Monday, May 31, 2010

Red Teddy

Days sometimes blend together; there are good days and bad. We all go through our lives expecting to repeat yesterday with a few variations. I know my life is not simple. I realize that others are far more likely to experience repetition and I accept that. Sometimes I glory in it. I don’t have a personality that works well with repetition. So, in some ways, I suppose my life is perfect. In other ways not so much.


A knock at the door alerts me that someone has arrived. I look at the camera and I feel a certain amount of happiness. I can see the tall gentleman standing out front, briefcase in hand. He looks good, legitimate. He’ll be easy and he’s my type. So, more than likely, when given the opportunity, he’ll choose me.

I run to the door adjusting my skimpy clothing and searching my brain for anything I may have forgotten. Empty bladder, I peed earlier, so no worries I’ll look bloated. My lipstick is fresh. I glance in the hallway mirror as I rush by. Cool! I look good. I lift an arm and draw in a deep breath through my nose. Summer fresh. Quickly composing myself, I open the door.

“Hi sweetie welcome to the land of plenty.” The land of plenty, what a stupid name, but that is it and just like all the other girls I have to say it with a smile on my perfectly lined mouth. My voice is sultry and I keep my eye lids lowered just enough to add that sleepy quality. I once had a guy tell me that was sexy, so I use it. Information like that is gold.

I reach out, take his hand, and gently lead him into the room. The heavy iron door shuts behind him and I hear the locking mechanism click into place.

“Have you been here before?” I ask as I lead him into a darkened room with candles burning. He says no, in a nice deep voice, and I turn to get a better look at him, while motioning for him to sit.

He places his briefcase on the floor and slides into the couch with the grace of a man accustomed to his size. He was easily six foot three inches tall; maybe more. I’ve never been a good judge. The only thing I can say for sure is, my heels give me four and a half inches and that makes me five nine. He towered over me.

Even in the dim light I could see his eyes were a startling blue. In my opinion, blue is a color that can really change a person’s face. I’ve seen girls put on blue contacts and go from a six to a nine in five point two seconds. I don’t know if his blue eyes did that for him, but they were certainly cool. The rest of him wasn’t bad either. This guy had never been a six. Not even without the eyes. His dark hair was cut short, in a business style that went nicely with his dark suit and blue tie that, by the way, was the exact hue of his eyes. His chin was strong and I thought maybe I detected a slight clef. I took in all of this while telling him the glorious attributes of our fine establishment and informing him that there was no better value in town.

When I asked him if he wanted to meet the other girls I was disappointed when he agreed. I went back into the dressing room and announced, “Intros, Girls.” Everyone stood and slipped on their heels and began to parade themselves like willing prey for a hungry lion. The smorgasbord today was limited to three of us and after a few minutes of introduction and flirtation he chose me.

My nerves were a little taut. In most situations I am never nervous, yet occasionally someone enters this corner of my world and I wonder what it would have been like to meet them in another place, another time. My heart is beating a little faster than it normally does and I’m suddenly not as sure of myself as I was before answering the door.

This man is beautiful; he seems somewhat intelligent. I deduce this from the fact that in the past hundred and sixty seconds he hasn’t said anything incredibly stupid, a trait among the regulars. He also hasn’t grabbed my ass or said something like, “I seen you before haven’t I?”

I’m always amazed at how quickly people say stupid crap and give away their basic personality. This usually happens in the first hundred and sixty seconds.

So far he has spoken intelligently; no blazing mispronunciations. He smells nice, clean-shaven, and he looks at me with something like respect. Nice.

I’m actually looking forward to this. I’m hoping he likes me, I hope I wiped good enough. I have had the experience where you think everything is perfect, but somehow a piece of toilet paper has hidden itself in the folds of your lips and is just waiting to drop onto the chest of some unsuspecting guy. Or even worse, you see them looking and you think they’re admiring your beauty; the stare is so intense. Later, as your checking things out, you find the glowing white hitchhiker and you realize it’s been there the entire time.

This has only happened a few times and only when I’m rushing. I have learned to be diligent and spreading it open to check things out is something that happens upon every trip to the rest room. In this situation there is no room for error.

I’m going over all of this as I step into the room and closed the door behind us. “I need to take your session fee.” I say this with a sweet smile and make eye contact.

God, he’s good looking. He hands me the cash and my hand slides across his palm. His hands are hot. His fingers are long and thick. I smile wider and wonder if he has any idea what I’m thinking.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, leave any tip on the table that you feel comfortable with and I’ll be back in a moment.” Comfort is an important thing, so I use the word a lot.

I turn and leave the room quickly, making sure to sway my hips just enough. I catch him watching in the mirror and I’m pleased with my success.

I rush to the dressing room, drop the money in the safe, and check my face one last time in the vanity mirror. I wonder what he thinks of me. He’s spending money to have moments of my time, that’s something. But why does such a hot guy need to be here? I shake my head in dismay, maybe he’s intimidating, can’t get a date because he’s too fabulous.

I suddenly felt bad for him. There really couldn’t be many explanations; that or he’s married and wifey has gotten past his gorgeousness. She’s not putting out any more. Maybe he farts in his sleep or when he talks he drools. I laughed at my silly wonderings and headed back toward the room.

As I opened the door my Tiffany persona slips around me like a silky second skin and I walk to him with more confidence than any mere mortal could ever acquire.

He’s sitting on the couch still dressed in his suit and tie. His legs are stretched out in front of him and he has a lazy smile on his lips. I kneel between his legs and let my long blonde hair fall to cover my face. My palms slide from his knees up his inseam very slowly stopping just before the large bulge resting at the apex of his log legs.

My head comes up slowly and my eyes meet his. My sexy is in full on mode and I’m working him.

His pants are still on but I can tell he’s primed and ready. Soon he’ll be out of his mind for me and that makes things much easier. When all the blood has left the head to travel south, I never have to work as hard.

At this point you’re probably thinking I’m something I’m not. Although I have been known to cross a line or two, I am not a prostitute. I do not have sex for money. I don’t need to. What I do is spend time with men while they take care of business.

Think of me as a living, breathing, adult magazine. You can look and you can touch but you canNOT fuck. There are lots of rules and lots of details about what I do. This is sad for them and sometimes I feel bad for taking their money, but that only lasts for a second and it is never strong enough that I give it back. Even when they’re stunningly gorgeous, case in point.

I looked over at the nightstand and two crisp hundred-dollar bills lay on its surface. I grinned and thought; awesome, cute guy, good tipper, my day is looking up.

I stood, turned, and pressed my bottom between his legs distracting him as I slipped the money from the nightstand and into my bra. I would move it again to a better location before my bra comes off and he will never know. Get the money off the table as quickly as possible. Take money out of the equation. And ejaculation comes quicker.

I touch my toes and look at him from between my legs. “You’re wearing too much clothing.” I say, in what I hope is a purr.

He smiles and reaches up to loosen his tie. I stand up and turn toward him. I must admit I’m looking forward to seeing his body. Is he as sexy naked? Some people are sexier naked. I’m secretly hoping this is the case. I want to touch his chest and not be repulsed, as I so often am. I want to spend time in the presence of someone who isn’t stinky or flabby, someone without sores on their fat ass or breath so bad you are sure they had a bowl full of shit soup just prior to their arrival at your door.

My confidence soaring, my excitement high, I watch as he stands and begins to undress. He loosens his tie and pulls open his suit jacket. I’m thinking that life doesn’t get better than this. He starts to unbutton his white shirt, my mind and my eyes start to have a rather interesting conversation.

My mind is telling me that under his shirt there is a smooth hard wall of chest muscle that I want to run my fingers over. I’m sure it will feel of silk and make me wish fervently that circumstances were different.

My eyes are on a completely different path.

My eyes have locked on a piece of red lace peeking from the collar of his shirt. My eyes are growing larger as one by one buttons are undone to reveal a dark red lace teddy.

Up until this moment, I had believed that this was going to end very differently.

My eyes and my mind are still warring as I watch him remove the rest of his clothing to reveal a very elaborate ensemble. Black stockings, red garter belt, lace everywhere. It really was a stunning outfit, in more ways than one.

At this moment I am very happy that I had wasted two years of my life at a community college studying theatre. That training was the best thing to ever happen to me. If my acting coach had been nearby, I would have French kissed him.

Part of me wanted to throw up. Not because I really found the situation gross. I have seen gross and this isn’t it. But, because of my inability to see it coming.

This was for all intents and purposes, a guy that any red-blooded woman would date. Yet, here he was standing before be in an outfit Heidi Clum would admire with a raging hard on; okay now I’m just all mixed up. He was staring at me like he’d just consumed several canaries.

Earlier I had briefly wondered why this person, with all of his attributes, would feel the need to pay for company. Clearly I now had all the answers to those questions. I wasn’t shocked by the simple appearance of woman’s clothing draped on the masculine figure of a strapping man. I had experienced these things before. My shock lay in the very horrible fact that I had been attracted to this man. This is a man that had I seen him on the street or in my favorite coffee shop, would have interested me. No, not merely interested; intrigued, fascinated. This is a man I would have given my number to, had he asked. Then, later, I would have caught him in my closet slipping into my unmentionables. Stretching out my lacy things and smiling with that fabulous mouth, happy that he is able to fulfill his decadent needs.

I have to admit I was disappointed, very disappointed. But, I pushed it down and focused on that two hundred dollars nestled between my ample breasts.

“Wow. You are so pretty.” I said and pressed myself closer to him. This made him happy and he smiled like a little boy. I could tell he was relieved. He opened his briefcase and out came a pair of low-heeled red pumps, he slipped them on, turned to the mirror and looked at himself.

I watched as he grabbed hold and started working toward the end goal. I told him how gorgeous he was and rubbed his bottom. I watched his eyes as he looked in the mirror. He never looked at me again. He had eyes only for himself.

He was done in moments and I left him to gather himself and his dignity. Although as far as I was concerned that was long gone.
I sat down hard on the couch in the dressing room and I thought about how life can sometimes surprise you; even when you think you’ve seen it all.

Land Of Imagination

The most magical place throughout the ages has always been the land of imagination. In this place of mystical beasts and fantastic lands, amazing things take place every day. Things that are so fantastic that only those with very strong imaginations can truly understand.


This is the place that the fairie Queen has come to rest. The place where butterflies speak in children’s voices and unicorns chase each other on the grassy banks of a crystal blue river. Happiness fills the spirits of all who live in this fantastic place.



All except for one, hidden deep within the dense green of the forest lives a creature of despair. This creature does not believe in happiness, hope or love. He only believes in doubt, sadness and hate. He is a lonely pitiful creature and his name is Shame.



No one that lives in the Land of Imagination speaks his name. They believe that if they do, it will call him from the forest. Even though they all feel him watching and they all know he is near, no one wants to see him.



So they all go about their days playing in there extraordinary home and living there care free lives, never thinking about shame.

to be continued...

Wednesday, May 5, 2010