Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Hot Night at LRS

So the other night I had the distinct pleasure of inviting a very sexy gal to the Little Red Studio's Gold Show. For those who do not know what the studio is, think an erotic cabaret. More than just a bar and less than like a on-premise swing club. Rather a sexy, erotic space where you can watch dance and aerialist performances and do hot things like body paint your partner and dance.

I rather like this space for an erotic date, swing clubs can be so... ick. Too much pressure and sometimes not the most interesting of crowds and bars are nice to meet in, but getting to slowly paint the body of someone and then sit back and listen to erotic poetry, that is seduction. Makes the "night cap" after wards all the more sexy after hours of slow build up.

just my 2 cents.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

To all the readers who have found me via AdultFreindFinder.Com

For many of you, this site was your first introduction to me and my unique profession. I’ve met some very interesting and charming ladies on that site, some of whom may be immortalized here in story form should I find the time to sit down and do their tales justice.

Recently my profile was deleted on said site and while I am annoyed by its loss, I’m not too sad about seeing it go. Save for a handful of truly interesting, dynamic and fun people… the rest seem to be a deep well of negative and unhappy souls. I am not sure if I will be renewing my profile as I think perhaps I have met all the worthwhile people on that site and should leave the rest to their own devices.

Who knows? As the patron who first gave me a subscription to the site, a gift to me on her wedding day in fact, told me, “They really need someone like you here, badly”

Saturday, August 30, 2008


My apologies for the long delay in between stories, I do not like to rush such things. Also I have been kept quite busy these days. I seem to have stumbled upon a new service that is much sought after by my customers. Read on and see for yourself.

I fisted a hand in Maria’s hair, the dark hip length curls already matted and damp with sweat, and pulled her head up so I could whisper in her ear even as I continued to fuck her from behind.

“Watch, Maria,” I whispered. Her eyes, dark as night and foggy with lust, struggled to focus at the command. “Watch him while he watches you.”

I saw the words sink in, her widening on the figure who sat in shadow in the corner chair, and a broken moan escaped her lips.

I ran my tongue over the curve of her ear, and smiled to myself as she shivered. “Do you see him looking at you?” I asked, continuing to fuck her steadily, almost mechanically, as I fed her her fantasy, word by word. “Is he getting excited, do you think? Is his cock getting hard while he sits there, wondering what it would feel like to plow into you right now? Into this wet, soft pussy I’m fucking?” I punctuated the words by pushing into her hard, jerking a moan from Maria, before going back to slow, steady thrusts.

“Tell me, Maria.” I nipped at her earlobe, sending fresh shivers racing over her skin. “Tell me what he’s doing.”

“He’s watching,” she panted, and even in the dim light I could see the flush that turned her olive skin rosy with embarrassment. Maria loved being exposed, but she often fought it, a knee jerk survival instinct. I knew from experience that it wouldn’t take much to push her past it, and into the pleasure she craved.

“What’s he watching, Maria?” I asked, fucking into her just a little bit harder than before. I had one eye on the figure in the chair, noticed the subtle shift of position as he leaned forward slightly, though it wasn’t enough to bring him out of the shadows. Maria saw it too, I could tell by the way her hips suddenly surged back as she tried to quicken the pace.

I knew if I let her, she’d finish the whole thing too fast – for herself and for me. Maria was a tiger in bed, and I often left our encounters just as exhausted and used up as she. And normally that suited me just fine, but this time we had places to go before the finish. And the guy in the chair was going to be pretty bummed if he didn’t get the show he’d come for.

I reached down, sliding my palms around her thighs just above the knee, and with a quick jerk yanked her legs out from under her so she collapsed with a squeal onto the bed. She bounced once, enticingly, before I pinned her down.

She gave a desperate whine, her hands flexing in the rope I’d used to tie them to the bed frame in frustration. “Sawyer,” she whimpered, and tried to push her hips back again, to get her knees under her for leverage, but gravity and greater strength was on my side, and she only managed to move a measly inch or two.

“Sawyer, fuck me,” she pleaded, and I chuckled.

“You know I love it when you beg, Maria,” I growled, and grabbed a fistful of hair to turn her head to face me. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

She looked blank for a second, then her cheeks flooded with heat again. Her eyes slid to the corner, a quick, furtive glance before she lowered her lashes shyly.

“Sawyer…” she began, the words ending in a gasp when I jerked her head back.

“No,” I said, forestalling the bargaining that was sure to begin. “You know what you need to do.” Using my grip on her hair as leverage, I thrust into her hard, the force of it pushing her forward on the mattress and unlocking the words from her throat.

“He’s watching you fuck me,” she moaned.

“Good girl,” I told her, and rewarded her with another of the heavy, almost brutal thrusts that she loved so much. “Who’s watching me fuck you Maria?”

She groaned, her hands flexing again, and I knew she was wishing they were free so she could get at her clit. “Matthew,” she whispered, so soft I almost couldn’t hear it. “Matthew’s watching us fuck.”

I pushed into her again, my grip on her hair keeping her head up so her eyes had nowhere to focus but the man in the chair.

“Who’s Matthew, Maria?” I asked, and this time the blush swept up from her breasts, covering her neck and face in a rosy hue.

Her throat worked as she struggled to get the words out. I leaned over her, covering her with my body as I continued to fuck into her with heavy thrusts. I released her hair and slid my hand around her waist and up, so my forearm rested between her breasts and my hand rested at the base of her throat.

“Come on, darling,” I whispered. “You can say it. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Why he’s here. He wants you to say it, Maria.” I nipped at her shoulder, a tiny bite that she probably barely felt. “Who’s Matthew?”

I felt her chest heave, with both effort and lust, and the words burst forth as though shot from a cannon.

“My husband,” she moaned the words. “My husband is watching me while you fuck me.”

“Good girl,” I whispered again, dropping a soft kiss on the sensitive skin behind her ear before I reared back on my knees.

“Your husband is watching you fuck another man,” I growled, back in character now. I pulled almost all of the way out of her before slamming forward again. “What does that make you, Maria?”

The damn had been broken, the words coming swift and strong now. “I’m a slut,” she moaned, pushing back at me as much as she could. Her eyes never left her husband as he watched her from the shadows.

I kept an eye on Matthew as I spoke. “You’re letting another man fuck you, right in front of your husband.” The shadowes hid the details, but unless I missed my guess, Matthew had just undone his pants. “Have you no shame?” I demanded with another heavy thrust.

“No,” she moaned, her hair flying as her head tossed. Her breathing was starting to hitch, a tell tale sign that her orgasm was near, and I doubled my efforts.

“You filthy slut,” I ground out, knowing the words would push her over, hearing the harsh breathing from the chair in the corner as the words seemed to fill the room. “You horny little cunt, fucking another man in front of your own husband. ‘What a slut I married’ he must be thinking, ‘what a filthy, cum hungry, cock slave …’ “

Maria’s wail drowned out the rest of the words, her body jerking and thrashing as she came. I kept fucking her, knowing it would keep her going for several moments, and listened to Matthew’s moans mix with the orgasmic wails of his wife.

As soon as Maria went limp I pulled my cock free, flipping her to her back and moving to straddle her chest as I ripped the condom off. My hand flew, stroking rapidly as I continued to talk.

“I’m going to cum all over you, Maria,” I told her. “All over your tits, your face, so your husband can see what a slut he’s got for a wife. What a filthy, cum loving cunt he married.”

Her eyes, still glazed from her own pleasure, lit with renewed lust. “Yes,” she hissed, her body arching up as though she could draw the cum from my cock through force of will. “Yes, cum on me, cum all over me, watch Matthew, watch him cum all over your slutty wife. Yes!’

The three of us groaned together as the first spurt landed in the valley of Maria’s breasts. I quickly shifted, adjusting my aim so the next one hit her cheek, then her neck, directing them despite the knee-weakening pleasure so that when I was finished her torso was painted with cum.

“Oh,” she moaned, “oh, my hands. Untie my hands, please Sawyer please.” She could barely hold still for me to undo the knots, and the second the ropes were loose enough she pulled free and knelt on the bed.

“Matthew,” she said, and held out her arms, and with a low cry her husband launched himself from the chair and into her arms.

I dressed quickly, forgotten now as they lost themselves in each other, in the joy of a shared fantasy fulfilled. I slipped quietly out of the room, and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob as I went.

A few hours later, back at work, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to check the message. “Sawyer,” it read, “thank you for making this afternoon so special. We’ll never forget it – Maria & Matthew”.

I smiled, satisfied, and went back to work.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Fantasy Fulfilled

It wasn’t a complete shock. We’d talked about it often, she and I. In those quiet little moments in the dark after passion was spent, those bare and honest stretches of time when her defenses were at their lowest and she was able to voice the forbidden desires that lurked in her heart. We’d talked about it often, but still her body jerked in surprise when she walked into the room and saw him sitting in the chair.

She took an instinctive step back, but I’d stepped up behind her and she backed into me. I wrapped my arms around her so she had nowhere to go.

“Ellen,” I said, my mouth close to her ear. “This is Michael.”

Michael smiled, handsome and exuding boyish charm as he remained relaxed in his chair in the corner, and I felt a shudder run through Ellen’s body. Michael was known among friends as a practical joker, a loyal friend, and an ardent fan of women. I’d chosen him for Ellen because of all those things, and when a soft “Oh my God” whispered past her painted lips, I knew I’d chosen well.

I unwrapped my arms from around her torso, no longer needing to keep her captive, and began stroking her through the thin silk of her designer dress. Over her breasts, quivering with the shaky breaths she was taking, down her flank to the tops of her thighs, across her belly. “Say hello to Michael, Ellen,” I instructed, and nipped at her ear.

“Hello,” she managed, her normally confident voice thin with nerves, and Michael’s smile broadened.

“Hello Ellen,” Michael said, then looked past her to me. “She’s beautiful, Sawyer. You didn’t tell me she was so delicious.”

“Didn’t I?” I said, stroking down her thighs. “I’m sorry. She is though, isn’t she?” I began dragging my hands back up her thighs, catching the delicate fabric with my fingertips so her bare flesh was revealed to Michael’s dancing eyes. Ellen gave a soft moan, her body quivering as I pulled the dress to her waist.

Michael’s eyebrow rose. “She seems to have forgotten her panties, Sawyer.”

“Really?” Curious, I ran my hand back down and encountered nothing but a soft tuft of hair and bare flesh. Bare damp flesh, I realized, and dipped between her supple thighs to see how well my surprise was going over. Very well, I realized, and slid two fingers deep inside with no resistance at all.

Ellen’s moan echoed around the room, her eyes drifting shut as her hands reached back to cling to my neck. I held my fingers still within her as she swayed on her feet, giving her the fullness but not the friction she needed, and soon her hips began pushing forward in search of more.

“Eager, too,” Michael observed.

“Yes,” I agreed. I pulled my fingers from her pussy. “Always eager. But wearing too many clothes, still.” I grasped her throat in my palm, my fingers pushing on her jaw to turn her head towards me. I saw her nostrils flair as she caught her own scent. Her eyes were blurry already with lust, her skin flushed from the rush of blood.

“Ask Michael to undress you, Ellen,” I told her, and firmly turned her to face him.

I felt her neck convulse against my palm as she swallowed, her chest expanding as she drew breath. Her voice wobbled, but she spoke the words clearly. “Michael, will you please undress me?”

Michael smiled again and rose. “I’d be happy to, Ellen.”

I nipped at the side of her neck, then soothed the tiny hurt with a flick of my tongue. “Good girl,” I whispered, and though her eyes remained locked on Michael’s advancing form, she melted a little into my arms at the praise.

Michael stopped in front of her, his smile a bit darker now as he went to work on the row of buttons that ran from neck to hem. In no great hurry, and knowing it would only increase Ellen’s longing, he took his time. I felt her body jolt, an almost imperceptible jerk of movement, the first time his fingers brushed against her bare skin. He noticed it too, but simply continued with his task as though her instinctive resistance didn’t matter. She had asked him to remove her clothes, her consent already given, he would continue until it was withdrawn.

But she didn’t want to withdraw it, and after that first instinctive retreat, she reveled in every bush of his hands against her. By the time Michael reached the last button, her breath was coming in pants as she strained against my hands in an effort to get closer to him.

Michael spread the edges of the dress wide, exposing her body to his appreciative eyes. “She really is delicious, Sawyer,” he said, his eyes tracking a path over breasts and belly, thighs and pussy that I knew was making her even wetter. “Does she like to be touched?”

“She does,” I responded, and the hand still wrapped loosely around her throat felt the moan rise up. “But perhaps we should ask her.”

I put my mouth on her ear once again. “Ellen, do you want to be touched?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Ask him,” I told her, and this time there was only the barest hint of hesitation.

“Michael, please touch me,” she said, and with a hint of the devil in his smile, he did.

Michael has an artist’s hands, strong with long, sensitive fingers. He used them on Ellen, stroking and tugging, pressing and grasping until she writhed in my arms, her fingernails digging into my neck and her head tossing on my shoulder as he drove her mad.

I was watching Michael’s clever fingers manipulate her breast, toying with the nipple and teasing the plump flesh when her head turned, her lips pressing into my cheek as she spoke. “I want his mouth on me,” she gasped, urgency forcing the words from her so they echoed around the room.

“Ask him,” I said, and almost before the words had left my lips she was turning to him.

“Michael please, please put your mouth on me,” she begged, her voice as sure and strong as she could make it with her breath coming in pants. Michael complied, leaning forward and taking the tip of one breast swiftly into his mouth, and she groaned. A guttural sound, not at all ladylike, all manners and thoughts of propriety erased as the needs of her body took over.

Some of her urgency must have been felt by Michael as well, because he stopped teasing and simply devoured her. His mouth was voracious on her breasts, suckling and biting so she surged in my restraining grasp, her cries echoing around the room. He worked his way down her body, running his tongue across her belly, her hip, before finally settling on his haunches in front of her.

He paused, looking up at her as though waiting for permission, though we all knew at this point permission was a foregone conclusion. Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut against the onslaught of sensation, opened now at the lack of it, and focused on him crouched at her feet.

“Please,” she rasped, and had to lick her dry lips before she could go on. “Please lick my pussy.”

I nodded to him, wrapping my arms around her torso to hold her steady. I knew from experience that Ellen – sweet, controlled, proper Ellen – turns into a wanton thing with a tongue on her cunt. I set my feet and anchored her to me, and Michael lowered his mouth to her straining, needy flesh.

She bucked, and if I hadn’t braced myself we’d have ended up in a heap on the floor. Michael clamped his hands on her ass as her feet came up to push against his shoulders, and I held on for the ride.

He ate her to one screaming orgasm, then a second, and by the time he stood again I was ready for my part in this passion play. Holding her while she undulated and pushed and convulsed against Michael, her fingernails digging into my neck...I was ready to do more than just hold her, and if the fit of Michael’s jeans was any indication, so was he.

Moving together quickly now, we stripped the dress from her body and laid her on the bed. She was limp, satiated from her previous climaxes, but Ellen is, at her core, insatiable. She stirred under our stroking hands and caressing lips, her hands coming up to clasp our heads, and soon she was gasping and writhing.

Michael’s head popped up from her breast, his dark gaze meeting mine. “I need to get my cock into this slut,” he ground out, and I grinned when Ellen’s cunt, wrapped snug around two of my fingerers, spasmed at his words.

I pumped my fingers slowly, holding her hips down when she tried to push back against me. “Which hole do you want?” I asked him, and felt her pussy spasm again. We were talking over her, around her, and the slight humiliation of being treated as nothing but an object of lust was making her even hotter.

“I went down on her, I think she ought to return the favor,” he answered me. “But I want her to beg me for it.”

I slid up the bed to grasp her hair, tugging her head up with enough force to make her grunt in surprise. “Do you want to suck Michael’s cock, Ellen?” I asked, still pumping her cunt with my fingers. “Do you want him to fuck your throat?”

“God, yes,” she moaned, and turned to face him. “Please let me suck your cock, Michael,” she begged, her voice ragged and hoarse. “Please shove your cock down my throat.”

Michael climbed off the bed and stripped off his shirt, giving Ellen a glimpse of toned, muscled flesh and brightly colored tattoos. Then his pants came off, and she only had eyes for his cock.

He gripped it firmly in his hand as he climbed back on the bed, his other hand reaching for the back of her head. She needed no prompting, sitting up eagerly to meet him halfway, and slid her perfectly painted lips down his shaft.

His groan mingled with her muffled one, and he turned to me and grinned as he began pumping in her mouth. I grinned back and grabbed for a condom. I rolled it on as Ellen shifted position, going to her knees to give herself a better angle to swallow his cock. That worked just perfectly for me. I knelt behind her, tilted her hips, and pushed into her pussy in one heavy stroke.

She was dripping wet and hot enough to scorch as I tunneled deep. The force of that first thrust pushed her forward onto Michael’s cock, and his groan mingled with the sound of her gagging on him.

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered. He threaded his fingers through her tangled hair and grinned fiercely. “Make her gag on my cock again,” he told me, and I complied, reaching around to toy with her clit as I thrust forward. She gagged again, coughing a little as he allowed her to pull back and breathe before dragging her forward once more.

He grinned at me. “I think she likes it.”

I had to agree, and grit my teeth as Ellen came again, skewered at both ends with her clit pinched between my fingers. Her pussy clamped down on my cock, but I wasn’t ready to quit yet. I knew she had at least one more in her, and I wanted to hold out at least that long. Besides, I knew Michael wanted to have his turn in her pussy.

I caught his eye and motioned to him, then to where my cock was buried in Ellen’s cunt, and he nodded. He pulled his cock from her mouth, grinning when she whined and tried to keep him there. He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth grinding down on hers, and I felt her pussy clench around me again.

He released her mouth and climbed down off the bed, snagging a condom from the pile on the night stand as he went. I slid out of her cunt as he came around behind her, and peeling off the condom, went to take my place at her mouth.

“Suck my cock while he fucks you, Ellen,” I told her, and pushed into her throat. She gave a muffled moan, the vibrations in her throat an added caress on my dick as Michael shoved into her pussy.

I could tell by the whimpers coming from her full mouth that she was close. So was I, and if the twisted grimace on Michael’s face as any indication, so was he.

“That’s it, baby,” I ground out, fucking her face. “Suck me good, and he’ll fuck you good. You love this, don’t you?” I asked her, and slid my hands down her back to her ass. She jumped when I smacked her cheeks, and Michael groaned. I grinned at him and smacked her again, the crack of it loud in the room, and he groaned again as her pussy responded to the shock and pain by clamping down. “Yeah, you love being our little fuck toy.”

I stayed bent over her back and slid one hand to the cleft of her ass. She jerked as I teased the puckered skin of her asshole.

“Look at that,” Michael managed, continuing to thrust into her cunt. “That asshole is just ripe for fucking.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, pressing on it with the pad of my finger and watching it flutter in response. “It’s all but begging to be penetrated, isn’t it. Penetrated, spread wide, fucked.” I punctuated every word with a press of my finger, until with a pop it slid in to the first knuckle.

Michael groaned as Ellen jerked. “Oh man, she loves that,” he managed. “Her cunt just clamped down on me like a vice.”

“Yeah?” I managed, though speech was getting tough for me too. It wouldn’t be long before her sucking mouth brought me off, but I wanted to make sure she got there too. “Wonder if she’ll do it again?” I said, and slid my finger out to thrust it back in again.

“Oh yeah, she’s coming,” Michael said, and I could feel the fluttering pulses start as her orgasm began.

I kept my finger in her ass, shallowly fucking the spasming muscle as Michael rode her hard, shouting out his own completion. I let myself follow with a roar, pouring myself into her mouth, then pulling free to finish on her face.

She collapsed on the bed, shaking with aftershocks, coughing a little as my semen spilled from her lips. I leaned over, laid my lips on her ear as I stroked her hair. “Good girl,” I whispered, and she smiled.

Later, after Michael had bid us farewell and we’d restored ourselves to some semblance of order, I walked Ellen to her car.

“Thank you for today,” she said, turning to face me with a shy smile.

“You’re very welcome,” I told her, dropped a kiss on her hair. She smiled again, turning to get into her car. But she hesitated and turned back, a question on her face.

“What?” I asked.

“When Michael was fucking me, and you put your finger in my ass…” she began, then stopped, a slight blush staining her cheeks. “I liked it.”

“I know,” I said, and she laughed.

“Of course you do.” She shook her head. “You always know.”

“And…” I leaned in to whisper into her ear, “I know that next time, you want more.”

“You always know,” she repeated, and I simply smiled.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Ms Moneypenny

"You do wonders for Armani", my companion purred, her fingers stroking the sleeve of the tuxedo jacket she herself had picked out that afternoon. "But I think I like you better without it."

I looked down at her in the dim lights of the theater and smiled. "Patience, darling," I told her, and nodded towards the stage. "We've a long night ahead of us."

She sighed and shifted in her seat, crossing her legs with the barest whisper of silk. "And then we have that tedious cocktail party after." Then she smiled, her blue eyes gleaming as brightly as the diamonds on her fingers. "But after that, you're all mine."

I call her Mrs. Moneypenny. She does bear a slight resemblance to the Bond character, the same knowing smile, that unflappable poise, but that's not why I call her that. Mrs. Moneypenny enjoys her money; lavishly, foolishly, but then she can afford to. She could throw hundred dollar bills off bridges like confetti every day for a year and not make a dent in her fortune.

She has a husband, a stoic man with whom she conceived two children before he moved out of their bedroom. He preferred to concentrate on business, he informed her, rather than waste time on silly things like physical pleasure or emotional intimacy. She mused to me once that perhaps it was the right choice; he was, after all, very good at business - hence their fortune - and it left her free to pursue other avenues of pleasure.

On this particular night we were at the opera to see Carmen, which she adores. She's active in fund raising for the local guild, and keeps a private box. As she relaxed beside me, caught up in the performance on stage despite her earlier protestations, I studied her.

She looked at least ten years younger than she was, a testament to hard workouts and a near religious devotion to staying out of the sun. Her pale blond hair was swept up, her shoulders left bare by the elegant black dress and the pearls around her neck gleaming dully in the faint light. She was slender, with a regal bearing that might have looked affected on a lesser woman. On her, it was a perfect fit.

Our time together usually involves a social engagement, as she has many such commitments on her calendar and doesn't like to attend alone. She also enjoys the speculation among her high brow friends as to just who that young man with her is. Their whispers have followed us through ball rooms and cocktail parties, charity fundraisers and black tie dinners. She said to me once that she’d have a lot more respect for “these people” if they’d just come right out and ask. But there seems to be an unspoken don’t ask, don’t tell policy among this crowd, so she just smiles, smug, as she makes her entrance on my arm.
Though I guess, technically, I'm on her arm.

After the performance, we did the rounds with the cocktail circuit. She smiled politely, making small talk and dispensing air kisses where appropriate. A veteran of the high society social wars, she knows what’s expected of her and how to navigate these waters. She does it almost automatically, falling into familiar patterns with hardly any effort, and though it takes a keen eye to spot the bored disinterest in her china blue eyes, it’s there.

It was almost midnight when I helped her into the subtly luxurious limo waiting at the curb, and she sank into the upholstery with a sigh. As the driver pulled smoothly away from the curb, I reached out to stroke the nape of her neck.

“Oh, that feels lovely,” she murmured, and tilted her head to give me better access. “I can take the necklace off, if it’s in your way.”

I eyed the pearls, a string of perfectly matched orbs that glowed against her fair skin. “It’s not in my way,” I assured her. “Besides, I like the way you look in it.”

She smiled, eyes closed as she leaned into my touch. “They were my mothers,” she said, “and wearing them always makes me feel like such a lady.”

“You look like a lady,” I told her, and she opened her eyes.

“I’m done being a lady tonight.” She reached over to flick the intercom button. “Derek, keep driving until I tell you to stop.”

“Yes ma’am,” the driver replied, and the intercom clicked off.

“Sawyer?” She reached up and tugged at the neckline of her gown to that it fell away from her shoulders, baring her to the waist. Then she reached out and hooked her fingers in my collar. “Make me feel like a woman.”

“Yes ma’am,” I murmured, and tumbled her to her back.

My favorite thing about Mrs. Moneypenny? It’s not her money, or the fancy evenings out on the town, or the designer suits she loves to buy me. It’s the way she tangles her fingers in my hair and tugs in rhythmic concert with her panting breaths as I pleasure her with my tongue. How wet she gets when I nibble behind her ear. The way her perfectly manicured nails bite into my shoulders as I move fast and hard inside her.

The way she looks, naked but for a string of pearls and the occasional splash of moonlight, in the back of a limo winding quietly through the town.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

How this all works

So you want to book a date with me? How does it work, and more importantly, what will it cost? It all starts with an e-mail. Usually a woman get my address from a friend, or she approaches a female sex worker, who then refers her
to me.

Some emails are bold. "Where, when, and how much will it cost to do X?" Others are more shy and tentative. Unsure of just how this all works, and not sure what they want, save that they want something more than what they are getting. These are my favorite.

We will exchange a few emails to discuss the basics, and then make a date to meet over coffee.I meet all my clients like this first. I find that this helps ease their fears that I’m not some ax-wielding crazy guy, as well as showing them that I look as good in person as the photos, and that the chemistry we've created via email is not just wishful thinking. The less of the unknown to stress over, the better.

I normally book my time in 2 hour blocks, $200 per block. What happens in that time is up to the client, you are paying for my time, and undivided attention and my wicked imagination. Larger blocks of time are negotiated in advance, and usually only after I’ve seen someone a few times and gotten to know them a better.

Friday, February 1, 2008


The subject line of the email was “time for a tune-up”.

At 25, Julia is one of my younger clients, and on the surface not someone you’d ever think would hire a gigolo. She’s working on her PhD in physics, of all things, and is by far smarter than almost anyone else I know. I don’t see her very often – she has to save her pennies to come see me – but I always look forward to her call.

She views her time with me as a treat, a reward to herself for the hard work and long hours she puts into her academic career. Some women would spend those pennies on a day at the spa, or a new outfit, perhaps a fancy dinner out. She’s always so focused on the abilities of her mind that she sometimes forgets the needs of her body, so during the few hours we spend together I do my best to remind her that along with that incredible mind, there’s also an incredible body that deserves its fair share of attention.

She had a study group until 7:00, so I agreed to come to her apartment at 7:30. When I arrived she was still tidying up the debris left by half a dozen starving college students. She refused my offer to help with the cleanup, waving me to the couch in the living room, and joined me a few minutes later with two glasses of wine.

“I forgot to ask on the phone,” she said as she handed me a glass. “Can you stay for two hours tonight?”

“Two?” My eyebrow went up, surprise evident in my voice. Two hours was generally out of her comfort zone, financially.

She grinned as she sipped her wine, pixie like with her cap of midnight hair and fine, delicate features. “Two,” she confirmed, and handed me an envelope. “I got some birthday cash from my Grandma Catherine last week.”

“Well, that’s a nice surprise,” I said, but I was frowning. Perhaps I was shooting myself in the foot here, but I liked Julia a lot, and couldn’t help but feel a little protective of her. I didn’t want her to regret splurging her unexpected windfall with me. “Are you sure you don’t want to save some of that for other things? I know you said you needed a new television.”

She waved my concerns away. “My folks are upgrading their TV to a flat panel, so they’re going to give me their old one soon. And besides, Gran told me to spend the money on something I really wanted but couldn’t normally afford.” She smiled. “I want you to be my birthday present.”

Touched and a little humbled, I reached out and slipped the wine glass from her hand and set it on the coffee table. “Then happy birthday,” I whispered, and framing her face in my hands, kissed her.

She leaned into me, her lips parting on a sigh, though I could still feel the tension in her slight frame. Julia spends so much time in academic pursuits that it sometimes takes a while for her to turn off her mind and tune into her body, so I took my time. Seducing her mouth with nibbling little kisses and flicks of my tongue, and stroking my hands lightly over her clothed body until she was pliant and soft against me. Only then did I move to divest her of the bulky wool sweater that was standard apparel for Seattle in winter. It slipped easily over her head to reveal the delicate lace bra cupping surprisingly lush breasts for a woman with a such a delicate frame.

Her eyes were unfocused, blurry now with passion as she reached for me before the sweater hit the floor. Her tiny hands fluttered around my face before dancing over my shoulders and sliding down my chest, and she sighed my name.

I slid my arms around her as I stood, lifting her easily. Carrying Julia always made me feel powerful, commanding. She’s so small, so slight compared to me, I might as well be carrying a sack of feathers, though no sack of feathers could ever feel this good in my arms.

I carried her to the bed she’d brought from her childhood bedroom and laid her on the quilt that ironically, had also been a gift from her grandmother. She sighed again as I came down on top of her, carefully pressing her into the mattress, and set about making good use of the two hours that felt like as much a gift to me as it was to her.

I took her clothes off slowly, peeling them away and paying homage to each newly revealed patch of skin. Drawing out the seduction she craved so much until she was writhing on the bed, nearly mindless with the needs of her flesh. Knowing the astonishing intelligence that lived inside this woman, it was all the more humbling to watch her surrender to her body, and it was truly a gift to be the one to draw that out of her.

I made love to Julia for those two hours with pleasure and joy, taking her sighs and gasps and building on them patiently. We strained together in the tangled sheets, her much smaller body dwarfed by mine, her arms holding me as securely as mine held her.

After, she curled trustingly against my side, her head pillowed on my shoulder as her breathing gradually returned to normal. I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Happy birthday,” I told her again, and she giggled weakly.

“Thanks for being my present,” she murmured, already drifting off to sleep.

I held her for a few minutes more, savoring the feel and scent of her skin. She slept on, peaceful and satiated as I dressed quietly. After pressing a last kiss to her forehead I left the apartment, taking care to lock the door behind me, and walked out into the cold winter night.

Thanks, Grandma Catherine.