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I have three lovers.
Jealous?
You shouldnât be. Sure, they have money (otherwise, why would I be with them?) and the sex is non-stop. The men treat me right and shower me with gifts, but, you know what? Itâs damn hard keeping them happy.
Itâs even more difficult keeping them a secret from each other.
I have the system down pat. For the past year, Monday nights are for Calvin. At twenty-eight, heâs younger than me (although he doesnât know it!). Tall, athletic and very energetic. He has more money and more kinks than anyone I know. One would automatically think heâs a keeper. Ha. Ever try to fuck a hyperactive guy? You should see the skid marks on my back.
Wednesdays are for Dennis, and they have been for about eighteen months. Heâs not so hot, and heâs not so rich. He has a receding hairline and the beginnings of a beer belly. I have a strong feeling heâs married â he has that henpecked look about him â but I follow the âdonât ask, donât tellâ rule.
Normally I wouldnât give Dennis the time of day, but thereâs something to be said about being the highlight of his week. Hell, who are we kidding? Iâm the luckiest thing thatâs happened to him in his life.
But thatâs not why I hook up with him every Wednesday. Dennis comes in handy. He can call in a favor for anything at anytime. I would think he was part of the Mafia or something, but heâs just not that interesting.
And then thereâs George. George is the oldest of the lot. He reeks of sophistication and success. I would love for some of that to rub off of me, but after seeing him every Friday for two years, I can safely say if it hasnât happened yet, itâs not going to.
George was my first provider. He bought the condo for me in downtown Seattle, and on special occasions he gives me some kick-ass jewelry. Not that I would know this at first sight, but I had the baubles appraised by a guy Dennis knows. Calvin pays for my utilities and food as well as my âincidentalsâ.
Yeah, you got that right. I fool around for food. I figure itâs no different than going out on a date when the fridge is empty. Only with this set-up our expectations are clear and upfront. No confusion. No hurt feelings. Iâm a sure thing and so is my dinner. I like this kind of deal and Iâve long decided dating is for amateurs. Wait. Was that the doorbell? Uh-ohâ¦What day is it?
Shit! I have no clue. My gut twists sharply. I wrap my arms around my stomach and stare at the door. I hate when this happens. Thatâs the downside of being a moonlighting mistress.
Is it Wednesday? I frown as I try to recall. No, I think Iâve already seen Dennis this week. Itâs so hard to remember. We do the same thing every freaking time.
Dennis isnât the only reason I have bouts of déjà vu. Not having to work outside my condo makes the days bleed together. Not that Iâm complaining! These moments of panic are still better than all those years in dead-end, minimum wage jobs.
I hurry toward the entrance, fix an inviting smile on my face and grab the doorknob. My heart is pounding against my chest. Sometimes I have weird dreams of all three guys showing up at the same time. Not that it would happen; I made sure of it. But the possibility, no matter how remote, still gets my blood pumping.
Swinging open the door, my first thought is that there is only one man in front of me. Whew. I pause, connecting the name with the lover.
Iâm very proud that I have never called out the wrong name. Okay, I admit that I use the same endearment for each of them. Itâs safer that way, especially when my mind wanders during sex.
âHello, love!â My smile grows and itâs probably wobbling with relief when I see George. I lean forward, letting my high and full breasts brush against the sleeve of his fine cashmere coat. I place a gentle kiss on his lips and slyly dart my tongue in his mouth, tasting a hint of cigar. I usher him inside. âIâve missed you.â
Okay, not entirely true. So what? Itâs what they all want to hear and my job is to create a fantasy. And itâs not like I canât stand being around George. I like him. I like having sex with him. I like getting paid to have sex.
I probably shouldnât admit to any of that, especially the last part, but itâs true. Would I spend my Friday nights with him if money wasnât involved? I donât know.
âI know Iâm late,â George says in his usual brisk tone. He steps inside and takes off his coat.
âWould you like something to drink?â I ask as I close the door behind him. Heâs into red wine, but I donât have an open bottle ready. Iâll have to improvise.