CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
2003- Is The Water Warm Enough?
I gotta say, Donya and Marisol were solid chicks. They did right by me, and I recognized that. I tried to do the same by them.
Once I agreed to that first engagement, it was tacitly understood that I was willing to become a part of their operation. And to that end, they made sure they set me up properly from the get go. I was so used to having to re-build my life from scratch that I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But really, I cannot stress enough- Donya and Marisol simply were good peeps.
The day that their first bachelor party was booked, they comped me six weeks’ rent and told me to use that money on building up my work wardrobe. We agreed that my hook would be New Wave Pinup. Think Debbie Harry, Pat Benatar. It was an oldie but goodie, and one that would contrast nicely against Donya’s Glamazon-Next-Door vibe and Marisol’s Mistress-Of-The-Dungeon-As-Told-By-Prada chic. I spent my clothing allowance buying patent leather pedal pushers at trash and vaudeville, vintage cat eye glasses on eBay and tons of solidly constructed yet aesthetically pleasing lace up bustiers from Romantic Depot. The money I had left over after that went to assorted props that were missing from the girls’ toy chest and a couple of pairs of regular-ass stripper shoes to supplement the combat boots and 50s style high heels that I already possessed in abundance. I was a bit of a shoe ho. That fact actually came in handy when I conducted foot worship sessions. After ropes play, foot worship was my favorite kink.
Once my wardrobe issue was sorted, Donya and Marisol once again shook their phone tree and landed me a guest pass to one of Den of Iniquity’s Domme Salons. A senior rigger there ran me through a speed-bondage crash course—it was exactly what I needed. The trick for a stag night crowd, I realized, was to make the rig look intricate and mind-blowing, then get clients trussed, teased, and turned loose in under ten minutes.
The actual stag night was nothing worth mentioning. The guys were dorky and respectful, happy to let us take the lead on how far things should go- we kept it pretty tame, with just enough titillation to get them primed for their next stop.
The party organizer seemed extremely relieved that he hadn’t had to come up with a suitable whore house to take his crew to, and didn’t question the 20% coordination fee the girls had added to the bill. And they tipped us well.
Afterwards, the girls and I had a debrief and agreed that I’d continue to work with them. Payment would be a flat hourly rate, plus I could keep all tips. And I’d continue to pay rent- that made it easier to avoid anyone feeling beholden to the other.
The hourly rate we agreed upon was a hundred dollars more an hour than I would have asked for if I were still doing private client outcalls. And I’m sure that Donya and Marisol still made a nice little profit after cashing me out.
I could learn to love this life.
