Lisa Green

The pale light of a Washington dawn was filtering through the bedroom curtains when the telephone beside my bed started to purr. Half asleep after a night with too little of it, I groped for and finally found the receiver.

“Marsha?” It was a voice I knew too well and didn't want to hear, “D wants to see you in his office this morning, early.”

The line went dead. I groaned. I was only two days into a promised seven day break after that business in Uzbekistan. Whatever it was, it must be important. The man rolled over and fitted his hard muscular body against my curves, and the temptation to accept the mute offering was almost irresistible - almost, but not quite. Gary knew there would be other times. With a sigh I rolled out of bed and found my way to the bathroom.

The sting of the shower spray drove the cobwebs away, and the fluffy towel dried and warmed my body. I returned to the bedroom. The man had rolled over again and was snoring gently. I pulled out some underwear and stockings, put them on and sat down at the dressing table to do my make-up. Next I stepped into a knee-length grey skirt and buttoned up a white silk blouse, finally stepping into black pumps with three inch heels. Meanwhile I brewed myself a coffee and switched on the news. They were replaying a speech by President Johnson from last night — something about “being vigilant for the 'enemy within'”. I grimaced. He didn't need to tell me about that. I paused to write a brief note for the recumbent figure in the bedroom, picked up my handbag and left the apartment.

Twenty minutes later, and I was surrounded by similarly dressed secretaries, all heading for their offices surrounding Capitol Hill. I was totally like them except in two respects. Firstly, I wasn't a secretary, and I imagined you've guessed the other one.

I reached an unremarkable door at a nondescript building. The sign over it read 'TMA Trading'. There was a light over the door and I knew that concealed within it was a surveillance camera. I pressed the buzzer, and after a short pause the door swung silently open. I entered the building, my heels tapping on the wooden floor as I walked down the corridor. Several of the staff seated at desks smiled at me as I passed by, and one guy called out 'Hey Marsha'. I knew what was on his mind and thought 'When Hell freezes over, Harry.' I reached a large desk where a grey-haired woman sat surrounded by files and telephones. She looked up and smiled.

“He's with someone right now,” she said, and added, “I thought you were on leave?”

“So did I.” I replied.

Then the phone rang, she said a few words and then indicated the big door to her right. I smiled at her and opened the door, stepping into a large office. At one end of the room was a huge oak desk with a man behind it staring fixedly at some files. I took the seat before the desk and crossed my legs, deliberately letting my skirt ride up. I do love teasing men.

He looked up. “Dammit Marsha, if my wife came in right now, I'd be in all sorts of trouble.”

I pulled down the hem of my skirt a trifle and smiled. I've met Dorothy his wife and we get on well. There's no way D would give in to any temptation from someone like me.

“I'm sorry to drag you back. You're supposed to be on leave I know, but you're the best person we have for the job and it can't wait.”

“I guessed it had to be important,” I replied, “So what's the problem sir?”

“One of our top military men was in the Philippines recently. Among other things he developed a taste for the exotic, including (he looked down at his notes) 'bakla'?”

“Ladyboys.” I said helpfully.

“Err, yes. Anyway, one of these, err, ladyboys, called Lee, has provided us with information from time to time, and he reported that something our guy said led him to believe that he was passing on information to the Soviets. Lee was asked to find out more but discretely, and maybe that was a mistake because it seems he's disappeared. Our man was recalled to Washington to make a report — well that was the excuse anyway. He arrived back two days ago. What we really wanted was to keep an eye on him and find out what was going on.”

“I see,” I replied “So you think I might be a suitable person to do that?”

“Exactly,” D replied. “He's staying at the Washington Regent and it seems he'll likely be found in the bar at around 7pm, it's a known pick-up place. I suggest you go there tonight and see what you can find out. Before you leave, go and see Q. He can help you with a few things.”

I had to suppress a smile. The Director has a weakness for James Bond movies, and this was a case of life imitating art I guess.

“This is the file on him — Major Thomas Denman. I suggest you take time to read it now as the file can't leave the building.”

He handed over the file and stood up. The interview was obviously over.

“Good luck,” he said and almost extended his hand to shake mine but looked a trifle confused. He's old school and still can't get his head around some things. I saved him the embarrassment by taking the file with a 'Thank you' and leaving his office. One of the staff once told me that D wondered why I dressed as a woman even when not on assignment. I said it was because I never wanted to forget my special role, but the truth was far more than that of course. I just prefer living this way.

I stepped into the small office I share with another girl, currently away on assignment, and opened the file. There was a picture of Major Denman, a handsome man in his forties. In our business it doesn't matter what the subject looks like, you have a job to do, but it doesn't hurt if he's good looking of course! I read through the whole file and got a fairly good picture of him. A career army guy, he was married with a couple of children and they lived in a small town in Wyoming. When I had absorbed all there was to know about him, I returned the file to D's secretary and went to see Q. I spent a good hour with him and then headed back to my apartment to prepare for the evening. My bedfellow from the previous night was gone, but there was a large bunch of roses and a 'thank you' note. I smiled and put the roses in water. Gary was obviously hoping for a repeat invitation

As always when I had an assignment, I spent hours getting ready. There were times when I wanted the target to think I really was a genetic woman, and even though this wasn't one of them, I still wanted him to find me attractive. I started with a full body shave and then luxuriated in a bath for quite a while before drying myself and laying out my clothes for the evening. This time I chose lacy black lingerie — bra, garter-belt, panties and a full slip, together with sheer black seamed nylons. Like most t-girls, I will never get over the sensuous feeling of slipping on silky lingerie, and slowly drawing nylon stockings up my freshly shave legs, nor do I want to. Some genetic girls have told me that they have no special feeling when they dress in pretty sexy lingerie, and I think that is so sad. As for the choice of black lingerie, there's something about it that always makes a man sit up and take notice!

I set about curling my blonde hair and applying my make-up. I chose my dress for the evening — a pale green silk gown with a full skirt, which showed off my figure to its best advantage. A pearl necklace completed the picture, and I wore four inch heels which matched my dress. I'd checked Tom Denman's height to make sure I was still shorter than him, some men have a thing about that.

I had just finished getting ready when the telephone rang. I was surprised to find it was D himself.

“We've just had news that Lee our contact in the Philippines has been found dead, strangled. Take care Marsha.”

“I will.” I promised.

I was ready in good time for my transport to the hotel. We used what to an observer was a Yellow Cab, but it was driven by one of the staff. He was in radio contact with an agent at the hotel who would notify him when Major Denman entered the bar, and the call came through when we were five minutes from the hotel. I got out and went through the motions of paying the driver, and walked into the lobby. It was quite full of guests all dressed up for an evening out, or dining in one of the hotel's restaurants. I walked into the ground floor bar, and Major Denman was instantly obvious by being the only man present wearing an army uniform. I do like a man in uniform! He was seated at one of the bar stools, and I took a seat about three stools away, and without looking at him I ordered a gin and tonic and sat there for a few minutes. At this point a telephone rang behind the bar and after answering it, the barman looked enquiringly at me and said “Miss Jones?”

“Yes” I replied and he handed me the receiver. Now I can do a very good female voice, but in this instance I was careful to use a more masculine one, and talk loud enough for Major Denman to hear me above the background music and chatter. The substance of my conversation was to indicate that my date was not coming, and I was very disappointed.

“Excuse me? I couldn't help overhearing you. Your dinner companion can't make it?”

I turned slowly and there was the Major trying unsuccessful to look concerned for me. In real life he was even more handsome than his photograph.

I gave a sad resigned smile.

“Yes. Something came up, probably his wife. I guess I'll just have to finish my drink and go home.”

“May I make a suggestion?” he continued, flashing me a devastating smile, “I'm dining alone myself and I would be glad of the company if you would consider it?”

“That's very kind of you,” I replied, keeping up that 'slightly too deep for a woman' voice, “But I couldn't possibly.....”

“It would be my pleasure,” he countered.

“It's very kind of you,” I hesitated, “but I have to tell you — I'm not exactly like most of the women you meet.”

He smiled “I think I know what you mean, although I would never have guessed it from looking at you. You are so feminine and charming.”

I laughed. “You'll make me blush. Well, if you are absolutely sure?”

“I'm sure.” was his response, and inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief. He had taken the bait.

“I'm Tom Denman by the way” he added.

We finished our drinks and walked into the restaurant. It was a great meal, and the major was a delightful companion. We chatted about inconsequential things, and I told him I worked in an office on 'The Hill'. He said little about himself and not much about his military service except that he went on assignment from time to time. He managed to give the impression that his work was confidential without actually saying so.

A trio of musicians arrived after we finished the main course and started to play. There was a postage-stamp sized dance floor and Tom asked me if I'd like to dance. Yes I would, so he took me in his arms and we slowly circled the dance floor. Very slowly he drew me closer to him, and I could feel that he was definitely responding to my charms. I did not pull away and so tacitly acknowledged a mutual attraction.

We returned to our table for desert, and a glass of liqueur. By now we were holding hands over the table, and I was not in the least surprised at his next move.

“I know this sounds kind of corny,” he began “but the view of the city lights from my room on the eighteenth floor is truly amazing.”

I smiled at him “I'd love to see that.”

“I hoped you might.” he said.

We headed to the elevator. When it arrived it was empty, and by the time the trip was half over, our lips were locked together and my body pulled hard against his.

We almost fell through the door of his room, and as soon as it was closed, he pressed me up against the wall and our thighs were grinding together. When we parted lips, gasping for air, I turned around and he grasped the zip of my dress and pulled it down. I stepped out of the dress and laid it over a chair and when I turned back to him, he had already kicked his shoes off and was unbuttoning his shirt. He stared at me standing there in my black slip and gasped “I want you!”

I knew what he wanted, what any man wants. I slid to my knees and I reached for his belt to unfasten it and then unbuttoned his pants. His boxers quickly followed and his manhood was in my hands and quivering. My lips and tongue quickly followed and he moaned with pleasure as did I. I couldn't honestly say it was all acting — he was a very attractive man and a bit larger than average. He certainly wasn't acting, that was all too obvious. His fingers entwined in my hair, and after a while he pulled me to my feet, somehow managed to step out of his pants, and kissing deeply again we found our way to the bedroom. Like every other man I've had, he didn't remove my lingerie, I think they all find it more exciting that way — it maintains the illusion that I'm female — well almost. Every military man is taught to anticipate his next move, and he was no different. He was gone for only a few seconds and then he returned fully prepared. I was lying on my back on the bed. and he towered above me, breathing hard. He lifted my legs over his shoulders and in seconds I felt him slide deep inside me. I clamped my legs around his back as I felt the force of his desire. Our two bodies writhed on the bed as we gave way to animal passion, and I forgot about everything except this man and what we were doing to each other. All too soon I felt his body shuddering as he reached a climax to match my own.

Afterwards we lay together on the bed, hearts racing and breath coming in huge gasps. It is my experience that this is when a man wants to talk. Lying next to his conquest, he feels ten foot tall. I gently stroked his body as I told him that it was the best I'd ever had.

“I'm guessing I'm not your first special girl?” I said.

“Well I've been in the Philippines recently. “ he replied.

“Oh yes, they have some pretty girls there I've heard.”

“Pretty, yes, but not as sexy as you. There was one in particular.....” his voice trailed away.

“Yes?” I prompted. A cloud seemed to pass over his face.

“She asked too many questions,” he said quietly, then changed the subject. “What about you? Have you had many men?”

“It's Washington,” I replied, “Men away from their families. You'd be surprised — congressmen, judges, senior military men. Some seem to think because I'm not genetic, they're not really being unfaithful.”

“Ever have any trouble?”

“Just once,” I replied “He talked a lot — amazing stuff - secrets he shouldn't have told me. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It went all the way up to the top. Then the next day he rang and threatened me. Some of that stuff could easily bring down the government, so I wrote it all down and left it with a friend. I told her to send it to the newspapers if I ever had an 'accident'. Then I told him. He didn't trouble me again.”

Tom looked at me with a curious expression.

“So if you have an accident, all that stuff goes to the press and the government falls?”

“I guess.”

His look was quite frightening now.

“Did it occur to you that it wasn't the smartest thing to tell me that?”

“But you're in the American military,” I protested.

“Yes I am, aren't I?” he replied. Then he sneered “What a little fool you are. That doesn't stop me working for the other side.”

I contrived to look shocked. At that moment there was a knock on the door of the suite and a voice called out “Room service.”

Tom scowled. “I didn't order room service.” The knock was repeated. With a muttered oath he got out of bed and grabbed a robe.

“You stay there!” he ordered. “Don't move and don't make a sound.”

I heard the door open, the shouts and the scuffle. Tom Denman was a strong man, and I barely had time to pull the sheet up over me before his head appeared in the doorway as two other men hauled him back.

“You bitch! You set me up!” he snarled before he was dragged away, still swearing loudly.

'Well I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,' I thought to myself, 'Where you're going you'll have a lifetime to remember it, that's if they don't send you to the chair.'

Despite my experience, I confess that it had been a bit scary. I was still shaking when a handsome young guy in military uniform appear in the doorway.

“Are you OK?” He looked concerned.

“The Seventh Cavalry! You made it in the nick of time. Thank goodness for the wire transmitter in my bra,” I smiled. I teach karate in my spare time but he didn't need to know that. “Can you give me some privacy please?”

“Oh sure.” He grinned and stood in the doorway with his back to me as I slipped out of the bed and found my panties. I straightened my slip and stepped into my dress, pulling it up.

“Can you help me with the zip please?” Why does it never occur to men that we can manage zips quite well when we are on our own!

I felt his warm breath on my neck as he pulled up with zip, very slowly. I turned to him and smiled and then I staggered slightly. It's the oldest female trick in the book but it never fails. He caught me in strong arms and held me close to him for slightly longer than was strictly necessary, but I made no effort to pull away. Then he carefully guided me to sit down on the bed, sitting beside me with his arm around me. I was shaking, but not for the reason he thought. I'd just had a vision in my mind of how he'd look naked, and I couldn't wait to see if I was right.

“I don't know what came over me,” I said in a trembling voice, “It's the shock I guess. It was getting a bit unnerving before you guys came.”

“I know. I was in the listening post down the corridor until a few seconds before we knocked. I heard everything.”

“Everything?” I turned to him with my eyebrows raised and a half smile. I hoped I was blushing — I felt like I was.

He smiled but didn't reply. Instead he reached into a pocket and pulling out a piece of paper, and wrote down a phone number.

“In case you need some extra debriefing,” he explained. I smiled I as slipped it into my purse and let him lead me out of the room.

'Debriefing huh?' I thought to myself, 'Now that conjures up all sorts of images.'

The day was getting better and better.

The Nugget

Author:

Audience Rating:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Publication:

Fiction

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Other Keywords:

Brothel

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Nugget

by Lisa Green

Cleo thought nothing could surprise her when working at the brothel, but sometimes the past catches up with you in the strangest of places.

I was reading a paperback romance in my comfortable chair beside the bed when the telephone on the small table beside me purred softly.

“Cleo? Your next gentleman has arrived and he’s currently having a shower. He’ll be with you in 5 minutes. His name is Reg.”

It was the Madam of the Golden Palace, and I thanked her and replaced the receiver. I walked over to my dressing table and checked my hair and makeup. I was wearing sheer black nylons attached to a black satin suspender belt, black satin panties pulled on over the suspenders, a black lace bra and a pretty full-length black satin slip with French lace around the bust and hem. My feet were slipped into black pumps with 5 inch heels. Standard ‘working girl’ attire I suppose you could say.

This building was very comfortable thanks to the air conditioning but it had been another blisteringly hot day. That is why the gentlemen who patronised the establishment were asked to shower, to wash off the sweat and dust of a day’s work before meeting us. Body odour can be such a turn-off.

I turned as there was a soft knock on the door that led to the adjoining bathroom.
“Come in,” I said and a man clad only in a towel around his waist walked into the room. In my line of work, being a good actress and the ability to conceal one’s true feelings can be an advantage and I needed both talents at that moment. You see I knew the man and his name wasn’t Reg at all, it was John. True it was five years since I last saw him, but his body was as taut and lithe as ever and the only difference I could see was flecks of grey in his hair. He didn’t recognise me, and why should he? The last time he had seen me I was a guy called Rick and we were partners in a gold prospecting venture about 300 miles north of where we now stood in a brothel in the mining town of Kalgoorlie in Western Australia.

We had both been drifters who had somehow arrived in this remote town and we’d met in one of the local bars. Where else can you go in a remote mining town, apart from the brothels of course! John had been looking for a partner to help him search for gold in the area for which he had purchased a license, and I had some cash and was looking to make more, so it suited us both. I bought a half share of the license, and we had set off a few days later with high hopes and a battered old truck loaded with picks, shovels and a tent, plus stores, water and the obligatory slabs of beer.

We worked hard for weeks, back-breaking work in the hot sun from daybreak to dusk. At first the signs looked good. We found some gold; not a lot it’s true but enough so that we were encouraged to keep going. Every week or so we headed to a tiny settlement an hour’s drive away, just a pub and store really, where we used the gold to purchase more provisions and banked the little that was over.

It’s true what they say about ‘gold fever’. Each little find drives you on and makes you think that one more strike of your pick in the hard ground will lead you to find another
‘Welcome Stranger’ the largest gold nugget ever found, back in 1869. Plenty of sizeable although smaller nuggets have been found right up to the present day and who knows what still lies hidden in the ground? Gradually however our enthusiasm dampened as days passed by and still we found little more than enough to buy our provisions. I was finding it harder than John and there were reasons for this. From my early teens I had been struggling with the sense that I had been born in the wrong body. Try as I might to put these feelings to the back of my mind they still continued to resurface. I over-compensated of course by choosing the roughest and most masculine occupations I could find but still they would not go away. As a teenager I had worn my mother’s underwear on every occasion I could manage and while it felt ‘right’, it was not enough for me. I wanted to be more than a cross-dresser; I wanted to be a woman.

Seeing John walk around naked in our remote camp site after a plunge in the local waterhole after a day’s work was particularly hard. I found it difficult not to look at his hard male body and lust after him. I knew I wasn’t gay; I just wanted to be his woman. Of course I could not let the slightest hint of this out for it would have made our current partnership impossible. Sleeping in the same tent only made matters worse and I think he could see I was more withdrawn and didn’t know what was causing it.

Relief came in the form of a letter from my sister saying that Mum was not well and could I return to Sydney? I told John about it and said that since I couldn’t tell when I might be back and since the site barely made enough money for one person let alone two, I would sign over my half to him and maybe if he ever had a big find he could pay me back. A few days later we parted on good terms and I flew back to Sydney.

Mum improved but I had another reason for staying in Sydney. I had decided that it was now or never and went to see some specialist doctors to resolve my dilemma about my identity. Don’t let anyone tell you that being transgender is easy. People who know joke that it takes balls to get rid of them, and they’re right. You have to go through so many examinations and talk about your innermost feelings and I guess that’s reasonable for you are proposing to take an irrevocable step. You have to live as a woman for a couple of years and in the early days it’s not so easy because you don’t look entirely feminine and people may stare or make hurtful remarks, but you have to take it and soldier on.

Gradually, with various treatments I became more passable, and the sniggers and stares stopped as people ceased to notice me. It was the happiest day of my life when I finally went for that surgery which would make my body match my mind. Over the following weeks the discomfort gradually eased as I grew used to life as a complete woman. Only one thing remained for me to satisfy myself that my change was complete.

His name was Gary and he was a barman at a local hotel where I had got in the habit of calling for a drink in the evenings over the past couple of years. He knew all about me but he was wonderfully understanding. Every girl need a shoulder to cry on I guess. We chatted and flirted and one day he asked me out for a day at the races. I spent almost the last of my money on a new silk dress for the occasion. It was soft pastel hues, so floaty and feminine and I wore it with 5inch heels and an elegant hat. We had a great time. I even won $300 dollars on a hunch bet which shouldn’t have come in but did. When Gary drove me home, I asked him in for coffee and ‘the rest is history’ as the old cliché goes. That moment when he took me to bed and I finally felt how it was to make love as a woman made the hard journey all worthwhile.

By this time I was broke and finding a job was essential. Not everyone will approve of my next move I know. I wasn’t qualified for anything, but I could have got a job in a bar serving drinks or some other ‘respectable’ job. What that night with Gary had proved to me was that I loved sex now that I had become a woman, and when an advert for a ‘gentleman’s club’ caught my eye, I thought ‘Why not?’ It was a very up market establishment, well run and safe with a superior clientele. Soon I was earning a very nice income and not exactly having to work hard for it. Of course a girl has to look after her appearance but I just loved that side of being a woman anyway, especially buying lovely feminine clothes. The experience of pulling sheer nylon stockings up my newly shaved legs never failed to give me a sensual thrill. The feel of silk and nylon lingerie against my skin or the feel of the breeze on my legs as I walked down the street wearing a pretty dress, were things I had longed for for so many years and now I could indulge myself in them all. I had a nice apartment and a sporty little car and life was good.

One thing happened a couple of years after my transition. I hadn’t really thought much about John, my old gold-mining partner until I saw a small article in the paper headed “Finds Spark Mini Gold Rush’. There was a picture of a smiling John holding a very respectable nugget, and the story of how he had finally struck it rich. I was happy that he had had success at last, he deserved it. Anyway, I was hardly going to come out and claim my share with all the attendant tabloid publicity that might bring. I had seen what the gutter press could do to people in my position. As far as I was concerned, that was my past life and a closed book.

I guess I might have stayed on in Sydney indefinitely if it hadn’t been from an unpleasant incident where I was mugged one night. It was my fault, taking a shortcut down an alley-way in a less than salubrious part of town. The moment I felt the arms around my body and a voice hissing in my ear “OK lady, just let me have your bag and no-one gets hurt.” I knew I had been a damn fool. I let the bag go and apart from a few bruises I was unscathed, but then of course there was all the inconvenience of cancelling cards and changing the locks at my apartment, and I decided maybe it was time for a change of scenery. I spoke to the Madam the next day and she was most understanding of my need for time out. She mentioned a friend who ran a brothel in Kalgoorlie and offered to give her a call. I felt a strange feeling in my stomach at the thought of returning to a place I had known so well, but I thought ‘Why not?’ and so it was arranged. Two days later I was on the train heading out of Sydney.

So that’s how I came to be standing in a room with a guy whose body I had lusted over five years previously and which I was finally going to enjoy after all. I moved towards him with a practised smile, seeing his eyes gliding over my body as I purred “It seems that this is my lucky day.”

“Mine too” he replied as I gently ran my fingers over the muscles of his chest, feeling them quiver in response. He reached out and cupped my breasts in his hands, feeling my hardening nipples and smiled. I reached down for the towel and freed it up to drop to the floor and then he was in my hand, already responding to my touch. ‘Oh yes!’ I thought ‘I’m really going to enjoy this moment.’ I tilted up my face and started to kiss him, while working on him, feeling him quiver and jerk under my touch. His hands were now around my ass, squeezing me through the satin slip and drawing me closer to him. Our tongues were now playing and my own desire was rising to meet his.

I sank to my knees and took him in my mouth. Ok, this was strictly against normal rules, but I didn’t care, I just wanted to taste him. His fingers were in my hair as I flicked my tongue over the taut smooth flesh and his moans of pleasure vibrated through his body. I knew exactly how far I should go because I didn’t intend it to end this way. I slowly rose to my feet and lifted the slip up over my head and threw it aside. Then I unfastened my bra and let my breasts hang free. John was standing there, his chest heaving, his manhood rampant, almost purple in color and quiveringly erect.

“Come here tiger,” I gasped drawing him to me. With a practiced hand I slipped a condom onto his manhood, then slid my panties down and off and lay back on the bed. In an instant he was between my legs and I arched my back as his full length slid deep within me. Any working girl will tell you there are times when you have to do a little play-acting, but not me on this occasion. All my moans and squeals as I matched his thrusts were totally genuine. It was hard to stop myself crying out his real name as I clamped my legs around his hard body and my nails raked his back. Faster and faster he thrust until I felt his body tense and then explode into my own body shuddering in climax as I met him in that magical moment. We lay on the bed together panting, our hearts pounding for quite a while until we came down from that high.

“You really felt that didn’t you?” John gasped. I nodded, still gasping for air.

“As much as you did,” I replied. I wondered if I’d been too open with my feelings. Working girls aren’t supposed to get so caught up in the moment. I saw a change in his expression and thought I knew what was coming but I was prepared.

“It’s funny,” he began “but you remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Who was she?” I replied but I knew what his answer would be.

“That’s the odd thing; it wasn’t a woman but a man I knew years ago.”

I managed to look surprised and then played my trump card.

“Maybe you met my brother. He was prospecting for gold here about five or six years ago. His name was Rick Jones.” John’s face brightened.

“That’s it!” he replied. “He went back to Sydney and we lost touch. How is he now?”

"I’m sorry to tell you he’s no longer with us.” I replied, seriously. Well in a way that was true.

“He prospected with another guy for a while but they didn’t have much luck. I think it was a Jack or John, I’m not really sure. Anyway it’s all in the past now.” I reached down and felt for him again and he grinned as he felt my fingers working their magic on him. It didn’t take long to get him ready for another encounter, and I quickly whipped off the used condom and replaced it with a fresh one. Then I pushed him on his back and straddled him, lowering myself onto him and riding him, my breasts swinging above his face as he bucked like a bronco, but this lasted for a lot longer than a standard ten second bronco ride and no way was I going to fall off! We both climaxed again, almost as hard as the first time.

After that he went for a shower, but not before promising me he’d come to see me again before he left town.

A few days later I entered the front door of the brothel ready for my session and walked up to the reception desk where Sophie was sorting through paperwork. I asked about my bookings, rather hoping that “Reg” was among them but he wasn’t.

“Oh, this came for you,” she said and used both hands to lift a box about the size of a house brick. “I don’t know what it is but it weighs a ton.”

I was curious. The package was amazingly heavy for its size. I carried it to my room and closed the door before opening it. Then I sat down, or more accurately my legs gave way and I collapsed into a chair as I gazed at the gold nugget that filled the box. For a long time I stared at it, and then I noticed a small slip of paper tucked in beside it. It was signed ‘John — alias Reg’ and was very short, just three words with the last word underlined. All it said was ‘Thanks for everything’.