This story has been previously published (May 7th 2021 as ‘Tart of Gold’) in the category ‘Romance’.
All the participants in sexual activity described in this story are consenting adults over 18.
I heard footsteps behind me, running. I turned to look and was grabbed. A hand came round and clamped over my mouth, the other one circled my waist. He must have been hiding behind a bush in one of the front gardens.
I wriggled and struggled, but the arm round my waist was just too tight, still I had one arm almost free. I remembered a few self-defence lessons I’d learned and I knew I should use my free arm to try to startle and wind him. I dug the heel of my hand into his ribs with all my strength, then followed it with fingers into the soft bit just below the ribs. There was a grunt and he momentarily took his hand away from my mouth. I didn’t worry about trying to shout ‘help’: I just opened my mouth and let out as loud and bloodcurdling a scream as I could manage.
Almost at the same moment a man appeared from the front garden of a house on the other side of the road. He was running towards us and he was also shouting — bellowing in fact — as he ran. I felt the grip on me relax for a moment and I had a go with my sharp little teeth on the hand over my mouth. He let go.
“You fucking bastard! You miserable little whore! I’ll get you,” he shouted as he ran off.
Other people had appeared. This was a very respectable street, and a commotion like this was a major event. I saw one man, obviously youngish from the way he was running, gaining rapidly on my attacker; in moments he was close enough to launch a spectacular rugby tackle, brought his target crashing to the ground, and finished sitting on his back.
Someone else ran towards them, and was clearly in the process of ‘phoning, I hoped, the police, but someone must have got there before him, calling from one of the houses, because my mates in the police force were there in what seemed like only a few minutes.
“I’m Colin. You know where I live; I was drawing the curtains in an upstairs window when I saw what was going on. I’m not very brave, but I lost any fear. I just felt such rage that I ran down the stairs and out of the front door like a maniac. I was shouting so loudly that I think I might soon lose my voice!” The man who probably saved me a rape — or worse — was standing by me as the police carted off my attacker. He held out his hand, which I grabbed and pulled him towards me to give him a grateful hug.
He walked me back home, which wasn’t far. My house was in a cul-de-sac off the road where I was attacked. The police were going to take me home, but I said I was o.k. to walk with this gentleman. They seemed to know Colin anyway.
I don’t drink much, but I poured us each a stiff whisky. He was brave, doing what he did, because I should think he was a good twenty years older than I was, and I was pushing on a bit. Well in my line of business 50+ is unusual for a ‘working girl’.
He stayed with me long enough for us to drink the whisky, and for me to show signs of being back to my normal chirpy self. But he seemed anxious to get back home. He’d gone back to lock the door and put on a coat before walking me home, but I think he felt a bit awkward alone in my house with me. Funny really, when you think what I do for part of my living! Anyway he asked me if I would visit him at his place. He said that he’d seen me around and would like to know more about me. Now with some guys that would have rung a few warning bells, but with Colin it just sounded like a kind invitation. We arranged a date and he said he’d make a bit of supper.
A few days later I was sitting in his rather nice sitting room. The house was old, but the room wasn’t, if you see what I mean. It had modern colours, and up-to-date furniture. There were pictures on the wall, and the mantelpiece had an old fashioned clock and some china ornaments. But what was most important in that room were the bookcases. There was one either side of the fireplace, and another on the wall facing the bay window, and they were all loaded with books of all shapes, sizes and colours.
We had already eaten a lovely steak and chips which he cooked while I stood and watched. He said it was like walking together: it was a good way of breaking the ice and making sure it didn’t get too formal. He even had on a butcher’s apron which he was wearing when he opened the door to me.
We’d talked about the way I’d been assaulted and how the police had turned up so quickly. I said I’d tell him later how that might have happened. He had noticed that the cops seemed to know me, although nothing like it had ever happened to me before. Apparently my attacker was known to me: he was at school with my son. Useless mother — not surprising he was such a pain in the arse. I told the police I didn’t want to take the thing any further
“I’ve told you my name, but Şişli escort not much else, and I don’t even know your name.” was how he started our first conversation.
“My name is Janet, usually known as Jan, and I’m a tart: a.k.a. hooker, whore, sex worker, prostitute, call girl, escort etc. etc. I work from home, part-time, for two days a week, and three days at the supermarket,” I replied.
“I thought that might be the case. I didn’t know but a few small things that pointed in that direction, and people gossip and speculate,” he said.
“Do you mind?”
“Why should I? I was in business to satisfy a demand for what we had on offer. You’re doing the same.”
He finished cooking, took his apron off, and we sat down at his kitchen table to eat. We spent the time eating, when we hadn’t got a mouthful, talking about the area where we had both lived for quite a long time, and some of the people we both knew.
He’d made a lemon meringue pie — one of my all-time favourites — for afters. Then we moved to the sitting room.
“Right,” he said, “Now, if you’re happy to do it, I’d like to hear your life history.”
“Well I’m not saying how old I am, but I am post-menopausal! I wear HRT patches which makes sure I don’t forget what my cunt’s for and keeps me from drying out like a rosy prune. Oops, I hope you don’t mind a bit of fruity language?”
“Not at all. You carry on,” he said, smiling.
“I have a son, Tyler, who’s in his thirties. He lives about 20 miles away and works ‘in IT’ like a lot of his generation I suppose. I think he designs and looks after websites and things. He’s not married yet, but I think he might be soon.”
“Were you ever married?” Colin asked.
“No, I didn’t want to sacrifice my life for the service of an ungrateful man! I wouldn’t have expected him to put up with me anyway. I’m very independent. Always have been. Dad walked out when I’d just started school, and Mum and I managed on our own. What a great Mum! Worked her socks off as a care worker; learnt to cook great meals with hardly any money, and wouldn’t stand any nonsense from yours truly. She didn’t mind giving me a good slap on the bum when I was trying her patience too much, but she was always loving and always fair.”
“Is she still around? Did she marry again, or hook up with anyone else?”
“Oh yes — very much still around. When I was a bit older she had an occasional fellow to go to gigs with and have a bit of fucking time as well. Once bitten, though, and she was cagey about letting any of them get the idea that they were part of the furniture. When I understood what it was all about she asked me if minded her bringing a bloke home. I told her that was o.k. with me, and I didn’t mind them fucking either, as long as they kept it to the bedroom!”
“Your turn to make the rules then?” he laughed.
“Why not? Like mother like daughter! I left school at just seventeen and went to earn some money in the supermarket. Mum was disappointed — she’d hoped I would go on and get some sort of qualification. I could’ve done that because I managed 6 GCSE passes. Anyway, the supermarket decided I could do something more useful to them than checkout or shelf-stacking, and put me on a training course to become a ‘team leader’. Quite soon I’d got myself a reasonably well-paid job, and was able to start supporting Mum.
That’s when I thought I’d really like a place of my own. I didn’t want to rent like Mum. She was lucky that she had a Housing Association as landlord, but renting always seemed to me a bit precarious: some bastard landlord could easily decide he didn’t like you and you’d be out on the street, and I’d never get on the list for social housing.”
“Goodness, that was ambitious. Deposit and mortgage payments and all that stuff.” Colin sounded quite surprised.
“Of course getting together the dosh for a house was big stuff. It was mid-eighties, and I thought I might still get something decent for around £30k. Raising the deposit was the problem: I’d need at least 10%, preferably 20%.”
“So that was when you started thinking about a second job?”
“Yes. One night I was in a club having a drink with some mates, and I got chatted up by a guy who looked about twice my age. Nice man, clean shaven, well-dressed, not rough in his manner or speech. He bought me a drink or two, then asked me if I’d go back to his hotel room. He was a rep for cosmetics, and toured part of the country flogging smellies to small shops.
‘O.k.’ I said, ‘but it’ll cost you thirty quid, and you’ll have to wear a condom.’ I’ve no idea why I said that. I’d never seriously considered going on the game, although it had crossed my mind that it might be a way to get to my house-buying a bit quicker. ‘I’ll stay an hour — not staying the night. And no funny stuff, right?’ I added.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, ‘Just straight sex, and you can leave when you want to.’
Well, it seemed almost too good to be true, and it turned out to be Sultangazi escort bayan a bit of a laugh. He had a good sense of humour and had a few funny stories to tell of his life ‘on the road’. We had a nice fuck too — I wasn’t a virgin as you may have guessed — and he’d been around a bit, so he knew what he was doing with a woman’s body. At that time I liked to cum myself, and he certainly had ‘the knowledge’ to get me there three times. (‘The Knowledge’ is the name they give to what London cabbies need to learn to find their way round London.) Well he knew his way round girls’ bits, and found a few corners I hadn’t properly sussed myself.
After about an hour I got up, went to his bathroom for a bit of a clean-up, and dressed to go.
‘I’m round this way once a fortnight,’ he said. ‘If you’re willing, we can make a regular date,’ then he handed me £50 in notes.
‘Thanks very much,’ I said. ‘We can try a regular date a few times if you like. Do you always stay here?’
‘Yes I do; and they don’t seem to mind me ‘entertaining’. Some places are a bit snotty about it. I have a few mates who come this way too, who’d be glad of a bit of company. Finding someone like you to have a bit of fun with is a godsend. It can get quite lonely.’
‘One thing at a time,’ I said. ‘I’m not on the game really, but I’m saving for a deposit on a house, and every little helps. With you it’s been a pleasure. If we see each other again I’ll tell you what I’ve decided.’
‘Thanks again. It was great.’ He kissed me on the cheek.
That’s how it started. I think that I might have been earning about £5k a year at that time. I worked out that by doing £50 worth of fucking twice a day for five days a week I’d earn 5 times what I got now. In a year I’d have the deposit for my little house! But that meant giving up the job at the supermarket, and I didn’t think I’d do that because I quite enjoyed the time with the other staff, and money-wise it was a sort of safety net.”
“Wise decision, I think. Also takes you out of the situation where you feel you’ll have to do anything with anybody to earn a bit of money. Makes you feel you’re in control.” I was beginning to see that Colin was on the ball.
“Ian, the guy I just told you about, was a lovely man, and I looked forward to his visits. He fucked like an angel, if angels are allowed to fuck, working me up slowly and touching all the right buttons before going for broke. When he got to the point of breaking loose he’d ask me how I wanted it. Sometimes I wanted it slow and leisurely; sometimes I wanted to be teased a bit, sometimes I just needed a bit of rough and a gallop to the finish. We tried all positions as well. He liked to do it doggy style, particularly when I’d asked to be rammed. That was great, in fact it was all amazing, but my favourite was sitting astride him, with his feet in my hands, his nice cock sticking up where it counted, and a finger up my arse. Whoops again: perhaps I’m telling you more than you’re wanting?”
“Just keep going, I’m enjoying it,” said my new friend Colin.
“Well Ian talked to me as well. ‘Fucking you is a lovely thing to do,’ he said to me one day, ‘and it’s the high spot of my fortnight. But if you’re going to do this as a job I think you’ll have to detach yourself a bit from what you’re doing or you’ll wear yourself out, mentally and physically. On occasions we fuck for an hour or more, and sometimes you manage multiple orgasms.’
‘That’s ‘cos I like you, and I love you fucking me.’ I said.
‘But you can’t keep that up if you’re going to do it as a job, and often you won’t want to anyway.’
I’d started seeing some of his friends as well, all of them reps in different lines. But I could see what Ian was getting at, because some of them took advantage of my apparent enjoyment and spun the whole thing out. I’d noticed that fucking was already losing some of the excitement it had when I first started. And sometimes I did get a bit tired doing two jobs, and the one that people say is done on your back was as knackering as the one in the supermarket.
‘What do you suggest I do about it? I asked him.
‘For a start you could limit sessions to half-an-hour. Then I suggest you start thinking about it as a job: the man is paying you money for a service. You don’t have to enjoy what you do every time, so long as you do your best to please him.’
‘I think I do that now,’ I said.
‘If you think all the time about what you fancy doing next, and whether or not you like this guy with the bent cock and warped mind, and bad breath, you won’t do a decent job. Be a bit detached and just find out the best way to make him pleased he came to you and shelled out his cash.’
Good advice. I found it was true that when I wasn’t too hung up on my own likes and dislikes, I could concentrate on doing a good job. I didn’t mind no longer getting the same thrill — except with Ian: he was a good friend — and he was such a lovely fucker.
“You Escort Taksim were very lucky to meet him when you did,” Colin commented, “Did you know what you were doing? Had you got ‘the knowledge’ yourself?”
“My Mum had told me what to expect before I started menstruating, and said that when I was a bit older she’d share with me a few things that she had learnt over the years. I’m not going into details, but when she thought that I was ready she gave me what you might call a full briefing about my own body, and male bodies, and what they could do with each other. She also stressed the importance of condoms, even if you were on the pill.
So when it came to the point of someone deciding they wanted to fuck me I knew what it was all about, and I could make up my own mind whether to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.
“I completely agree with your assessment of your mum. She’s obviously one in a thousand. I’m loving it, and I want to hear more, but I think we should stop there for tonight. Perhaps we can have another instalment next week?”
“O.k. Will you come to my place?”
“I’d love to, if that’s good for you.”
So the next time we met was at my house. I’d arranged it so that my business was carried out in the back room on the ground floor (street level). The front part was a kitchen and dining area. The old ‘front’ door had an internal draught lobby, which opened into the kitchen. The stairs were straight ahead, rising out of the kitchen, and you had to pass through the kitchen to get to the back of the house. The old kitchen was now where I kept the washing machine and freezer, and there was a loo (a ‘lavvie’, as Mum used to call it) as well, with a wash basin.
The effect of all this was to make a separation between my work place and my private part. There was a back door which was kept locked when I was ‘entertaining’ — didn’t want them doing a runner without paying.
Since Tyler had left I’d used the front room upstairs as a sitting room. It was the largest room in the house and made a fabulous lounging area. It had a desk where I’m writing this now, and some bookshelves, t.v. and sound system, two sofas and another couple of chairs that I’d got from the second-hand shop. They were something called ‘Ercol’, which I hadn’t heard of but are now quite fashionable, so they say, and there was a table to match the chairs.
“Come in Colin. I’m going to take you straight upstairs, but don’t get any funny ideas: this is where my sitting room is.”
“Whow! It’s beautiful,” he said as I showed him into the sitting room. “Great idea to put the living room up here. I’ve often thought that these front bedrooms are a bit of wasted space.”
I’d made an egg, bacon, onion and cheese tart, and a decent bit of salad, which was set out on the table with a bottle of wine and all the bits and pieces. It was really nice to be entertaining with something other than my naked body! I hadn’t managed it many times, although Maisie with her partner and my Mum came occasionally for a ‘girls’ night.
“I really enjoyed that,” Colin said as we finished our afters of stewed pears and chocolate sauce. “It does get boring doing food just for yourself.”
We settled ourselves on the chairs. “We’d got to the point when your Mum had shared her experience with you. Do you want to go on from there? I’d like to know how long it took to save enough for the deposit on your house,” Colin prompted.
“I’d put aside enough money after nearly 3 years doing two jobs. I was knackered. I was helped by the fact that Mum only charged me for minimal rent and a bit for food, but even so I was still working five days at the supermarket, and 4 or 5 hours a week on the game. Probably doesn’t sound much, but it means at least double that number of clients + all the work that goes into setting it up.
I didn’t go street walking, and I went to hotels because I wouldn’t use my Mum’s place. Mostly the clients paid the hotel bill, but sometimes I was left to settle it. Occasionally I visited clients in their own homes, but never the first time, and only after I’d sussed out the place from the outside.
Time came when I decided that I wanted a child. I couldn’t explain it, but I thought it was a natural thing for a woman to want to do. Of course I talked it over with my Mum. ‘Don’t do it unless you feel you can do it properly. Don’t expect others to do it all for you, and in particular, when he goes to school, you should be helping the school, not expecting the school to do all the things you can’t be fagged to do yourself.’
‘Such as?’ I asked.
‘Most children don’t learn by magic: they need help. That help has to come from the parents as much as the school. The school only has the child for 6 or 7 hours a day; you have the other 18 hours. Do you remember learning to read?’
‘Yes, snuggled up on the sofa with you or Gran or Grandpa. I loved it. And there were always some books around that I could pick up and go into a corner and try to make out what was happening in a story.’ I had been so happy as a child, even after Dad did a bunk.
I think I managed to convince her that I would be a decent mum, and she promised to help. She loved children, and I think she was quite excited that there might be another little one in the house soon.”