Memoirs of a Gigolo: Virgin Territory
First day. Nervous. I sit in my car in the warmth and have another chocolate digestive. It feels like my first day at school, the anticipation, the fear. That's the only similarity.
I check my gigolo kit bag. Mints, stop-watch, condoms, water-based lube, wet wipes and whistle. This game isn't for mugs. I meet the woman in a Holiday Inn car park she's wearing a black dress and she's bra-less. Nipples like exposed steel core bullets. I was a military man. She's a giant, taller than me at 6ft 2 inches. I look up and say hello, she smiles a horsey grin and whispers "you must be the escort". "Indeed I am, you must be my date". Date I hear her think and she reveals her horsey grin. My stomach turns, I attempt a smile then we walk together hand in hand to the reception.
"We've booked a room for 11" she declares to the receptionist. "The name is Johnson". We're early and the beds haven't been made. I sigh. My stomach grumbles; I shouldn't have missed breakfast. We're forced to wait and I'm forced into small talk. "So, how was your weekend?'" I don't care for the answer; it was a rubbish question. Our room is ready, we hold hands and make our way to the room.
I lie on the bed and tell her the deal. I alluded to it over the phone but thought I should clarify before we start operations.
Quick as a button she replies 'I want it all'. I dry heave but disguise it as a cough. I'm glad I missed breakfast. She seems so self assured, why? I was expecting a delicate little flower, not a man-eating fly-trap. Without another word spoken she starts stripping, I follow suit. We're a good 8 ft away from each other and she eye-balls as my trousers fall to the carpet.
I check my gigolo kit bag. Mints, stop-watch, condoms, water-based lube, wet wipes and whistle. This game isn't for mugs. I meet the woman in a Holiday Inn car park she's wearing a black dress and she's bra-less. Nipples like exposed steel core bullets. I was a military man. She's a giant, taller than me at 6ft 2 inches. I look up and say hello, she smiles a horsey grin and whispers "you must be the escort". "Indeed I am, you must be my date". Date I hear her think and she reveals her horsey grin. My stomach turns, I attempt a smile then we walk together hand in hand to the reception.
"We've booked a room for 11" she declares to the receptionist. "The name is Johnson". We're early and the beds haven't been made. I sigh. My stomach grumbles; I shouldn't have missed breakfast. We're forced to wait and I'm forced into small talk. "So, how was your weekend?'" I don't care for the answer; it was a rubbish question. Our room is ready, we hold hands and make our way to the room.I lie on the bed and tell her the deal. I alluded to it over the phone but thought I should clarify before we start operations.
"Full blown sex is 100 pounds. For that I do the works and I'm thorough. I get the job done. If you want anything extra beyond the realms of what might be considered normal, we can negotiate the price".
Quick as a button she replies 'I want it all'. I dry heave but disguise it as a cough. I'm glad I missed breakfast. She seems so self assured, why? I was expecting a delicate little flower, not a man-eating fly-trap. Without another word spoken she starts stripping, I follow suit. We're a good 8 ft away from each other and she eye-balls as my trousers fall to the carpet.
"What are you wearing?"
"A pouch"
"I've never seen anything like it, it's
multi-coloured!"
"It's a technicolour dreampouch. Don't you like
it?"
She doesn't like it. She claims she's more interested in the contents of my pouch. I ignore this comment, get under the covers, and prepare for sub-standard sex with a strange woman.
To be continued...
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