a time, Barry” I said. “You have me confused. We have to take this slowly.”

I don’t know how the jackass interpreted this, but to me it meant that I had to consult Cecil to see whether I had to go through this once again. Green-tie wanted my number and I gave him my business number, knowing that this led through Jim. Thank God for Jim. Whatever would I have done without him.

At home in my new quarters I immediately threw off my clothes and entered the shower. The hot streams of water soothed me, and I began to relax. But as I slipped between the sheets and tried to sleep, I kept on wondering what I had got myself into. Was it my fate to seduce ‘green ties’? If so, I remember thinking, possibly poverty is preferable!

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I did have to see Green tie again, in fact I saw him many times more. It seemed he had fallen for me and he thought I had fallen for him. How blind some men can be. Fortunately he lived far away, was married and kept on a short leash. He called incessantly and I occasionally took a call and listened patiently to his latest plans to ‘get out of town’ for a clandestine tryst. Whenever a trip was pending I received an instant invitation to join him. Each one I discussed with Cecil, and I wonder if that jackass ever figured out the correlation between my acceptance and a recent enhancement of his companies’ holding with Witherspoon. Green tie always greeted me at the airport with an eager hug and a kiss and whisked me off immediately to his hotel room for sex, as though I had been itching for him in the months of our parting, as he had obviously been itching for me.

This turned out to be a reasonably familiar pattern, so that after six months on the job I found myself jetting around the country, to such desirable places as Cincinatti, Cleveland, Akron, though also sometimes to New York, New Orleans and one memorable trip to Hawai. Not all my dates were as naïve as green tie, fortunately, and even he improved as a companion and sex partner after he had been taken through his paces a few times. So my experiences were mixed. Some were hard work, but some genuinely pleasant.

Gradually I adjusted to the realities of my new life, reflecting that nothing came from nothing, and that on balance this was, after all, a lot better than poverty!