Ramya: the promotion and the end of my escort hustle

The next three months blur into a sequence of nervous, careful small talk, the moment fear turns into hunger, and the wet heat of another man finishing inside a body that no longer belongs to any future husband. I stop counting after the tenth new virgin explodes inside Aria's talented cunt. More Indian virgins ruined for mommy and daddy. More generous contributions to my retirement account. More money to pay off the LLC's mortgage early.

I raise my rates twice and see no decline in business. I have more miles on my pussy, but I'm getting better and better at the job. I keep Mark satisfied and treat him like a king when I go to his place. Sugar daddy money keeps rolling in.

Adam asks me out. I decline. I cry as I send the text, and I don't hear from him again.

My second sugar daddy arrives through the same discreet channel as the virgins; a referral from someone who already knows what Aria Patel can do. Vikram is forty-three. Married twenty years, the last decade celibate. It was a tough sell for me. I don't want to ruin anyone's marriage. But he played the Indian culture woes card to me, and apparently I'm a sucker for that. He's handsome enough I don't have to fake interest. And most importantly, he pays even better than Mark. I host him discreetly at the LLC property away from his wife who probably wouldn't care anyway. The first time he finishes inside me he looks startled and ten years younger. Afterward he sits on the edge of the bed and says he had forgotten what it felt like to be touched without duty attached. I let him keep the illusion. It costs me nothing.

I begin to take on the occasional white client. Word spreads to them through the Indians. One guy is allegedly still a virgin, but the other is experienced and just has a fetish for taller women. Two more satisfied, paying customers for Aria. The second white guy does not become a sugar daddy, but he does become my first repeat customer.

I give up enforcing condom rules for non-virgins. Condoms reduce customer satisfaction. They diminish the pleasure that Aria's pussy can deliver with her tight squeeze. I'm already carrying enough risk to sink me, so I pile more on for good reviews. A revolving door of men visit Aria and creampie her pussy.

Aria's side-hustle improves Ramya's performance on her regular job. I've become an expert at sales, negotiation, pricing, leading men, client retention, cash flow, accounting, and everything that makes me a great manager. I have the equivalent of an accelerated MBA in experience as a high-end prostitute. I sit in actual strategy meetings at work and hear myself using language I first tested on men who were paying to be inside me. I'm operating at a level most of my colleagues only simulate in slide decks. By the time the promotion conversation arrives, I am already operating at the level the title requires.

That conversation happens on a Tuesday afternoon in the CEO’s office. The CIO joins to give his endorsement. He is retiring after a month and will work with me on the transition. They speak about the last two quarters, the deals I helped close, the way I've started running larger pieces without waiting for permission. I turn twenty-five in three months. I will be a C-level executive at an age virtually unheard of, even at a small firm like this. I negotiate a big pay raise, then I accept. Of course I accept.

That night a virgin is already on the calendar. I decline the celebratory drinks, skip the gym, and drive to the property. He is sweet and overwhelmed and finishes three times inside Aria before eleven. After he leaves I clean the kitchen in panties, semen still oozing out of me with every step, and the math becomes simple. The career I have wanted since I was nineteen has arrived. The next month will be consumed by the transition. Something has to give.

I decide the escort work for virgins has to end. But I'm keeping Mark and Vikram. Sugar daddy business is predictable, lower risk, and pays well. That will leave me enough time slay the CIO job and never have to skip the gym.

On Saturday, I have a meeting with my parents and a possible groom. I've lost count which number. I entertain Vikram at the country villa, then head home with his first load fresh on my breath and his second one dripping out of my pussy.

The meetup is a disaster. My groom-to-be is six inches shorter and is even less sure of himself than most of my clients. He needs Aria before he's ready for Ramya. That doesn't stop his parents from thinking I'm not good enough for their perfect son. Aria's intuition figures out what everyone thinks in the first few minutes. I'm too tall. Too successful. Too American. Will I cook? Will I defer? Will I disappear into their household the way a proper daughter-in-law should.

I'll never be enough, even if the seal was still intact. And it's most definitely not. My future husband deserves to know the whole truth. As unfair is this culture is, I will not lie to get a husband. I am no longer a single mistake, a regrettable night, a seal broken in a moment of weakness. I have been opened and used and filled by more men than I can comfortably count. It doesn't matter if I can still grip like the virgin they all want. There is no version of the arranged-marriage market that can absorb what I have become. They would not accept me now. They should not.

There's only one way out for me. A complete rejection of the culture. I have to date and marry on my own terms. And that means if I do eventually find someone, it won't be an Indian.

The arranged marriage fantasy is officially dead.