April 19, 2008
I realise that in my last proper post I was telling you how I got started working as an escort. Part II of the tale is, in fact, riveting. And I will get to it but for now I must take a little sidepath and relate the events of last night.
As I mentioned in one of my tweets on twitter, I was seeing a new client last night. When I first have a conversation with a new person I do try to get some information from them. Regardless of the questions I ask, I get much more information from the manner in which they answer the questions than the answers they actually give. Though of course the answers factor in as well. I’ll have to get into that process another time. It requires a post of its own! Suffice it to say I’m selective.
So last night I met with D., a banker with Bear Stearns. I was glad to have a new client who’s English. And I’ll tell you why, not only would we have common things to talk about – since I head over to the UK on my visits to Europe – but his being English made me reasonably confident that he would also be well endowed. Now you might think I’m generalizing. But I’ll tell you this, I have a fairly good sampling of the population and when it comes to ethnicities, the English are, for the most part, packing some heat. I don’t know what it is. All the rain, maybe. Helps it grow. I don’t really need to know the answer why, I’m just happy it’s the case. I’m sure somewhere there’s an English guy who isn’t well endowed. I’ve yet to meet him. And frankly have no desire to.
D. arrived and I opened the door to a quite tall, and considerably hefty bloke. “Hmmmm, I thought. This is unfortunate.”
You see, you never know what you’re going to get when you open that door. They’ve got a reasonably good idea, considering there are photos for them to look at. But we’re flying blind on this end.
Not that he was hideous. Just larger than I like. For an English guy he was wearing a really poorly cut suit. Obviously he’d been living in the states for too long. That’s one of the things I love about London guys. They’re properly suited and booted. And don’t get me started on the hair styles over there – tres hip! I’m sorry American men but they put you to shame in those areas. It just is. In the way that Mount Everest is.
So, badly suited Bear Stearns banker guy has brought a bottle of champagne. Points! Just about makes up for the fact that his left eye seems to wander somewhere to the West. Which one do I look at?!! But we open the champagne and chat and he’s really very sweet. We sit on the sofa for about 5 minutes but he’s raring to get into the bedroom and “get comfortable”. Which he does surprisingly quickly. Shirt comes off. Shoes and pants and socks come off. Just the undershirt and underwear left as he sort of pours himself onto the bed, his belly doing this kind of jello wobbly thing as it settles.
Now, I prefer to undress the guy – seems much sexier to me and it’s a process. Bankers just don’t have time for all of that! They’re on a schedule apparently.
I notice that his breath is a bit, um, skunky. One of the hazards of the trade, I’m sad to say. Note to men: Brush your teeth immediately before sex. Every time. Without exception. I normally ask people to brush their teeth but he’s already “gotten comfortable”. And the champagne sort of acts as a natural antibacterial. Sort of. I’m wearing a black tube dress and he nuzzles my neck. The top of the tube dress comes down very quickly. I realize very quickly that this guy is very oral. Soon I’m wearing only my gold strappy sandals and he’s occupied between my legs.
“ooh, D. that feels so good.” (me)
“you do that just perfectly.”
“yes, play with my ass just like that. lick it.”
“you want me to come in your mouth like this, don’t you?”
Dum de dum. OK, 20 minutes down and an hour and 40 minutes to kill. Don’t get me wrong. I can enjoy someone going down on me. But most men don’t do it very well. There it is, guys. sorry to be so brutal. You think you’re sending a woman to the heights of exctasy and we’re thinking about our shopping list. (The proper way to give oral is a whole other topic which I promise to get to it eventually). And so to end the agony I say:
“oh baby I want you in my mouth”
I roll him over and kiss him and work my way down his body, taking my time. Making sure he’s enjoying it. There are little things I do to ensure that. And I’m finally between his legs. This is the time when I do a thorough examination of the situation down there. Safety first! And then, yes, I take him into my mouth.
Girls, I don’t know if you ever noticed this, but you can totally tell when a guy is getting ready to come. Of course I learned this very early on because one thing you don’t want is an unexpected “surprise” if you know what I mean. The trick is this – when his testicles retract into his body and you can feel something sort of surging around in his shaft, then it’s time to get out of the way!
But we’re no where near this point so I slip on a Trojan Magnum and lower myself onto him. Which is a bit of a trick when someone is that wide. Note to men: lose 50 lbs! Each and every one of you. OK, maybe 20.
But I soon forget that because his cock is in fact filling me up completely and I’m getting close to coming.
“Fuck yeah” he says, over and over. Someone’s obviously been watching porn. I have to say that there are worse things to hear at this moment. I really do try to get my share of enjoyment out of each experience with a client – if it’s at all possible. Sometimes it isn’t. I certainly don’t want to hear weird dirty talk when I’m focused on my orgasm. It can be off putting, believe me. But this was OK. I just rode him until I felt that glorious escalation in my loins that ended with me shuddering to the tips of my toes. Hail Britannia!
Now I’m ready to get this segment of the evening over with. “I want you to fuck me from behind,” I say.
And after a bit of adjusting – big people have a difficult time moving around – we were in position.
“Oh baby that is so good! Your cock is so good in my pussy!” – aaaaaaand – were done.
“Yeah. That was incredible!” (him)
“No, you’re incredible” (me)
“So, do you like to party?” (him)
“By the term ‘partying’ I assume you’re referring to indulging in illegal substances of some sort?” (me)
As it turns out, this banker had some coke on him (what are the odds?) And as it turns out, I’d never done coke. I know. I’ve managed to abstain for a long time. I suppose because alcohol disagrees with me so much I was reluctant to try something that didn’t come with a built-in temperance mechanism – which for me is a doozy of a hangover the next day. I’d been thinking about trying it for a few months, so what the hell. I’ll give it a go!
One rolled up dollar bill later not much was happening. The line he gave me was about half the size he consumed.
“So, what’s this supposed to feel like? Is something supposed to happen?”
One thing that did seem to happen was it made the champagne all the more tasty! I had a little more. Because if I was going to do this then I wanted to feel something! And then I just started feeling a bit happy. Happy, happy, happy. And the back of my throat was numb.
I’ve heard that sex on cocaine is supposed to be pretty incredible. I suppose you need to be with a partner you’re attracted to for that to be the case but at lease I wasn’t as put off. And was I imagining it or was his walleye less noticeable?!? One thing I’ll admit to is feeling very affectionate toward D. We finished up the evening and he was showering me with praise and promising to call me soon.
During the night I woke up absolutely parched. My eyelids were all sluggish and sticking to my very dry eyeballs. Ugh.
Maybe there is a built in temperance mechanism after all. I’m still feeling a bit shaky and have loaded up on sugar to raise my glycemic levels. Fille x
follow up: I was hungover the entire next day – not the miserable, can’t function hang over that comes with drinking too much. More like a low-grade headache and general lethargy. Glad I tried it once. Possibly will again but not for a long while.