HIRED HELP

5

On Sunday Nicki woke from a fitful sleep. She’d invited Sam and Sylvie to dinner the night before, hoping to grill Sam on her past experiences with the service. As soon as Sylvie had excused herself to use the ladies room Nicki had grabbed Sam’s hand and told her about the rendez-vous she had planned the next day. By then pure anxiety had started to take over and Nicki was in dire need of some encouraging words. Sam, however, had simply stated that the subject of Robyn was strictly off limits because these things need rules and this level of discretion comes at a price. In other words, the dinner party had only contributed to Nicki’s anxiety, which seemed to be leaking from her pores, drenching her bed sheets with a scent of nervous fear. She could always cancel. This was, after all, not a service that required a deposit. Nicki drew a bath and dumped in an excessive amount of salts and cleansers. How much cash should she take, anyway? At least enough for three hours, she decided, just in case. This wasn’t a situation in which you wanted to run out of money. And how would the payment go? Up front and, if the need arose, an evaluation and next instalment every hour? And what if the woman wasn’t attractive? She must be quite something to charge an amount like that, but tastes differ and, despite a strong penchant for blondes, Nicki wouldn’t touch certain fair-haired types with a stick. What about the chemistry? Could it just be created by booking a hotel room and showing up? And then there was the million dollar question, or rather, in this particular case, the thousand euro question: how would it make her feel to pay for sex? When she had bought her apartment Nicki’d had the bathroom redecorated so she could see the sky while bathing. A dark-bellied formation of clouds drifted by. She rubbed some foam over her skin and, just by the slightest touch of her fingers, her nipples stood to attention. She was, admittedly, feeling rather frisky. A renewed sense of vigour seemed to burn in her bones and when she washed between her legs she wasn’t surprised to find her lips swollen and her clit ready for action. She could have done with a stress-relieving orgasm but it seemed so foolish to waste one now when she was paying for multiple later. After carefully shaving, trimming and waxing, actions she always performed herself, she tugged open her underwear drawer in search of something appropriately skimpy. She could hardly turn up in the boy shorts she secretly found so comfortable. She’d stopped wearing them because they appeared to be an endless source of ridicule for Véronique, but, once she’d given up hope her lover
would return, had slipped back into them with a weary ease. Amongst lesbians comfortable shoes might be all the rage, but Nicki could make a waterproof case for comfortable knickers as well. Except to Véronique, but she was the exception to all of her rules. Until now. She picked a black lace thong and matching bra and then embarked on the impossible task of figuring out what to wear on a date with a prostitute. She went for a simple but ridiculously expensive pair of Gucci jeans and a tucked-in navy blouse. When she reached for her bracelet she deemed it an unnecessary accessory and decided against any kind of jewellery. She’d apply her makeup before she left. It was only eleven o’clock and she had four more gruelling hours to kill.