The Girlfriend Experience Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Girlfriend Experience

  Copyright

  The Girlfriend Experience

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Want to know what happens next?

  The Girlfriend Experience

  Aubrey Parker

  Copyright © 2017 by Aubrey Parker. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting Aubrey Parker

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chloe knew she liked Andrew because everything with him felt backward.

  Their time together so far had been the opposite of the get-to-the-point flow she was used to with men. Everything happened slowly and absurdly, like something from an old story.

  After three dates, they’d engaged only in some heavy petting in the back of a hover cab. Chloe felt like a teenager in a screaming cliché, trying to hit all the touch points of a relationship as the world had expected one to unfold a century ago.

  They’d gone to see two movies in a time and place that considered projected movies nostalgic. They’d gone for walks along the river (the safe parts), Chloe with a bow in her hair, purposely not wearing enough layers so that as darkness fell Andrew would offer his coat. If they’d had a car — ideally, a convertible with whitewalls — they’d have driven to a make out point and kissed under the full moon.

  The longer they went without having sex, the better things felt. Chloe had sex for a living — something Andrew knew and, as befitted any enlightened man today, was more proud of than bothered by. Not reducing their budding relationship to interlocking body parts before its time felt like a strange sort of flattery.

  When Chloe met with her clients, she had a few hours at most to draw a sexual encounter into something resembling an accelerated courtship, with everything from meeting to a finish unfolding in one yawning hour. But with Andrew, taking the time to appreciate one another before so much as seeing each others’ naughty bits felt somehow special.

  Chloe found herself uncharacteristically nervous on and between their dates, actually wondering if Andrew liked her. She fretted at how she wore her hair. She didn’t normally wear much makeup, but before they met each time she’d try some on, then rush into the bathroom to scrub it from her face, afraid it would make her look cheap.

  On the dates themselves she fretted what they’d chat about, seeing as how discussing work felt wrong and she wasn’t used to small talk. She was terrific at adopting clients’ interests as part of becoming the thing they most desired, but discussing her own felt rusty.

  Andrew, fortunately, was conversationalist enough to pick up the slack — and what made him most curious about Chloe was absolutely everything. He wanted to know what she was into. He wanted to know about her past and her family. He wanted to know her thoughts and turn-ons — not in bed (yet), but in life.

  Dating Andrew was, in a way, like dating herself.

  Of course she knew all the things she told him, but she had to dig deep in forgotten quarters of her mind to find them. Dusting those personal memories off was a delightful kind of rediscovery; and as she dug, Chloe found herself liking herself more and more, just as she liked Andrew more and more.

  He made her feel attractive and important. He made her feel like the only woman in the world who truly mattered.

  Her sexual desire for him, too, was odd. Chloe was constantly aroused at work and her days were spent in high-tech pleasure — but those encounters had lust baked in. Fuck sessions first and foremost. Any buildup that occurred was always in anticipation of a certain goal.

  Chloe only desired her clients once things were underway — and did so, fully and completely. But with Andrew, things were different. She found herself given a unique chance: to experience desire without the promise that she’d receive any satisfaction. It should have been frustrating. It was anything but.

  Their fourth date passed. Then their fifth.

  They were like virgin teenagers afraid of going too far too fast — despite what their bodies continued to whisper.

  Chloe could tell he wanted her, so she pushed him away. She craved him, but in turn he cut things off when the heat rose too swiftly, leaving her panting with lust behind his closed door.

  They both seemed to understand what was happening and both wanted to pop the bubble, but still resisted in anticipation of a bigger payoff later.

  Andrew was a writer in a time when no one read.

  Chloe had fallen into the role of a girl who bought paper books even though Crossbrace could immerse you in a full-surround holographic movie.

  So, fueled by their counterculture ways, they discussed doing subversive and philistine things: running off to a cabin in the woods without so much as an electric light, and leaving their handhelds at home.

  Andrew uncovered old films on discs at the library and rented an ancient machine that would play them. They watched the films in Andrew’s apartment. It was poorer than Chloe’s by far, but it didn’t have the feeling of O looking over her shoulder.

  And the films! They were movies that Chloe, who’d been steeped in old culture by her grandfather, hadn’t even heard of. They watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s, then something called Terminator 2, which pointed to a distant future that was actually more than 30 years in the past.

  Chloe said they’d gotten the future wrong. Andrew said they should curate their movie-watching better because going from romance to liquid metal death machines gave him whiplash.

  They did everything backward, and as they did so Chloe felt her desire bloom in reverse — or properly forward, if they’d lived fifty or more years earlier, when a man courted a woman before sleeping with her.

  It felt right. They slipped into a place where he was just a boy and she was just a girl, and they were dating in the simpler world they saw in the old 2-D films.

  Waiting felt backward, too. But still it felt right, because it was what no one else was doing.

  The girl who fucked for a living claimed her a new man by not fucking him at all.

  But their abstinent honeymoon could only last for so long — because, deviants or not, they were human. Petting grew heavier each time. Chloe’s hand went to his crotch — nervously, as if it had never touched a man there before.

  Her nervous fingers fumbled open his fly, reached inside, and rubbed something hard and long and hot that she never took all the way out.

  His hands went under her shirt, then snaked down her belly’s smooth skin and under her panties.

  She felt his finger slide between her smooth lips with no resistance. Everything was wet. After all the buildup, Chloe was soaking.

  She closed her eyes and breathed onto Andrew’s skin, her hand rubbing his shaft. It went on like that for a while, and they bit each other’s necks, and their hands continued to play until Chloe came without warning and Andrew, almost at the same time, filled Chloe’s grip with warm spurts, his gasping mouth heaving against her shoulder.

  Afterward, they looked into each other’s eyes and, without saying a thing, seemed to ask the universe if they’d made enough of a statement in their backward restraint.

  Then t
hey cleaned up — Andrew stuffed a huge wad of toilet paper down his pants to mop himself, then made jokes about his gigantic codpiece — composed themselves, and parted at the door.

  Chloe put her lips to his ear and said, “Tomorrow, I want you inside me.”

  Then Andrew kissed her before leaving, his stuffed codpiece swelling.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Andrew greeted Chloe at the door with flowers. Roses. Real ones.

  They must have cost a fortune.

  She was wrapped around him before he could properly present them, pinning the flowers between their bodies. She felt them crush in their crinkly paper, heard Andrew’s grunt of surprise as Chloe pulled him close and mashed her lips to his.

  They staggered into the bedroom, roses still half-pinned with Andrew’s hand grasping the stems. Chloe found herself leading, then backed off and gave him control.

  She didn’t want to be the girl in charge this time. She didn’t want to be a professional for this particular encounter. She tried to access her inner reservoir of genuine (not put-on) naiveté, and slipped inside it like a second skin.

  She was for once naked of pretense, stripped of the adaptive lust she usually donned for the job. And then she was Chloe Shaw: a girl who grew up on Voyos with her mother, going to her quaint school building, sitting behind an honest-to-God desk, passing notes with her girlfriends and giggling over boys.

  Their mouths parted. Chloe felt breath swell in her throat and her heart double its thrum, feel the hammering in her chest, unsure where Andrew might touch her next.

  His face split into a sly smile, mischievous features and dark eyebrows forming a parody of seduction. He put a hand on her chest, just below her breasts with their aroused nipples, and pushed Chloe back onto the bed. She struck the comforter and looked up, canted back on bent elbows. Again he reached out and pushed her back so she was lying flat, then leaned over and kissed her neck. Chloe’s head rolled back. He nibbled down her front, then reached down and pulled her blouse up over her head.

  The room felt too cold on her goose-pimpled skin. She was wearing a bra — something simple, sweet and pink. He kissed down her chest, around the bra, his hands on her sides.

  He reached beneath her and unclasped it.

  Chloe wiggled her arms out, and his hands and kisses went to her tits. She arched her back to meet him.

  Andrew moved lower, now kissing around her navel, toward her waist. Keeping his lips high, he unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down. He put his hands under her hips and pushed Chloe higher on the bed. “You’re so beautiful.”

  She felt herself blush. “You’ve seen me plenty before.”

  He looked down the length of her body, starting at Chloe’s pale face with her blue-green eyes and dark brown hair billowed around her on the comforter, down her long neck and past her breasts with their pink nipples, down across her flat stomach, past her simple pink panties, down the length of her long legs. “Your body is so beautiful.”

  “You’ve touched it before.”

  “But I’ve never seen it all at once.”

  Chloe slipped her fingertips under the top of her panties. “You haven’t seen it all yet.”

  He shook his head, then reached forward.

  “Don’t. I want to take them off.”

  Andrew slipped the index fingers of each hand under the elastic below her belly button, then slid them apart so one finger was at each side of her hip.

  The simple slide of skin on skin gave Chloe shudders. Her pussy remembered his fingers rubbing her lips. She felt herself getting wetter. Her clit throbbed beneath the fabric, begging for attention.

  Andrew slid her panties down. The cool air kiss her wet pussy, making everything tingle.

  “Now you’ve seen it all,” she said, smiling a little, lying back and running idle fingers across her bare skin.

  “I want to keep staring.”

  Chloe’s fingers went lower. “I don’t want that.”

  He reached down, past the bed’s edge, toward the floor. “I want to do something gay.”

  “This early in our sex life?” Chloe said, smiling. “Fine. Call for a bellboy.”

  Andrew came up with the smashed bouquet of roses in his left hand. The paper was balled at one end where she’d destroyed it with her pelvis. He pulled a petal from one of the roses with his other hand, held it above her, and let it fall. The red petal fluttered down and landed just below Chloe’s right breast.

  She rolled her head to the side, her hand rising to her mouth. It was absurd. But Chloe could also feel electricity where the petal had landed.

  He plucked another. Then another. Then another. Soon, Chloe was wearing several dozen petals, lying naked in bed, caressing her nipples, finding the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder, nestling in the valley between her legs, where her wetness made them stick.

  “This is gay,” she said.

  “Shh. You won’t feel that way when I give you the rest of what I’m packing.”

  “Is it pretty pink fairy dust?”

  “No. It’s lace doilies.”

  Chloe put her hand over her eyes. “I feel stupid.”

  She did, too. It was a good sign. She never felt stupid or self-conscious on the job. A client could use his cock to paint her with chocolate and she’d moan and roll, finding it as hot as he wanted her to. By contrast, she found Andrew’s rose petals ridiculous and embarrassing — not obviously arousing at all.

  But still it was good. Fabulous, in a weird and new way. She wanted him to keep being ridiculous and embarrassing. She liked the feeling.

  “You don’t look stupid. You look beautiful.”

  Chloe made a face.

  “Okay. Now you look stupid.”

  She sat up, reaching for Andrew’s crotch. She palmed the underside, feeling his hardness through the fabric. Chloe didn’t want to play; she wanted him in her mouth. She wanted to feel the heat from Andrew’s shaft as it rested on her tongue. She wanted to grip it with her lips, then pull back and feel the ridge around its head as she kissed the tip. She wanted it between her legs. As Chloe sat up, naked with rose petals clinging, her pussy called for attention: a puzzle with one missing piece.

  Andrew looked down from above. She looked at his face, then raised his shirt and kissed his stomach. Chloe pulled the shirt mostly up; he finished taking it off. His body was thin and lean, not large and showy like her spa clients’ with their nanobots and artificial beauty.

  She ran her fingers up his chest, counting his abs, smiling. Then she returned to his pants, opening them to free his pleasantly large cock. She took a moment to feel its warmth radiating like fever, letting it hang without touching. Then she took three rose petals from her chest and lined them on his horizontal shaft like birds on a wire.

  “I just want to keep looking at you,” she said, sarcastic, mocking him.

  “I don’t want that,” he said, now mocking her.

  Chloe looked up. “I wasn’t talking to you.” She returned her attention to his dick, tickling it under the head with affection. And to Andrew’s cock she said, “Why is he bothering us?”

  The cock didn’t answer. Instead, it twitched, dropping petals to the floor.

  “Sorry,” Andrew said.

  Chloe said, “Oh. Well, there went the romance.”

  “It’s okay. I know other things we can do.”

  Chloe took three new petals from her chest, leaned forward, and ran her tongue across the top of Andrew’s shaft, leaving a line of saliva. She pressed three petals against the wetness, sticking them. Then she licked just under the head and added a fourth petal to the bottom. Gravity was stronger and the fourth dropped. So Chloe spread her legs as she sat in front of him, took the dropped petal from her lap, and wiped it through the juices coating her pussy. She stuck the new petal under the head of his cock, and this time it stayed dutifully in place.

  “Jesus, Chloe.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to explode.”

  She
frowned and began peeling petals, making a show of doing it delicately so as not to set him off. “Oh, well, I don’t want that.”

  She leaned forward and took it in her mouth.

  “Hell.”

  Chloe pulled her mouth off, then rolled her eyes up at him, hands slowly pumping his spit-slicked shaft. “Don’t you dare come in my mouth. I’m not that kind of girl.” Then, to test him, she took his cock all the way inside, her soft lips working behind her hand, slicking his length.

  “Shit, Chloe. I am going to come in your mouth.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She shook her head, then sucked him harder, now twisting her stroking hand.

  “I am. Oh, shit. I so am.”

  Chloe pulled her head back and smacked her lips. Her hand continued to move. He pulsed in her grip and she purred, “Don’t you dare.”

  Andrew reached down as she again took his dick into her mouth, using his fingers to rub her moist slit. He slid two fingers into her warmth with no resistance. Chloe nearly came on the spot, making a tiny gasp with his cock still between her lips. Her eyes closed, and she gripped his fingers with her pussy.

  “I want to be inside you, Chloe,” he said.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Now Chloe really did want him to come in her mouth. They’d waited so long, and he was so hard she felt sure he’d be able to go again. And again. And again.

  She stroked harder. Faster.

  Andrew pulled away, taking that wonderful cock from her mouth. His hand fell to her chest, pushing her back to the bed. Chloe closed her eyes. She felt a hand on each of her inner thighs, spreading them. She felt herself open and bloom, like the roses he’d brought her.

  Chloe kept her eyes closed, feeling a strange and beautiful emptiness. She didn’t actually feel empty (quite the opposite; every nerve was burning), but did feel like a projector at one of their theaters, missing its feature presentation.

  Who was she, other than Chloe?