Working arrangements 

Times have been tough, but they’ve been picking up. With more time on my hands and an improving employment market I found myself in a new job. It’s not an exciting job, though far better than stacking shelves on the night shift. It’s just running the desk in a small, middle weight hotel. The pay is ok, the hours are regular, I’m pretty much left to my own devices, and the benefits have turned out to be surprisingly good. Financially and …

Picture the scene:

It was a slow, boring afternoon, a few weeks after I’d started working there and in she walks. I guess she’s mid 30s, has a slim athletic build with nice tits (I guess a C-cup), average height, long peroxide hair wafting around her like a shampoo advert. She’s casually dressed, with a medium sized bag, and she asks to book a room for the night. She’s not particularly my type, but the way she carries herself means she’s one of those women who’s hard to ignore – she doesn’t work it, but she’s the sort of woman men flock around and other women mistrust.  I take her name and bank card details, give her a room key, and point her towards the lift.

Something like 20min later I notice he again, this time sat alone at the bar, dressed in a smart business suit and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She’s wearing heavy rimmed glasses – I guess these are on trend at the moment, but I can’t help thinking they’re a little theatrical on her. Even considering she’s not my type, I have to confess to feeling a stirring in my loins and I fantasise about her straddling my face. She’s joined by a well presented, middle aged man, maybe 15yrs her senior. A business meeting, I presume. I go about my managerial duties and lose track of them. An hour or so later I see him coming out of the lift on his own and leaving the hotel, and I can’t help notice he’s not wearing a tie any more.

Maybe another hour passes, and I spot her in the bar again, this time wearing a flowery dress. Very summery. I have a responsibility to know what’s going on in the hotel, and for some reason she’s piqued my interest, so I sit down at a nearby table and do some paper work. And I observe. She’s joined by another man. About the same age as her, but he looks rougher, with the frame of a builder than her previous companion, though he’s tidy and obviously not one that has just stepped off the building site. They kiss, he buys her a drink, and soon they head for the lift. His hand is conspicuously on her arse as the door slides closed behind them.

I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on here, and when he leaves an hour or so later, I’m not in much doubt. But I’m not a prude, and she’s doing no harm as far as I’m concerned, so I just watch her go about her business.

Over the next few weeks she returns several times, and usually entertains 3 men each day, occasionally with one staying overnight. This is fine by me. I even get a bit of a voyeuristic thrill about knowing what’s going on.

Then, on one of her visits, I notice her sat in the bar alone. She’s been there for some time and looks mildly irritated. It’s nearly time for me to finish for the day, and so I introduce myself to her. She seems cautious, reticent, and I can sense a defensive wall being erected. I offer her a drink on the house, and invite her to joint me on the bar’s veranda, which is unoccupied. My guess is she’s expecting to get thrown out of the hotel and told not to return, but that’s not a game I’m interested in playing.

I comment that she seems to be doing good business, staying with us regularly, although I never actually say I know she’s escorting. It quickly becomes a she knows that I know that she knows situation and she seems to relax when it’s apparent I don’t regard her as a problem.

We talk.

It turns out she’s a mature student, studying psychotherapy in the wake of a divorce. Inspired by Belle de Jour, she’s renting her pussy to fund her studies, though she’s not blogging about it. (It also transpires that a client has failed to turn up, which is why she had appeared to be agitated.) She has been trying to study 4 days a week and spend the 5th on her back … or her knees … keeping weekends for herself. Because her three teenage kids are still in varying stages of leaving home, she can’t offer in calls and she doesn’t like the uncertainty of turning up to random addresses. Hence booking a hotel room once a week, although it’s an expense she could do without. I joke that at least she doesn’t have to wash the sheets.

With my suspicions confirmed I make my proposal: I wonder if we can come to some sort of arrangement. When I say this, she raises an eyebrow skeptically, and asks if I’m angling for freebies. But I assure her I’m not.  (And as much as I’ve thought about hiring an escort recently, and as much as I think I’d happily hire her, I’m really not, Dear Reader.)

I explain.

A few times I’ve been asked by hotel residents if I know where they can get some company for an hour but I have been unable to assist: this is a small provincial town with no visible sex trade and even as a local I wouldn’t know where to find a hooker without the help of the internet. Now I’m sympathetic towards her venture, and in her position I’d probably consider doing the same. I’ve done some maths, and although I don’t know her rates, this is not a budget hotel, so it’s quite possible that she needs to fuck for nearly 2hrs to break even on each visit. As I have control over how rooms are booked, perhaps I can ease the cost of her accommodation … for a small percentage?

She laughs and asks if I’m aspiring to run a brothel, but I’m serious. I explain my stance on prostitution and how, if we could all just get over outdated sexual paradigms entrenched by politics and gods, the world would be a better place, especially for women. (Obviously it would be better, if slightly more expensive for perverts like me too, Dear Reader, but that would just be a fortunate consequence.)

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I leave the idea with her, she services another client that day, and checks out.
Then I don’t see her for several weeks, and I figure nothing more will come of it.

Then the other day, I’m busy at the reception desk when she comes into the hotel about 8:30am. I’m surprised, not only because I had given up on the idea, nor that it’s really quite early for her to plying her trade, but because she doesn’t have her usual costume bag with her. She asks if we could have a chat over a coffee. I agree.

Apparently her divorce is still going through, and she’s getting short of cash. After getting busted by me, she had reconsidered her working arrangements, and come to the conclusion that whilst she enjoys escorting (most of the time) her anonymity is too valuable. But an uncertain financial future and the need to move out of the family home meant she needed to make some money. With her studies taking up a lot of her time, she needed to make some good money, and quickly, and as her most lucrative asset is her sex, she was going back on the game.

So was my offer still on the table?
Damn right it was, and I suggested we meet off site at lunch time to discuss.
We did.
And we have a deal.

  1. I’ll keep a specific room available for her, one day a week. There are a couple of rooms that are slightly away from most of the others, where there is less chance of her grunting clients disturbing other residents.
  2. If she needs a room at other times, at short notice, or just for an hour or two, and assuming the room isn’t occupied, I can make that happen.
  3. Because most of the rooms have more lockable storage than most people use, she can store outfits, sex toys, restraints, the tools of her trade, and not have to worry about carrying them around with her. (I guess it also reduces the chance of her daughters stumbling across a trinket box full of strap-ons, fluffy hand cuffs and bulk packs of condoms when they’re raiding their mum’s makeup bag!)
  4. There will be several sets of bed linen folded in a draw at all times, and all the soiled sheets can get taken care of with the rest of the hotels’ laundry without anyone noticing. (I’ll have to make sure this happens myself, rather than leaving it to the chamber maids, just to reduce the chance of awkward questions being asked.)
  5. In return for providing all this for free, having done some calculations based on her hourly rate (which is definitely above the average for escorts) and our daily rate (which is definitely above the average for budget hotels in the area) I will take just a 10% cut. She argued for paying me more, but I’m not a greedy man, so she suggested that, if I am inclined, she and I might even provide slightly less financial remuneration once in a while. Which wouldn’t be so bad. Would it?

(Sadly, this is just fiction. It’s based on an idea I had on my long drive home – a fantasy with which I have fueled a several wanks, and an arrangement I would seriously consider if I were ever in this position. I hope the lack of reality doesn’t disappoint.)

8 Responses to “Working arrangements ”

  1. I find this to be lovely fiction AM.

  2. I kind of knew it was fiction, but I like it nonetheless 🙂

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