Every woman is supposed to have the same set of motives, or else to be a monster. – George Eliot

Yesterday I talked about couple calls, those in which an established couple (whether married or not) takes a whore into their bed so as to allow the husband either to experience two women at the same time or to see two women together, usually both. If you missed that column I suggest you scroll down and read it first, because this one is written with the assumption that you’ve already read the other.

A couple call is different from a two-girl call in that the latter involves two professional women rather than one professional and one amateur; despite the fact that the fantasy is the same, the dynamic is quite different because in the two-girl call the whores generally know each other and may even have had similar dates together before. There were two girls in particular with whom I really enjoyed doing these sorts of calls, and since they liked me as well such calls usually went smoothly and professionally, with few surprises. The same cannot be said of couple calls; since most of the time the wife has never before been naked in bed with another woman, her reaction is unpredictable and potentially problematic. Over time, though, I had developed several very effective techniques for putting wives at ease, letting them know that I was not a rival and reassuring them that they were to be in control of the proceedings; as a result, I rarely had any problems with them, except for the few examples mentioned in yesterday’s column. I had never bothered to develop any special strategies for dealing with the husbands in such calls because I deemed them unnecessary; men were always so happy to find themselves in bed with two women that they presented no problems whatsoever. The one single exception to this rule I ever encountered, however, turned into what was undoubtedly the worst couple call of my entire professional career.

In the summer of 2005 I went to see a very young couple in a very expensive hotel; he was 29 and she was 19 and absolutely gorgeous, with a stunning figure and the face of an angel. After my usual introductory talk we undressed and started the proceedings, and I quickly discovered that the young lady was a veritable volcano of repressed lesbian passion; I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been kissed so passionately by anyone, male or female, in my entire life. And when she wasn’t kissing me she couldn’t stop looking at me and touching me, whispering things like “Oh God, you are so beautiful!” Needless to say I was equally turned on and so everything seemed to be going extremely well, when suddenly the boyfriend got up and went over to sit in a chair with an unmistakably angry expression on his face.

The girl and I looked at each other quizzically and then I asked him, “is something wrong?”

He replied, “No, nothing, just keep doing what you’re doing.” This was clearly a lie; he was absolutely furious. So I prodded him a little more, and after a few more denials he suddenly exploded, calling his girlfriend a “dyke” and a “slut” and several other less-telling dirty names. The poor girl was thunderstruck; his bizarre reaction was as startling to her as it was to me. She shot me a pleading glance, and though I wanted nothing more than to slap this asshole into next week I couldn’t let that sweet little creature deal with the abusive freak alone once I eventually left. So I swallowed my pride, put on the sweetest face I could manage, pushed my righteous anger down as far as it would go and literally begged the sleazy son of a bitch to come back to bed with us, wheedling and cajoling him in my most ingratiating manner. Realizing what I was doing, the girl followed my lead and joined in, and soon the petulant little brat was back between us, enjoying the caresses of two women (though speaking for myself, I would’ve preferred to bite his cock off rather than do to it what I was doing). As I worked, I thought about what had occurred and realized that, unlike normal men who would have been ecstatic about watching such a hot girl-girl scene, this whiny baby had presumed that we would both be so caught up in worshipping his almighty studliness that we would only take interest in each other when he ordered it to please himself. Instead, his fragile ego was shattered by seeing his girlfriend more interested in me than in him; obviously it was okay for him to want sex with a strange woman, but not for her to desire the same thing.

Eventually, after forcing her to accept him orally for an absolutely punishing length of time, he finished and got up without a word, heading for the bathroom. I held her closely, keeping an eye open for his return, but soon heard the shower and knew it was safe to ask her what the hell that was all about. She whispered that he was from a very wealthy family and was very spoiled; she had made the mistake of accepting his invitation to come to New Orleans (they were from Ohio) and soon discovered that if she didn’t dance to his tune he would strand her there without any money of her own. This of course made me still angrier; I told her she could come with me if she wanted, that I had an extra bed and we could arrange for her flight home in the morning (at my expense if necessary). But though she was clearly appreciative of the offer, she explained that it would be better for her in the long run to return with him; so, I wrote my cell phone number on one of my business cards and insisted she get out and call me if he later became completely unmanageable. She thanked me, hid the card in her purse and kissed me, and I dressed and waited until he got out of the shower so I could see for myself that he seemed calmer; she never did call, though, and all that weekend I prayed she would get home safely and promptly dump the selfish prick.

What a contrast between this jealous, narcissistic pig and the lady from Mandeville (a suburb north of Lake Pontchartrain) who arranged what may have been the best couple call I ever went on; she was a shining example of the true spirit of giving, of sincere love and the real desire to make one’s partner happy. She called me one afternoon (in 2002, I think) and explained that for their 15th wedding anniversary she had decided to give her husband a gift he would never forget. The two of them were high school sweethearts, he a football player and she a cheerleader; they had married soon after graduation and neither had ever been with anyone else. They both worked (he in some sort of managerial capacity and she in real estate) and had chosen to delay children until they were financially comfortable, so they had a lovely house in an upscale neighborhood and could well afford an occasional extravagance. On this particular occasion, that meant me; she proposed to hire me for three hours in order to fulfill her husband’s fantasy of seeing her make love to another woman.

I could not help but be impressed with how carefully she had planned the whole thing. We ran her credit card right then so we needn’t worry about it later and her husband wouldn’t know how much it had cost. I was to attach the slip to a few sheets of legal paper in a manila envelope, then arrive at their house at a certain time immediately after dinner (which she had perfectly timed); while dining she was to tell her husband that a girl from work would be dropping by later with papers for her to sign. And so it unfolded like clockwork; I arrived within the instructed time range, wearing an attractive but businesslike dress and carrying the folder, and was introduced as Maggie from work. After she signed the concealed transaction slip, I put the folder on the kitchen table, made small talk for a few minutes and then, as I had been instructed, sidled up behind the unsuspecting gentleman and began to rub his shoulders. The move caught him off-guard, and he looked up at me and then across to his wife, who could no longer suppress the giggles; I then explained exactly what his beloved had done for him, and his reaction was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

We adjourned to the bedroom and undressed; her husband sat in a chair which afforded a good view and proceeded to take care of himself while we gave him a show. She was willing, but at first very nervous and awkward; she kept saying things like “This feels so weird!” until I whispered in her ear that such talk might ruin her husband’s mood, upon which she nodded and whispered back a promise to try harder. The funniest thing she said during this stage of the game was as she held me around the waist, “You have such a strange shape!” I was a little taken aback and told her that no one had ever described my figure that way before, whereupon she replied, “Oh, what I mean is that you HAVE a shape, and I’m not used to that!” We all laughed, and it served to break the tension; she quickly relaxed under my caresses, returning them diffidently at first but soon with greater interest, and before long she was kissing me fervently and unmistakably approaching climax.

When she arrived, there was no mistaking it, and then this prim little suburban wife turned into a girl I would’ve hired in a heartbeat. Her language became much coarser and her demeanor more passionate and demanding; there was absolutely no way I could steal a glance to see how her husband was getting on, because she required my entire attention. The dam had burst, and if I wrote much more about the next two hours it would violate my statement that I am not here to provide wanking material. Suffice it to say that she soon expanded the activity to include her husband, that if we had videotaped it we might all three have considerably larger bank accounts today, and that the lady accomplished her plan to give her man a truly unforgettable anniversary present. I have no doubt that the two of them are still together today, because that kind of unselfish love can resist any pressure which might attempt to tear their marriage apart.

And there you have the two extremes: Pathological selfishness vs. unselfish giving, exploitation vs. sharing, sexual repression vs. sexual acceptance, fear and doubt vs. courageous exploration. In most cases the couple call is just a pleasant experiment, but for some it becomes an emotional crucible in which weak material disintegrates and strong material fuses into a new kind of alloy. As I used to tell my customers, it definitely isn’t for everybody. But for the confident and unselfish woman it can be the means of not only expressing the depth of her commitment to her husband’s sexual happiness, but also a way in which to explore a part of herself whose existence she may not even have suspected.