I loved the money. And I was good at it. I’m good at everything I try more than once, and I had most definitely tried sex more than once. We all have our talents, our God-given skills, the instruments that produce our purpose whether it be good or bad. Sex was my instrument. It wasn’t all I had, but it was the skill I had chosen to perfect.

But I knew better than to become some common street whore. I still felt as though I was above that, no matter how morally repugnant the masses find my line of work. I deal with the wealthy, the uptight “gentlemen” in their stifling suits and pictures of their crumbling families inside their thick wallets. I deal with the type of man who sobs after he receives a blowjob because he knows it will happen again and eventually—maybe not immediately, but almost certainly—his wife will find out. I deal with the type of man who’s arrogant enough to believe he deserves me at least one night a week simply as a reward for all the late-nights he spends in the office he made sure was large enough to over-compensate for what he lacked elsewhere. I give them something they can’t find on the streets of L.A. at two in the morning or from a hole sawed into some splintery rectangle of wood which despite its name is usually far from glorious. I give them class. I look like I belong at the upscale hotels where they take me for an hour of whatever they can afford. Their desires aren’t being fulfilled by someone whose personal desire is for drugs. I have no habits unless shopping qualifies. I’m not a radical feminist looking to reclaim some primal, feminine act. I’m simply a girl who recognized her talents and learned how to make a profit off of every single one of them.

My name—Spencer Carlin—seemed to get whispered enough on the top floor of office buildings and in the corners of cocktail and prescription parties to earn me a reputation as one of the best. I was discrete, attractive, and very, very good. I knew that it wouldn’t take long for me to reach my goal. Yes, I had a goal. Believe it or not. And that goal was to become one of them. One of his. I wanted to join the Dennison House.