Free Call Girl Confidential by Rebecca Kade

buzzed him through. I opened the door, and to my surprise, it was not Trevor standing there. It was the governor, smiling. For a split second I thought he was in the wrong place, but I recovered in a beat and invited him in. Ah, now I get it , I thought. Trevor was literally test driving me for his boss.
    The governor was in no hurry. He strolled over to the sofa and sat down. He was more than pleasant. He wasn’t chatty, but he did ask me about myself, and I said I was a student. My clients always liked that I was in college. There was no strangeness whatsoever between us, but I did keep expecting him to acknowledge that we had met previously at the restaurant through Trevor. He never brought it, or Trevor, up. He had the situation under complete control.
    Still, I sensed a neediness about him. Because he was a governor, I hesitated to touch him. But he soon made the first move, and there it all began. He was “old-school”: no foreplay, justenough action to get him hard enough to perform. Although he would try to be a man and take charge, he wasn’t exactly going to finish that way, so I always had to take control. And he never talked during sex, but afterward it was clear that he wanted to feel like he had blown my socks off. He’d grin from ear to ear, and from the way he looked at me, I got the feeling he believed I really wanted him.
    He was a member of the good old boys’ club, if there really is such a thing. The kind of powerful man who would sit in a room somewhere smoking a cigar and talking smugly—and with plenty of exaggeration—about what he had just done to me. I think he bought into the idea that I was impressed with power. Little did he know that “governor” ranked pretty low on my client list.
    He didn’t even take an hour. I never questioned him when he left without paying. I was sure he wouldn’t, forgive the pun, screw me over, and that I would be hearing from Trevor. After all, I certainly had something on the married governor now, didn’t I?
    I saw the governor several times over the next year or so. I never met him in public, of course. He always came to the apartment. Always at night, around dinnertime. On all the dates, no money ever exchanged hands between us. Trevor handled the money.
    I never had a problem with him, unlike another governor I had as a client. He was never chatty. But you could tell he genuinely needed the affection he apparently wasn’t getting at home. He was very appreciative. Someone who appreciated you taking time with him. He never tried to give you the feeling that you were lucky to have him as a client. I’m not saying it was a girlfriend relationship, but the sex was very relaxed, calm, and pleasurable. Nothing freaky. And he would always say thank you.
    Still, I thought of my sister and my political friends from the other side of the aisle. Oh, what they could have done with that tidbit of information. He’d better watch it, I thought. I hoped he wasn’t so free with others who might start talking.
    Oh, but he was an angel compared to another governor I had as a client. As the whole world knows by now, New York governor Eliot Spitzer was a client of Kristin’s. They heard about Ashley Dupré. They didn’t hear about me.
    I t was an appointment set up two or three days in advance. It wasn’t one of those Can-you-be-somewhere-in-an-hour? things. Kristin said it was an important client, but she didn’t say who. She briefed me on what he liked—what he expected. He needed the scenario specified to the girl in advance. He’s a role-play kind of guy.
    He didn’t want mainstream intercourse. He definitely wanted a struggle.
    There was a whole dialogue I was supposed to have with him. I was supposed to say I had just been to a self-defense class. He was supposed to respond: “Well, then, let’s see if you learned anything. Can you protect yourself?” He would be the