Renting Ginny

I sat in front of the mirror and made sure every lock of my long blond hair was in place. Blue eyes gazed back at me as I then inspected my eyeliner and mascara. Deciding I didn’t need any beauty touch-ups at the moment, I thought of how I would spend the remainder of the evening once I, and a few of my fellow housemates, were inspected by the prospective “buyer” that was due to show up soon. Unless I was the chosen one, of course. I, Ginny Gold, was actually for sale. Well, for rent was more like it. I could be rented for $250 a night, $1700 a week, or you could rent me for a whole month at a whopping price of $6000. The longer you rented me, the more you saved. But that was only if you were willing to take good care of me and not abuse me in any way. You would think that at twenty-nine years of age, I would have found a more “normal” line of work, but I actually enjoyed being the equivalent of a live-in and highly pampered sex toy. Not because it paid all that great, but because of how easy it was. With this job, I didn’t need to worry about rent, mortgages, groceries, insurance, bills, or much of anything that most people had to worry about, since that was all provided for me. I didn’t even own a car. I could if I wanted to, but I just didn’t, and a vehicle wasn’t a must in my line of work anyway. I rose from my chair and inspected my entire self in a full-length mirror. Average height, average weight, fairly nice features. Even so, one would probably never suspect I did what I did for a living. I had a relatively easy life. Not a perfect life, but one I was satisfied with. My five former “buyers” were good to me, and I managed not to get too attached or too used to being where I was at the time. Especially since we were usually rented out on a weekly basis, and then it was on to a new buyer’s home for however long they wanted to house, feed and pamper us while we provided them with whatever sexual pleasures they wanted. Within reason, of course. When we weren’t out for rent at the moment, we stayed in a large house with what was usually one other roommate. Again, all our expenses were paid, plus we were given some extra money for any extras we may want – books, DVDs, clothes, etc. It was up to us how we spent our extra cash. One who worked for this type of upscale escort service with a twist, as I liked to refer to it, wasn’t usually out of a job for more than a week or two, and if you were, then you were definitely in the wrong profession. I come from a somewhat large and close-knit family with hard-working parents who were married – and still are – as well as two brothers and one sister, all younger than me except for one of my brothers. Patrick is thirty-two, but Alex and Alexa, who are actually twins, are twenty-five. My family is the only part of my life that could get tricky at times. They knew damn well what I did for a living. I wasn’t one to lie, especially to my family. So, when I was asked about my new “job,” I readily gave up the details. Dad hadn’t known what to say. He had merely gone slack-jawed and silent in stunned disbelief. Mom, on the other hand, had been quick to list off everything bad that could possibly happen to me. Moving my pin straight flaxen hair from my face, I slipped into my hot pink high-heeled pumps that matched my form-fitting slinky dress, which barely covered my well-exercised buns. I then decided on a half-hour run on the treadmill followed by a hot, relaxing bubble bath if I wasn’t “sold” that evening. Then I would be sure to spend the last hour or so of my day curled up in bed with a good book. Edgy romance or maybe a good thriller. My roommate, Daisy, suddenly entered the room. “The lady’s here now for anyone that’s willing to be rented by another woman,” she announced. That was all I had agreed to be rented by when agreeing to work for the agency in the first place. Had that not been a choice, I would have turned the job down. Nothing against men; it was just women I happened to be attracted to. This way, I also didn’t have to worry about pregnancy and my chances of contracting any diseases were lower. I didn’t mind, however, if I wasn’t attracted to the woman interested in buying me, since it was just a job. Back in my exotic dancing days, gender didn’t matter at all for the patrons of the clubs I had danced at, and were only allowed to look but never touch. As long as the woman who bought me wasn’t hideously huge or ugly and didn’t give me the creeps in any way or expect anything too off the wall, I would be ready and willing to please. “Okay,” I said, following Daisy out of the room, down the long corridor and then down the stairs. All the while, I wondered why Daisy’s parents chose to name my sometimes obnoxious twenty-one-year-old roommate Daisy. Daisy just didn’t make you think of a daisy of all flowers. Maybe a blood red rose or deep dark orchids, but not a daisy. Daisies were usually light in color, yet there was nothing light about the short, energetic girl with the ebony hair and eyes. “Emmy says we can just wait in the parlor. She’s not done speaking with the woman in her office yet, so she says to just hang out and wait but don’t go far,” said a fellow employee as I stepped off the bottom riser. This one was relatively new and I hadn’t had much interaction with her as of yet. I didn’t even know her name. I smiled politely and nodded, then I took a seat in the parlor. Gazing out the window, I eyed the well-manicured grounds as the sun began to set. Suddenly, I wondered what I would do with myself when I became too old to appeal much to the clientele in general. What other job could I get that would provide me with the same kind of fun, adventure and interesting variety that went with living in different places with different “lovers,” none of which I had to pay for but was instead paid to live with and play with. I’d only been on the job for three months. I thought of my last five “owners.” Three white, one Mexican, and one British. All had been just average-looking looking but one of the white ladies bordered on ugly. She’d had an okay body, but her face had these ugly scars – possibly from having acne when she was younger – that really detracted from her looks. I actually preferred a nicer face on a not as nice body if I couldn’t have my cake and eat it, too. A harsh voice penetrated my thoughts and made me turn in the direction of the doorway to find an incredibly loud-speaking black woman standing in it. Was she deaf or something? Or did she just think everyone else was? We made eye contact for a split second, and I seriously hoped to hell she wasn’t a client but was a new worker instead. She had a great body, but her hideously ugly face was framed with yellow, thick-framed glasses that added to her ugliness, as did her curly-kinky hair. I almost felt sorry for the woman and wondered what her mother must’ve thought when she realized just how homely a daughter she had produced. Lucky for her, the clients don’t usually care as much about the face, I thought to myself, noting the stark contrast between her and Shelma, also black, and who happened to be a close friend of mine and the one who had referred me to Emmy’s Escort Service. I watched the woman turn to head upstairs and immediately disliked her. Everything about her aggressive tone of voice and mannerisms screamed words like selfish, conceited, inconsiderate and rude. There’s no way I’ll ever be roomies with this one, I decided. The woman suddenly turned back and accidentally brushed against me as she went to snatch a piece of hard candy from a bowl on a small table next to me. I expected at least a quick “excuse me” or “sorry” before she turned to head back up the stairs, but she said nothing. Bitch. I looked around me. There were about thirty of us living in this big old house, though not usually all at once, since most of us were usually out on jobs, which means our beds remained empty most of the time. You sure hoped they did, anyway. From the looks of it, I had about six or seven competitors that night, most of whom I felt were better looking than I was. I knew that was a matter of personal opinion, though I still didn’t expect to be going anywhere that night. And so I waited and waited for Emmy and the prospective buyer. I could easily picture Emmy interviewing the person. Part of her job was to really feel them out (not in that way) and get a sense of just who they were so as to hopefully not send any of us to some nutjob, as my mother feared. Emmy, somewhere in her late thirties, lived full-time in the house and was in charge of screening both the workers and the clients. She was a very mellow, soft-spoken woman who was easy to get along with but had a very mousy appearance. She was the kind you automatically assumed was perhaps a childcare worker or something like that. Not running a fancy escort service. Although what we did was legal, it was still by far controversial to many people. Just because we didn’t parade around half naked on the streets, quick to jump into the first car carrying the first stranger that happened to stop by, no questions asked, didn’t mean that many people didn’t view us in the same way they viewed the street hookers…as lowlife sluts who were no doubt a bunch of druggies, riddled with all kinds of diseases. In actuality, we were regularly tested for drugs and diseases, as were the clients. Background checks were also run on both parties. A client couldn’t simply walk in and order up a girl, unlike on the streets. There was a step-by-step process that had to be gone through and passed with satisfactory expectations, or else you couldn’t work at Emmy’s Escort Service, and you couldn’t “rent” a lady that did either. The application was extensive, but that was mostly because we had a long list of “services” to go through and check off just what we would or would not be willing to do. To each their own, but as far as I was concerned, asses were for shitting, not for penetrating. So sodomy was one of the no-nos right there. Golden showers? Don’t even think about it! Weapons? In your dreams, honey! Whips, chains and belts? Hmm… depended on just what you had in mind for those particular items. If you didn’t use them with too much force, I would be more likely to submit to those who had a fancy for these things. Bondage? Sure, as long as you were willing to untie me when I needed to pee and didn’t plan on leaving me tethered or chained for long periods at a time. Adding another woman or a man? Uh-uh. Two’s company, three’s a crowd. What I also liked about working for the escort service was that everybody was a willing participant. Those who worked there wanted to work there, and if they were truly unhappy with anyone they were placed with, they had the right to leave, no questions asked. Just then, Emmy entered the large room with our newest client, and as I turned to look at the woman, I wondered if I’d just hit pay dirt.