CHAPTER 1

 

A rainy Saturday morning. My golf game was awash, literally. I'm not an 'any-sort-of-weather' golfer so I elected to pay bills instead. I got a cup of coffee and went into my small office and started opening up the envelopes. Patricia, my wife and I both work outside the home and our income is more than adequate. It hasn't always been that way so now paying the bills, while not a pleasure, is a lot more pleasant. I'm Robert White and they call me Bob. Forget it! I've heard all the bobwhite quail jokes and then some.

I was on the third envelope and it was a Visa bill. I opened it without any hesitation because I was aware it wasn't a high dollar bill. Christmas was coming and I knew Pat would want to hit it hard for gifts so I paid it off the month before. When I looked at the balance I nearly fainted. It had to be a mistake of some kind. No way could we have run up nearly ten thousand dollars in credit card debt in a month! Someone had stolen our identification and charged a bunch of charges to a company called Bright Light Entertainment Company of some small burg in Iowa.

It took me fifteen minutes and three phone calls to find out that Bright Light was an on-line gambling company. Up to that point it never dawned on me to ask Pat about it. I was aware that on the few occasions we managed a weekend alone at a nearby casino, Pat would play the slots, but I never pictured her as a gambler.

A short while later, when Pat and the kids got back from grocery shopping, I show her the bill. I was just about to explain that I would report the case to the Visa card company and get to the bottom of it when she started crying.

"I'm sorry, Bob," she sobbed. "I didn't realize that it was so much. I had a little run of bad luck."

"Nine thousand dollars and change isn't a 'little run' of anything," I shouted at her as the realization settled upon me. Then I saw both of our children staring at us in wide-eyed wonder. I immediately calmed down. The kids weren't a part of this mess and there wasn't any reason to get them all upset.

"We'll talk about this later, Patricia," I said through clinched teeth. I stomped back to my tiny office. The payment wasn't going to ruin us. We could make the payment or I could take our meager savings out and pay it off. Of course we could take a second mortgage on the house if necessary. I had calmed down, but when I thought about blowing the savings on gambling debts instead of the pleasure boat I had intended on, I got pissed again. This wasn't like Pat at all. She was more responsible than I was when it came to money.

That night when I turned the TV off and climbed into bed, Pat was asleep, or pretended to be. I wasn't ready to discuss the problem anyway so I let it ride. It wasn't until Sunday afternoon after church and the kids were taking a nap I approached her with it.

"Ready to discuss it?" I asked. She was in the den reading the Sunday paper. She carefully folded the paper and lay it aside.

"I guess we better talk about it," she said with a huge sigh.

"How on earth did you get involved in on-line gambling?" I asked, willing myself to stay calm.

"Don King, you met him at the bank, won a lot of money gambling online," Pat said. "He bragged about it a lot. I thought that if I could make some money you could buy that boat we've been saving for before the summer was over. That and the other thing we talked about." I knew the other thing was a breast enhancement operation Pat had talked about for several years. I didn't understand why she wanted bigger breasts, because to me she had perfect boobs. They are like little cones that set high on her chest and the nipples are puffy. I loved them from the first moment I saw them. That was on our fifth or sixth date.

"You didn't figure the odds apparently," I said.

"I did real well for a while," she said angrily. "I was up nearly two thousand bucks."

"Then you got behind and doubled up to catch up. Is that it?"

"Something like that," she murmured. "Oh, Bob, it happened so fast!"

"Yeah, that's what I hear." I had heard about it from a guy at work. He got in way over his head and it nearly ruined him and his marriage. I wondered if Pat was addicted to gambling.

"I stopped just as soon as I realized I was in too deep," Pat said. It wasn't the first time it seemed to me that she could read my mind. "I am so sorry, Bob. I really am."

"This too, shall pass," I said unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. The boat I wanted was just under twenty grand and I had been almost halfway there. Until Saturday morning I could close my eyes and see me and the family speeding across the lake.

"I'll pay back every cent," Pat said watching my face closely. "I'll get a second job for a while."

"Doing what?" I snapped. "Peddling your ass on a street corner?"

"I have skills," she snapped back. "But yes, if that's what it takes."

I had to laugh at that. Pat isn't what I would call a prude, but she has always been sexually reserved. The very idea of her peddling her ass was ludicrous. Not that she couldn't command a good fee. Pat is beautiful and even after two kids she has a luscious body. In spite of her itty-bitty titties she is gorgeous. She is small, only five three and about a hundred five pounds. I haven't dared ask her weight. I've seen the guys looking at her especially when she wears her bikini at our pool. It took me six years to get her out of the old conservative one-piece.

"What do you find so amusing?" she snapped at me. "You think I couldn't make some good money working a street corner?"

"No, not working the street," I said still smiling. "That's low rent out there. You would have to work the call girl circuit to make the big bucks. Street whores only get twenty for a blow job and a hundred for half and half or a simple lay."

"How much do call girls make?" Pat asked me. "And how come you know so much about it?"

"Hey, I work with a bunch of horn-dogs and I hear things. Call girls make anywhere from two hundred to a grand a night and more in certain cases. Depends on what they are willing to do and what they look like, I suppose."

"So where would I fit in, assuming there wasn't anything I wouldn't do?"

"I'd say you would fit in the middle somewhere, but that would be a big assumption. You know there are a lot of things you won't do."

"Like what?" she demanded.

"Like anal," I said. I got to butt-fuck Pat one time right after we were married and never again. "How about threesomes? Or gang fucking? What if the john demanded you suck his wife's pussy?" I could see from her expression as I spoke I had hit home, but she shook her head, dismissing my questions.

"I don't know if I should be worried that you know those things or not," she said. "I'll just bet there are a lot of men who would want me for plain ol' sex and none of that perverted stuff. I'll bet they'd be willing to pay a couple hundred at least."

"At least," I agreed. One of the boys woke and was demanding attention so the discussion was terminated. In fact I assumed that it was dead and buried, but Pat fooled me. She brought it up a couple nights later. We were already in bed with the light out.

"A good looking call girl can make five hundred a night easily," Pat said

"And dare I ask how you know that?" I asked.

"One of our bank customers works for an escort service," Pat said. "She isn't in that part of the business, but she knows some women who are." Her hand was lightly rubbing my leg. Okay, this was looking good for me. She wasn't even aware that it was her signal to me that she was willing to engage in some marital bliss. "I had a little chat with her today."

"Really," I said reaching over to take her perfectly nice breast in my hand. I heard her quick intake of breath. Her puffy nipples are super sensitive. That was a worry of mine that if she got a boob job, that maybe her nipples wouldn't be so sensitive. I can even get her off by sucking on her tits. "What did you talk about?"

"I'll tell you later," Pat said her voice husky. "Right now I'd like a little lovin,' please sir." I didn't know or particularly care what, but something had turned Pat on, big time And I was going to take advantage of it.

It took me less than a second to strip my shorts off and rid her of the oversized tee shirt she habitually wore to bed. Naturally my mouth sought out her puffy nipples and I spent a few minutes trying to decide which one to spend my time on. An old girlfriend of years past had big floppy boobs. I could squeeze them together and get both nipples in my mouth. Not even close with Pat. I didn't have time to do much with her tits because Pat was reaching for my dick and making cooing sounds. Apparently she wasn't in the mood for foreplay. Damn, and I really wanted to...okay that's a lie. Like most guys I am perfectly happy to forego foreplay and get right to it.

Pat was almost insatiable and more vocal then she usually was. That night she wore me out and still wanted more. I did my best to please her.

"So tell me about your conversation with the whore," I said as we lay in the afterglow of our heated sex.

"She's not a whore," Pat said. "She's a paid escort. There's a big difference."

"Okay, if you say so," I said. "She goes out with men and has sex with them for money. A fine line, my dear."

"Maybe, but there is a difference. Anyway, if you'll shut up and listen I'll tell you what she said." I agreed to keep quiet. Apparently the girl, woman I mean, is named Holly something. Holly works part time for an escort service called Sunset Escorts. Holly told Pat that it wasn't a sex for hire company as many of the services apparently are. Sunset provides both men and women to people who need someone to go to some function or the other. In other words, eye candy. The clients pay Sunset for the eye candy service and if there was any other service provided it was strictly and privately between the client and the escort. The escort is paid fifty dollars an hour for the escort part of the deal.

"See? I could do that," Pat concluded. I debated with myself about telling Pat that her new chum, Holly, was a fucking hooker. Escort is just another word for whore. I elected to go another route.

"No, you couldn't," I countered. "You are a VP of a large bank. Tell me what dinner party, or show opening that you could attend without the real possibility at least one person would recognize you? Maybe not every time, but it would happen sooner or later. The bank would kick you out on your ass in a heartbeat. Your picture is on billboards, for God's sake, Pattie." Pat didn't respond for a long time. For a moment I thought she had gone to sleep.

"Yes, there is that knotty little problem," she finally said. "I can't hardly afford to give up my day job, can I?" She snuggled down into the pillow. "I'll have to give it some more thought. Good night sweetie."