Chapter 4: Taught Right: Chapter 4

I’m going to be honest, this isn’t my typical client. I almost declined because I’m not a fan of taking friends of friends, but I’ve known Dane for years, and I know he wouldn’t want to risk losing his spot with me.

I’m just used to my clients being more of an alpha male type. If someone is confident enough to request a sex worker for the night, they tend to be confident enough to meet me. There are always nerves in the beginning, but this seems to be more of an outlier.

I’m used to a typical kind of client at this point. Most of the people I see have a specific reason to see me and usually, it’s a specific kink they want to play out. I keep myself pretty open on what I will do, with a few expectations of course, so those are my most common type of clients.

But this guy? I have never worked with a nervous client like this.

I know virtually nothing about this man, besides what I’ve been told by Dane, one of my long-running clients. I don’t like to mess with my safety so I asked for his name and picture of him before I would even agree to see him tonight, but other than that I’m going into this just as blind as he is.

Honestly, he’s an attractive guy. Brown hair that’s long enough to grab onto, a slim body with enough muscle that he could probably throw me around if he wanted to. I have yet to figure out the color of his eyes, but I’m guessing brown. He would absolutely be my type if I saw him on the streets.

He sits at the bar in a pair of blue jeans and a basic red t-shirt. I think there is a basketball logo on the back of it, but I couldn’t tell even if I was closer. He looks like someone who be confident, but he sits there hunched over, nursing a drink as if his life depends on it instead.

I watch him glance at his phone, probably checking the time. I’m a little late and I know it, but I’ve been enjoying the view over here. I always like to take in new clients before meeting with them, just to make sure there aren’t any red flags and it’s always nice to be the one forcing men to wait instead of the other way around.

I finally sit up, ready to make my entrance, but I stop, realization hitting me in the face. I’m used to working with guys that are confident, for the most part, and ready to fuck me right away, but I might need to alter my approach with him. He looks so nervous, and I don’t want to freak him out. If I just walk up like I normally do, I’m worried that I’ll scare him off. I don’t necessarily need the money today, but that doesn’t mean I want to freak the poor dude out.

I walk slowly up to the bar, avoiding other people’s tables on my way, allowing myself to take my time. I plop on the seat next to him, the cold leather hitting my legs. I sit quietly, trying to give him a chance to figure out who I am, without me telling him, so he can process it on his own.

I don’t look at him, I just wait for the bartender to come around so that I can get a drink. I want this to appear more casual, even though this is almost never how I start out these interactions.

Usually, I ask for the money upfront. I have had a few clients that get me talking for twenty minutes before it finally comes out that they can’t pay me and I have to leave. I wasted time talking to them, and I don’t make that mistake anymore. But, I have a hunch that if I came up to Joey and instantly asked for money, he would pass out from stress. So I sit my ass on the chair, waiting for him to feel comfortable in my presence, and get myself a drink.

I can see him glance over at me with wide eyes trailing down my body. They start at my legs, catching there for just a moment, before trailing up my body slowly, really taking me in.

The bartender wanders over and I ask for a vodka cranberry. Before I can even reach for my purse, Joey’s voice draws my eyes toward him. “Put it on my tab,” he says, voice deep. I look over at him, surprised. It seems like a bold move for someone who was just rubbing his hands together in worry, but when I glance over and see that his eyes still hold uncertainty, I smile at him, attempting to make him feel more comfortable.

“Thanks,” I say, taking in his entire face. God, he really is fucking gorgeous. His eyes are brown, but not a dark brown like most, but a light brown that holds my attention. His lips are full, making me trail my tongue across my own before I can think better of it. I watch his eyes follow the movement and he gulps. I shouldn’t find his gulp cute, but I do.

He stares at me as if I am the sun, moon, and stars, and I find myself wanting to soak up the attention like a sponge. This has always been my favorite part of the job, watching men look at me like I am the goddess they desperately need in their lives.

“Are you-,” he says, before stumbling over his words and wincing. I’m sure he doesn’t know my name, another thing I do out of safety for myself. Good manners prevent him from openly calling me a sex worker. “Never mind,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact and going red in the face, just a little.

“Ava,” I say, holding my hand out for him to shake. He looks over at me, completely relieved. I smile at him as he shakes my hand. “You must be Joey?” I ask, trying to indicate to him that I am who he thinks I am.

Realization crosses his face, with a mix of relief, before it turns red again, and he looks away. He stares at his drink as if it is the most interesting thing he has seen all day. I stare at him, curious. This is so far outside of my normal clientele that I’m extra interested in what the deal with him is.

I continue watching him, trying to give him time and space. He seems like the kind of man who needs a second to get his bearings, and I want to give that to him. I don’t know what has gotten him so stressed out, but I quietly wait with anticipation.

“You come here often?” Joey asks suddenly with a nervous look in his eye and a small smile on his face, one I have yet to see. A laugh bubbles in my throat, shocking me. I don’t know if he meant it as a joke or if he’s really asking if this is where I usually bring clients. Something about it eases the tension in my mind. I’m also nervous with new clients, unsure if they are trustworthy and respectful of my safety. I know it’s foolish to believe Joey is trustworthy because he made a dumb joke, but I feel myself warming to him.

“Are you picking me up now?” I ask with a big smile. He is definitely not what I would have expected. I thought he would be more stoic by the way he was sitting here, but he just seems really nervous, like his personality can’t shine through while he feels like this.

“Would it work if I was?” he asks, his eyes darting around my face.

“Maybe,” I mutter softly, not wanting to show my cards. I stare at him for a moment just taking him in. Joey smiles at me before he looks down at the bar again, staring at the wood.

Joey isn’t like any other client I have had, but he has a quality that is one of my favorites. Some men come into these interactions thinking they can take power away from me, that’s what gets them off. I find it gross and honestly unsafe most times. My favorite kind of men are the ones who me to be in control.

“So, what’s your story?” I finally ask, taking a sip of my drink that the bartender dropped off moments ago.

“What makes you think I have one?” Joey asks, his voice rich like honey. His smile wavers just barely, not enough to notice if you weren’t looking.

“You aren’t like my normal client,” I say, attempting to point out the obvious without offending him. I mean it as more of a compliment than anything.

“What is your normal client like?” he asks, starting to withdraw. His eyes dart around, holding his discomfort in his eyes.

“Some people just like sex workers,” I say in a low voice so only he can hear me. To get this quiet, I have to move closer and my lips almost touch the tip of his ear, forcing me close enough to take in his earthy scent. “But most people have a reason to be here instead of dating or hooking up with other people. Why pay for it if you’re getting it for free, right?” I explain, becoming more and more curious about why he’s here. You can usually find someone to hook up with for free nowadays, so it is becoming less and less likely that people go to sex workers for sexual gratification and more likely that people are going for other reasons.

“I-” Joey mutters, before cutting himself off. He rubs the back of his neck, and I eye him, giving him more time. “I don’t want to tell you,” he says, laughing just a little, as if he is embarrassed, and barely looking me in the eyes again. His eyes plead with me when they finally connect with mine, probably wishing he didn’t need to tell me, but I honestly want to know. I won’t force him, but he probably won’t get as much out of this interaction if he doesn’t tell me.

“I understand, and you don’t have to tell me, but it might make this easier if I know what is going on,” I explain, letting my curiosity win out.

“I-” he says again, cutting himself off and wincing. He shakes his head, his chestnut hair shaking just a little, before looking at me. His gaze runs down the length of my body, assessing me. It feels odd to have another person look over for safety, usually, I’m the one doing that to men.