Where There's Will, There's a Way

Copyright © 2012-2015 Nicholas Hall

Chapter Eight

“Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly” (Mae West) 

Will was so anxious to be on his way to his first field trip with his classmates; first to the school and then the zoo; I could hardly settle him down long enough to eat breakfast. I’d take him to school where he’d meet the bus and then pick him up when they returned.  Checking to make certain he had his bracelet on (I don’t know why since it was seldom off of his wrist), I still took an additional precaution of slipping a piece of paper in his pocket with my name and telephone number on it.

He boarded the bus, face decorated with a gigantic, happy boy grin, and waved goodbye to me.  I think I know how Momma felt each time she sent one of us off for our first day of school or some other first adventure.  Forcing the lump in my throat to reside, I failed to stop the two tear drops trickling down my cheeks as I watched the bus, full of giggling, excited boys and girls, pull away from the school and rattle down the street.

It was only a short distance from Will’s school to the nursing home where Daddy was a resident, so I stopped by for a visit with him.  The nurses assured me, there’d been no improvement in his condition; in fact, there continued to be a marked downhill slide into deeper and deeper oblivion.  Alzheimer’s destroys the afflicted, the well, and the entire family because the burden is so great, yet it is so important to visit, to speak to the loved one, even if there apparently is no comprehension.  It has often been said, the care of your loved one receives is directly related to the number of visits you make, so I took every opportunity to visit Daddy.

I sat with him about an hour, telling him all about Will leaving on his field trip, the excellent friend and helper we had in Mrs. Fuller, and the classes I was taking at the University.  I didn’t discuss my new job, not wanting to take a chance someone might overhear me while wandering about the hallways. As I visited, I couldn’t help but notice the rheumy, blank stare in his eyes shutting out the present world, seeing a world known only to him.  I kissed him goodbye, promised to return soon, and drove home, more melancholy than happy, I should add.

Mrs. Fuller wouldn’t be over today since it was my day without classes so I’d have the house to myself to watch the DVD’s and “practice” some of the techniques demonstrated. During the first video, there was no way in hell I could stop “practicing.”  I damned near wanked myself dry!  I was flabbergasted at the techniques and processes of oral sex, the positions for both anal and oral sexual intercourse, and the various masturbation hand-holds, techniques, and skills for bringing the client off in a satisfying orgasm. What really left me agog was the display of various sex toys and devices, the discussion, and demonstration of their applications.  Deciding there was much to learn and discuss, I’d have to rely on Connie and John to inform me on what devices were really important and which were optional.

I waited at school for Will’s class to return from their field trip, while other buses, the regular route buses, arrived, parked, and readied themselves to accept the students who’d be disgorging from the school in a few short minutes, and transport those young folks home for the day and the weekend.  The dismissal bell rang, the school doors opened, and teachers began supervising the rushing students heading for the buses where they lined up, giggling, laughing, just being kids.  My heart grew heavy for Will, hoping his life would be filled with happiness, yet knowing he had so many obstacles to overcome learning to deal with a society that might not accept his disabilities.  There were times such as these, I became discouraged and despondent, but I’d rally each time remembering another of Momma’s favorite phrases, “Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.”  I certainly hoped so for Will’s sake.

I was becoming anxious, fretful as the principal held all of the buses, waiting for the appearance of the field trip bus so students could be transferred to the route buses. Beginning to wonder if there was some problem of which I was unaware, the big yellow bus jounced and bounced its way into the parking lot, stopped, and debussed its weary passengers.  The children clamoring off of this bus really, except for being tired, were no different than those who’d boarded the route buses earlier.  They giggled, laughed, skipped, and hopped with joy, but they were different, better behaved, seemingly more compassionate to one another, and Will was the most outstanding of them all, as far as I was concerned.  Sometimes, just observing him interacting with others brightened my spirits and elevated my hopes for him.

He spotted me immediately as I stood on the sidewalk and with a wave of his hand to his classmates, bounded with unbridled joy toward me. Hugging me, eyes glowing, smile covering his face, he fairly jigged his way into the car, struggled with the seat belt, as he asked excitedly, “Guess what, Jay?”

“You missed the toilet and peed on your foot,” I jokingly responded.

“No, you silly goose,” he snickered enjoying the joke. “I saw an elephant, a real live elephant and a snake, a great big snake but we couldn’t touch it because it was behind glass and a giraffe.  Did you know they are really tall and have really, really long necks? I had a raspberry Slush and it was blue. Do you know why it was blue?” he continued with such rapidity, it was difficult to understand all he was saying and asking.

Will always assumed I knew the answer to every question, but I didn’t, so I said so.

“No, Will honey, I don’t know why a raspberry Slush would be blue, but why don’t you slow down and take your time.  That way, I can enjoy your trip to the zoo as you surely must have.”

Not with standing I didn’t know why the Slush was blue, Will continued on as if I’d answered his questions, regaling me with his adventures at the zoo and the field trip in general.  The bus ride to Milwaukee was apparently just as exciting as all of the animals since he saw cars “about a jillion of them, Jay and they drove really fast.”  Thinking of supper, I interrupted querying, “What did you have for lunch?”

“Pizza,” he chattered back taking a breath in order to recharge for the rest of his narrative.

That answer altered what I planned for supper and before I could respond in any manner, negatively or positively, he sputtered on.

“We could have sausage and cheese, plain cheese, or peckers only and cheese.”

“Peckers only?” I asked, dubiously wondering where he heard that word and who said what on the bus.

 “Yeah,” he answered with apparent exasperation that his brother wouldn’t know what they were. “You know, those little round slices of meat they put on pizza?

Then I understood completely; “You mean ‘pepperoni’ don’t you?”

“Uh huh, but I don’t like them so I just ate sausage and cheese, but I think it gave me gas cause I farted a lot on the way home.”

How simple life can become, when reduced to the chattering of a happy boy, caring not a whit whether the information he relays is correct or not, only that he had a good time.  Will talked the rest of the way home, delivering his own version of detailed descriptions of the animals he saw and things he did.  Seeing the sparkle in his face and the exuberance in his voice, pleased me knowing I now had the financial resources to provide Will with the experiences and opportunities other “normal” boys and girls had, if their parents were as fortunate as me.

We went out for a fish fry, accompanied by Mrs. Fuller who accepted my invitation.  Will spent the entire dinner time delivering an hour by hour recounting of his trip.  I’m so pleased she has the patience of Job; not once did she stop him or interrupt (except for clarification of something she may’ve misunderstood), keeping her attention entirely on him, as if he were the most important person in the world.  When I walked her across the street to her house, I asked if I could begin paying her something for taking care of us and she agreed – in cash only.

The next week after classes, I continued my induction into the Agency under the tutelage of my mentors.  The final two weeks would be very interesting I was informed and would require me to be thoroughly clean, inside and out.  I was very near approaching a point in my life where I’d have to make a final decision concerning my participation in the oldest profession in the world. At this point, I didn’t consider the rightness or wrongness of it, only that I needed to find some way to provide for Will, no matter what it took.

John, leading the session, began, “Today, I want you to disrobe in the slowest, most seductive and erotic manner you can contrive and when finished, do the same to Connie.  You do the work and he stands, passively, assisting you only as you request or indicate.  He’s the client and you want to prolong his experience and turn him on like a fire hose, but we don’t want him putting out the fire just yet.”

Gazing at Connie, I winked, hinted a slight, seductive smile (I thought), bit my bottom lip, and delicately grazed my tongue over the barely afflicted part, suggesting my desire to taste him.  I concentrated on a love song I was familiar with, pulling it from memory and replaying it in my mind, using it to establish a mental attitude for me, keeping me on task, and adding some rhythmic motions to my disrobing.  I slipped my thumbs in the waist of my red bikini’s, slowly wiggling out of them, and leaned forward, nuzzled Connie’s neck.  Carefully unbuttoning his shirt, holding it out, revealing his bare chocolate chest and stomach, I slipped my hands around his back, caressing his skin, dipping to the belt line, then forward and removed his shirt.

Slipping one hand to his waist, levering it ever so gently under his belt and waistband until my fingers encountered his bush, I used the other hand to unbuckle and unzip his trousers, letting them fall to the floor.  Kneeing before him, I slowly slipped his shoes and socks off, then raising each foot and leg in turn, added his pants to the pile of clothing accumulating on the floor. Unmoving, appraising his amply stuffed bikinis containing one hand of mine and his endowment, I again moistened my lips, leaned forward, raised up slightly to contact his navel with my nose, and daintily sniggled south.  Finding his underwear a barrier to my prize and his delight, I raised the other hand and slipped his briefs down to his knees, letting his stiffening cock thwack me in the face! I promptly slicked the base from the balls to head with my tongue, bringing a shiver and retort from him.

“Jesus, Lee, you’d better stop right there or we’ll never get through the rest of the day.”

“Did I pass?” I questioned.

John laughed aloud, complimenting me on my style, “Damned right you passed; I almost came in my shorts watching you, however, today and the rest of the sessions we’re going to concentrate on blowjobs, rimming, masturbation, and anal sex, with deep penetration”

“Blowjobs and jacking off are really just masturbation; in one instance you use your hands or some other part of your body to bring your client off, and in the other, you do the same thing with your mouth and tongue.  It’s how you do it, the ecstasy you create for your client, that he’s paid for and he doesn’t want it rushed.  We don’t do ‘quickies;’ we want it to last and climax in a very intense orgasm, so take your time. The only restriction you have, if he has paid for an evening date, be finished before midnight. Don’t change the contract just because the client begs you too; no, that’s something between him and the Agency and not for you to decide.”

Connie produced a rather non-descript gym-type duffle bag and as I began emptying the contents, shooting a raised eyebrow in his direction, he responded, “It’s your date kit,” and we began a lesson on the use of each of the items contained in it.  There were dildos of several sizes, lotions, water-less lubricants (some flavored and some not), three sizes of condoms (again, some flavored and some not), butt plugs, vibrators, beads, a prostate stimulator, surgeons gloves (non-latex), oils, fleet enemas, and flavored wipes.  The DVD’s I viewed previously demonstrated the use of each of the items, so I had very few questions.

We discussed masturbation and blowjobs, adding to my knowledge gained from the DVD’s.  The secret lay in the use of the hands, oils or lotions, applying them in many ways to give the client the sensation you wished him to have, and the mouth and tongue.

“There’s no two ways about it,” John admonished, “his cock is either going in your mouth, your hands, or up your ass.  Manuals and books name all of the positions, but it still doesn’t change what is going to happen.  Uncircumcised cocks are jacked off in a different manner than circumcised such as you and I,” and asked Connie to demonstrate. Gripping himself below the helmet of his steel rod, he slowly slipped the foreskin up and over and back again, increasing his speed, stopping just short of firing his cannon in my direction.  In my case and John’s, we’d have to stimulate the glans directly since there was no barrier to the sensitive head.

As the session began winding down, John asked, “Have you ever had a blowjob?”

Shaking my head “no,” he smiled, gripped by hard cock, slid his lips over the end of it, and began something I’d only dreamed of or witnessed in video clips or the DVD’s.

“Pay attention,” Connie added, “you’re in for a treat.  There’s no one that can give a blowjob like John.”

Connie’s remarks were an understatement, since it was unbelievable!  When he finally slipped his lubricated middle finger up my love chute and delicately massaged my prostate or “g-spot” I exploded in his mouth.  I expected him to spit, but he didn’t; instead he slowly savored my essence, stood, and kissed me, allowing me to taste myself.  My knees were weak, but he insisted I reciprocate.

“Cover your teeth with your lips,” he instructed, “tickle and swirl your tongue around the head and slit.  Don’t think you have to deep-throat everyone.  If you have a date with a penis the size of Connie’s, grip it near the base or farther up to keep him from thrusting too deep into your throat.  Eventually, you’ll learn to suppress the gag reflex and begin slowly swallowing the rod, however, if it is going to cause you a great deal of discomfort or injure you, say so to your date.”

Slowly encircling his penis with my mouth, I found it not unpleasant, a warm, live, twitching part of someone else, someone to whom I was going to deliver a pleasurable experience. Copying the same technique John used, I continued slowly, deliberately to bring him off.  Feeling him tense, I slipped my lubricated middle finger into his anus, found his prostate, massage it gently and feeling him throb, drained him.

We then spent some time discussing various cultural activities I’d probably attend with my dates, how to order a wine, where to walk when out, and was given a list of books, operas, classical music, and stage shows along with a synopsis of each or the overture so I’d recognize them and not appear too ignorant.  I knew, after some time passed, I’d feel more comfortable and at ease in each of the situations I’d encounter.

Our final session, before I became an active courtesan, dealt with anal intercourse and rimming.  Rimming appeared to be slightly disgusting, but once into it, I loved it.  The videos concerning anal intercourse showed different positions and named them, but as Connie explained, “You’re either on your back, on your stomach, side, hands and knees, or standing up. Prepare yourself before each date, stretching your anal ring, and once on the date, use your fingers or whatever is in your kit for your date, if he wants to bottom.”

I was reminded to be in control of the situation without offending my date; I also left the session no longer a virgin.  John was the first, with me on my back, legs wrapped about his waist, as he eased in, rested and then pumped a few times without climaxing.  Connie, on the other hand, was longer and had more girth, so, with him on his back, I straddled his waist, positioned his stiffness where John just recently left, and lowered myself, until I felt his pubic bush nuzzle my ass cheeks.  It took my breath away and I feared any movement not wanting to injury myself.  Connie assured me I was a natural.

One of them would accompany on my first few dates, not only to give me suggestions, but to make certain, as a new lad in the stable, the clients wouldn’t try to take advantage of me.  I was about to enter the world of a professional courtesan, an uncommon contracted paramour; an escort of discretion, cultured,  refined, submissive but not passive, and highly sought after by an exclusive clientele who paid and paid very well!  Anticipation of the amounts of cash I’d accumulate were dismal compared to the “Midas” touch I seemed to possess as my career progressed.

To be continued.

Thank you for reading “Where there’s Will, There’s a Way” Chapter Eight--“Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly” (Mae West)

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental or used in a fictional content.

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Nick Hall

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