His Personal Call Girl 4

In the conclusion to this tawdry
tale of personal prostitution, Catherine is divided between Bobby, the man she thought she loved, and Tom, the enigmatic client that may truly need her. After
having her way with both of them, Catherine separates herself from these men,
seeking emotional (and physical) comfort in the arms of her best friend
Allison. Who will she ultimately end up with, if anyone?

~~~~~ Excerpt
~~~~~

Without Tom's bi-weekly visitations
to look forward to the days ground on. I didn't stop hitting the gym, but I never saw him there. Allison's acting dreams weren't panning out like she'd
hoped and so we became gym bunnies again, getting smoothies afterward, talking
about guys, work, and other parts of the daily grind. I didn't tell her about
Bobby, or Tom. I tried not to think about it.

I'd saved up enough from our contract to make a down payment on an apartment. If I kept the secretary job I could scrimp by. It wouldn't be a comfortable existence but the few grand would
act as a nice buffer while I continued my job search. If that was really what I wanted to do.

I hated to admit it, but without
Tom's bi-weekly visitations I lost a little bit of color in my world. In the
beginning, I was afraid of him and afraid of what I was doing to myself.
Towards the middle, I saw it as a job, as an enjoyable job, but a kind of employment (not a career or a calling, certainly) nonetheless. By the end…
I'll be honest, I missed him. I missed his kisses, and I missed his loud,
stupid motorcycle. I didn't miss the mystery, because I realized I'd wanted to know more a long time ago.

The orgasms were rough to lose, too.

I tried not to concentrate on that,
tried to keep myself in reality. I was at home, it was nearly March, and I was
staring at several browser windows of job applications and graduate school
websites and trying to figure out if it was weird that Tom had just disappeared
from my life. I could call him whenever I wanted, but I didn't know if he'd
pick up. I didn't know where he lived. I couldn't find him online. He was like
some tricky phantom who'd blown in with the season and blown away, sad and
strange. But Tom was more than a ghost. He'd been flesh and blood, hard, never
mean, rough and gentle.

It bothered me that I missed him,
because I didn't know if I missed him because I missed him, if I missed him because it was over with Bobby, if I really missed Bobby, or if my life was just directionless and I was looking for anything halfway decent to prop me up.
It was an uncomfortable position to be in.