From: Callrachel Date: Sat, 02 Sep 2000 02:28:16 GMT Subject: New: Marty's Lullaby Title: MARTY'S LULLABY Author: CallRachel Classification: V, mild A, H Rating: NC-17 for adult situations, language Keywords: M/O, pre-XF Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder and Bill Patterson belong to 20th Century Fox, 1013 Productions, and Chris Carter. With Profound Apologies to The Late, Great Damon Runyon Summary: A professional escort reminisces about a night off. In my line of work, you see a lot of strange stuff. Most of the time, I don't judge what people want to do -- okay, so I do judge, but only enough to decide whether or not I should get my ass out of wherever I am while it's still attached. Luckily, my judgment's been pretty good, so far, and of course, I don't take just any client, but sooner or later, everybody makes a mistake, right? Even me, and I'm very careful about who I deal with. If my investments pay off, and I can stay clear of the pimps and the powders, I'll be outta here before anything very bad happens. But that's another story. Weird shit? You wanna know about weird shit? Well, there was this city council guy who wanted me to -- no, that's too gross. There was this actor, one time, who just wanted phone sex. I mean, with me in the next room, he wanted phone sex. With toy telephones. You'd never know it, him in that damn leopardskin on the tube every week. And one guy, I think he's a musician with some big symphony or something, he likes to eat off me. Not eat me off; he likes to lay out food on my body, and eat it. He usually provides the cream for the dessert course, if you get my meaning. I don't care -- only I insist on cold food. No hot soups, or anything that needs to be eaten with a knife and fork. And a shower, later. Hey, it's a living. Oh, sure, I get all sorts. Cops and judges, too. I even had the feds, a couple times. Yeah, I said feds. Fibbies. Hoover's Doovers. Yeah, they know I'm a call girl. They called me, didn't they? No, I wasn't coerced. See, how it started was, there's this guy works out of the local office -- not here, I wasn't living here, then, and I won't say where. Don't want to get him in a jam, you know? His wife was in a car accident, she was in a coma. I mean, a long time, like more than a year, this lady's in a coma. And this guy, he's getting a little crazy, you know? After fourteen months, this guy's a good guy, he doesn't want to cheat, but he's human, you know? He needs it. And I was a witness in some deal they had, and this guy interviewed me, and later on, he calls me, and says would I be willing to give him a hand, so to speak, with his situation. Well, that's my job, I says, and I meet him, and we talk about it, and I'm pretty sure he's on the level, and we transact our business, and I think that's that. But let me tell you, that was one needy guy. He wants to tell me about his wife -- I think, actually, he needs to tell me. So I'll understand. And I do understand. He's a nice guy. Fred. That's not his real name, you know. Fred. His wife passed away about a year later, and he's married again, now. I don't see him anymore. That is, I see him once in awhile, for coffee, but we don't do business anymore. So that was my first fed. Fred the fed. I saw him maybe every other month. He wasn't greedy, I'll give him that. But actually, it was Fred who got me my second fed. Marty. Now, *that* was memorable. That one, I'll tell you about. It was -- a few years ago. There was this big investigation going on, some serial killer thing, and usually I pay close attention to these things, because it's usually ladies in my line of work who get it first, you know? But this bastard, he's doing little kids. So I'm sorry, and I read the papers like everybody else, but it's not life or death for me. You know how it is. And I see Fred for one of our regular get- togethers, and he tells me he's involved in this thing, and they're bringing in some strange guy from back east, some guy who's supposed to be able to read minds, or something. So I say, I can read minds, and I pretty much can, because Fred's mind is a pretty open book about this point, and we get on with what we came for, so to speak. And I don't think much more about it. Then, about ten days later, I get a call from Fred. Well, this is unusual, because Fred's not a frequent flyer, but I'm always glad to hear from him. Well, he needs a big favor, he says. Most guys, they say that, you know they want maybe watersports or something -- which I generally don't do -- but Fred, he's a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, so I say, sure, anything for a pal, and he says their mind-reader hasn't slept in four days, and he won't take sleeping pills, and would I come over and perform my little magic trick and maybe then he'll sleep. Now, I am surprised by this. First, because I don't feature Fred telling all his friends he knows a call girl on a personal basis. Second, because I've never heard of a guy not sleeping for four days straight. Some of the guys I know, you can't get them out of bed for four days straight, and I'm not talking playtime, here. But what the hell, Fred's a good guy, and sounds to me like this magic man needs a break, and I've never met a guy who reads minds before, and I don't happen to have anything else on my calendar for that evening, so I say, sure, and I arrange to meet Fred in the coffee shop of the hotel where this guy's staying. Fred, he's kind-of nervous, and I try to jolly him up a little bit. I say, never mind, Fred, if I can't put him to sleep, he ain't human, and Fred kind of laughs, and says, maybe he's not, at that. So then I get a little nervous, and I say, Fred, I'm trusting you I'm not gonna get hurt or busted here, and he says, no worry, the spook won't hurt you, and I promise you won't get busted. And I say, spook? And he tells me that's what they call him, because he knows things, he knows things he shouldn't be able to know, and it's scary sometimes. And then he kind of laughs and says he's sure I'll be able to handle it, and he really appreciates it, and he owes me one. And I refrain from saying he owes me three hundred, because the magic man is paying the tab, and also because I like that about Fred: he acts like I'm a real girlfriend, and the money that changes hands is a present. Some guys, they make a big deal out of paying, like it's part of the experience. I guess for some guys, that is the experience. But I digress. So I go up to the spook's room, and he opens the door, and I'm pleasantly surprised at first, because he's very pretty. Tall, nice hazel eyes, nose that should have been too big but wasn't, mouth that's just made for kissing, nice dark hair, good body. Younger than I thought -- early thirties, maybe. And good clothes -- you learn a lot about people, in my line of work, from their clothes. He's wearing designer: Boss suit, Sulka tie, Magli shoes -- and he's clean. I like clean. Everybody in my line of work likes clean. And I kind-of grin, because while I've been sizing him up, he's been sizing me up, and I'm glad I wore my new Jaeger suit and the good Italian leather shoes. "You're Rachel?" he says, and I like his voice, even though it's kind of gravelly, and I remember he hasn't slept in a long time. "Yes. And you're --?" "Marty." We shake hands, and I like that, too -- his hand is big and warm and dry. Lot of guys meet me, their palms sweat. Go figure. So I go into his room and he shuts the door, and it's like there's chaos in there, you know? Papers on every surface, files, photos, the whole nine yards. Except for the one rumpled bed. Well, right now, I know one reason he can't sleep. This is not a restful room. But it's not my business to do this guy's decorating for him, so I smile and say, "Won't they give you a desk?" and he kind of laughs, this little husky, nervous bark, and starts gathering up papers and says, "Yeah, but I can't stand to sit at it," and I let him organize it, because I don't want to mess up what he's doing, and also because I get a glimpse of some of the pictures, and I don't want to look closer. So when he's got it confined to one part of the room, I take off my shoes and put my purse on the table, next to a nice, fat envelope with my name on it, and go into the bathroom. Funny, his bathroom is pretty tidy. I smooth my hair, which doesn't need it, and he's standing in the doorway, and I say, "I guess Fred told you about me," and he nods. And I ask him what he'd like, and he just looks at me for a really long time, and I realize those eyes are a whole lot older than the rest of him. And I feel so bad for him, all of a sudden, that I just go up to him and take his face between my hands, and rest my forehead on his, and he smells good, clean and male and good, and I say, "You're so tired, aren't you, baby," very softly, and he doesn't say anything, only takes this kind-of raggedy breath, and I take his head down on my shoulder and stroke the back of his neck with one hand and run the other up his back, and he kind of nuzzles my neck, like a sleepy little kid, and then it's not like a little kid anymore, and he slides his fingers through my hair and then he kisses me. And I was right, that mouth is made for kissing. Kissing? Yeah, sometimes. Don't believe everything you see in the movies. Well, my career being what it is, it usually takes more than a kiss to start my little heart going pitta-pat, but there's something about this guy, he just seems to know all the right places to nuzzle, all the best places to lick, and by the time he lifts his head, we're both breathing a little hard. And I take my hands out of his hair and start undressing him, and he lets me, just looks down at my hands undoing his buttons, and I push the shirt off his shoulders, and like what I see -- nice, flat belly, maybe a little too flat, maybe he needs to eat more, but then I think about those pictures, and I can see why maybe he doesn't. He's a little furry but not too much, you know? And not on his back. I hate when guys have hairy backs. So I crouch down and untie his shoes, and undo his belt and trousers, and let them fall, and he braces on my shoulder and steps out of them, and I rub my cheek up against the package that's firming up in the front of his boxers -- nice, knitted boxers -- and then I start to get a little smile on my face because that's quite a package, and I pull down the shorts and his socks and then I look up and I'm very pleased with what I see. I was kind-of expecting it, given the size of those Bruno Maglis and the hands and the nose, but still -- nice to see. Sure, it's a wive's tale. That one just happens to be true, that's all. He has nice legs, too -- runner's legs, hard with muscle. And furry. Hey, guys are furrier than women. So there I am, crouched in front of this very pretty naked guy, and I'm still fully dressed, and he's what you might call armed, and I just can't help myself: I have to have a little taste. So I lick up the underside right from the base to the tip and then I take that head in my mouth, and kind-of swirl my tongue around it, and this is the moment most guys take my head in their hands and try to get serious about fucking my mouth, which I don't much care for, but Marty, he is standing there with his fists clenched, and his head thrown back, and I am tickled by this: he is liking this, and I am liking putting that expression on his face, and so I do a couple things with my tongue that make him shudder, and I know if I keep going, he'll come, and I won't really feel like I've earned my money, and so I stop. And when he looks down at me, there's a question in his eyes, like, did he do something wrong, and so I nuzzle underneath where his balls are, and kiss him there and just above where the curls start, and then I stand up and suck one of his nipples, and he's sensitive there, that startles a little sound out of him, and I step back and smile. Hey, Marty, I say, let's play, and I back away and undress for him -- not stripping, but graceful, you know -- and then I go to the bed and throw back the covers and kind-of smooth it out, plump up the pillows, and lie down. And he comes and lies down next to me, and we kiss some more, and then I think, what the hell, I gotta right to some fun, too, and I start touching him, not just that cock, but all over: his belly, his throat, the bend of his elbows, the backs of his knees, and I taste him and lick him and knead those long, hard muscles of his, and pretty soon, Marty's making soft little groaning noises in his throat, and I am pleased by this, because his eyes are younger, now, softer, and he is touching me back, and that big cock I was so impressed with is even bigger, now, and I am purring kind-of soft in my throat, because he is a mind-reader; he knows what I like and he likes to do it. And he takes my ass in those big hands of his and lifts me up and nestles his face into my crotch, and you know, most guys think they know all about this, and it's a joke, really, but this guy, this magic fed, he really does know all about this. And he likes it. And pretty soon I have made his face very wet, and he has made me very happy, and I am thinking perhaps I will send Fred a fruit basket for filling up my unproductive evening with this very good experience. I know, everybody thinks we fake it. Sometimes we do. Everybody wants to feel like he's great, you know? But sometimes, you run across somebody who is great -- not as often as you'd like, because let's face it, guys who are truly great, they don't need to hire this done for them, you know? -- but sometimes you do, and then it makes work a pleasure, if you know what I mean. And why not? It's not in the job description that we can't enjoy it, you know. Well, this Marty, he is interesting. He lifts his head from me after the third or fourth time, and he is looking very carefully at me, and I can see him looking at my eyes and my face and then he brushes the backs of his fingers across my stomach where I am wet with sweat, and he kind-of smiles at me, slow and pleased and just a little bit shy, and I see he believes, now, that he did make me come. "You liked that," he says, and kisses me on the inside of my thigh, and I take some of that damp dark hair in my fingers and tug gently and he comes up to lie next to me and takes my head on his shoulder, and I stroke his cheek, and I can't get the little smile off my face. "I liked that very much," I say, and reach down to take him in my hands, and his eyes close, just briefly, and I can feel him tremble. "You tell me, Marty," I say, "what do you want? Anything you want, that's what we'll do." And I would, too, although I am hoping he will go for something that doesn't make me feel dirty, later. And I feel him start to take a breath -- and suddenly there's a ringing in the room, and he stiffens out -- his muscles, I mean -- and his erection starts to subside. He just lies there for a second, with his eyes closed, and then he says Fuck, very softly, and gets up and gets his cell phone out of his jacket and flips it open and says his last name -- which I am not telling you, so don't bother licking your pencil. And I'm lying there, looking at him standing with his back to me, kind-of hunched around the phone, and then he walks across the room and jerks back the curtain and opens the balcony doors, like he's got to have more air, and says, "So what've you got?" And he listens, nodding in silence like it's no surprise, and then he says, "Nothing new? *I* told *you* this shit two days ago." And then he listens a little more, and finally he says, "Look, Bill, nobody wants to bag this fucker more than me. I'll do it better if you leave me the fuck alone. And it will take as long as it takes." And he listens for another minute, and says, "Up yours, you sanctimonious cocksucker," and he steps out on the balcony -- naked, mind you -- and hauls back like he's gonna pitch that cellphone across town. Well, a cellphone's a cellphone, and I nip out of bed and take it out of his hand before he makes the pitch, and turn it off, and he turns around, a little bit pissed, to take it back from me, and I hold it behind my back and say, "Hey, Marty, you know what these damn things cost? C'mon, it's an innocent cellphone," and for a minute, I think he is seriously pissed, and then he starts to laugh, and I start to laugh, and I throw the cellphone on the table and take his hands and lead him back to the bed. "Now," I say, pushing him down on his back and kneeling between his legs, "where were we?" And I start to lick him, and after a minute, presto, there is his erection again, and I smile at him, pleased with both of us. "So tell me, Marty," I say, "what's it gonna be?" So he sits up and makes me lie on my back, and reaches over to get a condom off the nightstand, and I take it away from him and put it on him with a little extra pizzazz, you know? I like to reward a guy who puts on a condom without me asking. And that makes him shiver a little bit, and then he has my hips in those big, warm hands of his, and he pushes into me. This is a nice moment, and I am glad when he just stops for a second, so we can both savor the sensation. I look up at his face above me, and his eyes are very dark, very wide, and I reach up to stroke a lock of that damp, dark hair out of his face, my legs locked around those nice, narrow hips of his. And then he is off, a nice, long, even stroke, that starts off slow and gentle and gradually gets harder and faster, and probably because I am still very sensitive from what he did to me before, I come again, and that sensation brings him over, and he hides his face in my neck and gives a kind of a choked cry, and I can feel him coming inside me, and I am pleased at the shudders I can feel running through his body. Well. He lies there for a few minutes, and I can feel his breath flowing across my neck, and after a little while, he kind of shakes his head and lifts off me, very gently pulling out of me, and peels off the condom, and lies on his back with a little sound like a groan. And I remember this man has not slept in four, now going on five, days. He puts an arm around me, and I cuddle down against him, and he looks up into my face, and I think suddenly maybe he is much younger than I first thought. Maybe he is eleven or twelve. "Will you stay with me?" he says, and I am a little bit confused, and he sees that, and smiles a little. "I mean, will you sleep with me? I don't -- I won't --" and he is so appealing that I put my fingers on his lips to shush him. "I got noplace to be until noon tomorrow," I tell him, and his smile broadens out. Well -- hey, even call girls have favorites. And this guy is rapidly becoming a favorite. So I give him the VIP treatment: I go into the bathroom and get a warm washcloth and a towel and I wash him, and tuck the covers around him and very casually turn off the ringer on the phone in the room, and get back into bed with him. He is sleepy now, and he reminds me of a big toddler, worn out after a hard day's play, and because I know this big toddler is worn out after a hard day fighting monsters, I take his head on my arm, and he cuddles down against me and takes my nipple in his mouth, like my mythical toddler would take his soother, and in a few moments, his sucking slows, and he sighs a big sigh, and then he is asleep. When I wake up in the morning, he is on his cellphone again, standing by the window, talking softly so he won't wake me. When he sees me awake, he smiles and wraps his call and comes and sits on the bed. "Hey," he says, lifting a lock of hair out of my face. "How'd you sleep?" "Great," I tell him, and he kind-of grins. "Yeah. Me, too. Thanks." "My pleasure," I tell him, and he raises his eyebrows. "Well, I hope partly," he says, and I assure him it was. "I have to go to a meeting in half an hour," he says. "Would you like some breakfast?" Hey. This guy works in his hotel room, and he doesn't want a call girl lounging on the bed over toasted muffins while he's conducting a meeting. He would never throw me out -- he's a nice guy, you know? -- but one thing you learn in this line of work is, where you belong. And I don't belong in this guy's day. So I smile and put a kiss in his palm, and bounce up out of bed. "Nope," I say. "Thanks, Marty, but I'll head for home and fluff myself up a little bit." So he nods, kind-of wistful, and we kiss, like friends kiss, and he says, "There's an envelope on the table for you. If it's more than that, my wallet's on the bureau, okay?" And I smile and say, "Okay," and he gives me a little hug and says, "I'm gonna go have a shower. Rachel -- thanks again." And then he's gone into the bathroom, and I can hear the shower running. Yeah, I thought it was a little trusting of him, too, but he is a mind-reader, after all, right? He knows I'm not going to rip him off. Well, I got dressed, and went over to the table to get my purse and there's the envelope. And I am toying with an idea, something I never did before -- hey, in this line of work, you got nothing to sell but your time, right? There was three hundred and fifty in the envelope. Three hundred is my rate, and I guess the fifty was a little thank-you for teddy-bear service. I hesitated, took a card out of my purse, wrote him a little note on the back and tucked it into the envelope, extracting a twenty. Hey, I figured cab fare was not unreasonable. And then I left. And I never saw him again. The note? Oh, well, it was nothing. No, really. Well, if you must know -- it said, "Sweet dreams, Marty. And take good care of your cellphone."