The short story I wrote for my Writing Fiction course at Babson College.

1. Ross Andrew Simons
Professor Mary O’ Donoghue
ENG3605: Writing Fiction
11 November 2012
Clutch
There was a knock at the door. Well, it’s hard to describe it as a knock.It was more like an
apprehensive tap, just slightly more audible than a golf clap. The first knock from a new
customer was always like that.She began to walk to the door, so quietly that the new customer
would not know. Then came the second trio of knocks, a little louder this time. Again, she
ignored them. Then came the third. Clunk clunk clunk. Yes, that was what she was waiting for.
Early on, she had found that if she answered the door on the first knock, the customer would
enter the room with the same apprehension they knocked with. If she only waited until she heard
the clunking knocks, they would enter the room with much more conviction and confidence. A
minor detail, but an important one in her line of work.
“Coming!” she yelled from the living room.
Her heart always beat harder, the clunking type of beat, not the tapping type, as she walked to
the front door to greet the new client. It was fifteen feet away, but it felt more like fifty. Her
thoughts bouncedaround, like a jumping bean, before expending their energy and sinking to the
soles of her feet.
She’d open the door. Hi, how are you! I’m Jackie, nice to meet you Arny. Did you find
the place okay? Come in, come in! Just follow me, right this way. You can sit right there in the
La-Z-Boy, it’s very comfortable, isn’t it? Are you cold; would you like me to turn the heat up?
Would you like something to drink? I have water, tea, chocolate milk; if you’d prefer something
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2. stronger I can also make you a Jack n’ Coke. Chocolate milk? Okay! Now you just make
yourself right at home, I’ll be right back with your fresh chocolate milk, my mother’s personal
recipe, actually.
That was basically how it went, give or take a little variety in the questions she asked.
Sometimes she asked them about their family, though that was often a risky subject. In
introduction emails, if they seemed like they were the type of person who lived for their
profession, she asked them a few quick questions about their work: how’s your day off? Working
on any exciting projects? Does your job let you travel a lot? Those types of things. It always paid
off that she had a knack for understanding how to make others feel comfortable. These first few
moments were so important. If she didn’t make them feel comfortable, things inevitably turned
awkward half an hour into their session.One thing that never changed was the drink question.
She always asked it, without fail. It revealed a lot to her.
If they refused the drink, or asked for water, she knew she had work to do. It was mostly
the uneasy customers who declined. They would be troubled, quiet, and often backed out before
they went through with their session. That always sucked. She would lose a valuable thirty
minutes which she could have spent with a paying customer.
If they answered tea, it revealed to her that they were happy enough with the situation to
ask for a drink, and would likely end up as a paying customer. It also revealed that they were
normal,well, as normal as a person enlisting her services could be. They’d come in, drink some
tea, answer some questions, go to the bedroom, pay, and then leave. She had the goods; they had
the needs and the means to obtain them. Bing bang boom, a simple transaction.
The customers that ordered chocolate milk were her favorites. There was something
childish, infantile even, about a grown man asking for chocolate milk. They were mama’s boys.
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3. They reached out to her, pulled her close, and wrapped around her like an octopus. They bared
their souls to her. They let her in so she could fill every precious crevice. She was happy to do
this. She was willing to take their problems off their mind for a while. At a price, of course. The
truth was, the chocolate milk wasn’t even her mother’s recipe. It was 2% Borden milk, with
Ovaltine chocolate powder, and a tiny pinch of salt. Describing it as her mother’s recipe was
really just a ploy to make them feel closer. It’s the tiniest details that make the difference.
Her least favorite customers ordered the Jack n’ Coke. Ah, those customers. She’d rather
them be a water-drinker and just leave. But nope, they ordered the Jack n’ Coke and she knew
they would get grabby; something about the drink’s masculinity indicated the type of customer
they would be. She explicitly said in the Craigslist post that this was not an escort service. First
with one exclamation point. Then two. Then three. And then ten. She was a professional cuddler,
and that was it. No kissing, no touching, and certainly no sex. But the Jack n’ Cokers always
tried to ask for more. Please, they pleaded, with desperate eyes. I’ll pay extra, they pleaded, with
a fat wallet. I’m big, they pleaded, with a lewd gesture. Just ugh. Vom. No thank you. They left
soon after, feeling like they got ripped off. Some paid. Some didn’t. If they seemed a little too
aggressive, she didn’t even bother asking for payment. Her safety was worth more than that.
Luckily for her, today’s client ordered chocolate milk. She had a lot of stuff to think
about.Adding a jack n’ coke to the mix would just be unreasonable.
She had been pretty lonely. For years, really. She lost all desire for dating. Really,
relationships just created complications. What happens if he doesn’t look like his profile picture?
What if he lies to you? What if he’s secretly married? What if he has kids? What happens if you
end up alone at his house? How many dates do you go on before you have sex? What if you feel
obligated to fuck him because he spent so much money on you?
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4. The last thing she wanted was to end up getting pricked by some prick. The last time that
happened was a big mistake.He hit it and quit it, for lack of a better phrase. It was less like a one-
night stand and more like a one-hour stand. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and was
drinking long island iced teas at the bar down the street. She was eighteen. Despite having a fake
ID, she didn’t realize the long island was four types of alcohol with zero types of tea. He may not
have given her his real name, like she could remember it anyways, but she remembers the voice.
It oozed the expectations of a boy that always got his way. It stretched out with tendrils, snaked
down her spine and slithered across her inner thighs. He leaned over to her ear with whiskey
breath, and whispered, “I’m going to make you mine tonight.” Her drunk mind thought it was
sexy. Her sober mind regretted that. It lasted one hour. Fifty-eight minutes for brief conversation,
traveling, undressing, and dressing. Two minutes of sex. Two months of pregnancy. Oh, and six
years of regret, can’t forget that. Guess she got the shitty end of that transaction, huh.
So, yeah. No sex for her. But things got lonely. She really wanted someone to just lay
with, clutch close, and talk about the stuff going on in her life. You can’t really do that without
complicating things, though. Feelings developed. Feelings got shared. Then it was either one of
two things: sex, or awkwardness. Sometimes both. Why did it have to be that way? She knew
other people must feel the same way. That’s where the idea for Snuggles R’ Us came from. It
was great. Really, it was. She got to cuddle, she got to ignore her loneliness for a brief time, and
she got paid to do it. A pretty sweet deal.It was definitely a nice way to make some much-needed
income on the side. A thousand a month, or $12,000 a year. Not much, but when you added it to
her $27,000 a year as a secretary, that’s a completely respectable yearly salary. Not bad, huh?
Good teachers go to schools for years for that salary.An hour a day keeps the bill collectors
away. And she had bills.
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5. Specifically, $90,000 in bills and the cost of living in the still-pretty-expensive-outskirts
of New York. She got a BA in fashion design from The Art Institutes. It should’ve been a BS,
not a BA. Not because fashion design was more science than art, but because that degree was
bullshit. She couldn’t get a job anywhere with it. No one told her that a fashion design degree is
useless unless you get it from Parsons or Pratt. Of course, those schools are $40,000 a year
before room, board, and living expenses.
The cuddling gig opened up doors. She could put a little money away. She could put
herself back through school, a few classes at a time. A useful degree this time, maybe
psychology. Maybe even business.Perhaps she’d open up her own little boutique store in SoHo,
That would be the dream. Think of all the things she could make and sell. Sundresses covered in
sunflowers. Unique ties, like an ultramarine blue one with mini maroon elephants, made out of a
perfect mixture of silk and satin, matte and gloss. Navy peacoats, with metallic bronze buttons,
and three inside pockets with zippers, to store phones, wallets, and spare business cards.
Sweaters, no argyle please, woven from cashmere, with elbow pads, and a v-neck that vees for
just the right distance of 7inches. Cardigans that hugged the curves of beautifully curvy women.
Heels, oh the heels! She could design heels that were actually comfortable, that didn’t make your
feet bleed after a long day.
If business classes brought her closer to that dream, thenshe had to go to business classes.
She didn’t feel comfortable just going for it. When she thrust herself into decisions in the past, it
didn’t really pay off. She had to think carefully about what she would put in, to get what she
wanted out of it. She was going to go about this the right way. Take some classes. Build up a
portfolio.Sell some items on Etsy. Build up an online customer following, with some fantastic
product reviews. Sell some items at festivals. Then, and only then, would she open up the shop.
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6. Maybe if she put in those efforts, she had a shot at getting some serious money and enjoyment
out of Lauren’s Loot.
But she had to make money first to pay for those classes. That’s what Snuggles R’ Us
was all about, right? Making money, right? Just a stepping stone to her ultimate goal. So back to
Arny, the new client with the chocolate milk moustache.
“Here’s your chocolate milk Arny, a glass for you and a glass for me. Did you find the
place okay?”
“Yeah, the 4 train took me basically to your door step.” She lived in Morris Heights. Just
past Harlem, just before Jerome Park. Yeah, her clients did have to get off the train sandwiched
between the aptly-named businesses of “The Check Cashing Place” and “African-American
Halal Supermarket”. But if they just walked a little further, they would see that her apartment
was right across from the more symbolically-named “Mt. Hope Playground”, on the corner of E
177th Street and Walton Avenue.
“Great! I’m very excited you were able to make it!” Enthusiasm was important. “I really
love that sweater. Argyle is one of my favorite patterns!” So was flattery.
“It’s new actually. I just bought it last week. I braved the Black Friday crowds to get it
from Gap, nineteen bucks. Valiant, I know.” He smiled when he said this. It was cute, a little
crooked. One side of his mouth curved up just a little higher. Tiny wrinkles clenched around his
eyes. Genuine smile, interesting. A hint of sadness, though, in the way his shoulders cowered.
“You’re practically my knight in shining armor!” She giggled when she said this. It was
forced, but it seemed like banter, and banter was good.
“And then you braved the ride all the way out from Astoria just for me.” Astoria really
was a long way, about an hour.
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7. It wasn’t the longest commute she’d seen though. One of her regulars, Steven, came all
the way from Staten Island. That’s at least two buses, a train or two, and three hours, just to get
to the shady part of town, on the other side of the city, to cuddle a chunky chick. Thirty-five
years old. A widower. No kids. The first time he came to her, he was like a shelter dog. Inched
closer to her. Sniffing her out. Everything he did, he asked if it was okay. “Yes, honey, you’re
welcome to touch anywhere except my breasts, butt, or groin.” she reassured him. She’d feel bad
for him, if that was in her job description. But it wasn’t. Her job was to make all of that go away
for however long they were with her. So that’s what she did. He was sweet too. He came back
once every couple of weeks, with green curry and Thai tea from his favorite place in Chinatown.
Often, their pre-cuddle conversation would go long. Or he would catch her in the middle of a
movie and they would just finish it together. At no charge, of course. The clock didn’t start until
the bedroom door closed, and they’d been spending more time off-the-clock than usual.
Back to Arny from Astoria. “Yeah, you know, it wasn’t that bad actually. I was in the
Central Park area already anyways. I needed a new briefcase, and I heard about this placed called
“Brief Encounters” on 71st and Columbus.”
“Hey I know that area! The best coffee in New York is just one block down Columbus on
70th, a placed called “The Sensuous Bean”. Are you a big coffee drinker?”
“C’mon, what kind of question is that?! You can’t live in New York and not be. I’ll have
to give that place a try next time I’m in the area. 70th and Columbus, you said?”
“Yup! Try the Dolce Iced Latte, my favorite.” She was on top of her game today.
Enthusiasm, flattery, banter, and now she even gave him a coffee recommendation. She was
getting better at this. “So you said you were a curator at the Museum of Natural History? I’ve
never met a museum curator.Can you tell me a little bit about that? It seems really interesting.”
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8. “Yeah of course. Basically my job is—” She knew this was going to be a long one so she
let her mind stray a bit to the stresses of the week. About two months ago she had put Snuggles
R’ Us up on the internet. A simple webpage with a few pictures of her, her pillow top bed, some
text, her hourly rates, and a contact form. Craigslist was getting exhausting, really. She had been
posting advertisements in the “Women Seeking Men” portion of the Personals section.Half the
responses she got were bots. 80% of the remaining were either sketchballs (“how bout I pay you
to blow your mind, then you throw in the cuddling for free?”), or self-righteous (“Whore!”). But
that was okay, even if she ignored all of those, there were a solid 10% of responses that had
potential. Still, not ideal, so up the website went.
Over the past few weeks, the visitors went up by over 10,000. Apparently someone found
her website, sent it to a popular blogger at The Good Men Project, who wrote an article about it,
which was then posted on Facebook, and shared, and then reblogged, and then Twittered, and
then Tumblred, and then reblogged again and again, before ending up in the Local section of The
New York Times. Before long, her phone was ringing all day long. People were intrigued. Some
just wanted to know why she did it (“Because cuddling is therapeutic. In my opinion,everyone
could use a good cuddle every now and then.”). Others wanted to know if it was actually a
legitimate business and not a practical joke (“I assure you, it’s legit.”). Many people wanted to
actually try it out (“Sure, I’d love to have you as a client!”). Actually, a few people wanted to
work for her business (“Um, let me get back to you on that. Please send a short e-mail explaining
why you’re a good candidate to Careers@SnugglesRUs.com”) An interesting proposition,
definitely, since she did seem to have entirely too many customers now. Maybe taking on an
employee wouldn’t be such a bad idea. She could be the czar of cuddling. Or, a cuddling mogul.
Or, better yet, the CEO of a cuddling conglomerate!
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9. Then again, she could just quit her day job as a secretary and take over as a cuddler full-
time. That might be nice.Her boss was obnoxious. He was a pin-stripe, three-button suit kind of
guy, his body anchored to a tie with a Full-Windsor knot. Always a solid red tie, of course. Thick
lapels. She could feel her ass being ogled. Giving this job up would be a big risk, though. What if
all this excitement around Snuggles R’ Us was short-lived? It seems like it would be short-
sighted to give up her secretary job. But, she could make so much money if she exclusively
cuddled. She could make even more if she lowered her prices a bit. Then again, what if a Jack n’
Coker got too aggressive one day and she was forced to stop? Where would she be then? But,
she could put herself through business courses faster then, bringing her closer to owning
Lauren’s Loot in SoHo. So stressful. She suddenly craved some green curry and Thai tea.
She focused again on Arny as he finished explaining his job. “Wow, that’s really cool!
Makes me wish I had gone to school for that instead of Fashion design. Hey, it’s a little chilly in
here. What do you say we go and get under my extra down blanket in the room?” She kept the
apartment cold, even in the winter. It gave her a really good excuse to take things into the
bedroom, without making anything awkward.
Arny seemed happy to do it. “Thank god you suggested that. It’s freezing in here!”
She led Arny to the room. This room was the most important room in the house, because
it held her bed and her armoire, her present and future. Her room was painted the color of dark
chocolate, with hints of burnt sienna. Her dresser and night stand were seal brown. Her armoire,
filled with her handmade clothing, was beige, meant to stand out against the darker browns in the
room. Her bed, well, that was the moneymaker. She couldn’t skimp on it. It was king-sized,
beige, with an enormous burnt sienna down blanket. The mattress was the exact same mattress
used in Marriott hotels. And it was covered in an even mix of firm and soft pillows.She had his
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10. favorite movie waiting in the DVD player.She usually sent a questionnaire to new customers,
and it asks for their top five movies. By playing one of her client’s favorite movies, it showed
that she took the time to get to know them, while also giving them something comfortable in an
unfamiliar place. Everything went smoothly with Arny, though. They cuddled face-to-face, and
he fell asleep halfway through the movie.
She woke Arny up as the movie ended. He apologized profusely, explaining that her bed
was just really comfortable and warm. She assured him that it wasn’t a problem, that she had
dozed off a little too.They walked to the front door, his hand at resting at the bottom of her back.
They hugged, clutched each other close for five long seconds. Then Arny from Astoria, the
museum curator with the new briefcase, left and began the trek back to Astoria, or wherever it
was that he was going. Maybe he’d be back sometime, maybe he wouldn’t. At this moment, she
didn’t care. All she cared about was that even though she had just had a cuddle session, she still
felt alone. All the cuddling in the world couldn’t give her someone to talk to, and that was what
she needed right now. Her parents didn’t agree with her profession. Unsurprising, of course,
since her parents grew up in the south, and had traditional jobs. Her mother, the housewife, and
her father, the plumber, shot disapproving glances at her whenever she worked up the courage to
have dinner with them in Jersey. Her friends, well, she didn’t really have many. The Arts
Institutes wasn’t the typical college experience, and most students were disconnected from each
other. Really, the only person she had been able to talk with lately was Steven. She picked up the
phone and dialed out a number.
“Hey Steven! It’s Lauren.”
“Hey Lauren. I’m happy you called, what’s going on?”She was so glad he answered.He
had this voice thatwas slow, methodical, and deep, like the steady hum of a wordless lullaby.
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11. That was one of the things that she really enjoyed about him. When they laydown in bedhis
eyelashes seemed to gain three pounds, forcing his eyes closed. They tried to talk longer, but his
voice would falter off, and words would be skipped. Finally soft, contented half-snoring.
“There was a cancellation, so I suddenly have an opening. Would you like to come in for
a free session? Bring green curry and Thai tea, my treat.”
“Yeah! That sounds awesome. I’ll see you around…six-ish?” She was so glad he said
yes. A good talk and a cuddle with her favorite client was what she needed right now.
“Great, can’t wait.”
She hung up the phone, settled down into her La-Z-Boy, and waited for three buses, two
trains, andthe three hours for Steven to arrive.
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