Cocotte: A Sex Worker Fantasy

Everyone engaged in sex is over eighteen. No real sex but a lot of talk about sex. Some masturbation and exhibition. All fiction. Considering recent recriminalization of human trafficking this story is out of step with the times.

Cocotte: a sex worker fantasy

I remembered Bonita Moreno. She still had incredibly long black hair. It was woven into a rope and twisted up on itself so that it only fell to her midback. I bet when she undid it, her hair would still fall far past her butt, just like it did in school. She had black eyes that looked kind of scary when she was serious. They looked scary now.

"Miss. Sturm, thank you for meeting me." She was wearing a nice-looking woman's suit like she had done on days when she had student council. It was probably really expensive. The favorite one at school had a matching vest and multiple bottoms (over the knee skirt, mid-calf skirt and pants.) This one was navy blue with pin stripes and had those shorts that looked like a skirt, 'skorts'. She wore a semi-tailored shirt with it and a red power tie like President Trump. No vest today, just the suit jacket. Does it need to be said she has perfect perky breasts and a lean athletic body?

I stood up from my meal to shake her hand. It was a firm grip, brief without being abrupt. I wondered if she studied it like my Chinese friend did.

"Call me Gail." I insisted, "After all we are old schoolmates."

"Please sit" she waved me back to my chair with a smile. "I am surprised you remember me." She said as she settled in. "You can call me Bonita." She said with generosity. Her friends and family called her Peaches. They have since she was a little kid.

She was already giving the waitress her order. She did not need to look at a menu and the staff was already fawning over her. She must be a big tipper. I started chipping away at my salmon and grilled vegies again. The staff had ignored me for five minutes before they grudgingly took my order. I don't really like to go out to eat, when I do it's usually somewhere they put your food on a tray and give you a paper napkin. Places like this with cloth tablecloths and cloth napkins are not my thing.

Bonita lifted her glass like she was going to propose a toast. Her gold graduation ring was prominently displayed on her right hand. With the current price of gold someone had spent a lot of money to show off being a high school graduate. Very strange when you think that she and all of her friends are headed to college.

"I did not see you at graduation." She said with that brilliant smile. Her smile was incredible because she had a prefect tan.

I remember I told that to Jen once in the locker room after seeing Bonita in the shower. "She has a perfect tan." "Dummy, that's her skin color." After school Jen cornered me when I was by myself and told me not to look at girls in the shower. "It will cause complications and your life is already complicated enough."

"Complications?" I asked.

"Trouble!" Jen had answered.

I am tripping down memory lane. Bonita looks like she is really waiting for an answer to the graduation thing. I took a sip of water to wet my whistle as gramma would put it.

"I had my GED, so I did not see the point of coming back to walk." How long will she take to get to her point? "I don't think anyone missed me."

"Now I am sure that's not true. Your friends would have loved to cheer for you." Again, that smile.

My friends might have cheered. Others would probably have yelled stuff too. In my mind it was a wash. "They might have liked to see me at the after party." I said and we both knew it was true.

I stopped pushing stuff around on my plate. There was nothing left on it that I wanted to eat. I set it to the side. Hopefully it would give her the hint to get to the point.

"I suppose you wonder why I asked to meet you." Bonita finally got there.

"You want to ask me about my job." I was tired of this.

"That's very perceptive of you." Bonita looked genuinely surprised. Man! Just how stupid did people think I am? Well to be fair, I hated school, refused to study, hated sports and clubs and could not wait to be free. To be quite honest I was kind of dumb but I was not a complete idiot.

"Will there be anything else?" The annoying waitress was back doing a hand clear.

"Yes. I would like a glass of water without the lemon please." I think she wanted a 'no' or a desert order, not actual work. "And take this away please." Waving my hand at the barely touched glass that someone had dropped a twist of lemon in.

"Bonita, you know all the who's who in school. If you are looking me up, you want to know about my job. My only question is whether it's a project for college or you thinking about making money. Either way I will answer your questions. I will even write you a recommendation if you want." I told her. "But before we get started bring out your recorder." Bonita was always the smartest person in class and she had the highest grades of everyone if you let her have her tools. She wanted to record all the lectures and some teachers refused. She had some kind of learning defect but she was smart. Allow her to record and she was a genius, refuse and she was just a run of the mill A student. The ones who refused did not see the point.

She wasted no time bringing out a high-quality camera with some kind of special mike. Sheesh! I hate having my picture taken. Well, there is no helping it. It's my life now.

"I'm Bonita Moreno and I am talking to Gail Sturm." She recited. I felt like I was in some kind of police drama. "Is it alright to record this?"

"Yes Bonita, it's fine." I said with a weary voice.

"And is it alright to use these images and recordings?" Bonita.

OK I had not thought about it. There was an uncomfortable time while I thought it over. Should I ask for edit rights? Shoot, if I am not willing to be quoted or whatever, why bother to do the interview? "Yes, sure, you can use the stuff for whatever you want."

She was saying something to the camera about me agreeing to everything and I was thinking about getting up and leaving. I came here didn't I. Do you really have to make it harder to do?

I took a sip of water. A sight taste of lemon. I sniffed the rim. Definite citrus smell. My waitress had probably pulled the lemon off a prepped glass of tap water thinking that would be good enough. Whoever had set it up was diligent enough to run the lemon around the rim. This is an awful pricy restaurant to be just good enough.

"So can you tell me what you do for a living?" Bonita asked.

"Well, my health certificate says I am a sex worker. That's pretty generic though." Was what I said.

"Why do you say that?" did Bonita think she was the six o'clock news?

"Sex worker covers a broad range. Actors in X videos, exotic dancers and models. Probably the most accurate term would be prostitute. But I am not fond of that word. No, that's not really true. You can call me a slut or a prostitute if you do not throw the word like an insult. If given a choice I would like to be called a cocotte. I can't imagine anyone throwing that word like a weapon." I laughed. "You cocotte you!" I thought for a minute. "Gigolo is not bad either but the guys seem to have that sewn up."

"So why did you become a cocotte?" Bonita asked.

"I like sex, and since it's legal now, I thought, how about making a living this way." I told her.

"Can you make a good living as a prostitute?" she asked.

"I am full time, so I can. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs, so sex is pretty much my only source of fun. I am available eight hours a day, five days a week, Monday through Friday, eight to five." I told her. I am watching her face, it's better than looking at the camera. Hopefully I will forget the camera is there. By now you would think it would be normal.

"You mean nine to five." She corrected me.

I thought about what it would feel like to have this interview show up at my five-year reunion. It sounds like a kinky story line. Bonita never bullied anyone, but she did push to stop bullies. Beyond that I barely went to enough school to get through my GED. They would practically have to bring me at gunpoint for me to show up to a reunion.

"You smiled; did I say something funny?" she asked politely.

"No, I just had a brain fart." I told her, "Eight to five is eight hours, the state insists that I get an hour for lunch, and my boss is afraid of bean counters. An hour lunch break and two fifteen-minute breaks. But I don't clock out for the short breaks."

I cannot help but wonder if everyone at school thought I was dumb as a brick. But I mean I am the one sitting there staring at the clock if I am not working. I do not listen to music, or watch commercials on TV. When I dropped out of school, I did not swear never to open a book again, but I sure had that mind set. But I mean I do know what time I clock in and out every day.

"Calculating a cocotte's pay is hard. For the forty hours a week I get minimum wage. So that does not really count as big money." I said recalling her original question. "As for sex, the bordello keeps half of what I make. And I have to reimburse them for supplies."

"Supplies?" Bonita raised an eye brow. I don't think I could raise one eyebrow by itself.

"Yeah, condoms, wipes, lubricants." Bonita blushed when I said lubricants. That seemed strange. "No limit no charge on alcohol gel." She still seemed to be mulling it over. "They want us using their stuff because they know the quality and they can buy big lots to keep the price down. They only charge us their cost. There's other stuff you can get from the company store too, but I don't really like them subtracting from my pay check."

"When you say they keep half of what you make...?" She asked. She was eating some sort of chocolaty desert. The way she licked the spoon made you want to be the spoon. I wished I could do that at work, but I am no good at acting. I had switched to coffee. At least there was no lemon in it. I sipped my coffee thinking about it for a moment. I mean I really could just answer 'yes' but it would not tell her much.

"OK, start out by thinking of us as having a menu. Menu items have different price ranges. Lunch menu, dinner menu, special of the day, manager's special. Frequent flyer discount. Higher pricing on individual items, just an order of toast by itself will cost you more than if you buy the breakfast it comes with and compare the price to individual items." She nods her head. "There are somethings girls won't do, so those items are off the menu like oysters in months with 'R'."

"Are there things you won't do?" she wanted to know.

"I don't kiss." I told her. She looked surprised. Maybe people talked less about me in school than I thought. "It is not a hard stop though. They just pay a fine for kissing my lips."

"Fine?"

"Ten bucks a kiss." I told her.

"That seems like a lot." Bonita looked like she did not believe me.

"My kisses are pricey, if you cannot afford them, then don't steal them." I told her. "So, from the off the cart menu, Hand jobs and blow jobs are twenty bucks a pop, that's if they are one and done. We only give you fifteen minutes but if it only takes me touching it... well done is done. If you want more time, you can put more money in the meter, twenty bucks a pop. If you want to use my feet there's a kinky charge, if you want to wrap my panties around your penis there is a kinky charge. If you want to watch me masturbate, twenty bucks for fifteen minutes, if you want to do things while I masturbate, there is a kinky charge"

"The smallest time we allot for regular coitus is thirty minutes, and the item cost is fifty bucks. But it is still one and done." I had been rattling things off.

Bonita was looking a little confused. "Excuse me can I ask a stupid question?"

"Sure, stupid questions still have answers." I smiled. I felt a little guilty because I rattled things off too fast. Nerves.

"What is one-n-done?" she ran it into one word.

"What that means is he is only going to get to orgasm once, after that my job is done. On the other hand, if the timer runs out, he is also done. Orgasm or not." I explained.

She was blushing a little. I think she actually understood it but was just feeling a little overwhelmed.

"Our cheapest package deal is $150 for an hour. We almost never sell them, and when we do, we always go for an add on. Our most popular package is $300 an hour. The packages go to $900 and up." I told her.

"An hour?" she clarified.

"An hour." I assured her, "I have not seen one of those yet though. You need a customer with too much money and not enough time.

"Ordinarily I will sell a $300 package, then a couple of add on items. The package includes hand job, blow job, and vaginal sex. No charge for cuddling or talk. Add on a tit job for twenty-five bucks, off site dry humping like arm pits, rubbing their cock between my thighs, using my feet is twenty-five, anal sex is a fifty to one hundred add on, depending on how I feel about the customer. Given a choice I would rather not do it, but it is easier to price myself out of it then just say no. There is one where I sit on their butt and rub my nipples up and down their back, I charge thirty for that, can't remember what it is called.

"There are date packages, I suck at those. Never was good at dating, and I'm not leaving the brothel. There's role playing and dress up, again not too hot at it. You know I work for 'Bordello, Bordello' right?" I think I am going too fast again.

"No, I don't think I ever heard where you work." Bonita surprised me. She was renowned for her research. That seemed off.

"Let me give you the overview of sex in the US according to my orientation video. The federal government does not have a real age of consent. They leave it up to the states. There are states where a girl can marry at twelve with parental approval. Most states have an age of consent of 16, 17 or 18 years of age. In some states like ours a girl is emancipated if she has a baby. The feds do have an age of consent of 18 for folks crossing state lines.

"Recently programs supporting breastfeeding babies and freeing the nipple have had an effect on how laws are enforced. Laws that distinguish between men and women are being challenged in court and towns not wanting to spend $350k and up defending themselves in court have been telling their cops to let it go. Even laws banning full nudity in public are taking a hit if they are poorly written. People are allowed to use whichever bathroom seems appropriate to them and authorities are not allowed to question it.

"Our town permitted topless entertainers in bars if they were at least drinking age, but banned full nudity where liqueur was sold. It was quickly determined full nudity could happen in a venue where no alcohol was served. So, we ended up with full nudity dance places starting with eighteen. When prostitution was legalized since the age of consent is 18, the legal age to become a prostitute is 18. As a result, we got a smoke free, alcohol-free bordello for eighteen-year-olds.

"The place I work for is associated with a dance club that came first. I am allowed to dance on stage, but my dancing sucks, so I try to avoid it. I can also hire out to lap dance, but I avoid that too. Every three or four hours there is a parade I have to attend to promote myself. They also have internet chat rooms that I tend to avoid.

"When it comes right down to it, I just like plain old sex." I thought for a minute. "I guess my favorite package is the buffet. Three hundred dollars for six hours. All the cruddy microwave food you can eat, all the flat soda you can drink, mate with any of the buffet girls as many times as you care to. Which usually turns out to be less than three. The reason I like it is the chance of someone having a good run and bumping uglies a few times in a row. Most guys spend more time at the pool table then making love."

The staff seemed annoyed we were still talking. "Maybe we should call it quits, or move to somewhere else." I suggested.

"Alright, what did you think of my favorite restaurant?" Bonita wanted to know.

"The food was great. I was a little under whelmed with the service." I told her.

"Should I dock her tip?" she asked.

"No! Goodness no!" I said, "She will get taxed for the tip even if you don't pay it!"

Bonita's POV

I never paid much attention to Gail in school. I sat in the front row. She hid in the back. I was perfectly groomed. She was a ragged mess. I was surrounded by friends and supporters. She had boys sniffing after her. Her friends were select and few, to put it nicely.

Her appearance was sloppy. Her reputation was loose. More specifically she had gone from being easy to hang with, to class slut, to school slut. A lot of boys said they had fucked her, but she never had a boyfriend. I don't think she ever wore make-up. As far as grooming goes, she would rake her fingers through hair occasionally. I doubted she even owned a comb.

By high school my political switch was thrown. I was always running for something or promoting something. There were a lot of people who proved to be good allies and strong supporters. Jenna Block was one of them. Very popular, very athletic, very popular with the boys and oddly one of her closest friends was Gail.

I would make a point to talk to Gail. It was like the power was on but she was in sleep mode. Mention school and she acted like it was a foreign word. Sports without Jen would get a dull response. Books, movies, music were all things other people thought about. If she went to a sports event, she was likely to be under the bleachers with a guy. If she went to a party, you would not find her drinking and dancing, she would be in the guest room with a guy. She came to parties alone, she left alone.

She came to my house twice in high school. Once when she came with Jenna to a huge pajama party sleepover I hosted. I remember she let me braid her hair. The girls made fun of her for going to sleep early, and when I got up, she was cleaning up after everyone. I told her something like I have help for that and she kept at it saying, "It isn't like I have something better to do." The other time was a drinking party with my parents gone. I gave her the cabana by the pool to use and never saw her again. She thanked me for the invite the next day and I told her no party would be a party without her. My parents banned me from throwing another unchaperoned party, not because of her activity but because one of the boys threw up in my father's prized koi pond.

Hispanic is a government term. An ethnic group made up of people who are traditionally Spanish speaking and historically catholic. I don't mind the term but most people think of themselves as Latinos or Mexicans or Puerto Ricans. My family came here when they were given a Spanish land grant to settle here. We kept our property when the government changed. There are mainly skyscrapers there now, but the rent still goes to us.

For some reason people assume I am related to Mexican Indians. My family has had little to do with the area now known as Mexico. If its skin color, then our ancestors who were Moorish Royalty would account for that. For many generations our family married people from Spain or direct Spanish descendants. My genetic ties are more to the Iberian Peninsula than the North American continent. I digress.

Gail dropped out of school the day she turned eighteen. I asked Jenna about it, more to be polite than anything, she was close to Jenna. "She went to work as a legal prostitute."

"Wow! That's a good fit for her!" Then I blushed, thinking what I said might have come off as an insult. I did not mean it that way, she had planned ahead and taken action to do something she had real world skill in. I had never seen Gail do that. I guess that's kind of a left-handed compliment too. She definitely seemed smarter when she talked about being a cocotte. It might be because she was actually interested in it.

Writing a paper for college might actually be a good idea. It could be a research project for a business class now that it is legal.

My favorite restaurant was a disappointment. My family owns the small elite chain. I picked the manager myself. I paid bonuses for my small private party and they still managed to make my guest uncomfortable.

I ended up taking her back to my home to my recording studio. I had set it up when I started posting things on the internet. I should have just brought her here to begin with.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked.

"Tap water is fine." She replied, "No ice please."

I found myself evaluating Gail again.

She had warm brown doe eyes, dish water blond hair and round young-looking face. She was wearing a green dress that was nice, probably off a 99-dollar rack, and from the way it did not stand out she must be wearing a bra that actually fit her. Something that literally never happened in school. Her hair looked styled in an easy to manage do. She had a light no makeup style in her makeup. Over all she looked pretty good. Her body was more girl next door than porn star. Breasts were a large 'B' or a small 'C'. She had definite love handles without being morbidly obese. Her legs looked really good for someone who was not an athlete.

I had ended up making a pot of coffee as well using a coffee press. I brought it and all the stuff to go with it and repeated my starting spiel as Gail patiently waited through it all.

"I like your dress." I said pouring coffee.

She blushed. "I bought it on a two fer sale." Then Gail added, "I am wearing more dresses and skirts, I guess I got used to them at work. Ease of access and all."

"I find that surprising, I would have thought complicated lingerie would be the uniform." Bonita.

"There is a lot of cosplay stuff, but I like things that are easy to get out of. You don't want to blow your whole paycheck on costumes either." She laughed, "It is funny you mention uniform though. Our boss actually does have a uniform for us. It's a tube top and a tube skirt. One size fit none. Most of the girls refuse to wear it though."

"Too revealing?" Bonita.

"Too fugly!" Gail laughed.

"You mentioned minimum wage?" Bonita.

"Yeah, in order to get prostitution legalized they had to convince voters of a lot of things. One of them was that even illegal prostitution can be a victimless crime." Gail thought for a minute. "Most brothels regard prostitutes as independent contractors. My boss felt since he requires us to be there at a certain time and for a designated period, we should at least be guaranteed a minimum wage and guaranteed breaks and insurance. There is a retirement program too."

"This only applies to people working in house. Compensated dating, escort situations are different." Gail. "Dates are generally blocked out in large time periods. Six hours would be considered a short date."

"Six hours is short?" Bonita.

"Very short when you consider the date is going to end in a hotel room for the night. It is not unusual for a date to cover three or four days. Obviously, you are going to pay through the nose for the experience because you are taking the worker out of circulation for a large block of time." Gail

"Escorting someone can be a lot shorter, but generally the charges are much higher. They want people who can talk, who are entertaining. They want eye candy, but someone who is sweet on the ear as well. It's not unusual for an escort to make thousands in an hour or two without ever having sex. A college degree will definitely pay off here." Gail.

"College degree?" Bonita.

"Yes, even prostitutes make more with a degree." Gail.

"What about street walkers?" Bonita.

"I think one of the things they hoped to eliminate was street walkers when they legalized prostitution." Gail responded. "Folks don't like it when you do it in the road. Neighbors don't like it when there's a constant party at your place. Even if you find a hotel that does not mind, the health department likes sheets changed between customers and so forth. It's hard to be an independent operator. If your husband, brother or uncle is setting up your schedule, they are probably taking a big cut of the pie. Traditionally 120 percent of what you make. Safety is a huge concern as well, although a few would argue that at least they are not trapped in a room like we are in a bordello. They can be 100% independent but there are risks."

"So, if I was to go into the business, what would you recommend?" asked Bonita.

"Courtesan, basically a man bankrolls you for everything. When it's over you change the locks and you are finished." Gail.

"Is that really even prostitution?" Bonita.

"Is a monopoly even a business model?" Gail responded. "If you define prostitution as exchanging sex for monetary security then marriage could be the most common form. It is mostly a matter of perspective. But this is all far out of my pay grade. I am just a simple girl who likes carnal knowledge. I like screwing and being paid for it. Having one whale for a client would drive me straight out of the business. You on the other hand are a class act. I can't imagine you doing the 'wham bam thank you mam' style of prostitution for anything other than research."

She paused a moment. "Or experience to lay a foundation for running a brothel."

Bonita felt her face giving her away. What happened to the stupid school slut who barely followed a conversation? Should she have done a pre-interview with Jenna? Should she call an end to the interview? Will she need to put a gag order in place, a nondisclosure pact? Would it be binding, even if it were- would she honor it? It was going to take a bit to get up and running and any little flub could cause the boat to sink. How would her father handle this? What would grandfather do in a case like this?

She looked at Gail who had a big shit eating grin on her face. She giggled. "Gimme, twenty bucks!"

Bonita always carried a little folding cash in her suit. She peeled off a twenty (the smallest bill she carried) and handed it to Gail. President Jackson disappeared and Gail lifted her skirt with a smile.

"Oh! They are white!" she said as if she was surprised, "Such a plain jane color." She said as if disappointed. She began smoothing her panties with her hands. Then she lifted her legs and opened them so that they were supported by the arms on her chair. Her legs depicted the letter 'M'. She begin tugging at the hem of her panties drawing the thin material tightly over her pudendum. By this point the underwear was not really concealing anything, in fact it was high lighting everything and stimulating Gail as she played with it. Her little pea was already standing up against the material and her pussy was beginning to get wet. She began to play with her thighs, avoiding her vulva as she massaged the thighs but causing her lips to her treasure box to open and close. Her breathing became ragged and the fluid from her cunt was turning the cheap white panties transparent. She opened her right hand in a Vulcan wave and began rubbing her fingers up and down her lips. Two fingers on either side. Her hips began moving as if they could not help it. She started moaning.

"Oh! Aah... AAaaha!" her eyes clamped shut and she spasmed for a moment. Her breathing returned to normal, her eyes opened and she smiled. Then she sat up properly and put her dress back in place.

She pulled a wet wipe from her purse and cleaned her hands. The used wipe went in the wastepaper basket. Bonita was not sure how she felt about that.

"That's basically what I get paid for." Gail said.

"Do you see women customers?" Bonita wanted to know.

"Pretty rare." Gail answered, "The 'I never have to pay for it' syndrome kicking in. Makes it difficult. We see wives and girlfriends with their husbands trying out a threesome occasionally. I am sure there are some women who want the same freedom men get from seeing a tart. Appealing to them, and getting them to come in might be hard to do."

"What sort of freedom do men get from seeing you?" Bonita asked.

"With me the thrill of the hunt is gone. You don't have to take me on a date or buy me a drink. There is no anxiety about what will happen. You don't have to call me two days after to tell me how great I am and start setting up the next hook up... And if you just want to come and go nobody is going to lose any sleep over it." Gail said. "The thing is, a lot of men don't like to hunt. They like getting the meat they want from the grocer without worrying about days when the hunt fails and they end up opening a can of beans.

"Life is stressful enough. If you have a tough job, long hours, a lot of money but too little time and really just want to blow off a little without playing the dating game, then pay as you go may be the solution for you. Shy guys are attracted to it. Arrogant rich guys also use it to avoid the drama. High intensity sex is good, but avoid the melodrama. Poor guys realize paying for it up front is cheaper than a divorce or palimony suit." Gail freshened up her coffee. She drank it black.

They talked about the coffee for a while. Gail liked the blend. Bonita told her about the little specialty shop she bought it at. Gail said coffee was her diet drink, which is why she drank it black. She excused herself to go to the restroom.

Bonita took the time to figure out if she had hit all her main points. If there were new questions she needed to answer. She had the feeling the interview was winding down. She heard the toilet flush and the sink run then Gail came back into the room gelling her hands with a smile on her face.

"You seem happy, you take a load off your mind?" It was Bonita's attempt at scatological humor. The people who knew her best recognized it as one of her weaknesses.

"No. I was just thinking you are not as good at this as I expected." Gail said. That was the sort of comment Jenna Block loved her for. The sort of thing that others would get chapped about. Bonita found it annoying Gail was so happy about her supposed failing. She also wondered where she had failed.

Forcing a smile Bonita asked, "Where did I go wrong?"

"You never asked what I hate about my job." Gail smiled triumphantly.

It had never occurred to Bonita that Gail would hate anything about her job. But since she brought it up, "What don't you like about your job."

"A lot of things. After all its work, there are always going to be things you don't like." Bonita giggled, "But the number one thing I hate is the judgmental attitude, it is so toxic."

"The criticism of your life style while in the act of perpetuating it?" Bonita asked while contemplating the irony.

"Huh?" Gail looked dumfounded. "Sure... that too." Obviously, that was not it. "But mainly how they make choices on such completely superficial things. Your boobs are too small, or too saggy. Hair is too short or too long. There's something wrong with your ass. Things you generally don't have control over and should not even matter because he is just going to put his penis in your vagina do a few pushups, fill a scumbag and leave. But he will be openly critical with his friends joining in. It can sometimes even affect your other customers and you will end up having a relatively dry shift. Then three weeks later, he's back, and you're his first choice because he has not had you recently. He is still critical, 'your areola are too large', I mean, what am I going to do about that? 'and they should be pink, not brown' like in a porn mag?

"If you are doing this to build your self-image, you are probably in the wrong profession." She sighed. "You can say what you want about sex, but ultimately the woman is the one getting naked, laying down and opening her legs."

"So how do you deal with that?" Bonita.

???

"How do you deal with people like that?" Bonita.

Gail smiled, "That's easy, my job is to sell a service. It's an easy job because people actually come in wanting what I sell." She looked at Bonita, who nodded. "I win if they end up spending more than they meant to.

"One of the girls at work will say this to guys who are openly critical of her...." Gail adjusted her face to try to look wide eyed and innocent, "Such a big dick, it must be hard to find a girlfriend who can take it!" She giggled. Had Gail ever giggled in school?

"She is actually saying he is a big dick." Gail explained.

"I don't do that, the guy came in for thirty minutes of straight sex, I sold him a three-hundred-dollar package and got him to add a titty fuck. I actually felt a little guilty, but then he came back next week for more. He never did stop complaining about my short comings. But he recommends me to his friends... Weird huh?"

"You said there were lots of things you don't like about the job?" Bonita prompted.

"Well, lots of little things. A lot of times there are boring stretches. The girls have made a project of doing my hair or make up when they are bored." Gail thought a moment. "I have to take a lot of showers to meet health rules, so I end up having to deal with dry skin. If I can keep up the pace I can stack orgasms, but just when you get a roll going something happens to ball things up.

"The food sucks there, but if I bring in something really good the chances are high it will get raided." She was obviously going through her pet peeves in no particular order. "Oh, payment! I prefer they just direct deposit it to my bank. Some of the old-time customers pay by credit card, then have the boss give them an envelope of money to hand to me when the deed is done. It leaves me stuck dealing with cash, just credit my debit card please!

"From the business side all those things I am not good at, hanging out with the clients. They are here to do me and I am waiting to be done, why do we have to talk about your team, or your job, or your wife?

"I am not too fond of security either. Whether it's rent-a-cop or real cops, they are just there to take your report. I exchange sex for money. CCTV gets old fast. Well, a lot of people like to watch themselves fuck. I think my recorded voice sounds strange and I don't like the faces I make when I am sexually aroused. So, it is just is not my thing. But the recordings are meant to be argument stoppers and deterrents."

"Wait! They actually RECORD you?" Bonita asked.

Gail looked surprised. "Bonita, calm down. Pretty much every girl in the modern world gets recorded. If you google yourself, since you are pretty well known, you are sure to find some unauthorized content. Chill out. Men are dogs."

"They post you on the internet?" the black-haired girl seemed very troubled.

Gail thought about it. "Technically they are not supposed to. Over time everybody gets sloppy, so I would not be surprised to find myself in some fap content, but I think it would be more likely to be underage stuff from my school days. In your case old boy friends and stalkers.

"Stuff from Bordello, Bordello would be less likely. After all it is a business and people posting security tapes are basically stealing. Our lawyers probably go after them just to keep in practice and pay their country club fees." Gail thought for a minute. "Of course, there is the X-rated content on the web site, but that's up front and you get a residual for being there.

"The CCTV (closed circuit Television) starts in the parking lot and follows you all day. We have more cameras than a bank. Everything at work is recorded. I think there are expiration dates on some of it, but depending on the camera it can vary. Before my day officially starts, I do a naked swirl for the camera to show my skin is intact and I have not had the crap beaten out of me. Any bruises when I swirl out were acquired at work. We also have to wipe down with chlor-hex-a-something to prevent passing skin infections. Privacy freaks are a small niche group in our business and suffer a lot of indignities.

"The porn industry is probably not too interested in our security footage. It's going to be set cameras and no close ups or money shots. It is mainly there for safety and to end litigation." Gail. "But that does not mean some idiot won't get the idea to swipe footage and post it as a get rich quick scheme."

Gail could see Bonita was having trouble digesting the recording idea. She sighed and opened a new page on Bonita's laptop. "Images Bonita Moreno hot schoolgirl" and hit enter. The screen quickly populated with photos of Bonita. Most of the recent ones looked like they were from the graduation year book. A lot pulled from social media, a few that were not her, one innocent snap from when she was nine wearing only a pair of swim suit bottoms. (isn't that illegal?) Well, it only showed her back.

A beautiful study of her sleeping nude, it showed her back and the side of her head, but no one could identify her from the photo, whoever posted it had to have used her name. Who did she know who was so artistic?

There were lots of up skirts. She played tennis, skated, did cheer and spirit so there were a lot of times her show panties were on display. One of those pictures came from the program of a dance recital she was in. You can call it risqué, but it's really innocent stuff, cartwheels, flips and handstands.

There were a few near nipple slips, and a picture of her skirt tucked into her pantyhose and exposing her butt. It looked legit, but she did not remember it happening.

She was floored by the number of photo shopped pictures. Some were classy, most were slutty. One made her as neck long as a giraffe. It was funny, but the woman's drooping breasts and masturbating hands kept her from laughing.

There were images from two of her mother's exhibitions. The last show was over a year ago. The sketches and paintings seemed so far in the past. She had forgotten about them. People could actually buy copies of her mother's nude studies.

There was a lot of content from a random search. She is only eighteen years old. The gallery will only grow. It bothered her a little, but she found the idea of the brothel recording everything less daunting. She thought of herself as very smart, but all this fap content on the internet came as a huge surprise. Gail not being a mindless idiot came as a complete surprise. She had a rough idea of what she was planning before, now she found herself muddled, not knowing which direction to take.

Gail clapped her hands. "Snap out of it!" she chided "You are taking this too seriously! None of this will come up if you interview yourself for a job. If you go to work for someone else, they will probably be scouting you. I draw a lot of fire, but in the end most of it is only a bother if you let it be. I'm sorry you have been catching flak, but it won't stop, and you really don't need to address it. Don't live your life walking backwards.

"So have I answered all your questions about my work?" Gail asked.

"Yes, you have been most helpful." Bonita was already thinking she needed to reevaluate her plans. In her mind she had moved on, Gail was not really there anymore.

"... to work with me?" Gail's voice cut in.

"I'm sorry. What was that again?" inquired Bonita.

"I SAID..." Gail declared in a loud voice, "You should just come to work with me. It will answer a lot of questions, give you data for more questions, provide you with real world facts for your research project. You know, bring a friend to work day."

"I... I. Can you do that?" Bonita was speechless.

"Sure, I will just tell my boss." Answered Gail with a casual air. "How does Tuesday sound?" She texted something on her phone.

"I don't think they would let me in. Aren't these all 'covert liaisons'?" Bonita asked.

"Secret? No, it's not that secret. We will just tell the boss you are checking it out." Her phone dinged, she glanced at the text. "He says its fine, just get there a little before my shift."

Bonita was strangely flustered. Her original plan included actual experience, so why was the idea of going and watching Gail turn tricks so intimidating. If anyone needed to be embarrassed it was Gail.

"Anyway, you need to start thinking about a name. It's hard to come up with one on the spot and you'll end up with a stupid one like me if you are not careful." Gail said.

"What name do you go by?" Bonita asked.

"Cookie." Gail actually blushed. "I had chosen Coquette, but I did not think up a backup. The boss thought it sounded like 'coke-head' and would not allow it."

"It was probably too long anyway. It has to go on a name badge." Gail continued. "I'm getting used to Cookie now, but it's sort of a product name, so you don't want to change it.

"And don't go with Peaches, that one's reserved for the people you hold close!" Gail added. "I brought the roster of the girls working there, so you know what they are like and don't pick a duplicate. The gals that like role playing usually have a character in mind and think up names to match that character."

Fannie, Fancy, Bet, Brandy, Gin, Cookie and Kreme were on the list. Bonita had an idea what she would use. Wait! Did that mean she was going?

You can be whatever you want. You can do whatever you care to, as long as it's legal. Her school advisers kept telling her that like a mantra. The better you do at school the farther and faster you can go. The brain washing started early so she got in the habit of being the number one student. Her family had a similar message, they did not say it had to be legal. They said with the families' power and prestige she could do whatever she wanted. She was thinking president, but the more she learned of politics the less she liked- it was easier to just buy politicians.

She did not need to work. She could sit around the rest of her life and goof off. She could take over one or all of the family businesses. She had the grades for studying whatever she liked. She literally could do whatever she liked. But her mother and her aunt and a lot of the women in the family expected her to act with dignity like royalty. She did that for eighteen years and has proven there is no payoff. They remain critical. There is no love here. She learned that at an early age.

Her mother took her to Spain for a number of years to learn proper Spanish. She hired a nannie who was highly educated and spoke Spanish like royalty. The woman was wonderful and caring and Bonita soon fell in love with her. She loved her much more than her mother or father. Her father was totally preoccupied with himself and never bothered to visit the whole time they were in Spain. Her mother checked her progress regularly while she hobnobbed with the famous and played a few cameo roles in movies.

When her Spanish became better than her mother's it was time to return to the US. Shockingly they were leaving behind her nannie. Her mother was puzzled by her attitude. The nannie was simply hired to do a job, the job was over, it was time to move on. Ultimately Bonita could love whatever she wanted, it just seemed strange to her mother. It really did not have anything to do with her mother.

Bonita was not close to her grandparents. Their lives focused on themselves. In the end her Granduncle on her father's side was the only one who seemed to care about her. Uncle Rubin remembered her birthday. He showed up at events in her life, recitals, games she cheered for, the parades she was in. He was the only one to visit her in Spain. Frequently.

He loved to fish. He taught her to fish. Dig worms, cut bait, bait hooks and haul in your catch, and even cook it. It seemed like anywhere you went in the world he knew a good fishing spot. His personal fishing shack was in Argentina. He would 'kidnap' her there for a week or two and they would fish and talk and star gaze and tell stupid jokes. When he brought her home her jeans would be filthy, her t-shirt grungy and she would stink like three-day old fish. Her mother would cry and tell the maids to burn her clothes and make her stand on the back lawn and get rinsed off by the hose before she could come in the house.

When she grew older, he taught her how to fly fish, how to read the water, how to tie flies. He introduced her to the concept of catch and release. When she talked about catch and release to her parents, it was as if she was speaking a foreign language. Who would spend the time and energy with no real-world payout? What was the point of spending hours fishing if you did not keep the fish? Her mother would have understood a trophy fish mounted on a plaque- though she would never have allowed it in her house. To come home tired and sunburned after spending a small fortune for guides and transportation and all the little expenses, but have nothing to show for it seemed totally irrational.

Grand Uncle Rubin helped her grandfather run his criminal empire. Grandfather was more like a Don or a mob boss in an old fifties style book or movie. Sort of a nerfed criminal mastermind. Not vicious like the Russian mob or the drug cartels. He was a rich guy playing at being a godfather. Most of his business was on its way to being legit. Uncle Rubin ran the sex side of the business. Porn, live sex acts, prostitution. A lot of it was already crossed over to legit business.

Her uncle did not fit the mold of a pimp either. He did not recruit, the girls found him. He insisted the best setup was where everybody made money so he treated his workers like staff instead of cattle. He encouraged people to quit smoking and drinking and doing drugs and had programs to help them. He allowed loose schedules for women with children. A lot of his workers would see their husbands off to work and then quietly head to the brothel.

He never married or had a girlfriend. He said being a Moreno soured him on that. He was not a good man, but he was always good to her. When he died his adopted son contacted her about what he left her. Wilderness land and a fishing shack in Argentina and a string of sex related businesses that had not been sold off or absorbed into the families' other businesses. The son seemed embarrassed to even discuss them. Did he understand where the money for the nine years he spent in college came from? Or did he think his dad only used clean legitimate money to pay for it?

Grandfather always said his father taught him you have to learn business from the ground up. Great grandfather had done all the lowest jobs in the businesses he took over. Her father felt you learned how to run a company in business school and you could run any company. The key was hiring competent staff.

Once her mother found out about the inheritance, she would be pressured to get rid of it. If this had happened after she had her business degree, she would have felt more competent. The business had been condensed. It had storefronts in six nations. They were stable and making money. They were the first business she had been allowed. She really kind of wanted to see what she could do with this. The problem was she would be shunned by her family if even a whisper got out.

If she wanted to keep her uncle's legacy, she needed to get up to speed quickly. She did not have half a decade to study up. She would need to do her research and get in on the ground floor- do it old school. She was on the verge of hiring an escort to talk to about the business when she remembered she knew someone in the business. Jenna Block was deployed overseas, but with the world wide web it was easy to reach out. Armed with Gail's contact information the rest was easy.

Now in a few short hours she would be interviewing with the boss of Bordello, Bordello. One of the places in the US left to her by her uncle. The owner would be secretly applying for an entry level job. It would be really screwed up if they refused to hire her.

She had interviewed Gail on Saturday and ended up calling and texting her eight times that day. Sunday, she made a real effort to not call Gail and failed. What to wear? What to bring? What questions would she be asked? Crazy situations would pop in her head and Gail would tell her in a bored voice, "I'll be there, if something comes up have me deal with it."

Monday was hell. Gail was at work. She had to wait for Gail to respond to her messages and texts. After she clocked out, Bonita talked to her for an hour on the phone.

They had to be there a little before eight. Bonita had declared she would drive and Gail agreed but said, "Even if you decide to chicken out, you still have to take me to work."

Her mind was running in circles at ten PM when she got the text, "Break a leg! : D" Something her friends from dance class would have said. She slept surprisingly well.

She got Gail too early. They goofed off for a while and still got there before seven thirty.

Dick Pettyjohn was the general manager of Bordello, Bordello. A thin man with a roman nose and an angular face he was naturally full of nervous energy but covered himself in an artificial layer of calm. The boss had taught him not to be in too big a hurry to act, most problems sorted themselves out. The boss gave him a chance when nobody else would lift a finger for him. The boss was a quiet black man who ran whore houses and escort services but never used the services himself. Mr. Brown was like a bar owner who did not drink.

Pettyjohn started as a towel boy. On his way up he learned every job a guy could do in a whore house. Mr. Brown checked in on him often and made sure he knew he was under his wing. This was what it must feel like to be a 'made' man.

Right now, he was watching the night shift peter out. Soon things would be waking up again with the day shift starting in. He was here early because one of the crew wanted to introduce her friend. The woman was Cookie. She was dull looking with a round face. When she first applied, she seemed asleep at the stick. Dick did not think she would last long, but she surprised him. She was one of those women who actually like sex. That made up for all of her short comings. Because she liked bumping uglies she would come in early or work late if you asked. She would pick up other shifts for people. She was always at work on time. She was more popular than some of the really good-looking women because she woke up in bed and brought enthusiasm to the job.

A few weeks after she started working, she brought in a recruit. The woman was a street walker. Someone she started talking to at a bus stop. Her pimp had been arrested and she did not have the bail for him, Cookie convinced her to come to the legal side. The woman thinks Cookie is her savior, she calls herself Kreme in her honor and they do a lot of doubles together.

Boss Brown did not believe in active recruiting. "Let the ones who want to do the work come to you." Was his mantra. If there were not enough girls, raise the prices. The increased pay should attract new blood. Protect your reputation. Maintain a place where people like to work. Rely on word of mouth.

Apparently, Cookie was that word of mouth. Not that long after she recruited Kreme, she showed up with another girl from the bus stop. Celine was a common use toy for a gang who was tired of holding the wrong end of the stick. Celine liked the stable atmosphere and actually ending up with something at the end of the day.

Now Cookie was bringing in a school chum. She had not worked here for even a year and she was already their number one recruiter.

"Don't worry about your car, The security guys will keep an eye on it." Cookie was saying.

"I am not worried about it getting stolen! I am worried someone will recognize it and know I was here." Said the dark girl with long black hair.

"It's fine, we will just report it stolen when we get home." Cookie said like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "Mr. Pettyjohn this is the friend I was telling you about."

The young woman was gorgeous. California tan or perhaps light skinned black woman. Incredible long black hair. Sparkling black eyes. She moved like a dancer. Simple green one-piece dress. She introduced herself and shook hands like an executive. She had her ID and health cards for school and serving food at a soup kitchen. Pettyjohn took her application and snapped pictures of her information.

She filled out the name badge, 'Luce'. "Just call me Loose." she said.

Normally he would let people acclimatize to the situation, but her aura of confidence infected him and he had her do an opening parade with Cookie. He could sense a lot of tension in her but she acted like a pro in the spotlight. "I wonder if she has any acting experience?" he murmured.

One of the classes Bonita hated was gym. Well not the class, but dressing out and stripping for showers afterwards. She felt like everyone was watching her and judging her. The 'we are all girls in here' attitude did not work because she felt girls were much more critical than guys. a guy would get excited over anything he saw. She would actually practice changing clothes so she would not catch her foot in her panties and fall on her face. She recorded herself and tried to be more graceful. Strangely standing around those shower columns with the shower heads for five girls did not bother as much. Even though they were practically touching.

Cookie had actually warned her she might be asked to strip. It came as a surprise when he had her do it right there where they were standing next to the soda bar. For a minute she could not move, then she realized Cookie was actually taking her clothes off. She mentioned she would be there for her. Not only was she there, she was leading the way.

Luce reached under her skirt and slipped out of her too sexy thong underwear. She moved very slowly and gracefully so that she did not catch her sandals on her panties. The men watching found themselves hypnotized.

She handed the panties to Cookie who tucked them away in her cloth beach bag. Then she grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it over her head. The corded rope of black hair draped forward across her left breast and swung down almost touching her crotch. She handed the dress to Cookie like she was her maid, then smiled at the boss with a perfect brilliant smile. In that moment she seemed perfect. Her nipples were hard and pointed as if aching to be caressed, they looked like dark chocolate kisses. Her abs had that washboard that comes from working out too much. Her pussy had neat black curls as if she had it done up. Her rump was perfect too, rounded enough to tempt men tight enough to promise bliss.

He touched her arms to turn her around. She was facing the stage and the scattering of customers at their tables. He brushed her shoulders, "Lift them up." he asked. He knew those perky breasts would be arching upward. "Lean forward a bit."

She felt something large and hard pressing the cleavage between her buns. His hands hugged her tummy. She felt dizzy, she could not breath. Her heart was pounding through her chest. She felt if he brushed her nipples or crotch she would orgasm right here in front of an audience.

"Relax, breath. We don't want you fainting on your first day. Breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Good. In through your nose, long steady breaths... When you breath out- make a kiss to slow down the breath and cause a little resistance. Good." He sighed, "Remember, we are all here to have fun. Cookie, introduce Luce to the regulars. Then take her up on stage to give her a feel for it and take her to the breakroom to meet the rest of the crew."

He released her and she straightened up. Her body felt so alive, as if she was on fire. Is this what streaking in the 70's was like? Cookie took her hand and led her toward a table with a bunch of men in suits. She suddenly realized the hard thing Pettyjohn had been pressing against her ass was his hip. "I have a naughty mind!" she thought.

Pettyjohn forced his brain to relax. He had done it again. There would be hell to pay when Jane heard about this. Should I call her right now and nip everything in the bud? He took a slow breath and reminded himself that Boss Brown said don't be too quick to act, most things sort themselves out. He felt pressure building in himself as if he was going to explode. On the outside he looked like he was about to fall asleep. The customers at Bordello-Bordello were amazed again at how cool he always was around these beautiful women.

"I wonder if she has any acting experience?" one of the regulars heard him say. [That's what you think of when you hold a beautiful naked girl in your arms?]

Acknowledgements: I write a lot. An idea pops in my head. I write it down. I have a lot of scraps of paper I have not been able to throw away even though I never look at them. The stuff on computer is easier to deal with.

There are still a lot of problems, most of what I write is introductions with no real middle or end. This is a good example of that.

I actually did a lot of research for this piece. Was kind of obsessed with pricing and did a lot of internet searches, I have no real-world experience with prostitutes. Judging from the original paragraph indents this was written long before Covid so all that time researching pricing was a waste. [Prices are market driven anyway. I read an interview with a woman who was upset because she sold her services for a hamburger. She was practically starving at the time and did admit the hamburger was the best she had ever eaten.]

I revisit my writing from time to time, hoping to come up with a middle or an end. That did not happen this time, but I still really like what I wrote, so I think this exercise is headed your way.

Thank you Literotica for enduring frustrated/frustrating writers like me. Thank you for giving us a platform.