My Friend The Call Girl

As I was working away in my condo Friday morning, there was a knock on my door.

"Hi, Blake," said a smiling Cecile, dressed in her normal conservative garb.

"Hi Cecile. Feeling any better today?" I cheerfully asked.

"I still hurt like hell, but I'm in a better frame of mind," she chuckled.

"You probably want your key back..." I started to say, reaching for the key on a table in my foyer.

"No – why don't you keep it in case I ever need to be rescued again and the guy won't open the door. I'm here because I hate to ask you for even more help after all that you've done, but I desperately need to get some groceries, and the doctor absolutely precluded me from driving with my eye patch and pain pills. Is there some time today you can take me?"

"For sure," I retorted with a big smile. "How about one, one-thirty?"

"Great," she giggled, actually clapping her hands together. "Just knock on my door when you're ready."

Cecile and I had a great time – grocery shopping. I think that it was the first time in my life that grocery shopping was actually fun. While I don't hate it, I never particularly liked it either. With Cecile I had a blast, especially when she had humorous conversations with the vegetables pretending that they were people.

The next Monday Cecile came over to my condo shortly after Jaime left for work. I showed her how all of the miscellaneous papers that were lying around my office, and spilling into the living room, were to be filed. She was very conscientious; not fast, but it was the first time that she had ever done filing, so accuracy was far more important than speed.

We had lunch together, worked some more, and then I took her to the drug store to buy some things that she needed.

And so, my friendship with Cecile Wilson started in earnest.

* * * * * *

I think that I was the only male friend that Cecile had had since she was eighteen. Every other male she met wanted to fuck her, and that was his sole purpose in interacting with Cecile. It's not that I didn't want to fuck her too – I mean she was the most alluring and sultry woman that I had ever met in my life. But I was married, took my vows seriously, and I had had other good looking women as friends in the past; so I didn't look on Cecile as just a sex object.

With Cecile around, the nights or occasional weekend day that Jaime was out of town were no longer lonely. With Cecile I always had someone to do things with. Even after she healed completely – in about a month – and looked just as good as she had before the run-in with the asshole, since her normal work schedule was weekday mornings and afternoons, with an occasional overnight stay or trip out of town, we did almost everything together on nights when Jaime wasn't around. I also talked her into going to parties or mixers that the condo association sponsored, and I made sure that she had a good time at each.

One thing that I learned that I couldn't do, however, was to bring her on excursions with my male friends. They were too busy either trying to hustle her, or drooling, to be good company, so she and I mostly did things just together. She also seemed to like it that way.

Even when she started working as a call girl again she insisted on helping me with my filing. I soon determined that she had a great deal of intellectual curiosity and more intelligence than she obviously had been given credit for most of her life. I encouraged her and started teaching her about my business. When I tried to pay her for helping me she would always put forth some challenge – such as a race in the pool, or how long we could go on the elliptical – for double or nothing. Most times I ended up paying nothing, which seemed to make her happier than when I paid her double.

I found out that Cecile was one of the most honest and kind people that I had ever met. She spent about ten hours trying to find the owner of a small purse, with no identification but almost $100 in cash in it, that had been lost at the pool; whe was ultimately successful. She told me a story about a client who had a health problem while they were having sex and she took him to the hospital and refunded his money despite his protests that she should keep it. She cried when she couldn't save a little bird that had smashed into a window in our building's lobby, and she retrieved a lost puppy and returned it to its owner and declined a reward. She over-tipped the paper boy, never gossiped or said anything bad about anyone, and never acted rude or mean even when guys hit on her.

About eight or nine months after Cecile and I had become best buds she surprised me by showing me her acceptance letter to a local Community College. "I want to get an associate's degree in business administration," she announced with a big grin on her face. "Can you help me with some of my homework sometimes?"

"I sure can," I said. "I'm so proud of you."

She got absolutely giddy with that comment and hustled up to me and gave me a big hug. Whenever she did that I had to be sure that my crotch was spaced from hers, but I was afraid that this time she held me so long and tight that I think that she had to be aware of my hard-on; but neither of us drew attention to it.

I was pleasantly surprised that as Jaime became more and more aware of my friendship with Cecile that she didn't act jealous. I believe that there were several major factors that accounted for that.

The first was that Cecile and I NEVER had any public displays of affection. In private we never did anything more than occasionally hug, or sometimes give a chaste kiss on the cheek.

The second was that we had developed a great cover story for Cecile's profession.

The third was that Cecile started to help Jaime with her paperwork too, which Jaime was very grateful for.

Fourth, I got a long time gay friend of mine – who was not out of the closet but who I knew was gay since High School – to serve as Cecile's "boyfriend" for condo association parties, and even once in a while on a double date with Jaime and me.

* * * * * *

Of course a problem had to develop; life is never as smooth as it had been for me the last two years.

Jaime had to rush out of town for business on a Sunday morning after she got a phone call, and she was much more discombobulated than normal when she took off. She haphazardly pulled a pile of documents out of her briefcase as she was exiting, put them on the coffee table, and she asked me if I could have Cecile file them. I said "sure." I was really disappointed by Jaime's rapid departure because we were supposed to go apple-picking that afternoon; something that I really enjoyed once a year. I sent Cecile a text soon after Jaime left: "Jaime gone on bus. Apple picking this aftnoon?"

She shortly replied "Have app at 11; any time aft 2 OK," followed by a happy face.

We had a great time apple picking, and eating apple cider donuts, despite a number of college guys trying their best to look up Cecile's shorts when she was on a ladder, and ogling her in the donut shop. That night we had dinner together at my condo and afterwards planned to watch a DVD. Before I put the disc in the player, however, Cecile asked "What are these?" reaching for the pile of papers that Jaime had left in disarray on the coffee table."

"Oh, those are some papers Jaime left in her haste that she wondered if you could file before she gets back Wednesday night," I nonchalantly replied.

"Sure thing," she responded, trying to collect the papers together to pick them up. As she did so, something fell out of the pile onto the floor. I was busy loading the DVD and just noticed the downward flutter. I didn't realize anything was wrong until I turned and looked at Cecile's face. She was holding what looked like a photograph and had a completely traumatized expression.

"What's that, Cecile?"

"Uh...uh...nothing," she said as she quickly put the photo back into the center of the pile. Cecile will never been a professional poker player – her face clearly showed that it wasn't "nothing."

I walked over to her and said "Let me see what you were looking at."

"No, it's nothing," she replied, trying to subtly to exit the area with the pile of stuff in her arms.

That made me more that curious. I gently grabbed her arm and said "No, I really want to see it; what's the big secret."

As I relieved her of the pile she slumped down onto the couch and put her face in her hands. About halfway through the pile there were three six by nine photos; of Jaime; naked; with a different guy fucking her doggy in each as she hammed it up for the camera.

I dropped onto the living room rug; two of the photos and the rest of the pile of stuff drifted down to the floor as I sat there stunned with the third photo in my hand.

"I'm so, so sorry," Cecile said, putting her hand on the side of my face.

I looked at her dumbfounded.

"Maybe they're old photos before you two got married," she said trying to find something positive to say.

"She didn't get the butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder until two years ago," I mumbled in reply.

After a long pause during which Cecile asked if there was anything that she could do I finally said, "Cecile. I need to be alone to try and digest this. Even though you're my best friend I don't want to talk to anyone right now. Please."

I'm sure that I had a tear in my eye. I know that Cecile did when she gave me a hug just before she left – it was the only time that she hugged me that I didn't tent my pants.

After a good half hour cry I bitch slapped myself and said into the mirror "Action, not pity, you fucking wimp!"

I was a whirling dervish as I buzzed around the house looking into all of Jaime's dresser drawers, boxes she had on the closet shelves in several different rooms, and her office files. One of her desk drawers was locked so I busted it open.

I found at least a dozen incriminating, appalling, pieces of "evidence." It wasn't a question of whether Jaime was cheating on me, but for how long, and with how many different guys. I went through multiple stages of anger, humiliation, angst, and shock, the only consistent thread being "How could I have been so fucking naïve?"

I didn't sleep that night. Monday I looked and felt like hell. I got little work done, and had even less luck in deciding what I was going to do about Jaime. I heard a knock on my door about two in the afternoon. It was Cecile with a pitcher of Margaritas, quite surprising since I never had more than one at a time in my life, and I never saw her drink more than one either.

Cecile barged into my apartment. "Listen, stud," she said as she placed the pitcher on the coffee table, "I've canceled my appointment for this afternoon. I called your little minions at your manufacturing plant and told them that you'd be out of commission this afternoon. We're going to get shit-faced drunk. Tomorrow you'll figure out what you're going to do about the little wifey."

I started to protest; it was futile. I scattered all of Jaime's papers that had dropped on the floor the night before – except the three photos – near our fake fireplace, and took the glass that Cecile was holding out toward me and chugged it. Boy it burned.

Cecile was on a mission to get me not only drunk, but happy-go-lucky. After an hour of hilarious stories and six drinks – maybe more, I lost count – she finally succeeded. I passed out sometime before it even got dark outside, the first time since I had graduated college seven years earlier. I was prone on the floor next to the couch, and Cecile was passed out on the couch with one of her arms dangling down and touching me.

Sometime later I started hearing ringing in my ears. After the third time that it stopped and started again I determined that it was the land line phone. I stumbled to it and had enough presence of mind to look at the caller ID. It was the bitch's cellphone. I pulled the phone plug from the wall, went back to the couch, moved Cecile over, and fell asleep spooning her.

Cecile and I woke up in unison in the middle of the night – I guess it was more like 4:00 a. m. rather than nighttime. Her first comment, made with a shit-eating smile was a doozy. "You're the first guy that I ever slept with that didn't fuck me, killer."

I got with the program. "When you look at yourself in the mirror, you'll know why, Broom Hilda," I mumbled in reply.

"You're no prize yourself – if fact I can't tell if I'm talking to your face or your ass, buttface,"she responded, and then laughed hysterically at her joke.

We both got up, went to the bathroom, drank some water, and then fell asleep next to each other, fully clothed, on top of the bedspread in the master bedroom.

I woke up about eight o'clock with the smell of bacon and eggs in the air. I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen. "Breakfast in two shakes," Cecile said in a sing-song voice. "I thought that I was going to have to light a stick of dynamite to wake you up," she cackled.

I felt like shit, and cringed when I saw myself in the mirror. "This is definitely the worst that I've ever looked in my life," I said aloud. Then I looked at Cecile. She had obviously showered and changed clothes, and even applied some light makeup. She looked like a billion dollars – no one should look that good, ever, let alone after hanging one on the day before.

"I associate with you for your charm, not your looks," she quipped in response to my criticism of how I looked in the mirror, as she flipped an egg over. "Now sit your ass on a chair and try and hide your face behind a cereal box so that I can keep my breakfast down."

I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started in. The grub was good – real good – and I inhaled it almost as much as ate it. "Glad to see a man appreciate my cooking," Cecile laughed as I finished my third egg, half a pound of bacon, and fourth piece of toast.

"Are you going to finish that bagel?" I asked, pointing with my empty fork to the quarter of a buttered bagel sitting at the edge of Cecile's plate.

She laughed and tossed it onto my plate. It disappeared into my gullet in a nanosecond.

After Cecile cleared the dishes and loaded the dishwasher she grabbed my head between her hands and looked me straight in the eye. "I'm busy today and have an overnight, but I'll be around tomorrow after noon. Let me know if there is anything that I can do, but you have some real decisions to make. However, you need to talk to Jaime in person before you do anything precipitous, hear?"

"OK," I mumbled, and then nodded my head a few times to emphasize it.

Cecile gave me a chaste kiss on the lips – the first time that she had ever kissed my lips. "Ugh, you're disgusting," she chuckled. "Shave, shower, and brush your teeth before you do anything else."

I laughed, nodded, and she was gone.

* * * * *

By the end of the day on Tuesday I had returned to the sober/living, cleaned the condo, photographed all of my evidence and/or digitally read it into my computer, and backed it up on a thumb drive. I hadn't talked to anyone except my software assistant and the foreman at my manufacturing facility. My cell phone was filled with messages, most from Jaime and some from her parents and even mine. I had no interest in talking to her, and thought that it was just fine that my mailbox was full and my land line unplugged.

I had basically decided what to do, but was still working on details, when Jaime frantically came into the condo Wednesday morning, twelve hours before she was supposed to arrive. I saw that it was her and then looked away.

"Blake, I was so worried," she said with what appeared to be real concern in her voice. "You weren't answering the phone and I was sure that something was wrong."

"What the fuck could possibly be wrong, my darling faithful wife," I snickered, with as much sarcasm as I could mount.

She turned white, and brought her hand up to her mouth. Her eyes fell on the papers she had left on the coffee table, still there, but now in a neat pile. She started shaking.

"Let me show you my little pile of goodies," I said with just as much sarcasm as my previous statement, as I grabbed her by the arm and led her to the evidence I had laid out on the kitchen table.

"Maybe you can explain this shit," I barked.

After a few deep, choking, sobs she started babbling. "Blake, I love you; it didn't mean anything; I got so competitive and wanted to be number one in sales; I was just closing some business deals; I'll stop, I promise; we've got to get past this; you're the only one for me; I'll get pregnant, we can start a family," etc., etc., etc.

Finally I tuned out. I walked into the master bedroom, grabbed all of her clothes from the closet and dresser drawers without any care as to what condition I left them in, and threw them into the guestroom. Some landed on the bed, most on the floor. Jaime stood in the hallway sobbing, and eventually fell to her knees. When I was done I went to the kitchen, found the lock that I had purchased the day before at a hardware store, and installed it on the master bedroom door as she continued to sob and chant "no, no, no."

Once the bedroom was locked – as well as my office, which already had a decent lock on it – I left. I went to my manufacturing facility, then to dinner, then to a movie. I got back to the condo about eleven at night. Jaime was sitting on the couch in the living room; she looked like hell; her mother and sister were there.

"Why are you here Candice?" I asked with irritation in my voice, staring at my mother-in-law. As far as I was concerned, she was a typical condescending rich bitch. I had always met her more than halfway to keep peace. No more.

"Blake," she said, obviously taken aback by my attitude, "Cheryl [Jaime's sister] and I want to offer you any help that we can so that you can get past Jaime's mistake."

"Mistake?" I laughed. "Is that what you call it? Did you show your Mom the photos, dear?" I sarcastically asked Jaime. She looked down, refusing to make eye contact. "You know what you can do, Candice; get Jaime to un-fuck the three, four, ten, however many, guys that she fucked, then we can talk." I stormed to my bedroom and locked the door.

Surprisingly I slept well that night. When I got up the next morning Jaime was gone. There was a simple note. "I've decided to go to Mom and Dad's until you can calm down and we can talk some more. Don't throw our future away, Blake, we can get past this. Love, Jaime."

I had Jaime served with divorce papers at her parents' house on Monday morning. There were two sets. The first asked for a mutual divorce, 50-50 split of assets, on irreconcilable differences. The second asked for divorce on the basis of adultery with copies of five pieces of evidence that left nothing to the imagination attached to it. My simple note – "I haven't filed either of these yet; you choose which one. I need to hear from you by 9:00 a. m. tomorrow. If I don't hear from you by then I file number two. Have a nice life."

There was a knock on my condo door at about 6:00 p. m. Monday night. It was Cecile. "Let's go out for a pizza – my treat," she said with a big smile.

"I don't..." I started to say, which she was obviously prepared for since she immediately blurted out "have any excuse not to. Let's go!"

"OK," I said, "I need my wallet," as I started to walk back into the condo.

"No you don't; my treat; you only need your keys," she smiled, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the condo while she picked up the keys on the table next to the door and handed them to me.

We ate at our favorite pizza place – one with all organic ingredients, of course. Cecile tried to be as upbeat as possible, and it did help some, although I was still morose compared to my normal demeanor. Once I was full, since we were in an isolated part of the restaurant, she held one of my hands and asked "Have you decided what you're going to do?"