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Coming Clean

Angeline is adding kohl to her baby-doll blue eyes and pouting into the mirror when her red, lip-sticked mouth falls open and she says, “Oh shit! I’ve fucked up.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“As you can see, I’m escorting tonight. But I’m supposed to be here in the apartment with a regular. I forgot. I’ve double-booked myself.”

“You’ll have to cancel one of them,” you say.

“Are you kidding? My regular’s been paying my overdue rent for six months. I can’t miss a week. And the guy tonight pays for everything else. You know, food? Remember that? I need them both. Hey, you said that you wondered what my work was like. Why don’t you get a taste by…”

“If you think I’m going out escorting tonight, you’re cracked,” you say.

“Stay here with the regular,” pleads Angeline.


“He’s the sweetest guy.”


“He’s been a client for almost a year.”

“Then he’ll understand if you take a night off,” you reply in a huff. You don’t judge Angeline by her line of work, but you’re affronted by the suggestion that you might do the same, even for just one night.

“He’s gorgeous. Sexy eyes and a really sensual body. He feels really nice under your fingertips.”

“…Absolutely not.”

“He doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants you to bathe him. In the tub. With a flannel. So you don’t even have to touch him.”

You’re thinking about it, though you tell your escort friend that you are not. You’re amazed at yourself, but you’re thinking about it and that’s all the access that Angeline needs.

“I’ll run the hot water,” she says, heeled boots thumping across the room. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“No way,” you say weakly, but Angeline dumps a bundle of clothes into your arms and starts tugging off what you’re wearing.

“You’ll look so sexy in these,” she insists. “He’ll love it.”

“I thought he just wanted a bath?” you complain.

“My client’s taking me to a gallery this evening,” Angeline says. “Nobody will touch the paintings, but they’ll still be beautiful. It’s look, don’t touch, just like you tonight.”

Somehow, somewhere along the line, it seems you’ve agreed to help her.

You have pretty much the same figure as Angeline, so your friend helps you into her lacy, blue bra before completing the ensemble with matching stockings and suspenders. You throw a white toweling robe around you as Angeline blows you a kiss and skips out.

“Good luck,” she whispers.

A few minutes later the doorbell chimes.