Sunday, June 28, 2009


Sunday, June 28, 2009
So, I had sex with a celebrity's wife.

The cab ride to the woman's mansion was one of tension and apprehension -- but also pure excitement. Not just over the idea of being caught (the client had assured my agent beforehand that her husband was out of town, and the paparazzi in Miami aren't nearly as diligent as their peers in LA), but also at the chance of seeing how the "other half" live.

Well, the home was amazing, but that was expected. Located on one of the islands (Star, Palm, Hibiscus, Fisher, etc.) it was modern in design with plenty of floor-to-ceiling windows and sleek furniture. I've always had an interest in architecture and design, both inside and out. This home certainly didn't disappoint.

As for the client herself, well, she was astoundingly normal. Kind, polite, wealthy yet not covered in jewelry or designer clothes. Her blouse and jeans were no different than anything you'd find at the mall. I never really cared for her husband's work, and now that his wife is buying sex from a stranger, I'm guessing that he's not that remarkable a husband, either.

She'd purchased a two-hour booking, meaning I would be netting about $400 for the night -- not too shabby, eh? It also gave us the chance to have a bit of wine and talk about the news (Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett, mainly) before entering the bedroom.

"Is there anything particular you'd like me to do for you?" I asked, and took off my shirt. "If there is, just let me know."

"You're pretty forward," she replied. "I like that."

"Missionary, then?"

She laughed. "Yes, please. I've had enough of anal with my... never mind."

We lay in bed, clad in our underwear, kissing as another rainstorm passed through. She was in no rush and subsequently, neither was I. Part of escorting is being able to sense the client's pace -- that is, how fast and hard they would like things to go. From everything I could tell, the client wanted to take it slow, and it's my responsibility to honor that.

When I finally penetrated her, I dipped my head and kissed her on the mouth, each kiss punctuated by soft gasps on her behalf. And as her tongue dragged across my neck and her teeth gently bit into my shoulder, I was gasping too. In a rare event, I believe she came before I did. Maybe it's been so long that a man took her presence into account during sex that she couldn't hold out.

I slid out of her and fell onto my back. Staring at the ceiling, I felt the gentle breeze from the fan push against my bare, sweaty chest.

"Oh... that was..." her words drifted off as she wrapped her arm around my abdomen. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

◄Design by Pocket, BlogBulk Blogger Templates