Thursday, February 4, 2010


Thursday, February 4, 2010
Plenty of people own second homes in South Florida. Wonderful as New York and Boston and Chicago are, the winter months in these cities are pretty dreadful. From shoveling snow to dealing with blistering wind chills, those who can afford to escape to Florida until summer often do.

I'm familiar with all the luxury buildings in South Beach, the beautiful waterfront homes in Coral Gables, even a few funky lofts in Brickell or Coconut Grove. My last client was in Coral Gables, an upscale suburb about twenty minutes south of Miami Beach. It's also the home of the world-class University of Miami, as well as the upscale shops at the Village of Merrick Park.

Really, it's a beautiful neighborhood.

I'm continuously fascinated as to what these bored, wealthy women do all day while their husbands are either at work, lunching with clients, or goofing off on the golf course. Plenty have hobbies, be it pilates or yoga or even taking a class or two at the nearby university. Sex, however, it something they desire as well. Fortunately for me, they just don't desire it with their husbands.

"Let's take a bath," the client said. "Are you okay with that?"

"Sure. But you should know, bathtub sex isn't what it's cracked up to be. I know what Hollywood shows you, but still--"

The client laughed. "Honey, I've been having sex longer than you have. You think I don't know what's doable and what isn't?"

She did have a point. We undressed, waited until the tub was filled, and relaxed into the pool of warm, pine-scented water. That's what the bath smelled like, by the way -- pine. For once I didn't smell like Jasmine or Lavender or Patchouli or God knows what else. What amazed me about this booking in particular is that I almost felt like that she was the escort and I was the client.

She rubbed my shoulders, washed my back, even ran her fingers through my hair (thick and dark, just the way they like it) as if she were a hair stylist. Before I got too spoiled I broke off contact and kissed her on the mouth, cheeks and neck. Her soft moans and the tightening of her hands on my shoulders were cues that she appreciated what I had to offer.

"We can move to the bedroom if you like," I said, before kissing each of her breasts and circling my tongue around the nipples. "It's time to get what you paid for, don't you think?"

"Hmmm mmmm ooohhh," was her reply.

"I'll take that as a yes?" I slipped my hand between her legs and began to rub the inside of her thighs. Then, I gently brushed my fingers against her pussy, but didn't penetrate her. Had to keep the suspense going.

"Stand up," she said finally. "Here in the tub -- do it."

I did as she asked. My cock was like an arrow, though it didn't stay visible for long. After a few strokes of the hand, her hands gripped my backside and brought me in closer, after which she engulfed me entirely. She didn't give the best blow job I ever had, but was serviceable enough.

I thought of coming on her breasts, but decided against it. Not everyone is comfortable with it, and I'm not working for my own enjoyment. I caught my breath, then gently pushed her away. Afterward I lifted her into my arms, and, still dripping wet, took her into the bedroom. We didn't make it to the bed, however. We fucked right on the carpeted floor.

"Never did that before," I said, dressing after the fact. "Fuck on the floor, that is."

"Really? And here I thought men your age were so promiscuous. At least that's what all the magazines say." She took a sip of water from the kitchen, then continued. "Teen sex craze out of control!" She waved her arms around in mock hysteria, making me laugh in the process.

"Yes, well, the American media is known for its hysteria. It sounds cliche, but sex sells. That's the only reason they do it."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Crisis sells papers. Perhaps now more than ever."

"You say that with such authority. Do you... I mean, did you study media or something?"

Eek -- tricky territory. "I went to college, yes. Didn't really study media though." That last part was a lie, but this client was new. Couldn't reveal too much without knowing she was a trustworthy person first.

We bid adieu and I was off in my own car (needed to drop it off for an oil change, which was on the way home anyway). Again, it amazes me just how easy I am "getting away" with my career. I have sex, get paid, and life goes on. According to most pundits, I should be addicted to drugs or contemplating suicide right about now.

In reality, the only thing I'm contemplating are my clients for Friday and Saturday night.

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