The M.I.L.F. Man

The Odd Squad

"We are like the lawyers who take clients they know are guilty," Jan (pronounced "Yahn") said.

He's "wes" were "vees," in that Austrian/German/Swiss sort of accent he either really had or affected. All the local EE "hosts," which I collectively dubbed "The Odd Squad," were caricatures self-designed to suit some imaginary and mostly outdated idea of what women and men wanted.

None more so than Jan, who was also born with one of those impossibly beautiful male faces that everyone suspects has been surgically "enhanced." Beneath the impossibly but actually natural blond helmet of hair he had the straight, stereotypical Greek nose sometimes misidentified as "aquiline" which is actually more of a "beak." And his eyes were a shimmering sapphire blue chemically "brightened" like the teeth behind those perfect pink, Cupid's bow lips. You can actually do that now, brighten the whites of your eyes...

Were it not for the square jaw and stern brow, he would have been the kind of man that the bar girls would've instantly pronounced gay and dismissed entirely, as they're wont to do.

Byron had told me he was, of course. And that his enviable European client list was, in part, all about that.

"They fall in love with their gay hairdressers, these old biddies," he said. "I saw one toss a fur coat at hers as a birthday gift—Vegas, right? Came strutting in and just flung it over his shoulders and let her stupid little poodle lick him on the cheek."

Byron wasn't with us that day, thankfully. A few hosts who'd made impressive bookings—my extended "contract" counted—had received an exclusive "spa day" from Katherine who had connections at that resort.

It was one of the perks she'd instituted to attract new hosts and placate the transfers sent to shore things up in the meantime. COVID had predictably made that an even harder task, but her location was, as we've covered before, also a hindrance.

The resort lay in the "foothills" area of Tucson—snobby suburban area where the girls shot heroin to stay skinny to appeal to the boys who were rather like what I was expected to be like. Only they really were like that.

Jan was a transplant from Europe who also worked New York sometimes and had balked at going any farther into the "bowels" of America until ordered to do so by The Powers That Be.

Who, I'd learned, were a board of directors that ran the business as they would've run, say...a large corporation: dispassionately and efficiently. Eastern Europeans who'd bought out several "adult" operations a few years ago. They had Web cam sites, too. Dozens.

There might have been an oligarch at the top of the organizational flowchart, too, but Katherine was very careful not to talk about things like that with us.

Jan was chafing from that "transfer," but as the two little Asian grandmothers put our feet through a massaging process they probably could've done in their sleep, he relaxed a bit and allowed me to ask a few rookie questions.

Including how to deal with revelations like the one Barbara had so nonchalantly spilled, a topic which had made him laugh rather like a father might laugh when his son asked him some sort of sexual question he knew how to answer but wasn't sure he should yet.

His answer was the lawyer thing. To which he added, "You must remember: you are not a shrink, you are not a doctor, you are not a policeman. You are the person they come to so that they don't have to deal with all of the above. Which is precisely what she told you, isn't it?"