The Old Hooker
By Janet Baker

The flight to Amsterdam was uneventful, I laid back in my first class seat and let the handsome young attendant serve me champagne -- glass after glass. He was a darling. This old hooker would have gladly given him a freebie. I was only fifty but business was slowing down and I could see the handwriting on the wall. I was still attractive in a somewhat hardened and experienced way but the years were passing and now and then I felt the need to leave the profession and do something else.

I realized around the age of seven that I was different, that I really should have been a girl but had been born with the usual male equipment. I went through therapy, was certified by psychologists as being a candidate certain for transgendering and started to travel the road to womanhood. The road was easier for me than for most transgenders because, I believe, I was endowed with a promiscuous turn of mind and enjoyed being treated like a girl in heat or easy or a hooker. Most likely just a born whore.

I had been a prostitute even before my SRS. I was a pretty boy on my way to womanhood since I was a teen. I looked enough like a girl at fourteen to attract men but I held them off until I reached eighteen and then started ‘dating’ for money. My expertise at oral sex became widely known and I had more business than I could handle. A few years later I had my SRS and I branched out into vaginal, anal and of course oral services. This activity put me through college, my grades were at the top, aided of course by special instruction and tutoring by several eager and compliant professors.
In short I learned at a very young age that men could be had with trivial ease. After all, a smile at the cabin attendant gave me much personal service. I learned that he was based in Amsterdam. Fluttering eyelids and the admission that I had not yet visited the city elicited an invitation for a tour and ‘possibly’ dinner. Good! He can buy dinner and I’ll enjoy screwing him out of his mind later. This old hooker can out screw any ten women even on a bad day.

We did tour and we did dine and oh yes we did screw -- oh did we screw!
He was out of his mind with ecstasy - he had never been so well screwed, he said! He was a bachelor, took me to his apartment and we made love a good part of the night. We did things he never thought possible.

“Janet, you are an incredible lover, wherever did you learn all those tricks -- all those techniques?”

“Oh Hans, I am older than you and I have had some little experience but I tell you my darling man that you are also an incredible lover. I have never experienced someone like you, you are so passionate yet so tender and considerate yet powerful and virile. I just melt into your arms with a joyful submission. Let’s rest a while Hans, and then we’ll resume and tomorrow I want to see the red light district, I understand that it is interesting and yet respectable. I am curious about how the other half lives.”

“Alright Janet, we’ll do that but will you stay here with me for a few days until you are ready to leave?”

“Sure.” I caved in quickly, cute apartment, good sex, good place from which to reconnoiter, “I’d love to Hans, that is so kind of you.”

Hans was off work the next day and toured me all around Amsterdam. We took boat rides, visited a couple of museums and also quickly passed through the red light district -- I just wanted to know where it was located.
Hans was scheduled to fly the day following but asked if I would like to stay in his apartment until he returned two days later. I gratefully accepted, promising him pleasure on his return. I had plenty of money having saved and invested throughout my working life and since I was an ‘upscale’, that is, a high priced ’business woman’ I had earned a considerable amount, most of which was salted away in three banks in the Cayman Islands. However staying with Hans offered fun, food and a good guide. I hoped that he would not learn of my intentions here in Amsterdam.

I saw Hans off at the airport after he gave me a cooks tour of the airfield. I was pleased since I looked young enough not to embarrass Hans and have him be accused of escorting his visiting aunt or some such.

I returned from Schipol and took a cab to the ‘entertainment’ district and started to search for a live show business. My intention was to develop a sex routine that might pay more than simply entertaining individual clients. I had no intention of simply hooking; I was past that but I liked to keep busy and an animal show intrigued me.

I visited the porn shops searching for some sex toys and more importantly some sex tapes showing interaction between women and dogs and ponies. I wanted to see how well the women and their animals actually performed. Because of the obvious physical differences I was concerned about the showmanship aspects.

Discussions with several live show impresarios finally yielded leads to dog trainers who had supplied the porn industry with suitably trained dogs. I visited two of them. They advised me to buy dogs that had not reached puberty giving me time to bond with the dogs and commence their training. Both dealers recommended having not more than two to train since training the dogs for sex was rather specialized, difficult and time consuming. I decided to take a Great Dane puppy once I had found suitable lodging. Housing in Amsterdam was quite expensive and land almost unavailable so I was forced to look outside the city for proper lodging.

Suffice it to say, I eventually bought a house and barn on two hectares of land.
It was perfect for my plan to train and perhaps even show. In the interim before I acquired a base, Hans and I had a most wonderful time together fucking like mink. He was sturdy, imaginative and I loved fucking with him.

“Hans, I’m gong to put a dog collar on you, attach a leash to it and pull you to me. I’m going to pull you to me and kiss you while you ram your prick into my pussy then later when my pussy is full of juices, I’m going to pull you down to my pussy and let you clean me out. Fun! Right?”

“It sounds kinky Janet! Lets do it! But Jannett…. I think I’ll do it to you also, OK? “

“Ooooo, Hans, yes, please, I want you to pull me all the way onto your cock -- I want to feel it going down my throat. But Hans, you first! Come here and accept your collar…. your collar of submission……… your slave collar my sexy darling man. And then fuck me hard my darling man.”

And he did -- oh! did he now…he did indeed…he fucked this old hooker long and hard -- very hard. He made me feel like a young innocent girl again. I think I’m falling in love again. Or maybe really for the first time. H’m, he’s a nice guy, if I should fall in love with him what would he think about my show plans? Oh well, whatever -- que sera, sera.

I continued to live with Hans while the farm purchase was being completed. It took a couple of months because the family occupying it had to relocate and that took some time. I was not impatient since I was having fun with Hans and I was waiting for an appropriate puppy to become available. Meanwhile Hans and I had a ball during his off time in Holland.

I didn’t want to bring him into serious bondage games too quickly since he might wonder about my experience and also gradual increases in the BD level always works better than shocking ones’ partner. So far we had only collared each other and I had worn nothing erotic except that perhaps my lace bra might be considered somewhat erotic. Hans, I believed, was largely normal and not affected by eroticism apparently having no fetishes. I decided to try to appear to Hans as a normal woman with normal but eager tastes. Thus I reconstituted my wardrobe with chic but conventional clothing and heels high but not fuck me pumps. Once I acquired the farm I would buy all the erotic and show costumes I would need. Of course I realized that if the idea failed I could do whatever I pleased since I was really independently well off -- almost wealthy.
Over my thirty some years of hooking, I had invested prudently and had also bought some real estate thus I was very comfortably well off.

“Hans darling, I have never visited Paris, would you like to go there with me sometime for a few days or even a week? I would love to visit the Louvre and perhaps a nightclub like the Crazy Horse or Maxim’s. I could buy a nice dress and we could have a really ‘good time’ mon cher Hans.”

“Love to Janet. I didn’t know you could speak French.”

“I can’t, I just watch an occasional French sited movie but some things, some little phrases stick.” I though to myself that if I wanted to learn the language I should find a handsome Frenchman to live with for a while. That idea has possibilities -- lots of screwing in another language! After all I am learning a little Dutch.

A week later, Hans gave me the good news.

“Janet, I have three days off next week, lets fly down to Paris, get a good hotel, play tourist and make lots of love. OK?”

“Oh Hans”, I gasped, “Oh wonderful, I can’t wait! I’ve read so much about Paris. Is it really a city for lovers? Where will we stay? What will we see?”

“Janet darling, I have booked the George V and we will visit at least two museums and two night spots. I don’t want to wear you out -- we do want to save some energy for lovemaking.”

“Good thinking, mon cher Hans. I’ll take comfortable shoes for sightseeing and heels for the night and at least a couple of outfits. I’m getting hot just thinking about it, let’s make love!”

“Ah Janet, you are so insatiable! I love it!”

And so it was that Hans and I flew to Paris, city of light, city of love. Our first contact was a cranky cab driver but he did get us safely to the George V. The
room was elegant but costly so I resolved to make it worth his while by screwing him out of his mind which of course I had been doing ever since we met. I was a little -- but not too much -- concerned that he might fall in love with me and thus unravel my colorful past. I had just passed fifty-one and he, I judged, was a little over thirty. OK for the present but certainly not in twenty years. I had to limit myself to enjoying the present.

That night we went to a little bistro on Montmartre named Au Lapin Agile.
This is an historic little cabaret made famous by, among others, Picasso and Toulouse-Lautrec. It is recalled that during the occupation that patrons occasionally had to remain all night due to the curfew. It is small but quaint.
The staff seated us around the perimeter of the room on a bench against the wall and as more patrons arrived we were squeezed together. This was fine since I slumped against Hans, he put his arm around me and with my sweater covering my lap he entertained my clit. The show was fine with poets, musicians, and singers. One could separate the French speakers in the audience from the non-French by the laughter. They served a concoction named Cerise a l’eau, part of the prix fixe. By the time the evening was over I was ready for sex having been diddled through most of the show. We left, took the metro back to the hotel and did our best to destroy the bed. In the morning the bed looked like the ‘champ de bataille’.

Next morning we went to the tourist office on the Champs-Elysees procuring two museum passes that permitted us to bypass the long lines at the museum ticket booths. Armed with these passes we charged into the Louvre, walked until our feet were tired, passed time in the cafeteria, managed to find the restrooms (WC) and finally left, returning to the George V to rest before attending a show at the Moulin Rouge. Not wanting to dine at the theatre, we stopped at one of the Hippo restaurants located not far from George V, enjoying steak, salad and a couple of drinks. Of course we played footsie while dining. Needless to recount, we screwed passionately after returning from the theatre.

“Janet, tomorrow evening we have tickets for the opera. They are performing a love story by Puccini. I have seen it before and I think you’ll love it -- I did -- it was enchanting and the music is so passionate and endearing. Interestingly, they are mounting it at the old opera house, the Palais Garnier, not the Opera Bastille”

“Wonderful, Hans, a chance for me to get dressed. I’ll have to buy something new and I’ll need some accessories, evening bag, sandals -- can we take a cab Hans, I really don’t want to do the metro in four inch heels?”

“Certainly my sweet lady; let us to bed my love, for tomorrow we shop.”

Hans is so adorable, he treats me like a lady. Considering my past and profession I am thrilled to be treated so well, so courteously and yet when we make love so passionately I am still treated like a lady in love, not just a screw or an object. Oh, my God, am I falling in love? Can I love? Can I be loved?
Oh…my…God….I am so confused.

We made the rounds of a few dress and shoe shops, buying the necessaries for the opera and toured most of the ‘Champs’, up and down, from the Arch to the Place de la Concorde, then lunch along the rue de Rivoli, sampling perfumes along the Faubourg Saint-Honore where I renewed my supply of Chanel No. 5.

Hans is so much the gentleman, taking my arm, holding doors for me -- I’m in heaven. We returned by cab to the hotel, made frantic love and rested until an early dinner. We dined lightly, knowing we had an evening of opera ahead of us. A half hour before eight we arrived at the Garnier. Hans wanted me to have time to savor the beauties of this awesomely beautiful opera house. He had me look through his opera glasses at the top of the building where the Liberty sculpture stood enshrined for all to see. Upon entering my eyes were taken by the grand marble staircase and banisters and then the gold leaf accenting the magnificent baroque architecture.

Our seats were fine. The opera -- stunning. I wept, identifying myself with Magda, thinking of how she found true love with Ruggero but had to return to her master, Rambaldo since she could not reveal her past to Ruggero. After the opera I could barely speak, I was so emotionally overwrought -- I could see myself as she.
Hans asked me what was troubling me.
“Darling, what is the problem? I also loved the opera, I cried a little too. Lets stop at a bar for a drink to settle us down.”

“Oh Hans, it was so moving, so tragic, so….”

“Darling Janet, no one died in this opera, it is a love story.”

“But Hans, she couldn’t marry her true love, Ruggero.”

“Cherie, pourquoi pas? They had his mother’s blessing.”

“Hans, don’t you understand? Magda had…a…past!”

“Oh….oh….oh”, he mumbled, dire thoughts trembling through his mind. We walked on a few blocks coming to Harry’s bar, saying no more.

A couple of Bloody Marys at Harry’s bar at Cinq Rue Danou calmed me down
enough to hold a conversation with Hans.

“My darling Hans, what shall we do tomorrow? It is our last day in Paris?”

“Tomorrow, my sweet, we’ll visit the Musee D’Orsay, the impressionist collection is most impressive and if the weather is suitable we’ll take lunch out on the terrace. Then we’ll do a tea dance, return to the hotel to rest, make love, shower and dress for the evening. I have an extraordinary dinner planned. We are going to one of the most famous restaurants in the world, La Tour d’Argent overlooking the Seine. Then some more lovemaking and packing for the flight home.”

“Oh Hans, my darling man, may I buy a dress for the dinner? I want to look my best for you.”

“Surely my sweet, we’ll shop just after we visit the museum.”

I bought a black satin sheath dress, discrete but leaving nothing to chance. I wanted it to be revealing but dignified. I especially did not want to embarrass or offend my darling Hans. The sandals I bought for the opera were fine but I wanted a new pair of patterned pantyhose to show off my legs (still shapely in spite of my age). I also splurged on a diamond necklace and bracelet and a diamond accented wrist watch paying for them myself insisting to Hans that I could not possibly let him pay for something so extravagant. Fortunately my hair was perfect.

The evening was most memorable, we had the pressed duck the ‘Tour’ was famous for, appropriate wines and a crá¨me caramel for desert. The service was excellent -- of course. I have never in my life been so well, compassionately, served, escorted by someone like Hans. I was really falling in love. As we walked along the quai after dinner I held his hand then took his arm, then kissed him and kissed him again. I was so…so… happy. Hans was also thrilled. I looked rich, elegant, the perfect date. And by damn I did look rich and elegant, I had been practicing that look most of my working life. That’s why well-to-do gentlemen had no qualms about paying me thousands of dollars for an evening at the ballet and…. But I had never felt like this before. This man was not a client. He was a real man, a date, a lover, and… I loved him…

I burst out, “Oh Hans, forgive me but I love you -- I really do love you -- I’m sure of it -- I know it -- I have never in life felt this way -- I love you Hans!”
“Lets hurry to the hotel Hans, I want to feel you close to me, feel you in me.
Oh, God Hans, I want to make love with you -- I’m so much in love with you.”

We hurried. We reached the hotel, dashed for the elevator, started undressing as the elevator rose, fled into our room, stripped leaving a trail of clothing behind us as we dashed for the bed. We didn’t quite make it. He grabbed me, bent me over the sofa and thrust home! Hours later, spent, we held each other close together, finally falling asleep.

In the morning we had petit dejeuner served in our room. We made love again, dressed and set out for Orly to return to Amsterdam. What a trip! What a holiday! I was walking on air! I was in heaven! I was with a man I loved desperately! In time we reached Schipol, took a cab to Hans’ apartment and changed for dinner.

“Hans my darling man, I am putting on a gold collar. It looks like an ordinary gold choker but it is symbolic. I put this on for you as a symbol of my status -- my submission to you; my vow to you that as long as you want me I will have no other lovers -- in short Hans, I am yours and yours alone, if you will have me.”

“Janet, you make me so happy -- I love you, yes I do. You are everything a man could want, beautiful, intelligent, passionate, and funny. You are so much fun to be with. Then you’ll stay here with me?”

“Id love to!”

“H’m, Janet, you said ‘no other lovers’. I take it that you have had many other lovers. How do I stand vis-á -vis these ‘other lovers’?” he asked, frowning.

“My darling Hans, not to worry. I am older than you, I believe and I have had a career in securities trading. Along the way I have met and bedded a few men -- some became short term lovers. But that is in the past. I don’t want to ever talk about it again. You are my life, my love and that is all the counts.”

We kissed.

“But Janet, you seem so experienced, I can’t help but wonder...”, he trailed off.

“Believe me darling, what is past is past…completely past and will never be discussed again. Do you understand me darling? Believe only this my darling Hans, I love you dearly and you alone. Do you believe me Hans? If you don’t, we may have to part because our love must be without suspicion -- without doubt.”

We stared at each other for what seemed to be eternity. Hans broke the silence.

“Janet, yes, I believe you, I love you. Stay with me. I will be true to you also. If you wish I will also wear a collar for you.”

“Oh Hans, darling, thank you so much. It means so much to me. But Hans, wearing the collar is up to you, not to me. In a symbolic sense these collars are like wedding rings although more meaningful. They are an absolute commitment to one another. Removing the collar also signifies a complete break in our relationship.”

“I want to wear one for you, my sweet.”

“Oh my man, my loving man, I am so happy. I’ll help you pick one out. It must simply look like an ordinary necklace as men wear. I don’t want you to be embarrassed or have to answer awkward questions. But my sweet, if we want to play ‘games’ we’ll take it off and replace it with something more sturdy. Hans -- wouldn’t it be fun for both of us to wear steel collars and link them together to keep us close for the night?”

“Jan, darling, I’m getting an erection, stroke it please, and….”

The rest of the night was filled with sex, no, not just sex but raging, frantic, frolicking fucking. We fucked like teens, hour after hour, without letup.
Yet I was terrified that my past might catch up with me and he might learn of my former profession. And the farm I just bought; and the contacts I made for the puppy? Oh crap! What to do? I must think. Think.

End

 © Janet Baker 2009

Shall we leave our lovers, readers? Or should we follow them a while into new adventures?