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To begin, I wanted to try to explain how this notion evolved in my mind. Never had I even considered seeking the services of a prostitute. Furthermore, the guys that I knew that did were mostly creeps. Plus, I would never dream of doing something to jeopardize my marriage. Boredom and loneliness, I found, were powerful forces that can cause even the strongest moral compass to veer.
It was six months into a new job, which required me to travel some, and I was already starting to feel the bump in salary. My family and I were accustomed to getting by on half what I made now, so we found it hard to break all our frugal habits.
The problem, I found, I never had time to spend my new fortune. Working hard to establish myself meant longer hours, even weekends. On top of that I had to go out of town to train up clients on our equipment every month or so for a week at a time.
On my downtime, I would daydream about taking the kids to the lake, grilling out or maybe even taking a vacation. That idea had become foreign to me, travel, but for fun. Most times, I’d whip my phone out and see what was new with my favorite porn sites.
Not only was my new lifestyle keeping me from my family, it was keeping me away from my wife… …and her lady parts. I’ll admit the romance had taken a bit of a downturn when the kids came along, but we always found a way to swap DNA. Sometimes we’d have a quickie while the tots were glued to a movie or slip into the bathroom for a little head and some doggy with her leaning over the sink. We shared a passion for sex, and we’d fit it in wherever we could.
About a week out from a trip to Nashville, I was already dreading the long nights alone in a hotel. Finding a quiet corner, I started thumbing through one of my favorite spank sites. Soon after, a particularly hot performer piqued my interest.
After watching a very nasty five-minute clip of her riding some lucky young stud and letting him whitewash her face, I was interested to know more about her. I hit upon a bio of her and started perusing her stats. Toward the bottom it showed that she was an escort and there was a link to her profile on a page for high end call girls.
Somehow, I found this unnaturally intriguing. I scoured that entire site in search of… …well, I’m not sure. An odd obsession took over. It wasn’t long before I was looking for ads near me and after that, escorts near Nashville.
My new curiosity soon began to resemble research. Obsession, one could say. Porn was a thing of the past. Any idle time was spent scrutinizing any ad on any website featuring escorts. Looking back, I think this was the moment I had made up my mind. I wasn’t just fantasizing anymore. I was truly planning to make this happen.
The assortment of women and services was mind boggling. At my fingertips were an unfathomable number of variables which could drastically change how an experience could unfold. I could choose from white, black, Asian, Pilipino, Latina. All of which could perform BJ’s, HJ’s, doggie, BDSM, anal… …rimming?
If things were not complicated enough, most of the listings were coded with this kind of sex industry jargon. This was to make it harder for cops to make a criminal case based on what they found on the website. For instance, BJ of course means blow job, but BBBJ would be bare back blow job, that is without condom. CBJ was covered blow job; cover meaning condom. You could be treated to a BBBJWF, aka bare back blow job with facial. Finally, the rare delicacy, BBBJTCWS; same as above, but she gobbles the goop.
Shopping for just the right girl was crucial. Afterall, I had no idea what to expect. If I chose hastily, I might end up with some washed up party girl, who would just rake me over the coals and dash my hopes at an amazing sexual experience and possibly a new hobby when far from home.
My approach was scientific. I decided to eliminate as many variables as possible as not to muddle the results. Someone sexy, but not too exotic, I thought. Although a twenty something might be intriguing, I leaned toward someone close to my age. Attractiveness was a must, but I sort of fancied being entertained by someone who could actually hold a conversation… …time permitting, of course.
Most of the sites were a little too seedy. Not only were some of the pics in the listings obviously fake, a few were so bold as to use images of well-known porn stars. Words like “trucker friendly” and “fifteen-minute special” seemed like red flags. I was even turned off by spelling and grammar errors.
Finally, I stumbled onto a site which put me more at ease. It claimed to have a strict verification, the pictures were much more tasteful, and I didn’t feel like I had to bathe after visiting. Each listing was very professional with bios that appeared to be written by someone who was familiar with the English language. It was not long before I had narrowed my search down to just a few.
One stood out against the rest. I clicked on a thumbnail of a chic bahis firmaları hourglass figure filling a low-cut dancing dress. She had about ten risqué, but not lewd pictures. “Vibrant, sophisticated and down to earth” lead into her bio. No specific services were listed, but she guaranteed a “mind-blowing GFE” (girlfriend experience). Certain I was done shopping; I looked up her contact info.
She preferred to be texted and made it clear that no incriminating or vulgar language was to be tolerated. Anxiety overtook me and I balked for a while. Looking over her pics, unbelievable curves and exquisite enhanced rack began speaking to me. I soon found the courage to make contact.
“Hey, this is Tony. I’ll be visiting your neighborhood next week and I was hoping I could make an appointment.”
Within a few minutes she texted back.
“Sure sweetie, I think I can fit you in” She included a winkey face emoji to drive home the double entendre.
Shortly after, she sent a link to a verification site. This was a third party who could ensure that I was who I claimed to be and not a cop, pimp or some creep who wanted to take advantage of her. To be verified, you either had to have good references from other sex workers, or provide personal information, including your employer.
This posed a problem. I didn’t have a reputation with the courtesan community, this being my first time and all. Furthermore, I was not comfortable with anybody getting my employer info. My goal was to get my fuck stick polished by a pro, not to end up a victim of blackmail.
I texted back, “There’s a tiny snag with the whole ‘verification’ thing.”
“I’m sorry honey, want me to walk you through it. It can be confusing'” she returned.
“No, it’s not that,” I said. “I’m new to this whole thing and I’m not really comfortable giving up a bunch of confidential info.”
“Oh baby, I really hate it, but I don’t do newbies,” she explained, “It’s really dicey, nothing personal, it’s just a rule, Sorry.”
Her words struck me like a bullet train right to the balls. All my hopes to make this fantasy come true were hinging on this being the girl. I dreaded the idea of going back to the drawing board. This little hiccough had soured the whole notion.
“There are plenty girls who would love to be your first,” she said consolingly, “Get a two or three to give you a good review and get back with me. I’ll be more than happy to show you a good time.”
Desperate, I frantically tried to think of a way to get her to reconsider. With a little quick thinking, perhaps I could find a back door. The fact that she hasn’t already blocked my number was just the glimmer of hope I needed to maybe turn things around.
“Oh, I get it,” I quipped, “this is like talking up the hot girl in a bar and she tries to pawn you off on her friend with the ‘great personality.”
She replied with several laughing emojis, “LOL, you’re awful.”
“You’re going to have to cut me some slack, I just got my heart ripped out.” I replied.
“Awe, you poor thing,” she pandered, “Seriously, it won’t take you long to find someone to pamper you a little. You’ll forget all about it.”
“No ma’am,” I insisted, “Nobody else will do. If it can’t be you, then nobody.” “Me and my rugged good looks will just be all alone pouting in a Nashville hotel room.”
The banter went on for a while. I thought I was doing well, but texting, I couldn’t be sure. She could be in stitches right now or rolling her eyes with every message. Either way, I had held her attention for about thirty minutes, all the while pouring on the personality.
While in the middle of texting something, my phone vibrated. A number that I didn’t recognize was trying to face time. Ignoring it, I finished my thought and hit send. I wasn’t going to lose my momentum for a butt dial.
She then texted, “that was me.”
“Holy shit,” I thought, “Is it working?”
Before I could fully realize what was happening, she called back. Not wanting to keep her waiting, I answered right away. Finally, on a cracked smartphone screen, the object of my pursuit was staring back at me.
Since her face was blurred on her listing, this was the first time I’d seen what she looked like. To say the least, I was not dissatisfied. Even without make up and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was stunning. She had that soft, girl-next-door look, but with subtle features that let you know she was out of your league.
“Well, hey there, Tony. You really are good looking, aren’t you?” she blurted before I could even reply to her hello.
“Thank you,” I gushed. “You look pretty okay yourself.”
“Aw, quit,” she exclaimed. “I just got back from the gym. I’m a mess, I know.”
“Oh, is that it?” “I thought you were a burn victim,” I said teasing. “I was hoping it might brighten your day a little for someone to say something nice to you.”
She laughed loudly and even snorted a little. The went out of view of the camera as she rolled around and tried to kaçak iddaa compose herself. “Nice to know she was digging my jokes,” I thought.
“Seriously, though,” I stated in a much less sarcastic tone. “This is my first time seeing your face.” “Not disappointed.”
“Oh, yeah,” she huffed. “I guess you’ve only seen the pics on my page.” “Hypothetically, you don’t really even know if it’s me,” she said with a devious grin.
Then she held the phone over her head pointing down. Inserting two fingers down the top of her sports bra, she pulled down revealing quite a bit of cleavage. After giving me a few seconds to drink it all in, she panned over her back giving me a peek at her lush ass adorned in some throwback green gym shorts. In a rare moment of genius, I took some screen shots to commemorate the occasion.
She settled the camera back on her face and cheerily jabbed back. “How about that?” “See anything familiar?”
“All the verification I need,” I said. “Not all I want,” I thought.
We carried on flirting and making each other laugh for a bit. I was certain that I had convinced her I wasn’t a wierdo. Wanting to seem aloof, I purposely didn’t ask if we were on for a date. Plus, it would look pushy and I didn’t want to wipe out all the good will I had garnered. I patiently waited for her to broch the subject.
“Alright, “she sighed. “When did you want to have our little rendezvous, again?
“Yeah,” I fumbled. “I’ll be in town Sunday afternoon, so, maybe Monday night?” My nervous excitement was undisguisable. “So much for playing it cool,” I thought. “Really any night next week,” I confessed, clearly showing my desperation.
“Okay,” she said firmly. “One condition.”
“You’ll need to meet me somewhere before our actual date,” she said maintaining her tone. “Someplace public.” “I still have my doubts… …breaking my rule, and all.”
“You won’t regret a thing,” I retorted. “We can meet for drinks the night before. You’ll see I’m not an axe murderer and we’ll be fast friends.” “Guarantee it!”
We shared a little chuckle and we started working out the details. She knew where the hotel, I’d be staying was and suggested a nearby chain restaurant with a bar. I agreed and let her know I was excited to meet her. With a kiss and a wave to the screen, our meeting was abruptly concluded.
An overwhelming sense of euphoria soon set in. Working that kind of magic on such an undisputable dime left me feeling victorious. The fact that this was a business transaction totally escaped me. I was immersed in that ‘thrill of the hunt’ feeling, as if I were a twenty-year-old bachelor again, angling for pussy.
The days leading up to my flight were agonizing. Every spare second was spent glaring at the pics on her site and the few I snapped during our facetime. Scouring her page, I soaked up all the mundane facts I could glean. I sometimes would fantasize about how our encounter would play out. My anticipation was doddering on mania as our time drew nearer.
I decided to spend the mean time preparing myself in order to get the most bang for my buck (so to speak). Reluctantly, I gave up masturbation for the last two days before I left. Obviously, my porn habit had to take a hiatus. Few opportunities arose for sex with my wife. For the most part I could make excuses to get out of them.
At long last, I boarded the plane. While in the air, I did have work to do, but as soon as I knew no one could see my screen, I’d ogle her images again. Somehow, I managed to find the time to wrap up most of my work on the flight, even though my heart was obviously elsewhere.
Fast-forward a few Purgatory-like hours and I was finally settled in my hotel room. Since I had dutifully held back from any communication, I felt like a kid on Christmas morning contacting her again. I texted, “Made it in safely. We still on for tonight?”
She replied back shortly after, “Sure thing, sweetie. Been dreaming bout meeting you, finally.”
We agreed to meet at the bar at 8pm and ironed out a few details. After our exchange, I found my imagination getting the best of me. Should our meeting go well, that would be greenlight for pound town, not to mention a class B misdemeanor. There were certain other details that had not been ironed out.
For instance, is kissing allowed? Am I expected to go down on her? I mean, I certainly would for a girlfriend. How literal was the term GFE?
Then I started to have doubts as to my performance. Face it, I’ve been with the same woman for over a decade. She knew all my tics. How to keep me up, make me last and, when it’s time, get me off. Plus, I can’t remember the last time I used a condom. I’m not sure how my old married junk would hold up with a slightly younger, but much more experienced woman.
Sitting at a pub table near the bar, a deluge of apprehensions washed over me. I started thinking about the many scenarios that could make this whole thing could go sideways. When I noticed her talking to the kaçak bahis hostess, that all went away.
She was dressed to impress, for sure. Her wavy hair, colored blonde, draped over her shoulders. A brown evening dress adorned her shapely body, pulled taught at her hips and bust. The neckline was droopy by design and showed just a hint of cleavage. The hem, cut tastefully just above the knee, teamed up with her matching high heels to highlight her well-built, womanly limbs.
She scanned the bar area looking for me. Snapping out of my trance, I stood next to my chair and waved. Catching her attention, she started toward the table.
Every guy’s head in the place must have turned when she walked past the bar, much to the ire of their wives and girlfriends. She oozed sexy and classy from head to toe. Her elegance was such that I’m sure nobody could guess what she was here to do.
“Well, hey there” I said welcomingly, reaching out a hand to help her up the steps to the table.
“Hey back,” she replied, taking my hand and pulling me in for an embrace.
I closed my eyes, wrapping an arm around her and firmly squeezing those firm tits against my chest. The smell of her perfume filled my nares and poisoned my brain. In an instant, I was hypnotized.
“Buy you a drink?” I mumbled, as I cued the waitress.
She ordered a vodka tonic with some brand I hadn’t heard of and climbed onto the stool. I gestured that I wanted another of what I was drinking. Our evening was off to a shaky start, but here we were.
Small talk ensued. I felt that she was almost as nervous as I was. Trying to conjure something to break the ice, I said, “do you know how many fights you probably started, just by walking in here?”
Trying to maintain her coy facade, she giggled. “What?”
“You probably broke about fifteen necks of guys trying to check you out. Now they have a long car ride with their ole ladies ahead of them.” I joked.
She scrunched up her face, feigning confusion, before breaking character. “Yeah, they’re gunna catch hell,” she laughed.
From that point we got along just fine. Small talk progressed into more personal banter. At one point, I even showed her pictures of my kids. She mentioned being divorced and having a day job.
I resisted the urge to ask the cliché “what got you into this line of work?” Matter of fact, neither of us brought up the precise reason we were meeting. We went on flirting and chatting for about another hour or two when she gave me the serious look again.
“So, what kind of date did you have in mind?” she said bluntly.
Befuddled by the thought that she had just given her approval, I stammered “You know… …uh… …like a date night. But skip to the good parts.”
She laughed again and nodded. “Of course.” Her voice lowered a bit. “An hour, overnight…”
“Two!” I interrupted, “can we do two hours?”
Sensing my excitement, she reached out with both hands over the table, grabbing onto mine. “Sounds like fun.”
And, that was it. No more business talk. We went back to chatting. After finishing our third, maybe fourth drink, we concluded our get-together with another hug.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. I texted her my room number for good measure. She pulled out her phone, noting the chime.
“Got it.” She said. “See you then, Sweetie.”
The whole next day at work was a total waste. I was useless. Enamored by the events to come, I could barely concentrate.
When we broke for the day, I headed out to make final preparations for the evening. I went to no less than four liquor stores before I found her favorite vodka. Not that I felt that I needed to impress her at this point, but hopefully, I’d earn praise for the effort.
I had just finished showering when she texted, announcing her arrival to the parking lot. There would be just enough time to get dressed before she made her way up to the room. I did, however, take a minute to look myself over in the mirror.
My root hung low, swollen from the hot shower and my days of abstinence. Earlier, I had taken the time to trim my mane to a respectable high-and-tight. No doubt, I was having a notoriously good dick day.
By the time she knocked on the door, I was dressed and ready to greet her. We exchanged hellos and I invited her into the room. Once again, I was floored by how astonishingly gorgeous she was.
She wore a black dress this time, longer but with shoulders exposed. Her breasts heaved over the top just begging to be set free. When she walked past, I glared at her ass swaying back and forth with her gait.
“God, you look amazing.” I gushed. I showed her to the den area and offered her a seat on the sofa.
“Thanks, hun.” She retorted as she tossed a small duffle on the couch. Before making herself comfortable, she opened the clutch tucked under her arm in search of her phone. “We should go ahead and…”
“Business first?” I interposed, showing her my phone. Having gone to the pay site before she arrived, I ensured we would not have to waste time on frivolities. She blushed a little and nodded yes. In turn, she checked her phone for the confirmation email.
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