Women of the Night: Miescha & Simon

Simon stared at the number on his cell phone, chastising himself. "I shouldn't do this anymore," he murmured to no one.

The gap between his index finger and the call button was only paper thin as his hovering hand slightly fidgeted. "I can't do it."

Simon flipped his phone closed, proud of his resistance. He continued to get ready for work. It was Monday, which meant he wore his navy blue dress shirt and black pants. After he tied his red tie in the classic Windsor knot, he glanced at his phone. It seemed his soul was yearning to make the phone call to Miescha, the love of his life. His brain, ever his soul's antagonist, reasoned she's only doing her job. "I need to put an end to this."

'I don't even have to tell her. All it takes is not calling. Not dialing those familiar digits. Well, maybe just one last time,' but Simon said that before, too. He grabbed his phone and resigned himself to his fate. Shakily, he hit the call button. It always made him nervous to call her. He'd seen her every Monday for the past eight months. He knew he loved her and it scared him.

Miescha sat curled on the love seat, a sheer slip of candy apple red for a nightgown, and watched with vacant eyes as a garden spider wove its web outside her window. Minutes ticked by, steady seconds clicking in her head, and she pursed her pretty pink lips. Every Monday, he called later and later -- soon, he'd be gone. But what did she expect? A good guy like him wouldn't stick to a whore for long. It was a miracle that he scheduled to see her every week as it was.

Maybe Simon took pity on her. She knew he did: she could see it in his eyes as he kissed the bruises left by rough, inconsiderate clients. No other man touched her like he did, and at twenty-seven, still working the streets... she was getting old to be a call girl any more. Most of her favorite musicians were gone by this age, and her friends were trying to forget their old life, settling down into marriages with abusive husbands that reminded them of former clients. At the big three-oh, she'd have to quit. She would remind the men too much of their dowdy wives, no matter what tricks she played with their bodies. She shivered. 'Call me, Simon, just one more time, indulge your whore.'

Pinching the bridge of her nose between painted nails, Miescha sighed and got up, unable to deal with the melancholy feeling. If he didn't come, she'd find someone else for the spot. Besides, why the fuck was she getting up so early in the God damn morning to fuck? 'Because it's what pays the bills. Because you sell your body.' Angry with herself, she went to the mirror with shaky hands to apply her make up: the thick mascara and eyeliner for her classic cat eyes, a little bit of blush on her cheeks, and gloss on her full lips. In a last minute effort to fill waiting time, she tousled her curls, and was pleased at the sexy result. She felt silly.

When the phone rang, Miescha jumped, but remembered to walk slowly, to pick up on the third ring -- 'don't appear eager, ever' -- and answered in her quiet, genteel voice, "Hello Simon."

"Good morning," Simon shyly responded. "Sorry for calling so late today, I lost track of time," he lied. He had given the same excuse to her the past five weeks. "I know it's only in twenty minutes, but is the usual 6:30 am still okay?" Simon hated lying to her but he didn't want Miescha to know he was debating with himself about not seeing her. Maybe she had an inkling of his inner turmoil as his calls kept coming later and later despite their meeting at the same time every Monday. Any later would disrupt his routine.

Miescha held the phone from her lips momentarily as she breathed in relief, but returned quickly to keep the pause nearly inconspicuous. She tried to sound nonchalant about it when she spoke again, "If you can still make it, you're always welcome, doll."

"I assume the same motel, what room number?" The first month Simon had to wait until he arrived at the motel and then call again for the room number. Since then, Miescha gave him the room number right away.

"306, love. And don't be late. I have a surprise for you," she hinted with a coy, playful tone.

"Really?" Simon was briefly stunned by Miescha's admission before continuing in his usual inauspicious voice. "Okay, I'll be there shortly."

Standing at the appointed door, Simon nervously looked in each direction. He always feared the police might be nearby and suspect what was going on. As he knocked on the door, he remembered every encounter with her. The first time he walked into the motel room, a dozen stargazers in hand, her beauty amazed him. Miescha was reminiscent to a fifties pin-up girl with the generously curvy body, husky voice always an intimate whisper in his ear, and bedroom eyes that held his like there was no one else in the whole world that mattered, a true vision to behold. But what truly enchanted him was her soft demeanor. She somehow knew what he needed that day, and it wasn't sex. They just lay down in the nude with her holding him.

Every meeting after, Simon brought her various gifts. Today it was an expensive bottle of her favorite fragrance, something he noted was on her nightstand during a previous engagement. In return he was treated with kids' gloves. Miescha had sex with him, of course, but it wasn't rough. It was gentle and tender. What really made Simon feel special, happened on his birthday. He let it slip to Miescha the week before that his own annual personal holiday was the following week. When he arrived, she gave him a red tie. It replaced his black one and he wore it every day in remembrance. No one had ever given him a gift other than his parents. He often wondered why she randomly had one. Was it left by another one of her clients? He dismissed that thought immediately, preferring to believe she just cared. Simon fell head over heels for Miescha that day. If only things were different. If only he met her at work or a bar or anywhere else other than this. The door opened and he suddenly felt dry in the mouth.

Miescha's eyes twinkled with the smile that curved her lips at the sight of the silk tie she'd given him on his birthday, remembering the special shopping trip she'd taken to Dayson's and the way she'd debated on the color for nearly an hour, bewildered by the outstanding, snobbish citizens surrounding her. She held out her hand for his, murmuring for him to come inside. But as she noticed the standoffish way he held himself, the nervous energy that caused him to twitch, her smile faltered. Miescha leaned up to kiss his cheek, her arms slipping up around his neck, and she pressed her warm body against his.

"You're cold," she mumbled against his neck, "Let me warm you up. The gifts can wait. I want you, Simon."

And when Miescha said it to him, it meant something. With other clients, she whispered about how hot they made her and how much she wanted them inside her... but the fumbling sex did nothing for her, except pay her rent and put food in her mouth. When his hesitant, sweet touching came along, she couldn't help it. She broke the golden rule: 'don't fall in love.'

Simon kissed Miescha. As always, it was tentative but with passion. The combination gave a tender quality to the exchange and it portrayed his emotions for the beauty in front of him. His hands went to her waist and began to rub in a slight up and down movement at her negligée, not trying to remove it, just captivated at touching her. No matter how many times he saw her, he never was presumptuous that sex was a given. It was the closeness for the one he wanted, desired, needed, loved that spurred him to be in her presence.

Miescha's own kiss was soft in its hunger, and as she pressed him back with a light touch, her hands found his buttons. Just as his hands skimmed the lace covering her bottom, the shirt was tugged off and the kiss broken as they reached the edge of the bed, her smile disarming his tension. "Take off your pants, Simon."

Simon fumbled with his belt as he watched Miescha hang up his shirt. He was always grateful that she was so thoughtful of him to do so. Just another action of hers that fueled his fantasy of what he wished they could be. The distraction proved too great and his foot got caught in his pant leg. With a gasp, he landed on the bed. He tried to be suave about what transpired a mere moment ago by removing the irritating attire along with his underwear in a smooth manner, all the while berating himself for his clumsiness. He stood quickly and then tentatively walked the short distance to Miescha's enticing form by the closet.

Miescha relished the way his fingertips tickled her sensitive skin as the silk was gently discarded, but before he could take off her sexy underwear, she took his hand. Firmly, she pressed his fingers against the arousing package before him, and the damp material between her thighs. "Feel that, love?" she whispered softy in his ear, "That's me, wet for you already, just in anticipation."

Simon stood in awe, mouth slightly agape at Miescha's admission. He loved that about the woman who stood before him. Her ability to make him feel like the man that she was destined to be with was why he kept coming back every week, why he loved her.

Miescha smiled at her shy lover -- client -- and slipped his hands back to the lace, "Take them off."

Simon knelt, and with that, he pulled the satin garment down slowly. He treasured the sight of Miescha's body. He let her panties fall to the floor and immediately began placing tender kisses on her thighs. He assumed most clients of hers wouldn't bother with trying to please her, wanting nothing more than their own release.

Simon wanted to be different. He wanted to be able to convey all those feelings Miescha instilled in him and give them back to her tenfold. He made his way up, alternating between each leg before coming to his destination. He flicked his tongue and it barely punctured her slit. He followed that by lightly expelling a puff of air on her pussy. He was teasing her -- again, trying to prove he was different from anyone she has been with. He dove in, slicing through her folds with his tongue. He licked all around, a soft exploration of her inner depths.

Simon wondered how long he had today. He was conscious of each second as Miescha never let him be too long to manipulate her body. Simon moved one hand up to her mons, his fingers massaged the delicate fiber of her auburn curls while allowing his thumb to wander down to her clit. With an easy counterclockwise stroke, he gently rubbed her precious pearl.

Miescha moaned and tugged Simon's face back up for another kiss, not wanting him to become distracted with her body when his own was the focus; she tasted herself on his lips -- the slightly tangy, slightly sweet, all feminine taste. She pressed on his chest lightly until he fell back onto the bed, and smiled at his surprise. Leaning over, Miescha opened her bedside drawer and found a blindfold. She waved it in front of him as she straddled his hips. "Do you mind, darling?"

"Not at all," Simon answered with a curious, comfortable grin.

"Lift your head up, babe." As he did so, Miescha wrapped the silky tie around his head, and gave him a small kiss as she leaned over again to reach into her drawer once more. "I hope you're not allergic," she murmured in his ear. "I know, it smells a little girly, because it's mine, but I don't want to use the oils on you before you go off to work. But you're so tense... you really need it."

"If it is a scent of yours, I could never mind," Simon's reply was barely above a whisper as the blindfold had his nerves on sensory overload at the anticipation for whatever Miescha was preparing to do.

The sweet scent of vanilla filled the air as Miescha poured a generous amount into her palm, and rubbed it in before she trailed her fingers down his arm. She was firm and diligent, thorough in her exploration of his body. His arms led to his broad shoulders, and after loosening those, she felt his chest and flat stomach. Her lips followed her petite fingers' trail, and with each soft kiss, she felt his cock stir beneath her.

"I want to fuck you. You're driving me crazy, and you're just fucking laying there," Miescha admitted in a casual, offhand sort of way as she touched his cock finally. His moan made her smile. "But I don't know, darling. You're still so fucking tense. Everything's so hard," she giggled, a fingertip tickling along the underside with a lazy interest. "What do you think? Do you think I can have your cock or should I keep giving you the massage of a lifetime?" Her tone was playful and light as she pumped his length while watching him.

Simon wanted to yell,'Fuck, I need you now!' But he was going to say,'Whatever you would like works for me.' What actually escaped his lips was a loud groan as his hips began to buck in Miescha's hands.

"Oh, all right," Miescha sighed," I suppose..." For the third and final time of the night, she slipped her hand in her drawer, this time for a condom. "They say depriving one sense only exaggerates the others, and in sex, it increases the pleasure... but I want you to watch me, babe." Her lips found his for another kiss as she slipped the latex over his hard cock, and the silk from his eyes.

Miescha smiled at Simon as she took him deep within her, but soon, the smile was gone, replaced by a continuous moan. "Oh, fuck me, Simon. Oh God, your cock is so fucking hot."

Simon's shyness evaporated and transformed into need and here was the woman he loved trying to fulfill it. He put his hands on her hips and thrust into Miescha, matching her speed as she slammed down on him. Their moans echoed and the tiny room shook from where the bedframe was slapping against the already cracked drywall.

Miescha leaned down and put her hands on the bed for support, and her breasts fell before Simon. His hungry mouth latched onto the nipple as a newborn would and began rolling the nub with his tongue. His arms enveloped her body and the loving contact was more than enough to send Miescha over the brink. With one final infiltration of her pussy, Simon buried himself and joined his love in ecstasy.

Simon lay on the bed, Miescha secured in his arms. After eight months, he was still surprised she let him do this. For Simon, it was never about sex. It was always the intimacy afterword that he craved. Miescha let him love her. At this point, he always expected her to kick him out. She had her money and he had his service. And in the service industry, time is money. In the silence, he noticed the cheap bedside digital clock showing a bright red 7:30. He had his hour of fantasy, of wishing he was just staying in bed late with his wife before rushing to work, but now reality set in, no wife and he still had to get to work. He gazed once again at the beauty wrapped tightly in his arms. He hated this part, as he never knew what to say. How to truly express in words his gratitude without Miescha laughing at him because she deduced he fell in love with her while she was just doing her job?

"You were phenomenal, as usual." It's not what Simon wanted to say. He desperately wanted to tell Miescha you are phenomenal, but fear of ridicule won out. Amazing how one little word, syllable even, could make such a difference in a sentence. Simon's lips softly kissed the back of Miescha's auburn locks followed by a brief graze over an all too familiar sight, a fresh bruise on his love's collarbone. With a shake of his head, he held back a tear and removed himself from the warm entanglement their bodies created. He got dressed and then grabbed the small elegant bag from Array of Aroma's and set it delicately on the flimsy wooden table that tilted to one side at the added weight. He stared affectionately for a succinct moment before putting a hand to her cheek and affording her a tender smile. "I have to leave now. I hope you like it."

Blushing at the intimacy of his soft, lingering touch and sweet gaze, Miescha slipped her hand into the pretty silver bag. His choice was perfect, as always, despite her never mentioning for a moment anything so personal as her perfume preferences. With careful fingers, she folded the bag and began to slide it into her bedside drawer, but at the sight of the toys her other clients preferred, she felt nauseous. She felt like scum to put anything so lovely with the bullshit of her life. Leaning over, the sheet slipping from her bare breasts, she slid it beneath the bed to keep safe. 'Grab onto anything beautiful in this life and never let it go -- Simon, stay, just this once, let's spend the day together.'

Simon turned to leave but was halted by a gentle hand being placed on his arm and her quiet murmur, "Wait, Simon."

Gathering her emotions, she tried to appear as though she wasn't about to cry, and managed a saucy smile, a coy tone as she presented a simple, red bag, "I told you I had a surprise for you and now you're running off before I can give it to you. Tsk, tsk, naughty Simon."

With a playful grin she wasn't feeling, she leaned over to kiss him again, and pressed the bag into his hands, but her nervousness led to halted rambling afterwards, "It's not... I don't know if you'll like it... but it's my personal favorite. If you want... if you want, I have the receipt and you can just pick something else out..." With a press of her fingers to her lips, she found silence again.

Simon pulled out the book, "Just Kids" by Patti Smith, from the gift bag. His eyes darted between Miescha and the gift several times. Twice, his mouth opened to speak but closed before words could come out. Finally, Simon's eyelids closed and he took a deep breath. Reopening his eyes, he saw an anxious Miescha, her lip taken between her pearly teeth, fingers twisted in the sheets across her lap unconsciously, in anticipation of his delayed reaction. He gave a smile full of comfort and in a sincere but barely audible voice responded, "Thank you. It's wonderful."

Simon clutched the book during the entire ten minute drive he had for work. Why did Miescha give him a gift? When she gave him something for his birthday, he understood. A forgotten tie that she had no use for in which she gave away to one of her regular clients. But this was planned. She spent her hard earned money that she needed for basic necessities on him. Did she feel for him the same as he did for her? No. She probably realized his fretfulness about seeing her and didn't want to risk losing her $200 a week. Why can't he just break it off? With a sigh, he exited his silver Acura and entered the financial world of Arden Acquisitions.

Simon worked furiously throughout the morning and into the late afternoon. He was desperate for clarity over what he called the "Miescha dilemma" and prayed throwing himself at the numbers of a land site his firm was considering investing in would help distract his mind from dwelling on it too much and therefore, keep him sane. It worked for sporadic periods at a time. His mind just kept going back to her.

Simon was interrupted by his intercom and the voice of his secretary. "Mr. Harper, Mr. Banks has requested to see you in his office."

"Did he mention why, Janine?" Simon was shocked. He was never called to see a member of senior management. He only ever dealt with his direct supervisor, Mrs. Wilkins, and she was tough as nails. He couldn't imagine what Mr. Banks would be like.

"No, sir. His secretary only said you were to report to his office immediately."

"Thanks Janine."

Simon rode the elevator up the five floors to the senior management's offices. The typical classical music playing did nothing to calm his nerves. When the door opened, he was greeted by a stereotypical blonde bombshell.

"You can go right in Mr. Harper. Mr. Banks is expecting you."