The pleasure principle

Why is it that my body comes with some men and not others?


Tracy Quan
November 11, 1999 10:00PM (UTC)

Nov. 11, 1999

Thursday night, September 24

Morty popped over for a long lunch-hour appointment and Milt called
at the very last minute to move his 5 o'clock date to tomorrow. What a stroke of luck! After seeing Morty, my intimate parts became hyper-sensitive -- that's the problem
with having orgasms on the job. My nerve endings need time to
gradually calm down and switch back to professional mode. After
Morty, I took the day off and tried to cook up ways to retrain him
so he won't expect me to come. I'll bet Jasmine never has this
problem. As for Allison, well, who knows with her? I'd be afraid to
ask ... At times like this, I simply wish I were frigid. My job
would be much easier.

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My body is more at ease with Milt than with other clients -- yet
I've never had an orgasm with him. Despite the acrobatic nature of our sex, I feel comfortable in my skin. If Milt
disappeared, I would miss him. Morty, who makes me come, would only
be missed for financial reasons. And the strange thing is, Milt
pays more money than Morty! What's it all about?

On Monday, my entire body pulled back, or wanted to, from
Bert's demanding mouth. But I kept my cool, allowing him to think
he had awaked my appetite for a good fuck. Anything to keep Bert's
aggressive lips away from my tender nipples. I like to think I'm
well-adjusted at this point, but some clients set my teeth on edge.

It's odd how a girl's body can instantly like or hate a particular
man, as if her skin has a will of its own. I would rather not be
aroused with Morty but I've come to terms with the fact that my
body likes him. Then there are clients, like Bert, whom I try very
hard to like -- but my body won't let me. (Bert can't tell -- he
seems to think we get on quite well.)

So I look forward to seeing Milt, who has never made any demands on
my nerve endings -- he's happy to lie back while I exert myself.
And when he uses his tongue, the action is so diplomatic -- my body
goes into an accepting, neutral gear that makes him one of my
favorite clients. It's so much easier to deliver consistent sex to
a guy who doesn't arouse you.

Friday, September 25

I spent the morning debating with myself, and concluded that, if I
have to ask one of my johns for a serious favor, I'll ask the one
who doesn't turn me on. Give my body one less thing to worry
about.

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I wasn't sure whether to spring my question on Milt before or after
we got started. Then, I was on top, twisting and turning with so
much alacrity that I forgot what I was worrying about. I can tell
from the way Milt touches me that he has real sex with his wife --
under other circumstances, I could lie back and have that with him,
too. But what he's paying for is very one-sided -- I do most of the
work. After Milt came, I wrapped a hot, damp towel around his cock.

"We would have made such a great couple," he sighed. "In another
life ..."

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"Yes," I said, nudging him gently, "especially since you only want
to have sex once a week. You'd be no trouble at all."

"Oh, come on, you like me, I can tell," he insisted. "But you're
right about one thing. If we lived together, if you saw me every
day, you wouldn't look at me the same way when I walk in the door.
Still ... if we were a couple, think of the adventures we would
have!"

I gave him a sideways look and thought, "I wish you wouldn't bring
all this up now, when I'm about to ask you for financial help!" It
makes me look like one hell of a tacky chick ... Besides, those
three-way adventures we have with other girls are something I would
never have in a normal relationship.

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As Milt began to dress, I laid out my dilemma -- sort of.

"Remember that letter from the IRS? Well, it looks like I owe some
extra taxes -- nothing catastrophic," I assured him, "but I've been
advised to pay up before the end of the month." I didn't want to
tell him about Tom Winters and the investigation. That might make
him paranoid.

"Who's advising you?" he asked.

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"Well -- don't laugh. Jasmine says --"

"Jasmine? That brunet who's always in a rush?" He looked bemused
as he fiddled with his cufflinks. "What is she up to these days?"

"Helping me to straighten out this IRS mess, for one thing." I
looked away and wondered if "mess" was too alarming. "I sort of ...
goofed up one of my tax returns" -- forgot to file, actually!
"So, I thought you might like to purchase a season ticket," I added
mischievously. "I'll give you box seats."

Milt picked up my circular hairbrush from the dresser and
straightened his bushy eyebrows while I made my case.

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"Besides," I pointed out, "you're the one who told me not to
involve my boyfriend in my problems."

"God, don't drag your boyfriend into this, whatever you do," Milt
said. "We don't want him asking you all kinds of nosy questions."

I crossed my legs and pulled my silk robe closer together -- the
very idea of Matt on one of his snoopy streaks made me want to
cover up.

"A season ticket," Milt murmured. "What kind of a loan are we
talking about? Have you got collateral?" he asked playfully.

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"Only what you've sampled," I shot back. "And you wouldn't exactly
want to hold that hostage."

"No," he agreed, "I doubt that I could, anyway."

Then he made a totally unexpected request -- and I wasn't sure what
to say.


Tracy Quan

Tracy Quan is the author of "Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl."

MORE FROM Tracy Quan


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