Chapter 2: A New Profession

I had no posing briefs and always wore knit boxers. So like a good little whore-to-be I showered, dried off and put on fresh boxer shorts. On went the offensive "swallow" tee shirt and tight jeans. I climbed on my Harley and putted slowly to the address on the referral card. It turned out to be an old, newly renovated mansion. The rest of the neighborhood was made up of the gentrified old mansions and new apartment buildings. The businesses were mostly shops of the "boutique" variety. Signs in the windows offered rare coins, Linda's sheer lingerie for "those brief encounters" one sign read. The next store's sign proclaimed "Objets d' Arte." Oh well...

I shrugged, parked and hesitantly walked up the sidewalk toward the small innocuous brass sign on the wrought iron gate that discreetly said, "Tiffany's." I pushed the well-oiled gate open and tried the front door. It was locked. I pressed the large old-fashioned doorbell button. Stately sounding chimes played the opening bars of a Chopin waltz. Classy, was the thought that wandered through my mind ... A well-preserved and still famous face peered out through the curtained window. There was a click and the door opened. I met in person for the first time the woman who had been my dad's dream girl.

I was standing face to face with Tiffany Glass. And yes that was her real name. She claimed her father was a Jew with a warped sense of humor. Although born to wealth, she was a rebel who shocked and titillated the nation as the perpetrator of a half dozen sex scandals, then became famous all over again in later years when she publicly referred to Monica Lewinsky as "a no talent cock sucker." After that, she disappeared from the public eye. My dad had scrapbooks full of her newspaper clippings. Mom threatened to burn them many times but never did.

"Hello, Miss Glass. My name is Charles Harwood. I am here about." I got no further.

She interrupted me, "You're Super Cock, according to that dyke at the employment service." She stood back so I could enter. "Come on in and let's see what you got."

"Where do you want me to go?" I asked her as she waved me ahead of her.

"Juanita!" she yelled, "Come into the dining room I need you to give another fluff job!"

"Si," a voice called from somewhere in the depths of the house.

The dining room turned out to be three rooms made into one. It was huge. The burgundy and cream flocked wallpaper was reminiscent of a movie set for a high-class whorehouse or a pre Civil War New Orleans gentleman's club. Three great crystal chandeliers ran evenly spaced down the center of the room. Small tables were scattered throughout the place, four chairs at each. The tables were heavy, black wrought iron with marble tops and the chairs were good copies of Chippendale. A small raised stage dominated one end of the room. As I found out that evening, a trio played Chopin, Debussy and other soft music during the dinner hour. After ten they played jazz. They were quite good.

A cute little Hispanic in a maid's uniform came bustling up. Tiffany Glass came up behind me. "Drop your pants and let Juanita fluff you," she ordered.

"Wait a minute, I don't like kinky stuff. What's 'fluff?' I never heard of that before." I waited for an answer before I unbuckled anything.

"Not to worry, boy chick," she laughed at me. "Juanita will merely suck you hard. That's not too awfully kinky I hope." She gave me a mocking grin.

"Oh, okay." I removed my shirt and folded it over the back of a chair. I kicked off my loafers. They got shoved aside as I removed my jeans. My cock peeked out the bottom of my knit boxers as I stood on one foot and removed a leg from my jeans.

I turned as I dropped the boxers so Tiffany would see what I had. Her eyes lit up and she said reverently, "Houston, we do not have a problem."

Juanita stepped around in front of me, took one look at what I was packing and exclaimed, "Holy sheet! Then she silently took me in her mouth. I stiffened up almost immediately. She came up for air and looked at her boss. Tiffany nodded and waved her to leave.

"How long?" she asked me.

"Some times it gets to be a little over twelve inches when it's real hard." I asked her, "Am I hired?"

"Oh yes indeed, that you are. In fact, I shall place a few pictures of you up in the entryway. Can you start this evening at dinnertime? I want you to wait tables for starters to see how you mix with the customers. I have a hunch you'll do all right. Get dressed and go home. Be back here at seven o'clock for the early diners."

"What do I wear?" I asked her.

"Those cute little skivvies with the show and tell legs will be just fine. Ta." She walked sedately away, leaving me to put my clothes back on. Again I felt a strong kinship to Alice in Wonderland right then. Paris Hilton could never get this weird. As soon as I was dressed and out of there I rode home. Suddenly it dawned on me, I had a good chance to save my condo.

At that time I was twenty-two years old. I had worked five years for my old company and saved enough money to put a down payment on a condo. The car and motorcycle came a little later. I was not anxious to spend my evenings being groped by homely, fat old women, but I decided I could put up with a lot if it would save my three major possessions.

To me the condo symbolized stability in my life because it told the world I owned my own home. My Harley expressed my love of adventure and freedom. The antique MGA sports car with the ragtop was my status symbol. I went home, napped for three hours, and reported for "work" as a dining room waiter serving love starved old women.

Woops, my first assumption was wrong. After I stripped down to my knit boxer briefs and tied an apron around my waist. I walked out into the dining room. Michael, the maitre d' permitted me to lead my first customers to their table.

I felt very self-conscious as three nice looking women in their mid-thirties followed me. They all three wore wedding bands on the appropriate fingers. I seated them with a smile, placed the menus in front of them and backed away and got groped for the first time by an aggressive, not-too-bad-looking woman in her twenties. "Nice legs," she said as she patted my ass. I felt very cheap and resentful as I smiled and turned away.

Michael grinned as he saw my blazing red face. "I see you met Peggy. She's a regular who tips well."

"Well, she can keep her fucking hands to herself," I grumbled.

"Look, Chucky, you better get used to it. It's all a part of the service. I thought Tiffany told you that gropes and more are all a part of the service here." His face hardened, "If you can't cut it, go home now. We keep the customers happy."

It was hard to swallow my angry retort. When the next two diners were seated, I returned to the first table to take their orders and hurried to the kitchen. From then until a little after ten o'clock I suffered the indignities of having my ass patted a few times and had more than a few offers of quick sex. I smiled insincerely and went about my duties. Then Michael said, "You serve drinks for the rest of the evening. John called in sick. Take off your apron." He handed me, of all things, a black bow tie. It truly made a fashion statement as it clashed with my "Good Girls Swallow" tee shirt and my black knit boxers.

Then I learned what misery really was. The drinkers were ten times worse. "What is that bulge I see?" one fortyish woman asked.

Her companion, a prematurely gray, slightly older woman, said, "Padding. He ought to be sued for false advertising."

"Good evening, ladies," I smiled at them, "What may I serve you?"

"You can start by showing us if that thing is real or not," the first one said, ignoring my question. She grabbed the leg of my briefs and tugged it up, baring the tip of my cock. In a poor imitation of Doctor Frankenstein she exclaimed, "Will you look at that thing? It's alive, alive I tell you!"

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed and jumped a step back. I was embarrassed and humiliated at the way those crazy women acted.

"Did you name that python 'Monty, ' or something else?" the first female asked. Then they settled down and placed their orders. I hurried away from their table as fast as I could. I did not realize the head of my cock was still hanging down below the pulled up leg. Applause and laughter from the women drinkers followed me to the bar.

A customer followed me from her table. She was slightly loaded. "Here, let me tuck it back in," she said. She grabbed the leg of my briefs and pulled it up higher. That brought on another round of applause and cheers from the depraved female customers. I had heard of these places and the women who frequented them. This was my first experience with them. That night I learned that women get as wild as men do at a Shriners' convention.