"Once I got my first client into my room and felt the silk camisole slip from my body, I was committed. This stranger was going to fuck me. I was actually going through with it and it turned me on."

Part Three: A Matter of Choice

Bryan picked me up from the airport in his work jacket and tie. He made it clear that any problem he had with my job, he was over it. He talked dirty the whole way to our apartment, and I reached inside his pants while he drove. It'd been awhile, and he reacted instantly. As much as I liked the sex in Carson City, I hadn't felt quite like this in awhile. I needed him in a bad way, and I went down on him in the car.

Somehow, we made it home in one piece and left the luggage outside. I had Bryan on the floor almost before I could kick our door shut. Sure, I'd had a lot of sex in the past few weeks. And although good, it's still not the same. I wanted my man. I wanted his scent and the taste of his skin on my lips. I wanted to leave him half-dead on the carpet and looking like he wouldn't recover for hours. And yes, I wanted to show him a few things I'd learned on the job.

Later, we lay in each other's arms and talked. The smell of sex and sweat surrounded us, and it felt good to be home. I told Bryan about my orgasms on the job, and I was surprised so see him smile slyly and congratulate me.

"I knew you'd have fun," he said. Already, I felt him growing against my side. The night wasn't over just yet.

Not that everything was easy. Over the ensuing days, we talked a lot. Never about specific clients -- we ladies know the importance of client privilege and privacy, even if our sometimes government doesn't! But we did talk about my job. I considered going back. After all, the money was good, the sex was good, and I wanted time to write without a regular 9-5. Bryan seemed okay with the idea. That is, until he realized that my job wasn't all about screwing. Sometimes, clients talked afterwards. Often, for hours.

"What?" I remember Bryan asking. "In bed?"

Well, I couldn't very well run down the hall and leave the gentleman like he'd turned into a leper at climax! I told Bryan as much, and the conversation went downhill from there.

Popular wisdom states that men have an easier time than women in separating sex from emotion. I've always questioned this wisdom. Something closer to the truth is that women enjoy sex to the fullest when there is a strong emotional aspect. Unlike many guys, we rarely define the quality of sex by the attractiveness of our partner or how many positions we talk him into. Bryan understood this. But in his eyes, I'd crossed a thin line. I'd done something more intimate than screwing.

I'd stuck around afterwards.

"It's like nothing is left just for us," he said, "Why even bother being together?"

"Because I want to be." I told him. "I choose to be with you."

Yes, the exchange with my clients is intimate. But there are many shades of intimacy. Sometimes two actions can look the same, but it's what we feel that makes all the difference. I never deny that I care for my clients. It's when we deny caring that we set ourselves up for emotional confusion and lies. Not just prostitutes. I mean, anybody. It took a few days and a lot of talking, but Bryan started to understand this.

I eventually returned to the Moonlite Bunnyranch, and I continue to work there with my new friends for one week of each month. Not because Bryan and I resolved every issue. The truth is, we'd have things to sort out no matter what my occupation. Complacency for us is something like death. We seek happiness, and happiness is something no one can ever own. It's something you chase, and there's no telling what new pleasures you'll find along the way. My job at the Bunnyranch has enhanced our sex lives. My first all-girl video, Slumber Party 9, just came out not too long ago, and Bryan is dying to see his gal in action. More than that, my time at the Moonlite has helped us understand what makes our chemistry unique, and to appreciate it.

One final note. Bryan becomes more curious about my co-workers as time goes on. He calls twice a day while I'm there, and he loves when one of the popular vixens answers the telephone. He's been asking about one of the girls in particular, a sultry lady I've had my eye on for awhile. Maybe it's only a matter of time before I watch the bedroom door close behind him and he learns all about moonlighting. It's a matter of choice. He'll have the time of his life and still come home to me.

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