I always wear silk stockings, the kind with the seam of the back like the ladies used to wear before World War II.  There's something about them that catches the eye.  Equal parts classy and sexy.  I counted them up once, how many pairs spilled out of the dresser drawer; there were no less than fifty.  Every color and texture you can think of, fishnets to solids, thigh-high and knee-high, they are crammed in there like sardines.  And I have worn every single pair.  They tell a story, a tawdry story but a story nonetheless.  I haven't met a man yet who doesn't love to watch me roll those stockings up or down my legs. 

There is a certain seductive quality in the action.  The simple rolling of a stocking down a long leg is enough to make a man - or woman - sit up and take notice.  It catches the eye, the red lacquer of a fresh manicure a brilliant contrast to the sheer black of stockings which begs the eye to follow the movement.  That one move, simple yet effective, places all the power in one set of hands.  Mine. 

I don't just wear them for the attention.  I love the way the silk feels against my legs; so soft and smooth, like cream brushing against my skin.  It's a seductive feeling.  A feeling that gets me ready for my night.  

You can call me what you like: whore, prostitute, hooker, escort, slut.  The truth is, for a small (figuratively speaking of course) fee you can have the pleasure of my company and all that that entails.  My name is Eve, and I'm a call girl.

"I've just booked you a five thirty on Thursday night.  His name is Tony, thirty-six.  He's a music producer at some new label." 

Melanie never bothers to say hello.  When you're managing the schedules of thirty girls you don't have time, or words, to waste.

I flip open my Hello Kitty calendar - not at all professional, but it was a gift from my niece so what could I say? - and scan through my color-coded schedule. 

Pink for a standard appointment, green for a GFE (Girlfriend Experience), orange for an overnight, and purple for a Couple's appointment.

My schedule is full of pink and green, the occasional orange is in there, and a few sporadic purples have worked their way in as well.  I glance ahead to Thursday evening.  My night is relatively free; one standard appointment with a regular at ten o'clock, but, other than that, my night is wide open.  Much like my legs will be.

"What's he looking for?"  I have a few standard rules when it comes to my clients.  First and foremost is I don't do anything - or anybody - that makes me feel unsafe.  Second, they always have to pay up front and in cash.  Third, they have to be clean and disease free.  And lastly, I don't do any freaky fetishes.  If I had to book all my clients myself I think I'd go crazy.  Thank god Melanie knows how to weed out the freaks and scum.  Over the years I've picked up a few tricks myself. You have to be able to read people in my line of work; figure out what makes them tick and what their fantasies and desires are without asking and they are putty in your hand.

"GFE.  He's planning a date night: dinner, movie, then back to the hotel." 

I write Tony's name down with a green pen along with the time of the date and the meeting location: The St. George Hotel on Beverly.  Swanky.  That new label must be treating Tony well.

He's booked four hours, accounting for dinner and the movie.  I don't think we'll make it to the movie though.  Most men are too eager to get back to the hotel and get down to the fun part to make it through an entire movie.  I had one client who barely sat down in the theater before he was back up and taking me to his hotel room.

"Anything I need to know?" 

Melanie knows what I mean.  It's always best to get a client's expectations up front.  If there is something particular he wants from his experience I need to know about it.  Guys can say down to the last detail what they're looking for.  One client requested that I wear nothing but blue: blue panties and bra, blue dress, blue heels, even blue eye shadow and nail polish. 

As long as you're paying I don't judge.

"He wants girl-next-door - jeans, t-shirt, natural make-up, and no jewelry."

It's not an unusual request.  I make a note of it before hanging up.  Goodbyes are the same as hellos in a phone call with Melanie: non-existent. 

In the world of sex there is a hierarchy among women like me.  You have your street walkers - the lowest of the low.  They will suck or fuck any man who has a few twenties to spare.  Then there's your average working girl.  She has a pimp who sends her out to appointments in cheap motels or the backseat of a car.  After that you're entering the world of Agency girls.  Once you reach the agencies there are a number of levels:  Regular escorts who serve as arm candy to social events then give a quick fuck in the coat room before heading home; call girls who work the club scene - these girls like to party and you end up paying as much to get your rocks off as you do to keep them in drugs and alcohol for the night; then there's girls like me - the high end call girls who make you feel like you're the only man in their life. 

When you spend time with the high class escorts you get the full on experience.  You're not just paying for a good fuck; you're purchasing the entire package.  A woman who listens to and nurtures you, a woman who will discover your every fantasy and let you live it if only for a few hours.  A professional call girl gives the client everything he could ever want before he even knows what he wants.  When you're with a professional you won't feel like you've paid for a prostitute, you'll feel like you've just met the woman of your dreams.

In the hierarchy there is only one class of lady above me.  A courtesan - the holy grail of hookers.  Courtesans chose their own clients and these men are the most well-to-do of them all.  Being a courtesan is the dream of many in my profession.  A handful of wealthy men - generally, a courtesan has no more than four clients - pay for everything you could ever need or desire.  These are men who are too busy to have time for a girlfriend or whose wives are stuck at home with the children.  They treat their courtesan like a queen because, to them, she is.  She is the woman who will never nag them or demand their time.  She is there as a comfort, a friend and confidant.

One day I'll be a courtesan, I have no doubt of that.  Until that day though I'll be the best damn escort I can.