Tracy Quan - Diary of a Married Call Girl

I reached for a glass of water on my bedside table to cleanse the taste of latex from my palate. There is nothing more icky than condom-breath—a hazard of the profession because you get so used to having rubber in your mouth that you might not notice.

My favorite customer was lying on his back, eyes blissfully shut, stroking my thigh. As I poured some Astroglide onto my palm, he became more alert.

“Before you do that,” he suggested, “why don’t you bring that luscious pussy over here and let me return the favor?”

“You lazy beast. All right. Don’t move.”

I turned around and sat over his face with my buttocks in the air. My hands now had access to his cock, which was threatening to grow soft. But he was getting hard again, thanks to the nearness of my pussy. I decided to let him lick me until he was properly erect. I never come with Milton but I allow him to do more with my body than, perhaps, I should because he’s the client I like best. When I wriggled away, my ass was still facing him and he sighed happily.

“What a gorgeous view!”

I mounted his cock with that in mind, bending forward as much as possible to enhance his view. His climax was louder than usual and I made a mental note not to fuck him in this position for the next two sessions. Despite his cuddly personality, Milt gets jaded rather easily. It might soon be time to suggest a threeway with Allison. Or Jasmine. I never call a client to promote myself but it’s okay to call a guy if you’re making a sales pitch involving another girl.

While dressing, he gave me an affectionate pat.

“You’ve lost weight, kiddo.”

“You’re every woman’s dream,” I laughed.

He slid an envelope under the tissue box on my bedside table.

“Don’t exaggerate. Now…where did I put my briefcase?”

Five minutes later my cell phone was chiming at me. Liane, trying to locate Charmaine. Or someone like her. Or, in the absence of someone like her, someone who’s available. After five decades in this business, first a call girl but mostly a madam, she knows that you can’t always get what they want.

“I need somebody fresh and wholesome. A Charmaine type. For Bernie. Remember Bernie? I told him about Charmaine but she hasn’t called me back!”

Bernie wants to meet a college girl (or someone who looks like one) who is supposedly getting paid for the first time. After “corrupting” the alleged newbie, he likes to cultivate her. As a result, I’ve seen him at Liane’s apartment five or six times.

Liane provides as many professional innocents as she can for the harem in Bernie’s mind.

“Charmaine would be perfect,” I agreed, “if she weren’t…still in Florida.”

Though somewhat tempted to share the truth with Liane, I held back. A trustworthy timeshare is hard to find and I don’t want to alienate Charmaine by gossiping about her new implants—or whatever the mystery process of the week happens to be.

“I wonder if Bernie would like to see a naughty little married girl,” Liane said. “I could tell him that you graduated and met—”

“I don’t want Bernie to know I’m married! Nobody’s supposed to know!”

“Well, not if you feel so strongly about it, dear. But it might pique his interest. A restless wife can be titillating. And it makes you respectable. You know how important that is. And it gives me an entree. I can’t just say, ‘How about Nancy instead of the New Girl?’ I’ve got to have a nice story to tell! A way to make you sound new. ”

“Maybe another time,” I said. “I have to hit the cheese counter at Agata Valentina before they close. I’m making something special tonight.”

“Of course, dear. What are you preparing for dinner?”

“Baked pecorino cheese with toasted pine nuts and truffle honey. Followed by a whole trout. Steamed with bay leaves. And an arugula salad. With a very light pinot noir.”

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re taking this marriage so seriously! I’ve always said that women like us make the best wives.”

But I still prefer to keep my marital status under deep cover. Even Milt isn’t sure I’ve actually tied the knot—he thinks I’m still engaged. If the customers find out I’m actually married, it might spook them. They might fear a spying, curious husband or an enraged, jealous one. Worse yet, they might think he knows what I’m up to, that he lets me hook. Not the sort of image I want to be promoting at all.

What if they think I married a guy who can’t support me or mistreats me, that I turn tricks in order to make ends meet? Maybe they’ll think I have to support him ? I don’t want my customers to think I’m that kind of hooker—that I married purely for love. Rich girls can sometimes marry for love, but girls like me, we’re supposed to marry smart. Not get taken advantage of. You can be in love, sure. But use your head. If you seem to be the kind of call girl who marries a ne’er-do-well or behaves foolishly with men, the clients lose respect.

It’s sexy to let on that you’re a lady when you’re not working, a hooker who feels equally at home on a pedestal. But it’s not just my vanity kicking in—I also want to protect Matt’s image. What if I run into one of these clients when I’m at the theater with my husband?

Do I want them looking at Matt and thinking he’s a bum? Not!

And yet, if they know I’m married to a banker, they’ll think I don’t really need the money. When it’s time to raise my prices, I invoke the high cost of living in Manhattan. There are times when I must appeal to a client’s desire to help a brave, defenseless single girl. If a john finds out that I’m married to a guy with a good income, he’s got a ready-made excuse to keep the price “stable.” You’re just doing this for extras, pin money, or cheap thrills.

I made that mistake only once, with Etienne, who now lives in Paris. When I tried to hit him up for something extra on his last visit to New York, my marital status worked against me. Never again!

Trish doesn’t tell her clients she’s married—or that she has a kid. It’s understood that we can trust each other not to blab. Jasmine and Allie are both under strict orders to keep mum. Charmaine I have to trust—in the hope that she values the great deal she has here, enough to keep her promise of silence.

Liane might be right—married women can be alluring—but I don’t want to go there with her clients.

This morning, while cleaning out my in box, I almost deleted two e-mails from Allie. Thrown off by her new address, I took m.power@trollops.org for just another spammer.

Subject: Come to the NYCOT Cabaret!

A benefit for the New York Council of Trollops at The Pussycat Lounge…featuring punk soprano Wiltrud Mars…Miss Chelsea Jane at the piano…the Triple-X Cheerleaders…stand-up comedy’s Domina Blue. Doors open 7:30 pm.

Members of the Media: Please contact our fabulous EmCee, ALLISON m.power@trollops.org for ticketing, interview requests and more.

The Pussycat Lounge? Is Allie planning to appear on stage ? And what’s all this about the media?

This was followed by another e-mail with a more personal subject header:

Re: urgent lunch need yr advice

Hey! Lucho is taking me to a special party next weekend. Lots of people from his faculty! Do you think it’s too soon to meet his friends? What should I wear? It’s all the way uptown near Columbia. Can you meet for lunch? It has to be soon because I need your advice!

PS: He used the L word last night! Twice! But he’s making some really strange demands and I’m not sure what to do. Don’t tell Jasmine but…I couldn’t hold out til third date. And now there’s this THING that he wants me to do. I’m crazy about him too but—not ready for this!