A Call Girl in a Small Town

By John W Partington

This in not erotica. It is a comedy piece with adult themes. It is not suitable for young children. Jessica Silver is a stay at home mom with a big problem: mounting repair bills. Living in a small town with limited job opportunities Jessica turns to desperate measures in order to ensure the livelihood of her house. The results are not what she expects.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W Partington
• Release date: Jun 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781777024833

John W Partington

I have been writing for most of my life: as a child, as a soldier, and now as an independent author. My favourite colour is purple. I have two cats, who choose to annoy me most when I am trying to write. I'm a middle aged white dude suffering from psychosis, but with medication am perfectly stable (except for singing to my cats).

Book preview

A Call Girl in a Small Town

John W Partington

Published by John W Partington

A Call Girl in a Small Town

ISBN: 978-1-777024-83-3

© 2016 John W Partington

© 2020 John W Partington – 2nd Edition

© 2023 John W Partington – Corrected errors

Cover art:

© http://www.123rf.com/profile_zdenkam / 123RF Stock Photo

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return to your favourite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Chapter One – The Introduction

Chapter Two – Working as a Call Girl

Chapter Three – More Work

Chapter Four – The Family Fight

Chapter Five – Caught

Chapter Six – Charged

Stuff About the Author

Also by John W Partington

An excerpt from: A Theft in a Small Town

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my editing team: Amanda Ljucovic and Shneeha Sentl. They are not professional editors, but they are dedicated and caught some rather glaring errors on my part. Enjoy the story even if the grammar makes your skin crawl, but you should find the story readable thanks to Shneeha and Amanda’s efforts.

I would like to specially thank Clarissa Lugo Flores, a talented Professional Writing student who undertook further editing as a personal project. She’s not a professional writer yet, but I would keep my eye out at the bookstore for her name in the future.

Final thanks to Gerry Kroll, who is not an editor, but is picky and owns a lot of dictionaries

Chapter One – The Introduction

My name is Jessica Silver; almost, but not quite as good as gold. That was the joke in high school. My trade name is Busty Morgan. I’m a call girl. I’d like to think I am a high class sophisticated call girl, but the truth is that in the small town of Richmond I’m the only call girl and my clients are mostly retired men in need of comfort. Richmond has a population of about three thousand, most of those are stay-at-home, bored housewives with husbands that go to the big city during the day, or retired folk who wanted someplace quiet to comfortably await death. I am one of the former, the bulk of my clients are the latter.

I stand on the slightly dilapidated stoop of a house on Royal York Street, late Tuesday morning. It’s a middle-class neighborhood – except for some of the new developments all of Richmond is middle class – near the Jock River. I’m wearing a slinky black dress, push up bra, fancy underwear and stockings. I haven’t dressed like this in years, but it feels like putting on an old glove. I have a purse full of condoms, though I’ll probably only need one. Men usually believe they are stallions, but reality falls far short. I really don’t know what to expect. A confession: this is my first call.

A bead of sweat forms in the divot of my upper lip as I start to press the doorbell. I lick the sweat away, the salty taste reminding me that there’s probably going to be a lot of sweating in the next short while. A man opens the door, he looks me over; I look him over, separated only by our clothing and the rusty screen door.

He’s not old, neither is he young or handsome. He’s about mid-forties, ten years older than I am, with the moderate beginnings of a beer gut. He’s dressed in boxer shorts and a stained tank top. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and when he talks my nose revolts at the scent of stale beer on his breath.

Busty? he asks.

That’s me, I answer in my most sultry voice.

I’ve never done this before. I’m not sure of the protocol, he says in a confused voice

Generally, you invite me in, and then we have sex, I answer.

But uhm... the cost is one hundred dollars, anything goes? Right?

That’s right.

I had done some research on the internet. One hundred dollars was very cheap for a high society call girl, but anything more would discourage clients from my hunting grounds. There were only four buses out of Richmond in the morning, and four back in the early evening. I had a captive market, but they were going to be cheapskates, so one hundred dollars was the price I set.

Come in, he offers as he pushes the screen door open, it squeals in protest.

I consider backing out at that moment. The house is a mess. There are empty beer cans everywhere, old pizza boxes from both of Richmond’s pizza parlors, crumpled newspapers, and bags of garbage that didn’t quite make it to the curb last Friday. John sits down in the only oasis of cleanliness in the house: a beat-up chair in front of the television with a large cooler standing sentinel beside the seat. With no other seating area except for an old couch covered in trash, I slide onto John’s lap and playfully run a finger on the underside of his jaw.

So, what do you want? I ask.

I’d like you to take off your dress, slowly, John answers.

John wants a strip show; that’s okay. My husband likes it when I undress to the undulations of a sultry Latino beat. The slow music of a tango dances through my mind as I peel out of the dress. I look at John’s crotch to see not much going on in the arousal department, but he’s already had a few beers by this point in the day. It’s not quite ten in the morning. My kids are at school and won’t be home until four in the afternoon. I’ve got time to get John up to speed.

Now? I lean into him.

I’d like you to take the vacuum, kinky, I thought, And vacuum the carpets.

You want me to clean your house? I ask, somewhat taken aback. I had been psyching myself up for this appointment since getting breakfast on the table at home. I am a professional call girl. I have done research. I knew what I was going to do, and while this would be the first time having sex with somebody other than my husband in ten years, I was ready.

No, no, no, no, John stammers as he gets up out of the chair. It’s like that movie with that woman, the secretary who wants a better job.

Working Girl, with Melanie Griffith?

Yeah, that’s the one. The scene where she’s doing the cleaning in her underwear; that’s hot. That’s real hot. I’ve got a bit of a problem, with, you know... he looks despondently at his crotch.

Okay, I bend over while arching my back to plug in the vacuum cleaner.

John sits down in the chair, reaches into the cooler and pulls out a can of beer. I start to vacuum. It turns out vacuuming the sty is not that easy. Before I can even run the electric rollers over the carpet I have to clean out pizza boxes, beer cans, and bags of garbage.

Soon there is the jangle of bits of crud being sucked out of the crunchy carpet. I try to make it interesting for John by running my hands over my