Free Private Relations by J.M. Hall Page B

we were undergrads at NYU. Suffice to say, we still managed to keep in touch.
    I finished my champagne and took in the scene. A bit of drinking, a bit of sex, and an opportunity to meet a new group of people. What could be better?
    A second glass of champagne followed. I made my way upstairs, passing through the dimly-lit corridors into the ballroom. Here is where things were really starting to heat up. Couples lay on the sofa, lost in a sea of kisses. Clothing was removed one article at a time, until bare hands caressed the naked flesh beneath.
    My cock stiffened in my pants as I watched. Something about watching people together satisfied the voyeur in me -- and thanks to the alcohol, I was quickly getting in the mood for sex myself.
    “I was hoping you’d show up, Jesse.”
    I recognized her touch, her perfume. Her nails grazed down my back before she cupped my ass in her palm, squeezing just enough to make me arch my back in delight. I turned around, saw none other than Autumn herself standing before me.
    “There you are…” I kissed her cheek, let my hand cup the small of her back. “It’s been a while.”
    “I should say the same to you. Where the hell have you been these days?”
    Autumn had been working as a call girl for nearly two years when we first met in an English lit class, where I couldn’t help but notice she always had large amounts of cash in her purse. We got to know one another, and eventually, ended up sleeping together a few weeks later. Only then did she reveal what she did for a living, and her true ambition upon graduating college.
    She didn’t want to be a whore forever. Eventually, she wanted to become a madam , one that sold sex on behalf of others and took a percentage of her girls’ earnings. Some might call her a pimp, but mostly, she thought of herself as an entrepreneur.
    “I’ve been busy,” I said. “But I wouldn’t miss your party for the world.”
    She linked her arm into mine and led me across the ballroom floor. Diamonds dangled from her earlobes, and her curled brown hair was soft to the touch. I couldn’t help running my fingers through those it -- even if she swatted my hand away.
    “Don’t touch the hair,” she said. “Men have no idea how long it takes for a woman to look this good.”
    “Sorry, dear.”
    “It’s okay. I’m glad you made it. This is my third time planning this thing. At the end of the night, I’m looking at making a cool twenty grand.”
    “Wow.” I paused, took in just how successful Autumn had become since we’d finished college. “So, what? You hire your girls to have sex with the Upper East Side’s rich and powerful?”
    “Basically. Part orgy, part match-making service. All I know is at the end of the night, I walk away much, much richer.”
    I admired Autumn’s entrepreneurial spirit. Like me, she’d come from modest roots. A New York City native, she was born to Russian immigrant parents in a cramped two-bedroom apartment with holes in the wall and heat that barely kept the place above freezing in the winter.
    Like me, she’d used her intelligence to gain admissions to a prestigious private school and then matriculated to NYU. There, at the Stern School of Business, she’d studied finance and international business, though her dreams of working at an investment bank were dashed when the recession hit.
    And so she stayed in escorting, and according to her, got to meet plenty of bankers (as clients) along the way.
    “Don’t let me keep you. Go on, enjoy yourself.” She gestured at an attractive woman standing alone near the staircase leading up to the third floor. Normally, I’d have approached her, guided her up to what I knew where a warren of bedrooms on the third floor that could host more intimate activities.
    “She’s beautiful,” I said, “but I was hoping to see you, Autumn.”
    “Is that a fact?”
    “Come upstairs with me. For old time’s sake?”
    “I’m working tonight.”
    “It wouldn’t be the