Jesse's Girl Read online

tonight. I’ve got Jasmine going to Burlington for nine and Nikki to Waltham for nine-thirty.”

  Jesse remembered driving Jasmine once when he first started, but hadn’t seen her since. She was a stripper who worked as an escort part time. She had to take several weeks off, Jesse remembered, because she was getting her breasts enlarged. That would be an interesting conversation piece. Even though it was a little farther, he told Helen he’d drive to Burlington.

  “Burlington’s a little longer ride. Just remind Jasmine of that, okay?” Jesse said.

  “I’ll be sure she throws you a couple extra bucks. You know where to pick her up?”

  Jesse got her address and set a time to pick her up, and at eight-thirty pulled up outside of her apartment and honked the horn. He had to wait a good 5 minutes, and then the apartment door swung open and Jasmine trotted out and down the steps.

  He liked when he first saw the escorts, what they looked like, what they wore. He imagined what it would be like for the client to first see the girl he was going to have fun with. Then there was the smell when they got in the car. A bit cloying at times, but always sexy. That was usually as far as he let himself go. He was just there to drive, to make a little money. But tonight he was feeling unusually confident.

  They navigated a few clustered side streets before turning onto Route 93 North. They had said hi and talked about where they were going and how to get there, but once they were cruising along the highway, Jesse decided to broach a different topic.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while. Have you been working?”

  “Nope. Took some time off, got my girls done.”

  “Your girls?” Jesse knew what she was talking about but thought it would be fun to hear her say it.

  “Yup.” Jasmine shook her chest. “My boobs. I got a boob job.”

  Jesse looked down at them. Then he looked in the rear-view mirror and, there being no other cars too close to his, he turned on the interior light and looked squarely at her chest. “Hmm. Pretty nice.”

  Jasmine stuck out her chest as if this were completely normal behavior.

  “Can I see ‘em?” Jesse asked, glancing from the road to Jasmine and back again.

  “You want me to show you my tits?” She acted surprised, though her hands had already taken hold of the bottom of her shirt.

  “Yeah, why not? I mean, you work as a stripper, you show people anyway. I’m just curious what they look like, that’s all.”

  She shook her head, still acting taken aback, though she didn’t hesitate to pull up her shirt and bra and reveal her glossy, balloon-like breasts.

  “Wow,” Jesse said. If his heart were a car engine, the RPM needle would have been in the red. He’d never seen fake ones before, and though he knew from seeing plenty of pictures and porn movies—too many, really—that he preferred the real thing, he was still stupefied at the sight of Jasmine’s bare breasts. “Those are…pretty damned nice.”

  He glanced at the road every few seconds, but kept his eyes primarily on Jasmine’s breasts.

  “Three thousand bucks,” she said, looking down at them. “Though I suppose I can write them off as a business expense.”

  “Yeah…wow,” was all Jesse could say, and, as if on autopilot, he reached across the median between them and touched her breast, squeezed it gently.

  “Help yourself.” Jasmine’s sarcasm ended with a trickle of laughter, her hands still holding her shirt up high.

  The car shuddered as Jesse veered onto the grooves cut into the pavement that lined the edge of the lane, and he snapped his head forward and clamped both hands onto the steering wheel.

  “Maybe you should keep your eyes on the road.” Jasmine lowered her shirt.

  For the next several miles she talked about what size they were and how they felt and what she did to care for them after surgery. The experience titillated Jesse in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. And it gave him an image that he would most likely use in bed that night, tissues in hand, trying to keep as quiet as possible to not wake his sleeping roommate.

  But it left him with mixed feelings. The sexual urges were undeniable, but he knew he didn’t have a lot in common with Jasmine, and he longed for a deeper connection. That’s why he felt so strongly about Corey. Even though they’d only spoken a couple times, he thought that she was someone he could truly connect with.

  Jesse dropped off Jasmine at her apartment a little after ten-thirty. He called into the agency to see if anyone else needed a ride, but there was no one at the moment. Helen said she’d call him first if anything came up, but Jesse decided he’d had enough for the night and turned off his cell and went back to the dorm. He was exhausted from the previous night’s drinking and decided to turn in early. Despite his stimulating evening at work with Jasmine, he went to sleep thinking about Corey.

  The next day he woke feeling fresh and energetic. He went to the library as planned and worked on an English paper and also squeezed in some chemistry. All the while he studied, Corey was never far from his mind. He even felt a little guilty about Jasmine last night. He knew he shouldn’t—it wasn’t like he was dating Corey, not yet—but the way he’d been thinking about her made him feel almost unfaithful. But mostly he couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow in class.

  Back at the dorm that evening, several of the guys were getting ready to go to the cafeteria for supper.

  “Hey, dooods,” Farhad said, “Let’s smoke a joint before we go, and we can go play pool after.”

  “Do you need to smoke a joint to play pool?” Todd said.

  “No, but it’s better.” Farhad said.

  “All right, I’ll smoke,” Mike said.

  “Why not,” Jesse added, thinking that he had gotten enough done today to enjoy getting a little high.

  “It’s almost quarter of; they stop serving in fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you guys there,” Todd said, and he and Matt left for the cafeteria.

  The three of them went into Mike’s room, wedged a towel into the crack under the door, and sat down, when Jesse’s cell phone rang. The “Unidentified Caller” on the screen meant it was probably the escort agency.

  “Hello.”

  “Jesse, this is Chrissy. Can you drive tonight?” Chrissy, one of the escort agency’s proprietors, always got right to the point.

  He watched Farhad breaking up the marijuana bud into the white rolling paper. If he smoked, he’d probably eat too much junk food, smoke again later, stay up late, wake up in a haze tomorrow. Or he could work and earn thirty bucks, and he could read the short story he had planned to read tomorrow morning while waiting for the escort. Still feeling invigorated and productive, he told Chrissy he was free to drive.

  “Great. Do you know where Lauren lives?”

  “No, I don’t think I’ve ever driven her.”

  She gave him the address and the time to pick up Lauren, made sure she got the make and color of his car so Lauren would know it was him, and hung up without saying bye.

  Farhad had lit the joint, passed it to Mike, who was now passing it to Jesse.

  “Can’t smoke. Gotta work,” Jesse said.

  Both Farhad’s and Mike’s lungs were still filled with smoke as they held it in as long as they could for maximum effect. Farhad was the first to exhale, and he gave a mild protestation before shrugging his shoulders and taking the joint for another hit.

  Farhad and Mike opted to order out instead of making the trip to the cafeteria, and a game of Madden on the Playstation became the unanimous choice instead of trekking across campus high for a game of pool. Jesse hung around for twenty minutes before leaving to pick up the escort.

  He breezed through the light Sunday evening traffic towards the outskirts of the city to pick up Lauren. That was an interesting pseudonym for an escort, he thought. Not like Jasmine or Porsche or so many of the other cheap, kind of sleazy names the escorts usually used. It was more down to earth, and he wondered what her story was, and if she would share it with him.

  He stopp
ed at a traffic light and turned down the music to concentrate on where he was going. He turned on the interior light and looked at his directions. He hadn’t seen his turn, though according to Mapquest he’d already gone past it. He crept forward another few blocks trying to make out street signs in the dark, and stopped again as a yellow light turned red. A group of people congregated outside a corner market. It looked like a rough crowd. As the light turned green, Jesse looked in his rearview mirror to see that no one was behind him, and leaned over to roll down the passenger window.

  “Excuse me,” he yelled out the window. “Excuse me, does anyone know where King Street is?” A few heads turned to look at him, and, looking directly at one of the loiterers, he said again, “Do you know where King Street is?”

  A burly man broke off from the group and sauntered toward the car, leaning in toward the open window.

  “Whatta you want?”

  “I’m looking for King Street. I was wondering if anyone knows where it is.”

  The man stood erect, his hands in his pockets, and looked up, then down the street. He leaned back in the window. “You passed it, man. It’s four blocks that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction Jesse was driving.

  Jesse thanked the man and, when it was clear, pulled a U-turn. He saw King Street exactly where the man said it would be. Taking the turn, he felt a warm and comforting sensation suffuse his body, the result of a brief flash of the conversation he’d had with Corey the other day. He couldn’t help but think