The Deflorist

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The ad was in the yellow pages, small and discrete. Jake Lewis and Company Escorts. Men and women welcome. Deflorations our specialty. Reasonable rates. Call 1-800-926-8739. That was all it said, sandwiched into the adult services section of the phonebook between a gay escort company and an S&M phone sex hotline. At first I couldn’t believe that it was what it sounded like. Maybe the name was just a clever way of talking about something else. I called the number. The phone was picked up on the second ring by a woman who sounded like a cross between a secretary and a porn star. “Jake Lewis and Company, Deflorists, this is Kristie speaking, how may I help you?”

I hung up the phone without saying anything. What was I going to say? Hi, I was wondering if you could send someone over to my apartment? I’m tired of being a virgin. Yeah right. The ad had to have been some kind of joke anyway. It was probably an escort company that specialized in the domination and submission dynamic. Did I really feel like I needed to pay someone to have sex with me? I liked to think that I was at least decently attractive. I had nice hair, long, shiny and chestnut brown. My eyes were light grey and I had clear skin. My body might have been a little bit plumper than that of a super model, but when I looked at myself in the mirror I never felt the urge to shudder and turn away. I wasn’t any more socially awkward than the next girl either. I got along well with pretty much everyone. I just happened to grow up in a strict Roman-Catholic family. My education had been made up of two all-girls boarding schools, followed by two years at an all-girls liberal arts college. These circumstances had combined with my disinclination towards lesbianism to leave me a twenty year old virgin. I’d never even kissed a boy before.

An epiphany had come to me early the previous year when I’d flunked out of the non-coed college my parents had insisted I attend. I couldn’t sleep that last semester because I had been constantly bombarded by dreams of sex. I would wake up in my dorm room, trying not to rouse my roommate with a cry, soaking in sweat, trembling, with my pussy throbbing and wet inside my virginal schoolgirl pajamas. It got so that I couldn’t concentrate on anything, couldn’t stay awake in class. I tried touching myself to alleviate the tension, but that just made things worse because I could never get myself to come.

I had always been a lot more liberal about sexuality than most of my classmates, so I didn’t really find anything wrong with masturbating, but I had still never been able to get myself off. I even bought one of those back massagers that vibrate when you push a button, thinking that that would do the trick, but it made no difference. It felt amazing but after forty-five minutes of holding the thing to my erect clit and rubbing back and forth in as many ways I could think of, I still couldn’t bring myself to orgasm. Eventually, I started using it to ease the tension from my shoulders after a long day.

The night after I called the escort company and hung up I had the most vivid sex dream I could remember, lying in my narrow bed on the second floor of my parent’s house. I dreamed that I was sitting in my old college dorm room reading a book at my desk. The door burst open and through it stepped three men, all of them wearing black clothes with black silk masks to hide their eyes. Without saying a word to me they came over to where I sat and took hold of me. They lifted me, stripped me of my clothes, laid me down on the desk, and proceeded to do to me everything you could ever imagine a man doing to a woman.

Their hands skimmed over my body, touching me in places that no one else had ever touched, grabbing at my breasts and kneading them, weighing them, pinching the nipples until I cried out in pain and pleasure. Two heads at my breasts, two hungry mouths sucking at my nipples, two tongues stroking and tasting, two sets of teeth nipping and teasing. Then a mouth fastened upon my pussy, a tongue broached my opening and licked at my secret flesh, tasting the hot wetness of me. A blur of ecstasy, of building pleasure and tension, but the more these masked men teased me with their hands and tongues the more frustrated I became. I couldn’t orgasm.

They lifted me from the desk and threw me onto my bed. One of them lifted my legs high in the air and spread them wide. Another positioned himself between them while the third pushed his cock into my eager, gasping mouth. I felt the head of a cock brushing against my slit, and then it pushed in. I screamed in pleasure against the cock driving into my mouth, I writhed in ecstasy beneath the enormous shaft driving in and out of my dripping pussy. They took me in every position I could imagine, moving me as easily as if I were a figure made out of clay, taking it in turns to hold me in place, to fuck my pussy, to drive themselves in and out of my mouth. I felt their climaxes approaching, felt their pleasure peak and then ataşehir escort explode. I felt them shoot themselves inside of me. I was on the verge of the biggest climax in the history of the planet. I closed my eyes, readying myself for the explosion, and then everything stopped. The pleasure ceased abruptly and I felt my impending orgasm dwindle down to nothing. I opened my eyes. My lovers had disappeared. I was alone.

I woke up with tears drying on my cheeks and my pussy throbbing like a bruise. The next day I called the company in the phone book again.

The phone was answered by the same woman who had spoken when I had called before. “Jake Lewis and Company Deflorists, this is Kristie speaking, how may I help you?”

“Uh, hi,” I said. “I saw your ad in the yellow pages, and I was just wondering…what is it exactly that your company does?”

“We’re billed as an escort service whose employees specialize in the companionship of sexually inexperienced men and women. Would you be interested in hiring one of our escorts? There are actually several appointments free in the next few days.”

How should I respond to that? Yes please, send someone over right away? I said, “How much do you charge?”

“Well, for the first session it’s five hundred dollars. For every session after that it’s three hundred.”

“Why does the first one cost more?”

“The first session usually involves a greater amount of effort on the escort’s part. First time customers tend to have more needs than returning ones. Subsequent sessions are much more relaxed and less demanding for our escorts.” She paused, and then continued enthusiastically, “See, we don’t charge an hourly rate, just a flat fee, so your experience isn’t over until you’re tired of it–if you catch my drift.”

I did catch her drift, and I felt myself blushing. I’d been saving up for about a year to try and buy a car, but what did I want more, a man in my bed or a car in my driveway? “I’d like to schedule a session please.” I said, pleased that my voice came out without a tremble.

“Awesome!” said Kristie. There was the shuffling of paper and then she continued, “Alright, I’m just going to need a little bit of information from you.”

She asked me my name, age, credit card number (I wouldn’t be charged until after the session), and sexual preference. Then she asked me to rate, on a scale of one to ten, with one being the least and ten the most, how sexually experienced I considered myself to be.

“Think nun for one, and Hollywood gutter slut for ten,” Kristie said cheerily. I answered that I was probably a two. “Alright then.” There was no positive or negative inflection in her voice. She had been well trained. “I have appointments available Thursday, Friday, and Saturday evenings of this week at eight o’clock.”

“I guess any time would work,” I said. “Does it matter which one I choose?”

“Technically no,” Kristie replied, and then she lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper.

“But Mr. Lewis himself is working on Friday night. He’s the company’s founder, so needless to say, he’s quite…professional. He’ll take very good care of you, I promise.”

I hesitated only for a moment before saying,

“Then I guess you’d better sign me up for Friday.”

“Excellent choice, Miss,” Kristie said, all business again. “Alright, it looks like everything is all set. Mr. Lewis will be waiting for you at the Enchanted Hunters Motel, room twelve. Just knock on the door at eight and show him your ID. He’ll show you his company badge and then you two can get to know each other.”

“Is there anything else I should know?” I ask.

There wasn’t. I bantered back and forth with Kristie for another moment and then said goodbye and hung up the phone. I flopped back on my bed, giving a huge sigh and covering my eyes with my hands. Had I really just done that? Had I just paid for an appointment with a male hooker who specialized in the taking of virginity? I guessed so. Friday was only two days from now.

I spent the next two days in a state of extreme agitation. At the clothing store where I worked I was only half there, chatting with the customers, but barely paying attention to what they said to me in response. I dreamed that night and the night after of being fucked ragged by a masked stranger. He told me that he didn’t care how long he had to fuck me. He wouldn’t stop until I came. Unfortunately I was always awoken from these dreams not by an orgasm but by my alarm clock. The harsh electronic beeping had the same effect as a bucket of cold water.

Friday went by as if someone had poured molasses into all of the clocks. Seconds ticked by like minutes, minutes like hours. When darkness finally fell around six o’ clock I began making myself ready. I took a long hot shower. I scrubbed every inch of myself with perfumed soap, washed and conditioned my hair until it was soft and fragrant. I shaved all of my body hair, paying special kadıköy escort attention to the hair of my pussy, being very careful not to nick the tender skin with my razor. By the time I was done, my body was free of hair and redolent of rose and myrrh body wash. I agonized over my choice of underwear. I thought about wearing the black lace lingerie set I had bought on a hopeful whim a couple years ago, but in the end I settled on a pair of plain white cotton panties. I had bought them yesterday in the discount bin of the Victoria’s Secret in the mall near my house. The cloth was finely made and rested soft against my newly shaved skin. Virgins were supposed to wear white weren’t they? I wore no bra, only a loose sun dress of coral colored linen with the white panties underneath.

At seven forty-five I was waiting in my parent’s borrowed car in the Enchanted Hunters Motel’s parking lot. I had thought about turning around and going home at least a dozen times, had even backed out of my parking space at one point only to loop once around the parking lot and come right back. I stared at the gleaming number on the door in front of me. Room twelve. Was he already in there, I wondered? Had he been there for a long time preparing for our meeting or would he show up right at eight? Would I perhaps have to wait outside the door until he showed up? If I had to do that, I would just leave.

I pulled down the sun-visor above me and used the mirror on it to check my makeup. I didn’t usually wear it, but when I did I wanted it to look nice, not caked on and trashy. I had dusted a thin coat of grey-blue shadow on my eyelids, lined my eyes with black kohl, thickened my lashes with mascara. My lips, I had painted a deep scarlet, applying a thin layer of gloss over top, to make them look wet and pouting. My hair was all in place, hanging loose down my back. I looked at the clock. Seven Fifty. I forced myself to wait for seven more minutes before I got out of the car. My hands were shaking so bad that I dropped my keys when I went to lock the car door. As I walked the few paces towards the door with the number twelve on it, I dried the palms of my hands on the sides of my dress. When I reached the door I raised my fist and rapped on it very softly. I think that I was half-hoping that no one would answer, but the door opened only a few seconds later.

The man standing in front of me was very tall and lean, with ropes of muscle twinning up his tanned arms. He wore clean, new-looking jeans and a black shirt buttoned down just enough to reveal the shallow furrow in the center of his chest. His hair was dark brown and longer than most men wore it, but it looked good on him, tumbling across his forehead and emphasizing his green eyes. He looked like he was in his early thirties. He was the handsomest man I had ever seen. “Hi,” he said, giving me a crooked smile that made my heart give a weird lurch in my chest. “Are you Elise?”

I had to clear my throat before answering. “Yes.”

“I’m Jake.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. He flipped it open and held it out to me, displaying a card in a little laminated window. It looked almost like a driver’s license except that it bore the legend, “Jake Lewis and Company Escort Service.” A small photo of the man in front of me was in the center of the card. Underneath of it was the legend “Jake Lewis: Deflorist.” I gulped, nodded and gave the wallet back to him.

Then I began to fumble in my purse for my own wallet. I extracted it and pulled my ID out, handing it to Jake and hoping that he wouldn’t notice how badly I was shaking. I was completely tongue-tied. Now that it had gotten to the point when I would actually have to do it, actually have to go inside of a motel room with a strange man and make love to him, I felt utterly terrified. I wasn’t ready for this. I had been stupid to think I was. The closest I’d ever been to a boy had been a slow dance with my friend’s date at one of the few mixers my all-girls high school had allowed us to have. What the hell was I going to do with a real man, a gorgeous, solid, and incredibly intimidating man like the one in front of me? What would he think when he found out that all I was capable of were croaking attempts at speech and of staring at him like an idiot?

He handed me back my ID and I shoved it back into my purse, not even bothering with the wallet.

“It’s nice to meet you Elise.” He held out his hand and for a moment I couldn’t think why he had done so. Then I realized that he wanted to shake hands and hastily laid my palm in his. We clasped hands, his grip firm but not crushing, the handshake of a man who didn’t have anything to prove. I reflected for a moment upon the absurdity of the gesture. Why bother with something as informal as a handshake? We had just met, but sometime in the very near future we were going to be making each other’s acquaintances in a much more intimate way. When the handshake ended he said, bostancı escort bayan “Would you like to come inside? I can make us some drinks.”

This was the last chance I would have to bitch out gracefully. If I went into that room I wasn’t going to come out the same, no matter what happened. “Sure,” I said, and stepped over the threshold. The room was definitely a step above your average Motel 6 accommodations. The Enchanted Hunters motel favored dark green wallpaper and chestnut colored wainscoting, thick green pile carpet etched with a pattern of leaves, and antique-looking furniture. There was a TV stand, a desk, a table and chairs, and a single enormous bed, still scrupulously made. I tried not to look at the bed. I looked at the tray of drinks on the little round table instead.

“I’m not twenty-one,” I said, staring doubtfully at the glasses.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Jake went over to the table and poured a measure of some Jack Daniels into a glass. He added a couple of ice cubes and then topped it up with coke he poured out of a can obviously gotten from the motel vending machine. “Sorry about the Jack and coke. I usually try to bring something a bit classier, but I was running late and I didn’t have a chance to drop by the liquor store. I just happen to always keep a fifth of Jack in the trunk of my car in case of emergencies.” I realized that there was a bit of a southern twang in his voice. It reminded me a little of the way the cowboys had always talked in those westerns my mom was so obsessed with when I was a kid.

“I don’t really drink very much,” I said as he handed me the glass and then poured one for himself. I took a sip. It tasted good, strange, but good. Like coke mixed with wood smoke.

He grins at me. “Then now’s as good a time to start as any. Drink up.” He toasts me with his glass and drains half the contents in one smooth swallow. I imitate him, embarrassed that I have to cough a little as the liquid sears its way down my throat. It was a little stronger than I thought.

There was a short silence, and then he said in a gentle voice, “Would you like to talk business now Elise, or do you just want to chit-chat for a few minutes?”

I felt myself beginning to blush and I put down my glass so that he wouldn’t hear the ice cubes inside of it rattling around. I said, “I guess we might as well talk business now.”

He got up from his chair and said, “Then why don’t you go ahead and finish that drink? Then we’ll have a seat on the bed.”

My stomach clenched but I nodded and gulped down

the rest of my drink. He watched me with approval and then walked over to the bed and sank down on it, sitting on top of the covers with his back propped up against the headboard. I just stood there staring at him, my empty glass clutched so hard in my hand that my knuckles turned white.

“Well come on over, Elise. I don’t bite, I promise.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “At least not unless you want me to.” My face, already red, achieved a depth of color usually only seen on traffic lights. I forced myself to put the drink down and then walk over to the bed. I sat down next to him, imitating his posture but spacing myself about two feet apart from him. He turned to me, cocking himself up on one elbow. “So, the first thing I always like to ask is: what brings you here today?”


“Why did you call the agency?”

I felt a little annoyed. He knew damn well why I had called the agency. Was this some kind of macho head game? Did he just want to hear me say, I’m too pathetic to get laid on my own so I thought I’d just get a hooker instead? I gave him my best haughty look, although the effect was probably ruined by the way my voice cracked when I said, “I would have thought that was obvious.”

He laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. I was just curious if this is a fantasy of yours. Willingly losing your virginity to a stranger is something that not a lot of people would do.”

“I know that,” I said. “I guess I just saw your ad and thought, ‘You know what, I’m tired of waiting.’ Then I called your agency. I almost didn’t come today.”

“You’d be surprised how many no-shows I get every week. You’re one of the brave ones.”

“Brave?” I said, giving a bitter laugh. “More like desperate.”

“No,” he said looking at me with complete seriousness. “You’re brave. The desperate ones dress up like whores and go to a club. They get drunk and give themselves up to the first guy who’s asshole enough to take advantage of them.”

“Well isn’t that more normal than this? I’m paying someone to take my virginity.” My voice wavered close to tears and I clamped my mouth shut, swallowing hard.

“You could have found someone. I have no doubt you could. You’re a very beautiful girl, Elise.” I snorted and he reached across the bed and cupped my chin in his palm and looked directly into my eyes. “I don’t lie about things like that.” This was the first time he had touched me since we shook hands and the sensation sent a shudder through me. I felt my pulse beginning to quicken. “You made this decision of your own free will didn’t you?” He stroked my cheek once and then let his hand drop back to the bedspread.

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