Suite <3

I grew up in a Hotel/Apartments/Condo.  Downtown, it used to be a Hilton, then Embassy Suites before it got bought by a private investor.  My mom, and dad were hired for Maintenance, and as a Chef for Room Service/the restaurant/bar, and moved into a suite on the bottom floor.  Near the lobby, Restaurant/Bar, and the Security Room.

I didn’t get to go into neither, but I’d seen the screens, and security guys going in and out of that room.  Around 2 corners, and on the end of the next hall, it took me a while to realize that it was right next to dad’s Computer Room.  I was an only child (A girl) so the other bedroom was set up with this old used beige computer box, and monitor.  Stained with brown cigarette smoke (Though they couldn’t smoke in the security room any more, they went out one of the side exits to smoke.)  

I got to use it for computer stuff.  It wasn’t our only computer, but it had a keyboard, scanner, printer, and even a Fax machine.  So dad could print out plans, for the electrical, plumbing, and air conditioning vents, as part of his job.  What wasn’t part of his job was hooking it up into the security cameras, and saving some of the videos for his.  Entertainment?

All right, it didn’t take long for me to figure out what he was doing in there, with the door locked, and mom busy in the Kitchen.  (The restaurant kitchen, for the whole building.)  He was probably beating off, just watching the latest video he downloaded told me that, but one of them was this guy named David.  I saw him around, in the hall, down in the basement pool, sauna, hot-tub or whatever, but then on the video.

He looked right up at the camera, so I could see his face under the wig.  With a wink, and a smile to the Security guys, he got a bottle out of his purse. Pulled a little cap off the spout, and stuck it up under the hem of his cocktail dress.  In the elevator, on his way up to the top floor.  Next he put a high heel up in the corner, and wiped his leg off with a washcloth.  Then the other, and he pulled the dress out to straighten it before it got to the top floor.  

The camera switched to the top floor hall, and I was impressed.  Watching him walk all the way down it to the end of the hall.  Like a model, a supermodel even! One heel in front of his toes, then the other so his legs crossed, and his hips swung back and forth.  His shoulders perfectly still, holding the purse in 1 arm.  

If I didn’t know him better, or I hadn’t seen him get out of the pool in a speedo.  The pool water running down his abs, and muscular shaved legs.  His shrunken bulge in the pouch, and walking off to the changing room.  Bare feet, heel first, wide apart so his shoulders could swing in time with a cocky manly swagger.

The change was incredible, and convincing.  He looked like a woman, a high class one, like a supermodel on her way to a cocktail party, but at the end of the short hall.  The whole back of the top floor was 1 apartment, with French doors out to a rooftop garden, no cameras out there, or in any of the rooms.  To protect the resident’s privacy, but the Reverend John Morell opened the door in a pair of shorts.  A towel rolled up around his neck, and he put an arm around Dave’s waist.  Patting the small of his back, then looking around the hall before closing the door.

“Huh!”  The Reverend John Morell was a bit of a local celebrity, he ran an Evangelical church, and had his own Cable Access Channel.  Like a local 700 club, but not Fortune 500.  More like Fortune 50, a big fish in a small pond, warning the faithful about the temptations of the flesh, and the wages of sin.  Especially homophobic, to hear him tell it, that was the worst sin.
Abomination, and they had a special pit of hell for sodomites.

So, like a young Pat Robertson.  With a cross-dressing male prostitute in his penthouse.  All dressed up, and lubed in the elevator.  I watched my dad live.  Getting on the elevator, and discretely mopping up the drops of lube from the preparatory enema before someone slipped, and fell.  Then, he gave the camera the thumbs up, unlocked the Elevator, and pushed the button to go back down to the lobby.

“Huh!”  So, he knew that Dave was a prostitute, and he went up to the Rev’s penthouse, to let him sodomize him for money.  I honestly don’t know, whether dressing up, and walking so convincingly was to hide the fact that he was a Male prostitute, to commit sodomy for money.  To any of his neighbors, if they got nosey, “She” could have just been, I don’t know.  A businesswoman, or the wife of an associate.  Obviously having an affair, but not a Homosexual affair.  Because of course, sodomy is worse than Adultery.  Which is why it’s in the 10 commandments.  

Before dad got back, I hid in the lobby.  Just standing behind one of the planters, minding my own business until he went back to the maintenance room.  With his mop bucket, I ran to the elevator, before the doors shut, and hit the button for the top floor.  Biting my lip, and forcing myself to keep my eyes down.  Ignoring the corner with the camera in it, but when it got to the top floor.  DING!  The doors opened, and I hit the [><] button to shut the doors.  I just waited, how long would he be up here?  I don’t know, I didn’t check the time, but finally he hit the button to open the doors, come in, and lean over to hit the button for the Lobby.  The ground floor, the same hall as me, and my parents lived on.  

Only child, not sure why they decided to stop having kids with 1, and start using birth control, but it doesn’t matter.  The important thing is the purse he had on.  It had those squeeze clamps, with a spring, and jaws that crossed in the D ring like a key ring.  So you could switch straps, but this one was gold colored, with the strap woven through chain links.  I looked up at the floors, counting down.  [4]  [3]  [2]  [1]…

DING!  My fingers already on the clasp, I snatched her bag, and yanked it out from under his arm.  “Hey, wait.  Stop, thief!”  

CLACK CLACK CLACK!  I looked back to see him hop, and realized he can’t run in those heels. As well as walk, but he picked one up to unbuckle it, and I turned the corner.  Laughing, I hit the bar for the stairwell, loud enough to echo down the hall, and ran down the stairs.  I waited until he got to the door, then slammed the door to the basement, so he would follow.  Then, I unzipped the bag to dig around inside.  

No lube bottle, so he must have thrown it away discretely.  2 condoms still stuck together, and folded over in the corner.  The washcloth was gone, but it was probably one of the white ones that come and go with the towels to the laundry.  Not a laundry room, a full service laundry for the whole building, with front load washers you could climb in, and ride around if you wanted to drown.

I shook my head, and pulled out the bills.  All $20s to count while he made it down the stairs, barefoot.

“So,” I looked up, “How much is it worth to get sodomized by the Reverend?”

“None of your business.”  I held the wad back, and jumped away.

“Well, does he pay extra for discretion?”

“Yeah, what’re you blackmailing me?”

“No, if I wanted to blackmail someone, the Rev has a lot more money, I bet.”

“Then, what’s this about?”  He finally stopped, put his hands on his hips, and waited.

“Well, you know.”  He shook his head, but honestly dressed like that, with all the makeup, it was just funny.  So, I giggled, “Prostitution?  I’m not old enough to get a work permit yet, but you’re the best call girl on the block, and you’re not even a girl.  So, maybe you could give me a few pointers.”  I held out the money, I only counted up to 10, $200.00 and that wasn’t even halfway through the stack, but it was a lot of money.  “I’ll pay you.”

“Little pickpocket.”  I picked up his purse, and clipped the strap back to the other end.

“Well, purse snatching doesn’t make a whole lot of money, neither.  So, what do you say, you want a partner?  I know most guys don’t want a guy in a dress, no matter how good it looks on you.”

“Huh, thanks but how old Are you?”

“What difference does that make?  How old were you when you started turning tricks on the street.”

“That’s different, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Well I do, and I shouldn’t have to run away, then learn on the streets, and then make enough money for a hotel room, when I already live here.  So, what do you say?”

“Okay, come on…”

;

“Chelsea”  (fM Pros)

“How about Chelsea, like that Leonard Cohen song?  “I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel, you’re talkin’ so brave and so sweet.  Givin’ me head on the unmade bed while the limousines wait on the street…”  My mom’s a huge Leonard Cohen fan, but her favorite is “Take This Longing.”  It’s so romantic.”

“You know, that’s Janis Joplin?”  The elevator only had to come down 1 floor, so it went DINK!  

“In the Chelsea Hotel?”  #2.  

“Yeah, he wrote it for Janis Joplin, since they’re lovers at the time.”

“Huh!”  We only had to go up 1 floor, so I kept my head down.  The ball-cap covering my face for the cameras.  The one in the corner, and the one down the hall, though obviously the security guys had to know it was somebody who lived here.  To know the cameras well enough to avoid them, but other than that.  Young, short, tee shirt, pretty flat chest unless I stuck my nipples out, bluejeans, and sneakers. 

Probably a boy, with my hair twisted up under the hat, but no logos or anything.  That, and none of the cameras pointed at dad’s room, or any of the rooms like the Security room, because what would be the point?  It must look a little odd, that I just stole his purse, and then he took me back to his room to change, though.

“Huh!”  He just pulled the top of the dress down, and bunched it around his waist.  Threw the heels on the sofa, and went back to the bedroom.  The bathroom, unhooking the padded bra, and hung it over the shower curtain, but he didn’t close any of the doors.  “You mind if I take this off?”  He pointed to the makeup, and took off the wig.  

I just nodded, and watched, but he was already stripped down to the waist.  Skinny, but well defined, especially from the back.  No hips, but not especially broad shouldered.  Bending over to scrub his face with cold cream.  I backed up, and looked at the vanity mirror.  The desk built into the walls, and the lights set up.  Flip-over mirror with one concaved in, to magnify like a telescope mirror.  I shook my head.

“Huh, thanks.”  He turned off the water, and dried off his face.  Then, carefully pinched the top of the pantie hose stretched over his hair.  To pull it off without pulling his hair, and drop it in the corner.  His rom was a mess, dirty clothes all over the floor, and room service trays stacked up on the coffee table.  In the living room, it’s a suite, they’re all suites, but the ground floor ones aren’t the nicest in the way of furnishings.  More like brass plated, instead of guilded, and crown molding instead of sculpted plaster around the corners of the ceiling.  No chandelier…

“So, what do you want to know?”  he hung up the dress, and turned around in panties.  Nice lacy ones, with scalloped ruffles around the waist, but rolled up under his hip-bones.  So, stretch lace.  “Are you a virgin?”

“What?  No.”  I waved, “Get outta here, of course not.  I just don’t want to give it away for free no more.”

“Well, I saw you in the halls, so you go to Saint Ignatius?”

“Yeah, but we’re not Christian.  It’s a prep school, that’s all.  I get plenty of time to get busy after school.”

“Look kid.  If you want my help, then you can’t lie to me.”

“Who’s lying?”

“So, I’m going to need more details on your sexual history.  Just so I know what I can teach you that you don’t already know.”

“Fine,” I rolled my eyes, “I guess I’m still technically a virgin, but I do blowjobs, and hand jobs all the time.  When I get the chance, but you know, boys my age.”  Still rude to ask.  “They don’t have a whole lot of money, so it’s not worth it for lunch money.  I guess I just do it pro-bono.”  I pumped an imaginary cock to punctuate, “For fun.”  Kept an eye on the front of his panties.  The dry bulge, not shriveled up from the cold pool water, and the curl starting to straighten out.  “If you want, I can show you.”  I pointed.

“Huh!”  He just dropped his panties, and kicked them off.  

“Ohihihihihn!  You shaved it.  That’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it to be shaved bald as a 4th grader’s.”

“Well, if you’re going to prostitute yourself, you’re going to have to learn to listen to the client.”

“So, you play the client, huh?”

“Yeah,” he scooted over in bed, and patted the cover.  One of those half felted polyester with the thin polyester cover quilted over it, and that hideous peach floral pattern they have in the cheap suites.  “Don’t be shy.”

“Should I take my clothes off?”  I let my hair down, and shook it out.  Tossing the ballcap aside.

“Yeah, you know how to strip?”  

I nodded, turning my hips, to push one out, and bend my knee to prop my sneaker up on 1 toe.  “Yeah, I practiced.”  In the mirror, with the sexiest clothes I could get, but.  “I guess dressing like a boy helps?”  I kept glancing over at his chubby.  “Being gay and all.”

“Hahuhn?”  He shook his head, “I’m not gay.  I know the cocktail dress and heels fooled you, but that was just for the client.”

“You can’t talk about him, huh?”  Meaning the Rev. Leader of the Morrel Majority.

“I shouldn’t.  It’s not like doctor patient confidentiality, but there’s definitely an unspoken agreement.”

“So what are you, sexually?”

“Huh!”  he looked up, and absently pulled his chubby out.  “I don’t know, a whore?”  He looked back, and nodded.  “Don’t stop, dancing.  If you’re going to talk, or work for a talker, you have to be able to while you’re stripping for him.”

I nodded, but there’s no sexy way to take off a baggy black teeshirt, so I just took it off.

“You asked me, when I started having sex for money?”  He kept pulling it hard, while I tried to take my bra off sexy.  Without a mirror, I never practiced it with an audience before, let alone while holding a conversation, but he looked up again, remembering.  “Well…”

;

Dave/Cherish

“I guess the first time, I was twelve.”  She nodded, politely.  Turns out to be a pretty good listener once you can get a word in edgewise, but I’m sure she was just excited.  “I was molested.”

“Of course.  By a man, or a woman?”

“Huh, weel…  Both, and an older boy.  A teenager, I’m not naming any names, but he was gay, and closeted.  His father sexually abused him too, but I’m a transvestite.”  I looked down, but she just nodded.

“Mhm?”

“So, he liked me better in tight jeans, I was always a pretty boy, of course. His father liked me to wear girl’s underwear, and brought me pretty panties to model in.  His mother showed me how to runway walk, and.”  I made a face.  Turned slightly to my best side, and plump my lips without going full duckface, or Blue Steel.  “The look.”

“Was she a model?”

“No, not really.  I mean not professionally, I suppose you could call it more of a hobby.  A big fan and she obviously wanted to get into modeling when she was younger, but I bet she didn’t make it.  Professionally.”

“Most girls don’t, but she was in on this whole incest, and child pornography ring?”

“Huh, yeah.  But then my sister found my photos, and showed mom.  I started out dressing up with her, you know playing makeover, and princess.  Tea parties with the dolls, and stuffed animals.”

“Mhm?  So when did that turn sexual?”

“Oh, no.  It didn’t, I never had that sort of relationship with my sister.  I didn’t even borrow her underwear, it wouldn’t fit me if I did.  She was too little, she didn’t even have hips before I ran away.”

“Let me guess, your father saw the pictures.”

“Stepdad, yeah.  My biological father left when I was young.  My sister’s actually my half sister, but irregardless.  He hit the roof, thought I was gay.”

“Well, you were having sex and making childporn with another boy, and his father.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t keep the photos.  Oh, no.  Sorry, the photos were Fashion photos.  Modeling, 8x10s.  Not polaroids, they had a full darkroom, and photography studio.  He wasn’t a professional photographer either, it was more like a hobby too.”

“And a child pornographer.”

“Yes, and a child pornographer.  So, I guess in a way he was a professional, but legally he was just an Accountant.”

“By day, but by night.”  Finally, she just kicked off her shoes, pulled her feet out of her jeans, and climbed on the bed in nothing but a pair of panties.  Plain, pink cotton panties with dark red piping around the thighs, and a ribbon tied in a bow through the waistband.  “You’ve got a nice cock.”  She slipped it out of my fingers, and crossed her thumbs around the underside.  

“Thanks.”

“Nice and clean.”  She sniffed it, and pulled her double fists down to the base, so it stretched, and the head swelled in her grip.

“Well, I just took a shower.”  For the appointment, but I was planning on beating off when I got home.  As usual.  “Oh!  Huh.”

She smiled, and rubbed the frenulum with her tongue, then sealed her lips, and pulled it out.  He cheeks sucking in with the vacuum caused by the meat piston withdrawing, and gripping it in both hands again to make the head swell.  Sensitive, and rub it faster with her tongue.  “Oh, huh!  Fuck, uh!  Huh, fuck.  Oh fuck, yeah.”

She ran her thumb down to the bottom, let go and pinched, to milk the last drop out, and let it slip flaccid from her smiling lips.

She sat back, breathing through her nose, and looked down.  Her chin on her sternum, she opened her mouth, and stuck her tongue out to drool, white, and thick down on her chest.  Then, rubbed it in until it was shiny, and sticky on her erect nipples.

“How was that?”

“Huh!  Pretty damned good.  Honestly, I can’t teach you anything about giving head.”

“Thanks!”

“You know how to fake an orgasm, convincingly?”

“Oh uh uh UH YEAHS!”

“No, not that.  Huh, okay.”  Either she’s watched When Harry met Sally, or too much commercial porn.  “Take off your underpants, and let me show you.”  She stuck her knees up, and slipped them over her.  “Honestly, it’s not about moaning, or what you say.  That depends on the clients, and their fantasies.  The real art is finding out what the client wants, and satisfying that desire.  Being his fantasy, but for now.  You’re going to have to stick to the Daddy/Daughter, Baby Sitter, Teacher/Schoolgirl, and Child Molester types until you mature.”

She nodded.  “So, how do you fake an orgasm?”

“Well, you ever heard of Kegels?”  She shook her head.  “Okay, come around here.”  I sat up, and put my feet over the side of the bed.  “In my lap, and let me touch you.”

“Like a child molester.”

“I’m not a pedophile either.”

“Okay.  You’re the tutor, I get it.  I’m not judging you for being a manwhore, so I don’t really care one way or another.  Gay, straight, bi, transvestite, pedophile, or whatever.”

“However, your clients are probably going to want to touch you like this.”  She’s young, but not completely dry?  A little damp.  “Now, there’s a muscle in here.”  I ran my fingers up to the top of her pubic hairs.  “It runs all the way down to your Coccyx.”  

“What’s that?”  She shook her head, and brushed my cheek with the back of her hair.  I smelled it, she’s not a little girl.  She doesn’t even smell like a little girl, she smells like a woman in heat.

“Your tailbone.”

“I have an idea,” she got up, and turned around on the bed.  Held her legs up, “How about you play doctor, then we can switch back to me calling you Daddy.”

“All right,” I turned.  “Now, imagine you’re taking a dump, but you have to pinch it off.”

“Like this?”  Her gaping lips stretched almost together, so the inner wrinkles almost disappeared.

“Yeah, that’s good.  Now, I know you masturbate.”

“Of course!”

“So, when you orgasm, you’ve felt that muscle twitch.”

“Oh, huh!”  She closed her eyes, and clenched her teeth.  Hard enough for the muscles to tighten in her job, but she made it spasm, quickly.  “Puh!  Like that?”

“Yeah, like that.  You’re a quick learner, but you’re going to have to practice.  So you can fake it while acting.”

“Okay, maybe I can throw some shivers, and shudders in like this?  Oh, huhuhuhuh!”

“Yes, and you can record yourself orgasming, so you can practice watching it in the mirror.”

“Good idea!  I think I better start taking notes or something.”

“That’s not a good idea.  You probably don’t want to get caught with a how to turn tricks checklist, so you’re going to have to memorize it.”

“And practice?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, daddy.”  She pouted.  “Huh, daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I had a bad dream, so you think I can sleep with you tonight?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”  She’s remarkably good at this act.  

Good, that means we can make a lot of money…

;

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