Secret Santa

This post contains adult language and content.

I’ve never done this before.

That was how my ad started. I’d browsed through Backpage and Craigslist and had an idea of how it was done. People talked about “roses” and “erotic services” but avoided specific terms so the law wouldn’t get involved. I certainly didn’t want that. I was just a broke black woman, hoping to get some cash before the holidays.

“I can give you a loan,” my boyfriend Jason told me when he stopped by my house. As a computer programmer, he had plenty to give. At 35, he was older and nesting with his best friend, planning on having kids one day. “You know girls get killed for this shit.”

“I just want to try it,” I said, staring at the ad on my computer screen. “And you know I don’t take money from partners.” I’d have to be on my death bed to even call my mother for help. I was only 25. I had an apartment and a job that had laid me off until January. I called myself solo poly. My friends considered it “just dating.”

Jason reached from behind my desk chair and put his arms around my shoulders. He was still wearing his suit jacket and he smelled like cologne and a hint of sweat. A professional black man who had chosen me, a Southern-born math major who worked in an administrative office. Well, occasionally worked. Government shutdown led to furloughs, and now I had three weeks to make do before the state government passed a spending bill.

“You’ll take dinner,” he said, his beard brushing up against my cheek. “What’s the difference?”

“I don’t want to feel indebted,” I said. My stomach was rumbling, but now that he was close I was thinking of other things. “I want to work for my money.”

“So sex is work now? Where do I sign up?” I was going to lecture him about the economic inequality that led to female prostitution, but he grabbed my hands and pulled me out of the chair. “Let’s go eat.”

“Wait!” I reached backward to reread the ad and pressed submit. “OK, now we can go.”

I’ve never done this before. I’m not a professional and I’m not looking for a long term thing. I want some Christmas presents and I’ll give you a gift in return. Black woman, 30, slim, short natural. Polyamorous and ethical.

I checked my phone while Jason slept. Dozens of responses in only a few hours. I had already decided on my criteria. Whoever I chose had to be polite and willing to send a picture. I had dated all types of folks, though Jason was my only constant right now. He wasn’t interested in who my patron was going to be. “As long as it’s not a white hippy,” he joked. Well, I hoped he was joking.

One of the promising figures was a man who identified as a single black male in his 40s. “Friendly and discreet,” he said. I sent him a message that asked, “Married?”

Not anymore.

Dating?

You’re asking too many questions. He was right. I had no idea what I was doing. He wrote again. I date women, and I also pay women. Everything is above board.

He even sent a picture. Of his face. Dark skin, polo shirt, heavy build like a football player. Attractive. Maybe this would work.

“Is that your sugar daddy?” Jason mumbled into his pillow. “He looks like a bouncer.”

“Maybe he is,” I said. “Is the light bothering you?”

“Have you asked about his criminal background?” He asked, wrapping himself around my lower body. “Maybe he got those muscles on the inside.”

“You’re just jealous,” I said, turning off my phone and filling my hands with his soft brown skin.

“Jealous?” His lips were pressed against my thigh. “I don’t have to pay for this.” I wondered about the ethics of men who paid for sex versus those who didn’t. I didn’t know if men paid because they were lonely or because they were awful to be around.

Starbucks on 6th, 9pm. If you feel comfortable I have a hotel room across the street.

He took up a lot of space at the metal table outside. When I recognized him, I wondered if I would get killed for this. I’d told Jason and another friend where I would be, but they wouldn’t get worried until the next morning. I watched him checking his phone and tried to tap into all my feminine intuition. Nothing.

I was not quite dressed to kill, but I did put some effort into my presentation. I had a see through blouse with a leather skirt and black pumps. Shaved everywhere, except for my bronze-tipped twist out I spent extra time on. It was an outfit I felt comfortable in, but I wondered if it was too much. Or too little.

He looked up, put his phone in his pocket and watched me approach. Bald, no facial hair, and observant eyes. Polo shirt, slacks, and nice shoes. I tried not to trip as I did my best femme fatale walk toward him. He gestured toward the cafe door as I sat down. “Want a drink?”

I’d prefer one with alcohol, I thought. “No, thank you.” As I looked at him I thought about what kind of work gave you his build. His shoulders were thick, his neck almost invisible between his shoulders and head. The only way I could describe his chest was solid, a straight rectangle down to large round legs. The more I thought about it, the more I could see him body slamming some random guy on a mat, then stepping back and giving a primal scream to the cheering crowd.

His expression now was more of boredom. He was leaning back, one hand on the table, no drink for him. “What do you want to ask?” He said, like a detective questioning a hostile perp.

I sat down and leaned forward, covering my purse with my hands. “Any recent STD testing?”

“All negative.”

“Ok. Me too. Did you bring cash?” He nodded. “What do you do for a living?” He didn’t answer, deep brown eyes staring at me. “I just thought you might be a wrestler,” I tried for a joke, smiling lamely.

“I play one on TV.” He leaned forward, and the table seemed to move with him. “The less you know the easier it is. I don’t want you to catch any feelings.”

“Why would you say that?” It’s as if he knew I had never had casual sex.

“Polyamorous. It means love. I’m not polyamorous. I just like to fuck.”

“You haven’t ever been in love?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Been there, done that. Got the alimony payments. Love don’t cost a thing, but hate will drain your bank account.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There you go with those feelings,” he said, smirking. I decided he was enjoying my discomfort in this situation.

“Well,” I sighed. No more questions from me. “Shall we go?”

“I’m waiting on the background check to clear,” he said, laughing. It made him seem a lot friendlier. Like the uncle who smokes cigars and plays spades at Thanksgiving. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not polyamorous because I catch feelings,” I told him as we walked. “I just like having multiple people to relate to. Right now it’s just one, but I’m open to others.” He didn’t say anything. “And it’s true I’ve never just randomly had sex with anyone off the internet. I don’t do one night stands. If I like someone, I let them know, and we decide what kind of relationship we want to pursue.” Still nothing. “Sometimes I do get crushes on mono people and they want ‘commitment’ and then I feel like shit turning them down, but that’s life, right? I’m not going to give up my values just for one person. I mean,” I stopped, trying to anticipate what he would say. “Yes, this is a one off thing, but I fully support sex workers. Not that I know any. And I sound like a hypocrite.” I sighed.

“What does your boyfriend think of you doing this?” Finally a sound from the walking boulder. “Or is it a girlfriend?”

“He knows about it, and he knows where I am right now. Or where we were. He thinks it’s a little crazy. Doesn’t want me to get killed.” No comment. “So, why don’t you like small talk?” He gave me a look and kept walking. “It’s just hard to know anything about you when you don’t answer questions.”

“That’s the point.” We walked straight into the hotel toward the elevators. I looked over at the front desk but the clerk looked bored and uninterested in us. It was one of those conference hotels, so there were plenty of people around this late at night. As we departed the elevator, he said, “The room is 817. Text your friend and let him know. After that, no more phone calls.”

I pulled out my phone. There was already a message from Jason with a single character: ? I sent him the room number and hotel name and set it to silent.

He opened his room door and held it open for me. There was no way to get in without brushing by him. He felt cold, and not just from the weather. I was trembling. I stopped beside the bathroom clutching my purse. While I watched, he pulled a large wad of cash from his wallet and set it on the bureau. He sank down on the far bed and crossed his arms. Now he was smiling, obviously pleased at my discomfort.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I said. I took several minutes to check myself and try to calm down. Nothing helped. It’s just sex, I told myself. And that’s a lot of money. I came back out and sighed as I slipped off my shoes. The money was still on the bureau, and he was watching my every move.

“Put it in your purse,” he said. “Don’t want to forget it.” I grabbed the crisp pile, stuffed it inside my purse, and hung it in the closet. “Next time you should count it,” he prompted from behind me.

I turned around and faced him. He was still smiling. “Now, we’re going to take off our clothes, I’ll put on a condom and we’ll have sex. You don’t have to pretend to like me, but I do like to know you’re having fun. I don’t hurt people unless you’re into that. Are you?” I shook my head, unwilling to break his sudden verbosity. “I like head and I like girls on top. You ready for that drink?”

I nodded. He reached over to the side table and poured two shots in shot glasses. I willed myself to walk over. I eyed the bottle as I took the cup. Vodka. He tipped his cup toward me and slammed it back. I coughed after I got most of the drink down. “Don’t party much?” He asked, the smile still lingering on his lips.

“I’ll drink wine occasionally.” I felt bougie just saying it. “Is that where you meet women?” My mind went back to the bouncer theory.

“Sometimes.”

“I was pretty boring in college,” I said, sitting opposite him on the other bed. “I don’t think I’ve been to a club since then. Jason will take me out sometimes, but he’s not into bars. He’s really a family type. Though he doesn’t have a family, yet. He has a partner, I mean another woman he is going to have kids with. Do you have kids?” No answer. “I don’t think I’ll have kids; they take a lot of work. I mean I like kids, but I don’t want to raise them. Not that you care. Um.” The vodka was making my stomach burn. My comfortable clothes didn’t seem so comfortable anymore. “I guess I’ll get undressed.”

I felt hot from head to toe as I pulled off my clothes. If black skin could blush I was bright red. His gaze felt heavy on me, a smothering heat I couldn’t get away from. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to. The vodka was starting to work. I liked being naked, and I liked the idea of having sex. It was just the circumstances that were weird. “You look good,” he said.

“Thank you.” I wanted to get some of my confidence back. “I wouldn’t say I’m a sex goddess, but most of my partners think I’m pretty good.”

He laughed. “Well come here, pretty good.” He held out his hands, and I let him pull me against him for a kiss. His mouth surrounded mine just like his body, encircling me with warmth. Damn, he was a good kisser. His hands explored my back and settled on my butt, giving them a firm squeeze that pushed me even closer to him. His fingers reached deeper to pull my cheeks apart and feel into my already wet pussy.

I felt dizzy as he pushed me back and said, “On your knees.” He pulled off his shirt first, then unbuttoned his pants. I knelt down and I tried to keep my face neutral as I waited for the big reveal. Somehow I didn’t think he would care much, but I wanted to see what I was working with. Larger men always seemed to have smaller–

Was I fat shaming? Don’t think about that, I told myself. Suck some dick. His cock was average length but big around. I leaned forward and let him fill up my mouth. His hand came down lightly on the back of my neck, applying the lightest pressure. I did my best to bring him back to my throat as I used my tongue on the underside of his cock. Mmm, it felt good in my mouth. Eventually I looked up at him. What was he thinking? He had his eyes closed. Should I say something? What did porn stars do? “Is that good?”

He waved his hand. “No talking.” I went back to work. I loved giving head, and I loved the way his cock filled my mouth. Now I couldn’t wait to have him inside me. My hand had already drifted down between my legs in anticipation.

His hand left my neck and I looked up again. He was thumbing through his wallet. “Bring that pussy up here,” he said, pulling out a condom and opening it. I stood up slowly so I wouldn’t get dizzy, and I could feel the heat between our bodies. He pulled me down beside him and kissed me again and his hands grabbed my breasts. One slid down flat against my chest and his head followed, down to my bare mound. His kissing was good on my other lips, too. I cried out as an orgasm swept over me. I wondered if he thought it was genuine, or if he cared. I wondered if I should ask, or just beg him to fuck me.

He laid back on the bed and swiftly covered his cock. I waited, enjoying lying in the deep groove his body made in the bed, until I remembered he wanted me on top. His hands on my ass helped guide me over what seemed a little too big now. I could feel myself stretching to contain him, and I closed my eyes and gave a little hum as I settled against his body. I started to rock back and forth but he took over quickly, squeezing me down against him with a fast pace that made the bed rock and creak. I hung on for the ride, moaning as my breasts bounced against his belly. My next orgasm shook me from head to toe, and I gasped as I felt his cock pulse inside me.

Slowly I became of my own sweat sliding into his. I carefully pulled myself off back into the warm, deep groove. I felt sleepy and cuddly, but now we were back to client and customer again. He threw off the condom and exchanged it for his phone, ignoring me completely. I sat up and said, “I guess I’ll take a shower.”

My shower was fast and cold; it’s not like I had any products that would work for my skin. I dried off and collected my clothes from the other bed. He was still on his phone. I watched him awkwardly for second, wondering if I should say any parting words. “Thanks for the money?” It ended up sounding like a question.

He looked up. “Merry Christmas.” Still a half smile, with amusement and what I imagined some appreciation. I put on my clothes to keep from shivering in the cold. I retrieved my purse and shoes, and took one look back from the door. He had set his phone down and closed his eyes. I left quietly.

“Going to do it again?” Was all Jason wanted to know when I called him at home. I wasn’t sure I would have wanted to give him many details anyway, especially the fact that I enjoyed myself so much.

“I would do him again.” There they were: feelings. Oh well. I smiled to myself. “But I don’t know. I’m set for the break.”

“Must be an adrenaline rush. Let me know next time you want to roleplay.” I thought again about telling him this was legitimate work for some people, but I wanted to get off the phone. I had an extra thick dildo I wanted to play with.

This might answer some of your questions.

That was the text I got from him after Christmas. I had paid my light bill, bought Jason a gift, and treated myself to my favorite wine. His text included a link to an ebook. I clicked through to a cover with a photo of a chubby little boy staring impishly at the camera. When I clicked the author’s name, it was a picture of him. I laughed and went back to the book. The title was, My Life on TV: the Autobiography of a Wrestler.

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