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."
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