The BigBaby Sitter s Club

Part One: Coming Together

Just like the real Babysitters Club (the one in the books, I mean), our version had a list of unbreakable Rules, but ours was, uh, kind of more serious. We started with eight. Here they are: 1) No alcohol, ever! 2) Always condoms! 3) Dress like a kid. Nothing too provocative. 4) No motels. They re skeevy and it looks suspicious. 5) Only you and him in the house. 6) No photos! No matter how much money he offers. It s way way too dangerous for the both of you. 7) Get the money up front. 8) If he does something the least bit weird or scary, TELL ALL OF US AT ONCE!

Later we added four more: 9) Use the bus. If you can t, get Taleb to drive you. 10) Never get in a guy s car. 11) Never cut school for a visit. It starts a chain of investigations that won t end well. 12) Use lube. When we run out, we can get more from Amazon. They won t raise their eyebrows because we re 13. Of course, some things were too basic to be in a Rule. "Hide the cash from your parents. " Also, "Keep your grades up or quit. "

How did it get started? And how did we get away with it for a year and a half? Well, to began, with all four of us really were babysitters. Occasionally we had to watch some children, either to keep up appearances or out of a family obligation. All of us had one or two of the books, which were forced on us by our teachers, our parents and society in general. After being bored nearly to death, we stopped reading them. We called our little group the "Babysitter s Club" out of irony. At first. Later when we realized that most of our men were just big, whiny babies at heart, we changed our name to The BigBaby Sitters Club.

A woman named Tracy Quan has written very honestly about her career as a call girl, mostly in New York City. Some of her memoirs are on Salon. com, although she doesn t write for them any more. (I can see why they wanted her. The rest of the site is all about the most boring politics ever. ) In one of her articles she says, "My first trick was a babysitter s prank. " In "The education of a prostitute" she describes how it went down. A neighbor who was a college professor offered to "initiate" her. She wasn t attracted to him so she said no. After she found a boyfriend and had her hymen done up properly, she went back to the professor and offered him her body if he would pay her. Elsewhere, she says how "cold – hearted" a little girl can be when taking advantage of a grown man s lust. She tells the story several times in different articles She never once says she regretted any of it.

It happened that way to me, too, although Tracy had an advantage over me. At age ten, she found a copy of The Happy Hooker in the garage, read it and immediately decided to become a prostitute. Now that s planning! I never heard of Hooker until I read about it in Tracy s articles. I had to buy my copy used from Amazon, $14. 50 plus shipping, with pages about to fall out. (Never buy erotica used. It s been thumbed too much. At least I didn t find any weird stains. ) "Mr. L" was a big – shot lawyer. He lived a block from my parent s house and had known me all my life. He traveled a lot, and I walked and fed his dogs. For that reason, I had a key to his house. One day when I showed up to get paid, he offered to "initiate" me. He said an older man would know what he was doing and keep me "safe" during this "special moment". Mr. L was chubby, had a bald spot and giant pores. No thank you, sir.

Good choice, because I met Karl soon after. He was 19 and I was 13, so I guess technically he was the "older man" who made me feel "safe". He also understood the mysteries of the female orgasm, and I think he really loved me. I know he cared about me. So, a couple of weeks after my "initiation", Karl was out of town and there I was in Mr. L s house again. I told him I was no longer a virgin and offered to have sex with him if he d wear a condom and pay me $100. I forget why I wanted the money. I probably just wanted some cash in my pocket when I hung out in the mall. I had my "cold – hearted" moment, just like Tracy (who by the way is my role model and inspiration, as well as being the coolest person ever). Because he was so much larger than me (big as in taller and big as in portly), we worked it out that he would sit in his bedroom recliner and I would sit in his lap. Later I discovered that this reduces the stimulation on the man s penis and makes for a longer visit. It did take longer for him than it took with Karl. At the time, I just assumed that it was because he was older. Well, maybe that too.

As we were "assuming our positions", Mr L said he was worried about hurting my 13 – year – old vagina, so he wanted me good and wet. He fingered me until I began flowing. Nice. Considerate. When he penetrated me I realized he had some other good points. Now I understood the phrase, "Girth, not length. " Did I have an orgasm? No. Was it pleasant? More than I expected. Was it worth it? Oh, Hell yes! I was up a hundred dollars and felt so sophisticated.

I was in a middle – school "enrichment program" that summer, but it let out at 2:45, after which I was supposed to walk home. But as long as I answered my parent s phone calls and texts right away, they never knew where I really was. Thursday became Mr. L Day; he could always find a way to be absent from the office. I started doing some light gardening for him, so I d have an excuse if anybody saw me entering or leaving his house. Planning! (He paid me for the gardening. )

Let s jump ahead four weeks, to the end of June. One day while I was hanging out at the mall with Claire (blonde, tall) she asked me how come I was always able to pick up the check, buy makeup and purchase bras and tops that I could never wear around Mom. I felt pretty giddy about the way my life was going, with Karl for my body and Mr. L for my purse. Obviously, you don t want to mess a good thing like that up, right? Be discreet! But I got reckless – and told her.

She was stunned into silence. She just sat there on the bench in the Food Court, drinking her milk shake and not making eye contact. I started to worry that she would go running off to her parents or the police, when she finally spoke. "Just like Morrisey. "

"What the Hell do you mean, just like Morrisey ?"

"She s having sex for money, too. And you ll never believe who she does it with. Susannah s Dad! Every week!"

"Susannah s Dad? I don t believe it!"

"It s true. Susannah herself told me. Mr. Branch got her to ask Morrisey about it. She s in and out of their house anyway. And let s face it, Morrisey s the prettiest of us. Also, her father ran out on her, remember? And her mother doesn t make much money. "

"But why would Susannah do such a thing?"

Claire shrugged. "She loves her Dad. But not enough to have sex with him. He wants a young girl, so it might as well be Morrisey, who needs the money. Morrisey told me she doesn t get off on the sex, but she goes home and plays with herself and she has big – time orgasms. It s the naughty thrill that does it. "

"Wow. Does Mr Branch treat her well?"

"She says so. "

"I didn t even know Morrisey wasn t a virgin any more. What about you?"

"For now, " Claire said, "but maybe not for much longer. "

"Who?" I demanded.

"That s private!"

"Use contraception, " I told her.

"Oh, I know to do that!"

"We need to get everybody together. "

"Why?"

"Because we re sitting on a gold mine here, " I said. "The world is full of older men with money, and they all want to have sex with young girls, whatever they say. We just need to figure out how to do it safely. "

Part Two: Getting Organized

Scene: the next day, 4:00, my parents basement. Cast: Me (Alanna, brunette), Morrisey (curly black), Susannah (blonde – red) and Claire (who I already told you was blonde).

"Morrisey, are you happy just earning what Mr. Branch pays you?" I asked.

"I need more, " she admitted.

"Susannah, I know you re not a virgin. How do you feel about sex with strangers?"

"I ll get used to it. "

"And Claire, " I said, "if you want in, you ve got to put your boyfriend on a schedule for your first time. We won t wait forever. Are you in?"

"Yeah. I mean, if I have anxiety, I can take an extra Xanax. But how can we do it safely?" Claire asked.

That s what was on everybody s mind. I m kind of a techie, so I had a plan. "You can t hide from your parents the fact that you re getting and sending texts. Texts are not safe for us. We ll use Protonmail. com, an encrypted browser – based ultra – private free email service based in Switzerland. Everybody needs to download a browser that isn t the default one on your phone. Use that browser only to communicate with the rest of us and our men. Don t save your password. Don t bookmark Protonmail. Delete cookies every couple of days. You don t need to save your emails locally; we ll leave them on the server – in Switzerland. There won t be anything on your phone to give us any trouble if someone looks, just a browser that you apparently don t use. "

So, okay, I had to explain it a couple of times more, and help the others set up their accounts, but when it was all in place it was flawlessly secure. CIA, I m looking for a part – time job I can schedule around my my grad school classes. Call me.

"How do we find the guys?" Clair asked.

"I m still working on that, " I said. I realize now that I was setting myself up to be the Madam, except that I wasn t taking a cut from everybody s money. "We aren t going to do Craigslist, or Backpage or anything like that. Too risky. Girls get killed by guys using using Craigslist. And we won t hang out in chatrooms, either. They re full of cops. We ll do a lot of research, identify single and separated men with money and approach them discreetly. And you know those friends of your dad, who can t take their eyes off you and flirt all the time? That s a lot of guys right there. Our men will communicate with us by Protonmail. As long as nobody downloads any emails, we re covered. Never give out your cell number! You don t need to. "

"Because it isn t safe, " said Claire.

"Yup, it isn t safe. Now, I ve already spoken to Mr. L. He agreed that a little variety will be nice. He also said that a couple of men he knows will be interested. All of us will start seeing him. Morrisey, talk to Mr. Branch. Claire, you and I will see him, starting when your hymen is gone. Also, you know how when you re at the pool, in a swimsuit, and men track you with their eyes? I m going to develop some kind of innocuous business card we can hand out. When you visit your first man, talk to him about the rest of us. Don t be greedy and try to keep him for yourself. We re all in this together. "

We spent the remaining part of the meeting writing and signing The Rules. Claire was in the same "summer enrichment" program as me, so she got out the same time. Nobody ever asked Morrisey where she was. Mr. Branch was in on everything. It would be impossible for Claire and I to sneak out every night, so we designated 4 – 6 as the time to visit our men. My parents never got home from downtown before 6:30, and as long as I answered right away when they called or texted, they never knew where I was. Claire, ditto.

Two days later, I was straddling Mr Branch while elsewhere Susannah sat in Mr. L s lap. Clair and her boyfriend had a date for Saturday, and he had purchased a box of condoms. She wanted to start working right away. Things were coming together! I ll never forget the first man to email us after getting one of our cards at the pool. I emailed him to meet me at the mall beside Victoria s secret. Claire arrived fifteen minutes before I did, to check for cops. When I introduced myself (as "Leah") he did a double take. I don t think he believed he d find a real girl waiting; he expected some kind of scam. Well, a girl doesn t get any realer than me!

At that point we hadn t written the "never get in a man s car" Rule, so he drove us to his apartment. I got the money, waited for him to undress (it s a legal thing), stripped down and unrolled the condom over his penis. Just the sight of me pushing my panties down was enough foreplay for him! I needed more, so I asked him to kiss me while he fingered me. He knew where to find my clitoris, which I now understand that many men don t.

As soon as I was wet, I lay back, opened my thighs and invited him in. I had an orgasm. Partly it was the way he kissed me and caressed my nipples. I didn t have much in the way of breasts (not like Susannah), but his touch on what I did have was better than even Karl. (He had been married, so he damn well should know what to do. ) Needless to say, "Mr. G" became a regular. Eventually, he had all of us, but he emailed me more than anyone. He asked me how my "pimp" treated me. I told him we managed our own Club. I don t think he believed me at first.

Claire’s first client was Mr. Branch and her second was Mr. L. They were known quantities. She had trouble getting wet for Mr. Branch, probably because she couldn t stop thinking of him as Susannah s Dad. Mr. Branch had a bottle of lube and he used it, after which we each obtained a bottle small enough to hide in the bottom of a purse. Her mound was nearly hairless and Mr. L was fascinated by it. He ended up giving her oral, which she never experienced before. She liked it, but didn t have an orgasm.

"Give it time, " I told her.

Clair s first man who was new to us had a small penis. He seemed self – conscious about it. Well, Clair had a very small vagina; they fit together just fine. For the eighteen months we were in business, he saw her and her alone, usually every other week.

Then there was the afternoon a new man asked Susannah to pose for pictures. Nope. He got upset, and she walked out of the visit. He didn t try to stop her, but after that we all carried pepper spray, down at the bottom of our purses, next to the lube. If a mother went rummaging through her daughter s purse, she could just say her boyfriend gave her the spray so she would feel safe. (We only carried the lube bottle when we went out visiting, although sometimes we went to see the man straight from school, so we d hide it in our locker or something. )

Claire was going to suggest sex to one of her Dad s friends, but at the last moment she backed off. He wasn t giving her the right eye contact. I approved. Never come on to someone who might tell your parents. One of Morrisey s men recognized her at the mall. That could have turned into a stalking situation, but it didn t, because he had a crush on her and didn t want to lose his connection. Hooray for common sense!

Mr A was a fun client. He only ever wanted to do 69, usually after giving the girl a breast massage. I orgasmed every time his tongue touched my clitoris. Okay, a visit with him took ninety minutes instead of sixty, but it was worth it.

We only booked a girl to see two men in one afternoon a few times, like when someone was on her period and we needed a girl to cover. Also, we never booked two girls at one time with one man. Susannah s boyfriend broke up with her, and Morrisey was too busy to have one, so I knew they played together sometimes at Mr. Branch s home (which was safe for them, of course). At that time, I had never been touched intimately by another girl, and it wasn t an experience I wanted to try with a coworker. Claire loved getting her clitoris touched so much that I was pretty sure she would try the experiment soon, but so far not.

About Talib: he was a cabbie, born somewhere in the in the Middle East, but he d been here long enough to speak good English. One afternoon when Morrisey was on a visit to a house on the edge of town, the bus never showed. She called a cab company because it was after seven. Taleb arrived. By the time he got her home, he figured everything out. I was afraid he d blackmail us for money or free sex, but he wasn t that kind of guy. He had a hustle, though: he turned the meter off whenever one of us called him. We paid him in cash, with tips, but the cab company never got a penny. I don t know he managed to keep our miles from showing up anywhere in the meter, but he managed it. He became the closest thing we had to the driver for a real New York call girl service. When he dropped off a girl at new man s house, he made sure the guy caught a glimpse of him. Taleb was a sweetheart, but he was also a body builder with dark skin.

One last anecdote from our first summer in business: Mr. Y. He had one of us over to his house every couple of weeks, but we never had sex with him. We never even touched him. For his hundred dollars, all he wanted to do was have the girl get naked so he could watch her pleasure herself to orgasm. Why? He never said, we never asked. Mr Y was the easiest call all week!

We didn t have many problems, but when we did have one, I handled it. For example, I went on the Internet to check out Taleb. And, OK, I can be bossy. Sometimes. Susannah nicknamed me "MBA", and the girls called me that whenever they thought I was getting too big for my (genuine leather, high – heeled fashion) boots.

Part Three: Cruising Through The School Year

September came. Just before school started I finally read Mayflower Madam, The Happy Hooker and Tracy Quan’s articles about her days as pubescent hooker. I was pleased to learn that I was doing everything right: protecting the girls, using low – key methods to recruit new men and building a set of reliable regulars. We still got out of class at 2:45, but homework and after – school activities meant that we could see, at most, two men a week each. We had to decline many requests for a visit. We even let some of our clients think we had closed (the bad tippers and poor personal hygiene cases).

We talked about closing for the school year, but Claire needed the money for her college fund and Morrisey needed hers for basic living expenses. Morrisey had a hard life – missing dad, single mother, no money and learning disabilities. Life was finally going well for her and I was glad. She worked harder than any of us – five afternoons a week, and weekend visits with Mr. Branch and Mr L. She was the Blowjob Princess. Once her men got a “taste” of her mouth on their penis, she rarely had to take them in her vagina. Great! Oral sex visits earned better tips than any other kind, and they were usually over in forty minutes instead of sixty.

We couldn t get men from swimming pools after Labor Day, but we found the spot in the mall where men went to find girls for sex. They mostly wanted free pickups, but we got some of them to accept reality and hire us.

We had mountains of cash coming in and needed to find a way to save it. Mr Branch helped us open bank accounts.

Did we ever consider taking in new girls? No. We had a deep bond together as friends long before we started the Club. A new girl could never be part of that. Mr K tried us, liked it and became a regular. This was good because he turned out to be Dr K. It was good to have him standing by. Karl came back to his college in our town, which was good, because I needed relationship sex as well as commercial sex. Gotta keep things in balance. Claire’s mysterious deflowerer turned out to be a guitar nerd named Cord (which I suppose is appropriate). Between his music lessons and his band, he was so busy that he never noticed how busy Claire was.

Susannah didn’t replace the boyfriend who dumped her at the start of the summer. She and Morrisey continued to play together. I started to think Morrisey was bi (duh), tilting to females.

Mr M was one of our favorite clients. When he sensed that you were tired, he made you a cup of coffee. If you were tense, he gave you a neck and shoulder massage. He tipped. Things like that. In October I had a visit with him that started with mutual hot oil massages, proceeded to 69 and ended with long, slow intercourse, enhanced by him gently rubbing my clitoris as he thrust inside me. The session went way over the 1 – hour limit, but who cared? I still got home before my parents – with a 30% tip, no less.

I used to sit in the lunchroom listening to the other girls brag about makeout sessions with their boyfriends. In between, they were obsessed with gossip and cutting other girls down, which they thought was the purpose of life. If they only knew. They would never in their lives have a Mr M. Even their honeymoons wouldn’t be as good. Because I never joined in the gossip and babble, I got a reputation for being a stuck – up, arrogant loner, which suited me just fine. I stopped eating at the cool – girls table and joined the brainy – girls table.

I learned how to cross my legs, press my thighs together juuuuust right and climax, without anyone knowing! (My parents had an old copy of The Sex Lives of College Students). It’s not like I needed more orgasms, but it sure made long classes with boring teachers bearable!

I remember another interesting visit, from November. After I undressed we looked through a couple of David Hamilton books. Mr G had me walk around and strike some of the posses before he penetrated me. He was one of the men who speeded up and slowed down according to his perception of my needs. Good times! Being with Mr M and Mr G made me realize something I had been in denial about. It was no longer about the money, or even mostly about the money. It was about pleasure and power. Sidney Biddle Barrows (author of Mayflower Madam) says that when a beautiful young girl is with an older man, she has the power. He wants something only she can give him. He may be a millionaire, but in her presence, he becomes the needy one. I sort of already knew this. I understood even back then that I could always make the man do what I wanted by framing things as an extra sexy favor to him.

I told the other girls what I had learned. Morrissey nodded.

We didn’t get much business over the holiday season, which was a pity, because we all had free time. Mr L celebrated the New Year by having us all four over to his house, one by one, on December 30. I’m sure Cialis was involved. (Our older clients preferred it to Viagra. ) I was feeling generous that day. I licked his balls and penis clean from the residue of Claire’s visit. Then I pressed his face against my nipples and whispered, “Suckle from me. Like you were a baby. ” As he did so, I caressed his head tenderly. When I was ready, I slipped into his lap and guided his penis into my vagina. (Men love that. ) “Not sex, not tonight, " I whispered. "Make love to me. ” I made sure he felt my orgasm and kissed him as it rolled through me. I didn’t usually say tender endearments to my men, but I was in such a dreamy, happy place, and Mr L was a big part of it. I was genuinely grateful. As he hugged me good bye in the doorway he had tears in his eyes. I slept deeply that night and wandered though peaceful dreams.

Early in January we had another meeting and decided to close the books to new men. We had over eighty regulars, and we struggled already to meet their needs. Recruiting new clients was the most dangerous part of our work. At any time we could run into a weirdo, a cop or someone who would report us. Furthermore, there was a rumor going around about a “high school” sex ring, supposedly run by adults who were either faculty or bikers, depending on who was telling it. It was funny, but it wasn’t funny.

February saw a drop – off in business, I don’t know why. I had one special visit, a recently – retired Army officer whose pecs and abs were those of a body – builder half his age. Just the sight of his washboard made me start to flow. Yowzer! I think he was the best – looking man I ever visited. By this time, we were exclusively visiting regulars, so it was rare to meet a new man. But the Colonel only ever saw Susannah, and he only asked for me because she had the flu. The Colonel was polite, generous and skilled. But he had a very big penis and I was worried that I couldn’t take it in all the way without pain. (This didn’t happen as often as you might think – a thirteen year old girl’s vagina is almost fully developed, and it stretches. ) Well, the Colonel certainly knew the effect of his log on females: a mixture of fascination and anxiety. Before he penetrated me he did a lot of foreplay (include some oral that gave me an orgasm), after which he put on an XXL condom, rubbed on a lot of lube and told me to lie back.

Just holding my body against his massive muscles stimulated me. We did the classic missionary position. He held his weight off of me with those thick, thick arms, put the tip of his penis against my gateway and slowly went inside. I could handle about ? of him. When he had gone in as far as he could, he paused to let my vagina to relax. He actually asked me if I was fine. I whispered “Yes”. Then he started thrusting: slow but shallow strokes. (Usually a man’s shallow strokes are the quick ones and it’s the deep ones that are slow. ) Long story short: three orgasms, as much from holding his body against mine as from the work of his penis. Then he surprised me. He withdrew totally.

“I need you to finish me with your hands. ”

“Okay, but why?”

“When I get close to cumming, it’s hard to keep control. I could hurt you, even though I don’t mean to. ”

“Okay. ” I’d always heard that boys jacked off by making their hands into a tube and kind of mimicking the motion of a girl bouncing up and down on their penis. That’s not what the Colonel wanted. He showed me how to pinch his frenulum between my fingers and sort of roll it around. (Of course I didn’t know the word frenulum fifteen years ago! But I do now. ) I did this for like three minutes and the Colonel’s “seed” shot out and splashed on my chest. Based on his expression, he thought I’d be angry or squicked out. Not me! I laughed and rubbed it over my nipples, as if it was some kind of magic potion to make my breasts grow. Then he laughed too. Before I left, he gave me a romantic kiss, a fifty – dollar tip and a box of Godiva chocolates. Wow. Talk about an officer and a gentleman!

I was plenty pissed off at Susannah. An asset like the Colonel should be shared (and from then on, he was). We weren’t making as much money as in the glory days of last summer, but one day I did some math in my head and I realized I had been saving most of my money for months. When we worked, we didn’t hang out at the mall. As far as clothes, perfume and stuff, I had all of that I needed. What was I working for then? Well, in three years, at the rate I was saving, I could get a nice car. Um, but how would I explain to my parents where I got all that money?

I don’t want to make it sound like every visit was a big payoff, life – altering sex or a tender moment. Hell, no. Take Mr C, who was as boring as a man can get and still have two functioning testicles. His thing was five minutes of groping, stick it in and whoosh. To top it off, he had sex with us on the living room carpet, so the bed wouldn’t hold any evidence for his wife to find. He had nothing to talk about but sports. No tips, no gifts. Does it surprise you to learn that he was homely? Most of our customers understood that it was a great privilege to have sex with a willing 13 – year – old girl. The closest Mr C got to such a moment was to ask me if I had sex with my Dad.

Mr P was another boring customer. All he ever talked about was himself, money and his money. He was a slightly better lover than Mr C. This was like saying you’ve got a slightly better chance to live if you re trapped in the eye of a hurricane than if you’re in the cone of a tornado. For a guy who couldn’t talk about anything but his money, he sure was cheap. However, he did thank me once for helping him live out his “Lolita” fantasies. We never used the “Nabokov” word.

We also discouraged father – daughter cosplay. Boring and creepy. If you can’t acknowledge that a 13 – year – old girl is becoming a woman, leave us alone and answer one of those Internet ads for “grannies”. Also, no kink, and no fetishes except plaid skirts and shiny black shoes.

A month after my visit to the Colonel, I saw Mr. D at the mall. He didn’t speak to me or approach me, but he grinned and gave me a wink. When I got home I sent him a Protonmail: “Hey, lover, where’ve you been? We miss you!”

He wrote back, “I’m seeing a very great Lady, and I owe it to her to be exclusive. ” Sigh. It’s always the good ones you lose to loyalty.

Besides the Colonel, the most memorable visit I had that Spring was with Mr N. He wanted to bathe me. I don’t mean like a father bathing his daughter. It was more like somebody cleaning a rare and much – loved jewel. He ran a scented bath, gently scrubbed me down with a raw silk washcloth, dried me off with a high – thread count waffle – weave towel (so wonderful against my skin, and especially my nipples!), perfumed me and then carried me to the bed (silk sheets) and “worshipped” me. Some men were so worried about hurting us physically (because of the size difference) that they didn’t actually put their bodies up against ours. What they did was to put us in a chair or on the side of the bed, and then kneel before us to give us oral. Some of them, like Mr N, never even asked us to do anything for them. (I mean, I’m sure that I fueled Mr N’s masturbation fantasies for years, so he got his money’s worth. ) When I left Mr N’s house he handed me a gift bag: the pale blue silk robe from our bathtime, a bottle of expensive perfume, a bottle of expensive body lotion, a silk glove used for female masturbation, David Hamilton’s Private Collection (nudes of girls our age), Pleasures: Women Write Erotica (anthology edited by Lonnie Barbach) and The Erotic Spirit (a collection of erotic poetry). Oh, and the ubiquitous box of Godiva chocolates. It’s a good thing my mother relied on my to clean my own room.

The only problem with visits like my time with Mr N was the man’s depth of feeling. Middle – aged men can be so sentimental about an "innocent" and vulnerable" girl, even a 13 – year old prostitute who runs her own Club. Did any of our men fall in “love” with us? I don’t know; what is love? The feelings most of our men had for us were a mix of paternal concern, lust for our very young bodies and the nostalgia for his vanished youth. It was a fantasy, and if something ruptured the fantasy – say, reality – it could have turned toxic, and something could happen like a man waiting outside a middle school with a gun. (Back then, I learned a lot of things I understood intuitively, but could never put into the right words until much later). Did we know what we were doing, manipulating such emotions? No. Were we in danger? Could something tragic have happened? Yes. We were lucky that we went out of business before things went really bad.

Part Three: Things Fall Apart

Karl left for the summer again. I missed him. I was lonely for someone to talk to without the whole Club thing in the background. The first thing that went wrong was with Morrissey: she got sick with Pelvic Inflammatory disease (PID). Up till then, none of our clients had given us a disease (unless you count Susannah’s flu, which she may have gotten from Mr P). Morrissey did almost all oral by then, so the main symptom, vaginal pain, didn’t hit her hard at first. In fact, it was Susannah who realized something was wrong. Morrissey suddenly tasted bad, and she admitted to “some soreness”, which she ignored because we all had soreness at one time or another. Susannah took her to Dr. K. It turns out that her PID was caused by trichomoniasis, which you can get even if you use a condom. We did not know this! If any part of a man’s genitals touched you near your vagina, like his testicles rubbing your lips, you can get it. Also, condoms leave a little area of the penis uncovered – the top of the shaft rubs you at your opening. Dr K explained the disease and prescribed 10 days worth of pills. We decided that we couldn’t email the men she visited and explain. We did NOT want people thinking we gave them a disease. Thirteen – year – old girls are supposed to “fresh” and “clean”; that’s part of the attraction.

What we did do, the week of my fourteenth birthday, was to send a Protonmail to all our men. Our cover story was that we had heard it was “going around, ” and we were worried that some of our men had other partners besides us. Very risky, if one of our men had the symptoms and put two and two together. Well, that didn’t happen. But Morrissey had to stop working for three whole months to be sure she wasn t infectious! Just as the summer busy season was starting! Worse than that, Morrissey really needed the income. For the rest of us, the cash was a little something extra. For her, it was food and clothing and even rent. (How did she explain giving her mother three hundred dollars every month? “Mom, I’m delivering pot for this guy. Not selling, just delivering. ” With all my heart, I wish Morrissey had grown up in better circumstances. )

Needless to say to say, we gave Morrissey money from our own incomes. One for all, etc. How did we explain to the men that Morrissey wasn’t available? Out of town for the summer. Next, Taleb quit on us. One night he was taking Susannah home from a birthday party at her cousin s house. (We used him whenever we needed a cabbie, even when we weren t visiting our men. ) When he could get a word in edgewise, he told her that he was leaving the cab company. He had been hired on as a limo driver, making a lot more money. His fiancee had just gotten her green card. (In those days immigrants could still do things like that. ) They wanted to get married soon and start a family. He said he cared about us, wished us well, and appreciated our trusting him, but he needed to think about the future, for his family s sake. Can t fault him for that.

Then Claire was busted. Not for prostitution, for underage alcohol, loitering and having $540 dollars in her purse. How stupid. It was really the fault of Cord, her band – nerd boyfriend. He and his crew were performing at a Memorial Day event in a park. We didn’t know this, but by now he was a daily drinker, and Claire drank sometimes to “keep him company. ” I thought the whole point of the “No alcohol!” Rule was not just to keep us from drinking on our visits, it was to keep us from getting drunk and stupid at any time. When the cops counted her money, they naturally thought DRUGS! Thank God no one in the band had any on them, except the bass player, who had half a joint in the ashtray of his car. (Typical stoner behavior. )

Claire tried to persuade the cops that the money was from the tips in the band’s bucket. I guess that’s they only story she could think of, but the cops weren’t having any. They knew the tip money from a high school band playing at noon wan’t going to be $540, mostly in twenties. They charged her for possessing the booze – she had a beer in her hand – and seized the money. She got a court date and the cops started watching her, sometimes following her home from school. The only bright spot was that her parents pretended to the cops that they believed her about the money being from the band’s tip bucket. They could do this because her drug test came up clean. They searched her bedroom, but didn’t find her condoms, her bank passbook or her pepper spray. They did find the Godivas and the peignoir, both courtesy of a Thursday afternoon visit with Mr N. Claire told them I gave them to her. Her parents searched her phone, too, but they didn’t find any evidence because there wasn t any evidence to find, just an old copy of Firefox that apparently she never used – it didn’t have a single bookmark.

Claire’s parents confiscated her phone. She was out. Morrisey had two months to go before she could have sex again. Susannah and I didn’t want to close the Club. What we did, we sent a Protonmail to all our men announcing that the Club was closing for safety reasons. As soon as we could be sure that all the men had gotten it, we deleted our Protonmail accounts and the BigBabysitter s Club vanished as if never existed. We waited a week. Susannah and I picked out twenty – five of our favorite men and we sent them a second email explaining to the men we liked and trusted the most that we had set up a new Club and were back to doing visits. (You better believe the Colonel and Mr. N were on that list!)

Some of our men were so spooked by our security warning that they never emailed us again. But we still had about seventeen men, which was as much as two of us could handle anyway. My parents noticed that I was moody and stressed out. Since Claire was supposedly selling drugs, they “confronted” me. I weaseled out of that one by demanding a drug test, which of course was clean. Later Mom took me on a drive (for privacy) and hesitantly asked if I wanted to be on birth control. Uh, no. I told her truthfully I didn’t need it. I absolutely did not want a pelvic exam. I was sure a gynecologist could somehow tell what a workout my vagina had been been getting. “Mom, I know how distracted I’ve been lately. I’m sorry. I miss Karl, I’m worried about Claire, Morrissey was sick and it seems like everything is hitting me at once. ” All of that was true. “I’ll do better. ”

If you can see how things are going, you’ll guess that Susannah was the next of us to crash and burn. But how could that be? Her father knew everything! He was one of our men! Yeah, but he also had a bitter ex – wife, Susannah’s mother. She was deemed an unfit mother at the time of the divorce because she had just pleaded guilty to embezzling money from her boss. But that was ten years ago, and now she was married to Old Money. According to Susannah, the main reason her new husband was financing her custody battle was to get Susannah in his house so he could keep trying to see her naked. Great going, human race. Mr Branch was warned by his attorney that private investigators were watching him, and probably his daughter. If the PIs caught her shoplifting or something, his ex – wife s lawyers could use it to prove he wasn’t doing his job as a father. Susannah was out.

I was going to shut down the club, but I wanted one last visit to Mr. N and the Colonel. I’ll come clean and admit that I planned to work out a way to keep seeing them. The Colonel was as buff and considerate as ever. We settled on a communication system based on yet more new Protonmail accounts. The highlight of our visit was when he let me straddle him and bounce up and down on that wonderful body of his like he was a trampoline. He actually got to ejaculate inside my vagina for once.

It was August. I deleted all the remaining Protonmail accounts. Sure enough, once again the Club vanished as it had never existed. I had a Tuesday afternoon visit scheduled with Mr. N. He promised to console me for everything I had lost. Mr. N lived two blocks from a bus stop. I was headed over, dressed in my new plaid jumper and Mary Janes, when a police squad car stopped in front of me. The officer in the passenger seat beckoned to me. Okay, I said to myself, there’s no reason to panic. The only incriminating thing I have on me is the pepper spray, and they’ll just confiscate it and not even bother with the misdemeanor charge.

“What’s your name, miss?”

I told him. “Do you have any ID?” I showed it to him.

“What are you doing in this neighborhood?” I wasn’t anywhere near my school or a friend’s house.

“I’m going to the mall. ”

“We re nowhere near the mall. ”

“I know. I transferred to the wrong bus. ”

“If you’re going back home, the bus stop is the other way. Back the way you came. ”

Was I sweating? Well, it was a hot day. Was I trembling? Yes. How could I explain that?

“Get in “ said the officer. “We’ll give you a lift to the bus stop. ”

What choice did I have? I got in the squad car. The cops didn t take me to the bus stop. They took me around the corner to Mr. N s house, where I saw something that terrified me. There were two squad cars and a van marked "FBI" parked on his lawn. An older woman was standing on the sidewalk talking to a detective. The cop who told me to get in the squad car went and said something to the detective. The driver of the squad car rolled down the window beside me. The older woman pointed at me and I heard her say, "You found one of them!"

Found one of what?

Mr. N was busted for possession of child pornography. Something to do with a credit card. The cops found a big library of young erotica in his house. When they questioned his neighbors, the older woman who lived across the street told them young girls visited his house every week. The cops thought we were going to pose for pictures. (They have limited imaginations. ) They searched every inch of his house, workplace, computer, phone and online accounts. No pictures of me anywhere. I stuck to my story about transferring to the wrong bus, lawyered up and told them nothing.

The older woman gave them vague descriptions of Morrissey, Claire and Susannah, but the cops never identified any of them. (They might have done so if we had all still been hanging out, but for months the only place were ever together face – to – face was Mr Branch s house. ) With not one shred of evidence connecting us to Mr. N, that part of the investigation died out. Mr N got charged with so many counts of possessing child erotica that if he d been convicted of all of them he would only get out of prison when he was 93, if he lived that long. But he got lucky. There was something slightly off about the search warrants, so his lawyer (a law partner of Mr L) got most of the charges thrown out and pleaded Mr N down to eight years. He served seven and was released on probation.

I wanted so much to reach out to him, but if I so much as wrote a letter, the prison officials and the cops would get it. Even now, when he s out, the terms of his probation forbid him to own a computer or smartphone or to be around children or teens. He s still watched. That s what the probation department told the folks in his neighborhood when he returned home. The “good citizens” wanted the "dangerous sexual predator" to go somewhere else, preferably Hell.

Mr N was not a dangerous sexual predator. Like most of our men, he was a gentle person who wanted to fantasize that a young girl loved him. The BigBabysitter s Club sold two things: access to our very young bodies and the fantasy. Did any of our men hurt us? Never. Did we hurt them? I don t think so. I think about Mr N in prison and I go "F society, F the police and F people who think they know everything and judge people. "

To this day, my parents think I went over to Mr. N s to pose nude for him, despite the fact that nobody can prove that we even knew each other. Until I turned eighteen, they thought they were keeping me on a tight leash. It wasn t much of a leash. I was still able to see the Colonel and Mr L every month. I needed the money – – to give to Morrissey. She saw them, too.

Claire s parents shipped her off to boarding school. We were only in touch very occasionally, by Protonmail of course. (If I was a paying customer, I d have been one of their biggest. ) She attended college and studied art, but she dropped out and moved to Oregon. She s an artist, and models nude for artists and adult websites. Maybe – I don t know for sure – she sees men for money from time to time.

Susannah s Dad moved them to Washington State, where her mother lives, so they could do shared custody. I don t reach out to her much either. She attended college and become a broker like Mr Branch, and she s engaged. It would be weird if she invited me to take part in her wedding.

I m not very religious, but I pray to God sometimes, thanking Him that He turned Morrissey s life around. She got a scholarship to a good college and has a good job now and a good husband. She and I exchange Protonmails every month.

Mr L sometimes dined or watched sports at my parents house. We didn t have trouble dealing with it. Ironically, my Dad broke off the friendship, over politics, of all things. The Colonel moved to Mexico. I haven t heard from him since. (I had a drought my junior year in college when I could have really used him. )

Do I still sell sex (or fantasy or whatever you want to call it?). The summer after I graduated college I signed on to a brothel in Nevada. It was boring. Everything was so mechanical. I did what was on the price list for the specified time and money, and I never had a personal connection to the man. Despite my nickname – "MBA" – I didn t study business in college. I studied Communications, because at most colleges there s no such thing anymore as "Journalism. " What Communications majors actually do these days is advertising and blogging for profit. I wasn t any good at either of those, so I drifted into other fields – personal assistant to a female politician, tax preparer – and then I became the assistant director of a battered woman s shelter. That s the job I left to start grad school. I m not going to tell you what I m studying.

So, as I Look Back On It All And Reflect, what have I learned? It s easier to be brave and take risks when you don t know how bad things could get. I m well – organized and protective of my people (the men as well as the girls). I m a magnificent lover, your sexual experience of a lifetime. I m warm, patient and giving. Most people are basically good, and even the ones who aren t are mostly mediocre, not evil. I can give a hell of a back rub.

Did I learn anything negative? Yes, the girls made me realize that I m bossy. But surely I m guilty about something, right? Nope, nothing. When I was thirteen years old, I had experiences like my visits with the Colonel and Mr N. What bothers me is that to this day, people ask if I "regret" it.