Diary of a Mumbai Financial Services Call Girl

By Conrad Vincent

About the book:

After topping her class from one of Mumbai’s leading business schools, Rekha concluded that becoming an Investment Banking Associate was not her true calling. It made more sense to be a hooker on retainer ship in Mumbai’s financial district. This leads her to open a high-end bordello with the core mission of making the excruciatingly dull existence of a typical Mumbai Finance executive almost livable. Her target segment was strictly senior management- not the proles and trolls of the industry. Fund Managers, whose luck with the ladies tracked the Nifty, needed a shoulder to cry on when markets headed south. Bank borrowers needed her services to make bankers feel loved with carnal interludes so that the loan approval process did not place an unhealthy emphasis on financial analysis.
About the author:

Conrad Vincent earned his B.Tech degree in 1990 from the Indian Institute of Technology Madras and a Master’s in Mechanical Engineering from Clemson University, USA. He is a CFA.
He has worked in the Indian financial sector for almost 25 years.  He has worked at an investment bank, a credit rating agency, a non-banking financial services company and at an insurance company.  He lives in Mumbai

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pencil
• Release date: Apr 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9789354387678

Book preview

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Chapter 1 The Naughtier Side of the Finance Industry

It has been exactly a year since I became Vile Parle’s resident ex-virgin and a lady of the night with the core mission to suck away the worries of Mumbai financial services professionals.  Over the last year I made the excruciating dull existence of many an investment manager and banker almost livable by providing them an outlet for extra-curricular releases.   Heck, I brought untold joy even to those sorry finance dudes who regard girls as a poor substitute for masturbation.  Every yin needs a yang, whether a left hand or a well lubricated orifice.  Hence shortly after securing my MBA certification from one of Mumbai’s top colleges, I started work as an orgasm guru for a high class outfit- not some sordid dungeon of pleasure where you wake up next morning oozing and itching with ailments that medical text books do not have a name for yet.

Unlike other elite B-school graduates, I did not have the conventional ambition of becoming an investment banking associate at a top-tier investment bank, despite getting offers from the top two investment banks of the world.  I sought a career that met my three objectives- lots of money, meeting interesting people in the financial services industry and lots of time to pursue my scholarly reading habits.  Only one profession could help me meet all the objectives and I became a high end call girl, catering to the baser needs of senior management of the financial services industry.  The target segment was older guys with money to splurge and who were seeking release of their pent up stress in their trousers, once the trophy wife’s sex appeal and hot looks had faded but not the lady’s ability to spend their money.

I have never been a bring home to meet mom kind of gal.  Those looking a girl next door stripping experience should look elsewhere to cool the fire in their loins.   My MBA taught me about the competitive advantages of using sex to fill the hole in my heart, not to mention my wallet, my pussy and other spaces open to being filled up while helping out some dumb ass searching for a piece of ass. Since then I have secured a Master’s in the Oral Sciences.  One of my richer clients, quoting some finance wizard, told me, there are three universal lies in Finance- margins are weak but we’ll make it up in volumes, the cheque’s in the mail and I won’t come in your mouth

Over the last year, as my pussy started having more and more miles on it, it has been a joy to look at the wondrous amazement of callow financial services youth who sought unclothed female entertainment.  Clearly what they had seen in girlie magazines vastly underestimated the truly monumental nature of what they saw in three dimensions, full of verve and life.  As someone said there are certain things that cannot be adequately explained to a virgin, either by words or pictures.  Some of them were trying to reinvent sex, without realizing that sex is not an invention but a discovery. 

But the callow youth were not my target market segment.   I assiduously avoided the junior members of the industry, treating them as proles and trolls who could afford to pay my fees only if their parents provided them generous allowances.   Except for the occasional search for those who could be husband material at networking parties, I avoided these chaps with thin dicks and thinner wallets.

I just got back to Mumbai from Lonavla after spending a weekend lying topless for a perverted investment banker who spent the entire period ogling at me.  It is hard to convince an investment banker, operating on the success fee business model, entailing getting paid only if a deal closes, that you still have to pay the hooker even if you don’t finish.  To make matters worse, many bankers have balls like the ones they hang on Christmas trees – purely of decorative value.  Finishing is not their strong suit.

While I was lost in my musings about my very successful first year of lifting many a drooping spirit while wearing a barely there skirt, Rahul, my trusted pimp, called on my Android phone.  Every circus has a clown and every whorehouse needs a pimp.  My pimp is a cute guy- dumb but cute.  I interacted with Rahul on Android and with my clients on iPhone.  That is pimping for you in the digital age.  Even in Digital India it is not smart to hire a hooker through a Smart App on a smart phone unless you wanted your picture on page 3 after the App gets hacked.  There are pimps at fancy hotels whose job is to take care of the details – you are supposed to use their services and not try to get all digital and make an ass of yourself.

Recently a client told me I am going to friend you on Facebook.  That’s when I realized that Facebook can broaden its product range beyond being the go-to destination for catching up with friends and committing credit card frauds to buying ass.  Perhaps then, as bankers would say, I can disintermediate the pimping outfit. 

Rekha, your favorite client wants to spend quality time with you this evening.

Who is that?  Anyone whose tips are bigger than my tits is a favorite client.

Your fund manager pal Chetan Sharma wants to meet you for dinner at the Frangipani and subsequent festivities.  Since his office had been declared a fuck free zone, he can’t meet you there       

Yes Chetan was an old favorite. He worked for the India Growth fund of a prominent Foreign Institutional Investor (FII) that was famous for wild romps in 5-star hotels.  His large cap fund invested in highly liquid stocks with bid-ask spreads tighter than my backdoor.  Like fund managers across the world, he was increasingly worried about being replaced by an artificial intelligence powered algorithm.  His fund had long given up hopes of alpha generation and stuck to the mediocrity of beta- but that did not in any way reduce his libidinous itches which only a bitch can scratch. 

Since our first meeting six months ago, he always called me whenever he wanted to take his monkey out for a stroll. Chetan’s affinity for escorts, masseuses and attractive female employees was well known in the office and was the stuff of the office’s folklore.

God only knows when the firangs will realise that since the East India Company left the Indian shores, very few foreign companies have turned a profit in India.  And that is even truer of foreign institutional investors (FIIs) with their uncanny ability to buy high and sell low.   Not for them the outlandish notion of buying stocks low and selling high.  The FIIs would compound their woes by buying when the Indian Rupee was strong and selling when the Rupee fell.  In fact, if you were to sum up the role of the FIIs in the Indian equity and currency markets, it has been to selflessly provide liquidity.  

Only the writings of Marquis de Sade, the leading exponent of sadomasochism, can shed any light on the psychological and mental make-up of the FIIs and their longing for pain.  For lesser mortals, the exploits of the libertine de Sade are meant to be read (and enjoyed?) but not tried.  Unless one had the predilections of that famous Finance professional, Ponzi guru Bernie Madoff, who liked his massages deep and painful.

Chetan had other worries.  Since his messy divorce, the sex life of his ex-wife was prominently featured in Mumbai’s gossip magazines.  In his despair, he tried self-help.  Many a time I caught Chetan enjoying his own company.  Most of the times, when he had sex, Chetan would be scared- after all he was all alone in the dark.

But that did not mean he was just another self-pleasuring freak- he had taste for the finer things in life- yours truly included.  He lived his life with fast cars, faster women and fastest horses.

His wife apparently had a higher square footage than an average Mumbai flat.  I can never forget our first meeting when I caught him staring at my elliptical machine toned butt and his face turned redder than a baboon’s bottom.  Later, when I got to know him better, I asked him why his marriage failed.  No shared perversions he replied enigmatically..  In short, Chetan’s life was like a Greek Tragedy of around 400 BC, replete with fate, deep guilt and repressed sexual feelings for close relatives.  He was every inch a temple of moral relativities embodied in a Sophocles play.

Many fund managers hate being married to smart, opinionated woman-that’s too much work for them.  They just want tits and ass attached to a stick, a good wig and someone telling them how wonderful they are.  Don't get me wrong, dear Diary.  They loves the ladies. I mean the presence of ladies revs up their engines, but in their opinion, the ladies don't belong in the world of fund management.

It did not take me long to figure that Chetan was one of the Grade A bastards that so prominently adorn the Indian financial landscape.  Like most successful dudes in Finance, he had to pay for pussy.  But I have become enamored of his rude financial solvency.  It was clearly Pareto optimal to screw this pretentious prick than some poor prole or plebian from the manufacturing sector or a real estate gigolo if one wanted a big post coital payout.  Another big no-go area for me are the barely literate troglodytes who call themselves politicians and seldom pay for services rendered. 

With a scintillating Channel handbag and matching perfume that would have done Donatella Versace proud, I set out on a Uber for the Hotel Trident at Nariman Point.  I wore a blouse that displayed an aggressive amount of my generous though mildly asymmetrical cleavage.  My pointed peaks were ready for the explorer.  The figure hugging skirt left little to the imagination.

I saw Chetan sitting in the hotel lounge.  I overheard him uttering moronic non-sequiturs on the phone while staring at a hideous spreadsheet on his laptop.  The moment he saw me, he kept aside his phone and in his impeccable manner greeted me.

Nice set of hooters you have.  Yup, my boobs could talk.  I am acutely aware that I am well-endowed both north and south of the equator.  The wild equatorial grasslands have been the happy hunting ground for many a hunter on a safari.

Great watch, I replied equally cordially.  Nothing says small penis than a man flaunting an expensive diamond studded watch.  And I’ve known for the last six months that Chetan is a big case of small penis. 

Shall we head for dinner, he enquired.

We started feasting on the buffet to save time.  While eating, Chetan’s knife slipped and he was one standard deviation from having his dick chopped off.  We started engaging in small talk.  As every working gal knows, proximity to pussy makes a dude think with his dick.

His phone rang.  It seemed like his junior was rejigging the investment portfolio.  I don’t know what his henchman said but it drove Chetan into a frenzy.  Listen you illiterate ape, don’t you understand a shit about money management?  What are the competitive advantages of Sure Bank? Better add Loveable Lingerie to our portfolio.  They are clearly protected against foreign competitors as Indians are not into wings, feathers and other depraved accoutrements of a Victoria’s Secret collection.  Sure Bank will soon fold like a lawn chair under the weight of its ghastly loans

There was a moment of silence.  Seemed his associate was apologizing. 

OK see you tomorrow replied Chetan curtly and kept the phone down. 

As I was in no hurry to get back home, I decided to get Chetan’s take on the markets. Hey Chetan, when do you think this economic slowdown will end?  Which sectors should flourish in the current macro environment?

Do you think I am an astrologer?  I am as clueless as everyone else.  Just like everyone, I will say on TV that we are bottoming out and the good times will commence next quarter.  How else can I ensure that retail suckers continue to pour money into mutual funds through their SIP investments?  You don’t expect me to tell the duffers that the Japanese Nikkei 225 is trading at 75% of the value of what it did 30 years back, do you?  That stocks are not necessarily the best long term investments.

I finally found something I could agree with Chetan.  The under performance of the Japanese market and of the US markets over extended periods troubled me during my MBA days.  And in many countries, just a handful of stocks keep going up that skews the stock market indices. God help you if you were not in those stocks.

The Stocks for the Long Term thesis was propounded in that wonderful wonderland of deranged financial theories- the economics departments of top US universities.  Far from those tax-payer subsidized ivory towers, the success of the theory was decidedly moot.   Causality, the central tenet that separates science from mumbo-jumbo is clearly not discernible as there is no obvious reason why stocks should do well in the long run.  The professors, however, unlike retail investors and retirees, always manage to land on their feet- they could always write a new book explaining some fresh theory and collect speaker fees for disseminating those intellectual sorties. 

Chetan was in full flow now.  It seems my question gave him the opportunity to vent his long repressed thoughts.

"What kind of person invests in a mutual fund and doesn't ask to be screwed?  (They don't even have a minimum investment for heaven’s sake).   I mean, it's retail money.  Shit happens.  Ripping them off is almost a national obligation.  Anyway, when you invest with a fund manager, you have bought yourself a call option on misallocation of resources.

As to your other question, which sectors will do well in this terrible economic environment, I don’t buy the hocus pocus of uncorrelated returns.  The only risk-averse strategy bearing a low correlation to the economy is called fraud- that’s the only way to make money now.

WoW, I did not know Chetan could be so articulate.  Perhaps I had underestimated him and thought him to be no smarter than Jojo the idiot circus boy.  I must remember to engage in more conversations with him.  Till now, during my assignments with him, while my pussy was always open to him, my mind was not.  But it was time to get back to business.

I uncrossed my legs so that he could check out my credentials.  It made the bastard hornier.  He moved his hand under the table and reached for my panties and into my naughty jungle of love.  Unfortunately, while you can feign love, you can’t feign wetness.  This was no time for coy I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

Do me now, I gasped as if I was a bitch in heat.  His tool was now at half-mast.  He rushed to settle the dinner bill and lead me to the room he had booked for the night.

He seemed to have set-up the room in advance for the evening’s proceedings.  After all, a good fuck does not organize itself.  My G-string fell on the floor and the bra followed suit.  I helped him out of his formal attire.  He led me to the bed.  We kissed.  Things progressed and I said Kiss me lower Chetan  He did just that.  But on the wrong side.  He wanted to butter my buns. 

Philosophically, if ass is not meant to be eaten, why is it in between two buns?  He put his metaphorical skill at ass licking of a financial service professional into actual ass licking.  It seemed to make his dick longer or harder or whatever.  Like a typical finance guy, he underplayed the fact he was three inches when fully erect.  I went for his low hanging fruit so that he got more bang for his buck.

At some stage in the proceedings I concluded that a bird in the bush was worth two in the hand and permitted his entry into my inbox.  Of course, before that I asked him to sheath his weapon which in this case seemed to be a condom with industrial strength lubrication.

 I asked him What is the flavour of the condom?

Who cares? If I wanted flavor, I would suck my own dick. He replied breathlessly.

Wow, I didn’t realise the Chetan’s fellatio skills have evolved to such an extent that that he could give himself a blow job!

He started furiously battering my batter.  Chetan started right-clicking my stuff and doing unspeakable things to me while I measured his vital stats with my inbox.  I clawed my nails into his back to increase his pleasure.  His eyes seemed to say you are my joy, my pleasure and my pain    In the past Chetan and I had enacted many of the fifty shades of grey.

After catering to his basest appetite such as double entry book keeping, in the non-accounting sense of that expression, he was heading towards the climax.  Meaningless words and needy whispers emerged from his mouth while he writhed in seedy desperation for releasing his seeds.  His face reflected the truism of that old finance saying A bull market is like sex- it feels best just before it ends. 

He came.  The sad part, ladies, it that a man’s weapon is a single barreled gun- it can fire only once.  No point expecting a 21 gun salute after he bathed me in his sticky cum while pulling out the condom.  At least at short notice.  Chetan was clearly a spent force for the evening.

Dear diary, I will not trouble you with the sordid commerce that followed as we settled the payout for the evening’s fun and frolics.  Quite akin to the antics of a female spider that eats its mate