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“No, I dare you!”
“No, you first.”
“He’s your pony, you should touch his thing first.”
I’m trying desperately to get Rachel to touch Trigger’s black penis. I want to, but not first. Not before she does.
“Eww! It’ll be gross if I touch it!”
“No, it won’t, Rachel. Besides, it just looks like black skin.”
Rachel ran away shouting, “Eww! Eww!”
Rachel and I were best friends and we shared every moment including growing into womanhood. Once puberty kicked in, we quickly discovered boys, and they filled every conversation. Always wondering what they may look like without clothes. We also discovered romance magazines and began reading the stories. We spent almost all our allowances on those trashy magazines. The stories gave no clues about real lovemaking, and what it means. Yet the stories always felt romantic and sexy, and made us feel tingly and horny. We used to talk for hours about making love to boys as in the magazines. Our mothers had deliberately left that part blank, saying we’ll learn when we marry
“Phfft, yeah right,” Rachel and I would say and giggle outrageously.
We were also competitive with each other too. I had the first period. She started growing pubic hair first, I lost my virginity first, and to up the ante she sold her virginity to a forty-year-old man for ten dollars.
That’s how it started years ago.
*****
I sat in the back of the long black limousine, quietly, looking out the window and thinking. The car is moving along a single lane road in an extremely rural area of Ohio. The late afternoon sun shines on the trees and farms, cows and sheep and barns. The last place anyone would expect to see a limo. The irony isn’t lost on me, especially when I consider what the locals would think if they knew anything about me, or the woman I’m traveling with.
Her name is Rachel Wilson, and we’ve been friends since we were kids.
She sits at the other end of the limo’s rearmost seat, chewing gum and occasionally blowing a bubble as she scans a magazine while ignoring the world around. I look her over (not for the first time), and wonder (also not for the first time): How the hell did we get like this?
Rachel is twenty-four-years-old, red hair with a baby face, and the thin delicate body of a teenage girl. Something she complains about endlessly as she still has to produce identification to prove her age when entering bars or clubs. I, on the other hand, am twenty-three, curvy, and athletic from living at the gym.
My facial features are more angular, yet in an attractive ‘girl-next-door’ way. I’m about two inches taller than Rach, and outweigh her by ten pounds. My breasts are larger too, and more round. Even our nipples are opposites, mine are pink while Rach’s are brown. One of the few things we do share is we’re beautiful women (in our own way).
That, I tell myself as I watch the farmland outside glide by, and we’re both whores.
My eye caught on something ahead, a dark figure that grew slowly larger. As the car drew near, I saw it’s a horse standing in a green field alone. It’s a beautiful beast, black with a thin strip of white on its nose. The most striking thing about it became apparent a moment later, when I absently drop my gaze. The animal has an enormous hard-on.
My eyes widen, and I said, “Oh my God, Rach, look at that.”
Rachel probably would’ve ignored me except the tone of my voice. She set her magazine down and scoots over next to me, and squinting out the window.
“Wow,” she said mockingly. “That’s awesome. You think I should give him my phone number?”
I frown and grimace, while Rachel laughs, pecking me quickly on the lips, then moving back to the other side of the car. She picks up her magazine, blew a bubble with her gum, and drops the magazine again with a deep sigh and grimace of her own. Suddenly, she leans forward and knocks on the glass that separates us from the driver.
“Hey, Brah,” she calls. “Are we there yet?”
*****
Five minutes later the car turns onto a dirt road and follows it out to a large and secluded ranch house. There’s a garage next to it, and I glimpse part of what I figure is a barn behind the two structures. It looks nearly as big as the house itself.
“Well, here we go,” I said to Rachel. “Any thoughts on what he might have in store for us this time?”
“Nothing new,” Rachel said coldly. “Threesomes, dick sucking, and lesbo stuff while he watches. You know the drill, Eve.”
“I don’t know, Rach. If that’s all he wants, why’d he bring us out here?”
“Who cares? He’s paying us two G’s a day. For that kind of money, I’d let him put me in a cage and poke me with a stick.”
“That’s what I fear,” I said as I open the door and get out.
The house has a veranda stretching from one end to the other, and four porch steps that lead to it. I had just gone up the steps and onto the veranda when the huge white door opens and Geoff comes out.
“Well, hello there, ladies,” he said. “I was wondering when you were going to get here.”
“Hi, Geoff,” we said simultaneously.
“The driver got lost,” I said with an insolent smile. “It’s not easy to find the middle of nowhere, even with GPS.”
Rachel laughs and said, “Oh, Eve.”
I glance at Peter, the driver, and the frown on his face says he didn’t find my remark funny.
“Well, you’re here now,” Geoff said. “Why not come in and have a drink before dinner?”
“Champagne,” Rachel shouts happily.
Geoff holds the door for us and we go inside, Rachel is scooting before me. The interior of the house is dim and cool, yet airy, giving it that relaxed, down-home feeling I always expect country houses to have. The furnishings in the large sunken living room, however, aren’t country furniture, but the kind of highly expensive urban prestige crap I dislike. It looks out-of-place here, as did the butler who suddenly appeared in a doorway.
“Champagne for the ladies,” Geoff ordered as we sit together on a large brown leather sofa. “And I’ll have another Manhattan.”
Geoff sat on a black leather armchair, and as he did so I regard him objectively.
Geoff Cook isn’t a handsome man. At six feet eight and two hundred seventy pounds, he’s too tall and too big to make any woman of normal height feel comfortable. Yet his face is too ruddy and long, his cheeks too jowly. He’s forty-four, which makes him too old for most women my age to find attractive. Although, if anything, that’s what appeals to me the most, he’s old enough to be my father.
Geoff Jones is also rich, he’s the owner and CEO of a successful electronics company, and is reported to be worth more than a billion dollars. No Bill Gates, obviously, but a nothing to sneeze at just the same.
I’d met him three years ago, when I was working for an outcall company in New York. He hadn’t been a customer, of course, the Geoff Jones’s of the world can afford much more expensive girls than the two hundred an hour whore I’d been then. Geoff is an investor, and the ‘Naughty Angels Escort Service’ is one of his unpublicized holdings.
He’d heard from somebody (I never discovered whom) I’m exceptionally talented, and he’d called me out to his New York penthouse to get a look at me himself. He liked what he’d seen (and fucks me twice that night), and made me his ‘private girl’. That means I’m pretty much on-call whenever he needs me. Not just for sex, but to accompany him to dinner parties and social events, or vacation trips with him.
It also means doing whatever he wants me to do in bed, and while Geoff may have had a wholesome and even elegant public image, in private he’s a sick puppy. I’d done just about every sexual position with him, sucked him off more times than I could count, and taken him up my ass. He likes to do threesomes with me and another girl, or watch and jack off as we had lesbian sex. When he discovered my longtime friend Rachel is also a whore, he especially loved to see the two of us together.
He sometimes dresses me in superhero costumes, schoolgirl and cheerleader outfits, little girl’s clothes. For a few weeks last fall, he had me role-play being his daughter (a blonde named Diane, whom I bore an eerie resemblance to), not just in bed but twenty-four hours a day. About the only thing I hadn’t done for him is the cage and stick thing Rachel mentioned. Apparently, he isn’t so much into violence. Although he’s into movies, there must’ve been hundreds of DVD’s stacked on shelves in one of the many rooms of his penthouse, with me starring in most of them.
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