A Day in My Life

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

Every day is different, but some days are good examples. Here?s one of mine. It's a bit long, but it's fairly typical. Share one of yours, please?

 

 

7:20 a.m. The alarm goes off. I murmur unprintable things as I turn it off and listen to the traffic and weather reports on the radio. At 7:30, I get up, wishing I could stay in my warm, cocoon a couple of hours longer. I wake up more fully in the shower.

 

8:00 a.m. Having gotten my last-minute signature on a permission form and a cheque for a school field trip, my son leaves for school. I do the breakfast dishes, which doesn?t take long, and listen to the news on the radio. I vacuum the living room and my bedroom and change the sheets on my bed.

 

8:30 I do my hair and put on some light makeup for my 9:00 client. I put on a lacy bra and a satin dressing gown that he?s admired on other visits.

 

8:55 I make a pot of coffee and some freshly-squeezed ruby grapefruit juice. I rinse the organic hothouse strawberries I bought at the market yesterday and put them into a pretty crystal bowl.

 

9:05 My client, H., arrives with a copy of the morning Globe and Mail, a big bouquet of freesias (my favourite) and some fresh chocolate croissants. I put the flowers in water and set the table with the grapefruit juice, coffee, strawberries and croissants. H and I sit and read the paper together while having our breakfast. We talk about the news, things a couple of columnists have written, and have a playful debate about the (then) upcoming provincial election.

 

H. comes to see me three or four times a month. In his early 70s, he?s a tall, powerfully-built man with an impressive mane of white hair and a permanent tan from years of living in the tropics. His wife died of cancer a few years ago and he continues to mourn the loss, having known her since they were children. He says I remind him of her when she was about my age. What he?s missed most is their morning breakfast ritual, the companionship of reading the paper together as the day begins.

 

I finish my coffee and massage his neck and shoulders until he pulls me into his lap. He unfastens the belt on my dressing gown, admires the pretty lace bra and the lack of anything else to go with it. We retire to my room for a very satisfying time together. A much younger man would be pleased to be as virile and energetic as H. After things have calmed down, we lie there, cuddling happily and talk about going away for a weekend this summer. He has a quick shower and leaves about 11:45.

 

I change the sheets, take a shower and dress while I do a load of laundry. Then I turn on the computer and check my e-mail. I write a few notes, update my calendar and make a grocery list.

 

1:10 I arrive at a very good restaurant in the neighbourhood in time for my 1:15 meeting. A prospective client, F., has asked to meet me for lunch. He arrives just as I?m being seated at a pleasant table by the window. I stand up and give him a warm hug. When we sit down again, he hands me a book of poems by Rumi. In e-mail last week, he?d asked me what I was reading, and I?d mentioned a different volume of Rumi?s poetry. This little book is a gift; an envelope with my fee for the lunchtime meeting is tucked inside. I thank him warmly, genuinely pleased by this unexpected present. I put the book in my bag, the waiter arrives to take our order, and we have lunch with a glass of wine.

 

2:45 We?ve had a wonderful conversation, full of bantering word-play followed by some more serious discussion as he tells me a bit about his life and what he?s looking for with me. I talk a little about my personal background, my teenage son and some of the work I do other than being a paid companion. The conversation flows easily between us. The waiter clears the table and brings our coffee. When I touch the back of F?s hand with my fingertips, he turns his hand over, takes my fingers in his and lifts my hand to kiss it. When our hands settle back on the table, he doesn?t let go. Outside the restaurant, F. gives me a warm, close hug and kisses me tenderly. He suggests that we go back to my place, but I remind him that wasn?t part of our arrangement and, unfortunately, my son will be home by about 3:30. He kisses me again and murmurs pleasantly in my ear. Can he see me the day after tomorrow? Yes, he can. I?d like that. Another warm hug and we go our separate ways.

 

3:00 The market is near the restaurant. I fish the grocery list from my purse and go in to buy a few things for dinner.

 

3:35 I arrive at home just as my son is unlocking the front door. He helps with the groceries and tells me about his day at school, a project he has to work on and his plans to meet a friend the next day.

 

4:00 I check my e-mail, respond to a few queries, send an invoice for a deposit for a first meeting with a new client and update my calendar. I write a quick note to F., thanking him for lunch and confirming our meeting the day after tomorrow.

 

5:30 A friend calls to say that another friend?s mother has had a stroke and is in hospital. She?s expected to recover fully. I know this woman fairly well: her son was my first boyfriend in high school a long time ago. We?ve stayed in touch over the years and continue to have a warm, affectionate relationship. I call his house and talk with his wife for a few minutes, hearing the story of her mother-in-law?s stroke once again. I call the florist and order an arrangement: a china teacup full of wood violets.

 

6:45 I start to make dinner. It?s ready by 7:30. We eat, talk some more about high school intrigue and science projects, and my son?s plans for the summer. By 9:00, I?ve done the dinner dishes and my son has finished his homework. He?s watching a movie on the laptop computer. I answer e-mail on my desktop machine. I have a client tomorrow at 10:00 for two hours, and I?m meeting another at the Pan Pacific Hotel tomorrow evening for three hours with room service providing dinner.

 

10:00 My son heads off to bed. I read through the CERB boards for awhile then close up the house for the night. I read a murder mystery in bed until midnight, then turn out the light.

 

4:10 a.m. I wake up. Middle age insomnia trips me up about three times a week. I make a cup of herbal tea and take it back to bed with me. I read for an hour or so and then feel ready to sleep again until the alarm rings at 7:20.

[YoungStud 468]

The high-end life can be interesting. Sounds like you have a good one.

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

The next day was different..

 

The day began as usual with the alarm at 7:20. I saw my son off to school and then got dressed. At 9:00, the client who was to see me at 10:00 called. He sounded terrible on the phone. He?d awakened with a raging sore throat, likely caught from one of his children, and was waiting to see his doctor. Could we postpone our meeting for a week or so? We agree on a new date, ten days away.

 

I turn on the computer and begin to make my way through the morning?s e-mail. As I?m reading and writing quick replies, a new message arrives via my website?s contact form. Am I available at noon today, for two hours? I don?t often do last-minute appointments, but with the cancellation earlier, this is no problem. I agree to the meeting and give him my cell number. He calls, I give directions.

 

Less than an hour later, I open the front door and do a double-take. I say his name, inquiring, not sure if he?s who I was expecting. The name he?d given me was a northern European name, but the man standing on my doorstep looks Japanese. New clients often give assumed names. ?Jewish father, Japanese mother,? R. says with self-deprecating but warm laughter. ?You?re beautiful, Sam,? he says, placing an envelope on the table nearby. ?That red hair?? he reaches out, winding his hand into my hair as he pulls me into his arms.

 

Most new clients are a bit nervous or even shy, but R. is relaxed and self-assured, slightly deferential yet easily able to take control. I like his confidence. R. is younger than I?d imagined: he might be 12-15 years younger than me. He declines my offer of tea, coffee or a glass of wine, saying, as he undoes one button on my blouse, that we can get to know each other without any of that. The next two hours unnerve me.

 

Eerily, he feels like a long-time lover who knows me and my body as well or better than I do myself. From start to finish, he touches me exactly right, every time. Not too fast, not too hard, not too little. When I try to take over, to be the active one, he murmurs no, gently soothing me to lie calm. I become clay moulded by his hands, a cello singing in his arms, molten light that flows at his direction and like pure crystal shatters, scattering brilliant rainbows around the room. Then he does it all again. More, again, until I am half-mad, bewildered and overwhelmed as climaxes chain together and roll through my body until I?m in tears, almost clinging to him.

 

I?m relieved when it?s time for him to get up. He goes to take a shower. I put on a robe and start to run a brush through my tangled hair, looking at my mouth, swollen from so many kisses, and the dazed expression on my face in the mirror. He comes back into the room and dresses while we talk about nothing in particular. At the door, he tucks something into my pocket and gives me a long kiss. Then he?s gone.

 

I doubt everything for about three minutes. I don?t know what just happened, and it?s rattled me. I don?t like how I feel: empty, slightly bereft. Too close, too fast, too deep, too soon. Who knows why bodies sometimes react that way? I call a friend, leave a message on her system to say that I?m coming to take her dog to the beach. I take a shower. When I hang up my robe to get dressed, I feel the pocket. Two fifty-dollar bills are folded together inside it. I stare at the money, then go find the envelope on the dining room table. Five hundred-dollar bills are tucked inside it, fifty dollars more than my fee for two hours. I add the two fifties to the envelope and then try to put the whole encounter resolutely out of my mind.

 

Twenty minutes later, my friend?s apricot-coloured standard poodle bounds along beside me as we walk along Jericho beach toward Spanish Banks. The tides are at their lowest this time of year. Wet sand seems to stretch for miles and miles. The dog rambles around happily, wagging his stubby tail, sniffing at random things. At one point, he digs up a starfish, sniffs at it, sneezes mightily and then turns away in apparent disdain. I laugh and find a stick to throw for him to chase. Soon, we?re both running along the beach. He barks happily, play-bows to me and dashes like a wild animal in the fresh air and sunlight.

 

After well over an hour, we make our way back to the car. He gets into the back seat, panting. I fasten the seatbelt and turn on the engine. The dog leans forward and licks my cheek. I tell him what a good fellow he is and turn the car around to take him home.

 

If my new client calls and wants to meet again, I won?t be available.

 

When I get home, my son has returned from school. He?s full of stories from his day, strange things that happened in his science class, the spring concert is coming up next week and he needs a black dress shirt. Will I help him with his French homework?

 

We have tea together. We do the French homework. I talk about the dog and the starfish on the beach. Later, I get his dinner ready for him to heat up when he?s hungry. Then I go and take another shower, get dressed and call a cab to take me to the Pan Pacific Hotel for my date.

 

I see K. about once a month when he?s in town on business. He called last night to say that he?d arrived and all was well. I?m looking forward to seeing him. We?ve been together so often, now, that it?s like seeing an old friend. Better still, I know what to expect, by and large. This is important: I do not want to replay the consternation I felt earlier today. That kind of thing doesn?t happen very often, thank heaven, but it leaves me feeling a little wary for a day or two afterward. Tonight, K. and I have a good time. We order dinner from room service, then drink wine and watch the sun go down while we wait for the meal to be delivered.

 

He lays me down on the bed and puts a plate with a piece of cake on my stomach, warning me not to laugh while he has his dessert: a little cake, a kiss, a nibble along my neck, some more cake, one of my nipples? you get the picture. I do my best to remain sombre and not laugh. I fail gloriously. He flips me over, spanks me hard, and then takes me. It?s fun. It?s explosive and very good. The world does not fly apart and I do not shatter into small fragments. The mid-day meeting fades from my consciousness, as it should. Not for the first time, K. says that he loves me. I love you, too, I say. You help me keep my feet on the ground. I dress. We go down to the hotel entrance. K. rides home with me in the cab, kisses me good night, and then goes back to the hotel.

 

I take yet another shower, pour myself a glass of wine and go to bed to read for awhile before I go to sleep.

[YoungStud 468]

Keep it up, Samantha. You're a smart, sexy red-head who can write.

 

One post every day for the next year and you will have a very publishable book.

[A***** A***** 510]

The next day was different..

 

The day began as usual with the alarm at 7:20. I saw my son off to school and then got dressed. At 9:00, the client who was to see me at 10:00 called. He sounded terrible on the phone. He?d awakened with a raging sore throat, likely caught from one of his children, and was waiting to see his doctor. Could we postpone our meeting for a week or so? We agree on a new date, ten days away.

 

I turn on the computer and begin to make my way through the morning?s e-mail. As I?m reading and writing quick replies, a new message arrives via my website?s contact form. Am I available at noon today, for two hours? I don?t often do last-minute appointments, but with the cancellation earlier, this is no problem. I agree to the meeting and give him my cell number. He calls, I give directions.

 

Less than an hour later, I open the front door and do a double-take. I say his name, inquiring, not sure if he?s who I was expecting. The name he?d given me was a northern European name, but the man standing on my doorstep looks Japanese. New clients often give assumed names. ?Jewish father, Japanese mother,? R. says with self-deprecating but warm laughter. ?You?re beautiful, Sam,? he says, placing an envelope on the table nearby. ?That red hair?? he reaches out, winding his hand into my hair as he pulls me into his arms.

 

Most new clients are a bit nervous or even shy, but R. is relaxed and self-assured, slightly deferential yet easily able to take control. I like his confidence. R. is younger than I?d imagined: he might be 12-15 years younger than me. He declines my offer of tea, coffee or a glass of wine, saying, as he undoes one button on my blouse, that we can get to know each other without any of that. The next two hours unnerve me.

 

Eerily, he feels like a long-time lover who knows me and my body as well or better than I do myself. From start to finish, he touches me exactly right, every time. Not too fast, not too hard, not too little. When I try to take over, to be the active one, he murmurs no, gently soothing me to lie calm. I become clay moulded by his hands, a cello singing in his arms, molten light that flows at his direction and like pure crystal shatters, scattering brilliant rainbows around the room. Then he does it all again. More, again, until I am half-mad, bewildered and overwhelmed as climaxes chain together and roll through my body until I?m in tears, almost clinging to him.

 

I?m relieved when it?s time for him to get up. He goes to take a shower. I put on a robe and start to run a brush through my tangled hair, looking at my mouth, swollen from so many kisses, and the dazed expression on my face in the mirror. He comes back into the room and dresses while we talk about nothing in particular. At the door, he tucks something into my pocket and gives me a long kiss. Then he?s gone.

 

I doubt everything for about three minutes. I don?t know what just happened, and it?s rattled me. I don?t like how I feel: empty, slightly bereft. Too close, too fast, too deep, too soon. Who knows why bodies sometimes react that way? I call a friend, leave a message on her system to say that I?m coming to take her dog to the beach. I take a shower. When I hang up my robe to get dressed, I feel the pocket. Two fifty-dollar bills are folded together inside it. I stare at the money, then go find the envelope on the dining room table. Five hundred-dollar bills are tucked inside it, fifty dollars more than my fee for two hours. I add the two fifties to the envelope and then try to put the whole encounter resolutely out of my mind.

 

Twenty minutes later, my friend?s apricot-coloured standard poodle bounds along beside me as we walk along Jericho beach toward Spanish Banks. The tides are at their lowest this time of year. Wet sand seems to stretch for miles and miles. The dog rambles around happily, wagging his stubby tail, sniffing at random things. At one point, he digs up a starfish, sniffs at it, sneezes mightily and then turns away in apparent disdain. I laugh and find a stick to throw for him to chase. Soon, we?re both running along the beach. He barks happily, play-bows to me and dashes like a wild animal in the fresh air and sunlight.

 

After well over an hour, we make our way back to the car. He gets into the back seat, panting. I fasten the seatbelt and turn on the engine. The dog leans forward and licks my cheek. I tell him what a good fellow he is and turn the car around to take him home.

 

If my new client calls and wants to meet again, I won?t be available.

 

When I get home, my son has returned from school. He?s full of stories from his day, strange things that happened in his science class, the spring concert is coming up next week and he needs a black dress shirt. Will I help him with his French homework?

 

We have tea together. We do the French homework. I talk about the dog and the starfish on the beach. Later, I get his dinner ready for him to heat up when he?s hungry. Then I go and take another shower, get dressed and call a cab to take me to the Pan Pacific Hotel for my date.

 

I see K. about once a month when he?s in town on business. He called last night to say that he?d arrived and all was well. I?m looking forward to seeing him. We?ve been together so often, now, that it?s like seeing an old friend. Better still, I know what to expect, by and large. This is important: I do not want to replay the consternation I felt earlier today. That kind of thing doesn?t happen very often, thank heaven, but it leaves me feeling a little wary for a day or two afterward. Tonight, K. and I have a good time. We order dinner from room service, then drink wine and watch the sun go down while we wait for the meal to be delivered.

 

He lays me down on the bed and puts a plate with a piece of cake on my stomach, warning me not to laugh while he has his dessert: a little cake, a kiss, a nibble along my neck, some more cake, one of my nipples? you get the picture. I do my best to remain sombre and not laugh. I fail gloriously. He flips me over, spanks me hard, and then takes me. It?s fun. It?s explosive and very good. The world does not fly apart and I do not shatter into small fragments. The mid-day meeting fades from my consciousness, as it should. Not for the first time, K. says that he loves me. I love you, too, I say. You help me keep my feet on the ground. I dress. We go down to the hotel entrance. K. rides home with me in the cab, kisses me good night, and then goes back to the hotel.

 

I take yet another shower, pour myself a glass of wine and go to bed to read for awhile before I go to sleep.

 

Excellent writings, I look forward to reading more

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

Keep it up, Samantha. You're a smart, sexy red-head who can write.

 

One post every day for the next year and you will have a very publishable book.

 

Excellent writings, I look forward to reading more

 

Thanks, friends. I'll keep going. Probably not one a day, but if you like this stuff I'll write it.

 

With hugs for each of you,

[VedaSloan 119179]

I really really enjoyed reading that Sam! (I hope you don't mind me calling you Sam, I tend to shorten everyone's names)

 

You've inspired me to write my own "A Day in the Life." It won't be nearly as detailed because I am not a writer, but here's a snapshot anyway.

 

8:20 am The couchsurfers I was hosting from Venice, Italy leave for their next destination, Toronto. I'm normally never up this early, so I decide to take advantage of the morning sun and read a bit of poetry on my balcony (e.e. cummings and Maya Angelou). The sun feels great on my face and the temperature is perfect. The couchsurfers brought me some delicious Italian honey, which I enjoy on toast.

 

10:00 am I go online and waste a few hours doing my internet routine. I like to do all my online things in a particular order. I always check and reply to work emails first, then personal emails, which include work-related email for my straight job. Then, I check a couple of dating sites I'm a member of and then I hit up CERB to spend too much time replying to threads and PM's. :) My stomach signals to me that I should make some food instead of playing Tetris online for hours at a time. Seriously though, I am a Tetris fiend.

 

11:30 am The bf is awake and going about his routine--taking in all the skateboarding footage online that he can.

 

noon LUNCH. Yes, I love food and food loves me. Hummus on naan and chocolate milk. Yum.

 

12:30 pm The early morning hits me and I decide to have a nap. My cat naps with me.

 

2:30 pm The bf wakes me up on his way out to work and so I rouse myself and jump in the shower to get myself all clean and sexified for a client coming at 4pm. My hair is being a pain in the ass and there is one defiant cowlick which will not lie flat. I think to myself that it doesn't matter, since A. will be having his hands all in there messing it up anyway.

 

4:00pm A. arrives on the button and I'm happy to see him. His particular style arouses me like crazy, but he is not the reciprocating type (strictly BJ only). I have made plans for a lover to come by after he leaves to satisfy me :)

 

5:30pm My lover, D., arrives to give me the best oral I've ever had, which is simply selfish pleasure on my part. D. refuses to let me reciprocate, he is happy being my oral sex servant. Who am I to argue with that? He is so good at oral I tell him he should consider becoming an escort. Trust me, that oral would be worth paying for.

 

6:00pm I shower again and eat some dinner (Chinese takeout: coconut curry vegetables and crispy beef) and settle in to watch television.

 

7:00pm I go on call with the Playgirls. This entails me chilling out at home watching television and waiting for calls. I get comfy with Law and Order: SVU. I leave it on in the background and head online to waste even more time checking CERB, playing Tetris and hanging out in CERB chat.

 

9:45pm I have a call! Hooray. I busy myself with putting on makeup and getting dressed while waiting for my driver to arrive to whisk me away to my call.

 

10:00 pm The driver picks me up and it's a driver I'm not particularly fond of because he wears too much cologne and I always reek of it when I get out of the car. Plus, he's a bonehead. Possibly one of the dumbest human beings alive. Making small talk with him is actually torturous. He tells me we're off to someplace I've been before and I can remember the address, but not the gentleman, and when I arrive, I have someone else pictured in my head than who shows up at the door. Of course, once I see him, it all comes back to me. I don't remember his name, but when he asks if I remember him, I reply, of course, which is the truth. He seems relieved to see me and as soon as we get upstairs he blurts out that he's only going to see me from now on. I grin as he goes on to explain that he had gotten another girl earlier, but that he had to send her back when she arrived because she was obviously cracked out and had open sores on her face and mouth. Ew. We undress each other and agree to move on to more inspiring things ;) An hour later, I'm on my way home again.

 

11:15pm I stop at a convenience store near my apartment to pick up a Hershey's cookies n' cream chocolate bar to satisfy my sweet tooth. I am still in my work gear (high heels, skirt, dress coat, evening bag) and feel as though it is totally obvious that I'm a working girl when a police officer comes into the store and is waiting behind me in line.

 

11:30pm I am back at home and making like a couch potato (after a quick shower) while I wait for hopefully more calls.

 

11:45pm Another call! This time I get a driver I'm rather fond of. Though he has opinions I often disagree with, he is intelligent and often enjoys discussing alternative lifestyles (ie polyamory). My client lives in a swanky apartment complex and is really really cute. The chemistry between us is really great and I'm happy to have been his first escort experience (or so he says). I'm back home in an hour and a half.

 

12:50pm My bf arrives home from work just as I'm ending my shift with the Playgirls. We smoke a fatty and watch two episodes of X-Files before heading to bed around 3 am.

[Tigerclaw 248]

The next day was different..

 

...The next two hours unnerve me.

 

Eerily, he feels like a long-time lover who knows me and my body as well or better than I do myself. From start to finish, he touches me exactly right, every time. Not too fast, not too hard, not too little. When I try to take over, to be the active one, he murmurs no, gently soothing me to lie calm. I become clay moulded by his hands, a cello singing in his arms, molten light that flows at his direction and like pure crystal shatters, scattering brilliant rainbows around the room. Then he does it all again. More, again, until I am half-mad, bewildered and overwhelmed as climaxes chain together and roll through my body until I?m in tears, almost clinging to him.

 

Dearest Samantha,

 

Wow...I love the way you string together the imagery...what a wonderful expression of yourself...and thank-you for sharing the intimate details of your day...

 

Kisses,

 

Tigerclaw

 

P.S. Erin, I'm pleased that you joined in the thread. It's a rather refreshing thread...intriquing and enjoyable...thanks Ladies!

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

Erin, thanks for writing! I'd really like folks to describe what a day is like. We do similar things, in different ways, and it's all really interesting, I think.

 

Tigerclaw, thanks. I'm glad you liked it.

[Emma Alexandra 123368]

Wow you guys have inspired me to write as well...

 

i love mornings they are my favorite time of the day...i usually awake around 5or 6 am...love this time of the year when i can hear the birds chirping...its as if they are singing a little song to me..

 

I go line to check my mail and usually go on to cerb to see if the breakfast club is awake yet...hehe..ina,michella_ma,miss Cloe,ET, T-storm,hunter and now a few new ones...red and Hun..we chat some and i read my mail and new threads...

 

Then around 8 or 9 i shower and dress ...this is about after 3 coffee as i hardly ever sleep well unless i have someone to cuddle with..

 

My phone starts ringing usually early...i know who it is before i answer..one of my sons:..."good morning", i say

"good morning mom,can you send some money?" he says

"I'll see what i can do ", i say

"thanks mom,i love you"

"love you too".

then we hang up...not 15 Min's later the phone rings again:

I also know who this is before i pick up.

..."good morning", i say

"good morning mom,can you send some money?" he says

"I'll see what i can do ", i say

"thanks mom,i love you"

"love you too".

now thats 2 down and one more to go...he usually send me a text...

..."good morning", i say

"good morning mom,can you send some money?" he says

"I'll see what i can do ", i say

"thanks mom,i love you"

"love you too".

this is the start of almost everyday for me...hehe

from there it gets better...but i'm not telling...I'll leave that to your imagination

[JoyfulC 132299]

What an excellent find! These stories are all great and keepers.

 

(And way superior to my being woken up by the cat, then later by the dogs, then by the husband, then by the dogs again, then deciding the best policy might be to feed the husband,and make some lemonade, and the plot out my trip for his week and put my phone on. My life is dull! I don't work every day anymore...)

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

 

My phone starts ringing usually early...i know who it is before i answer..one of my sons:..."good morning", i say

"good morning mom,can you send some money?" he says

"I'll see what i can do ", i say

"thanks mom,i love you"

"love you too".

then we hang up...

 

This is a big feature of my day, too, Emma, though usually it happens at the breakfast table!

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

The morning began like most other weekday mornings. But at 11:00 a.m. I am standing on top of a library step-ladder. I have four or five books in the crook of my left arm as I move the fingertips of my right hand along the spines of the books on the high shelf as I try to read the number printed on each one in the dim light of the crowded stacks.

 

I?m wearing a conservative skirt with a matching blouse in a dark green print and a loose dark jacket over that. I?m wearing my glasses, too, and subtle makeup. None of the librarians here seems to wear 4? heels, but I?m wearing black ones.

 

He walks down the row of shelves, his eyes darting between the numbers on the books and a piece of paper he holds in one hand. I look him over quickly, then go back to reading the shelf. He?s about 55, tall, with a neatly-trimmed grey beard and longish hair that curls against the collar of his tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He?s wearing jeans, an Oxford cloth shirt, open at the neck, and soft, dark shoes?HushPuppies, maybe.

 

When I take a book from the shelf, he says, ?Oh,? very softly.

 

I look at him. ?Something you need?? I ask.

 

?Looks like you beat me to it,? he says, giving a resigned nod at the book in my hand.

 

I smile quickly. ?There are others. I just need this particular edition,? I start to explain as I back down the step-ladder. I hold onto the bookshelf with one hand, but even so my balance isn?t great and I rock a bit to the side. ?Oh,? I gasp.

 

?Oh, yes,? he murmurs, having stepped very close to me, steadying me as I sway. He?s put his arm around me. Around my thighs. Just to be helpful is all it is. Or so I might have thought if his hand hadn?t somehow ended up underneath my long skirt, pressed against my stocking, his thumb hooked into the top, near the garter.

 

?Here, let me take those for you,? he says with academic detachment, indicating the books in my left arm. I nod slowly and let him have them. Without moving his hand away from underneath my skirt, he puts the books in an open place on the shelf in front of him.

 

Then he lifts me off the ladder and I?m in his arms and he?s kissing me hard and his hand moves to the front of my thigh, then a little farther.

 

?Oh,? I whisper.

 

?Oh, yes,? he replies.

 

Not long after that, we leave the library. Fortunately, his apartment is very nearby?.

 

Two hours later, I?m on my way home. Three hours after that, I?m lying naked, face-down on my bed while the client I?d met for lunch two days earlier, also naked, straddles my thighs as he rubs a lightly scented lavender massage cream over my back. I moan. I stretch deliciously. He gives my bottom a hard slap. I yelp, feeling the print of his hand redden where it had landed. ?Don?t move. I mean it, Sam. I warned you.? His voice is soft, teasing and warm.

 

?Okay,? I whimper. ?I won?t,? I say, so compliant.

 

I yelp and my body jerks again when another slap lands on the other side. ?Okay, Sir,? he says firmly.

 

?Yes, Sir,? I repeat obediently.

[VedaSloan 119179]

The morning began like most other weekday mornings. But at 11:00 a.m. I am standing on top of a library step-ladder. I have four or five books in the crook of my left arm as I move the fingertips of my right hand along the spines of the books on the high shelf as I try to read the number printed on each one in the dim light of the crowded stacks.

 

I?m wearing a conservative skirt with a matching blouse in a dark green print and a loose dark jacket over that. I?m wearing my glasses, too, and subtle makeup. None of the librarians here seems to wear 4? heels, but I?m wearing black ones.

 

He walks down the row of shelves, his eyes darting between the numbers on the books and a piece of paper he holds in one hand. I look him over quickly, then go back to reading the shelf. He?s about 55, tall, with a neatly-trimmed grey beard and longish hair that curls against the collar of his tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He?s wearing jeans, an Oxford cloth shirt, open at the neck, and soft, dark shoes?HushPuppies, maybe.

 

When I take a book from the shelf, he says, ?Oh,? very softly.

 

I look at him. ?Something you need?? I ask.

 

?Looks like you beat me to it,? he says, giving a resigned nod at the book in my hand.

 

I smile quickly. ?There are others. I just need this particular edition,? I start to explain as I back down the step-ladder. I hold onto the bookshelf with one hand, but even so my balance isn?t great and I rock a bit to the side. ?Oh,? I gasp.

 

?Oh, yes,? he murmurs, having stepped very close to me, steadying me as I sway. He?s put his arm around me. Around my thighs. Just to be helpful is all it is. Or so I might have thought if his hand hadn?t somehow ended up underneath my long skirt, pressed against my stocking, his thumb hooked into the top, near the garter.

 

?Here, let me take those for you,? he says with academic detachment, indicating the books in my left arm. I nod slowly and let him have them. Without moving his hand away from underneath my skirt, he puts the books in an open place on the shelf in front of him.

 

Then he lifts me off the ladder and I?m in his arms and he?s kissing me hard and his hand moves to the front of my thigh, then a little farther.

 

?Oh,? I whisper.

 

?Oh, yes,? he replies.

 

Not long after that, we leave the library. Fortunately, his apartment is very nearby?.

 

Two hours later, I?m on my way home. Three hours after that, I?m lying naked, face-down on my bed while the client I?d met for lunch two days earlier, also naked, straddles my thighs as he rubs a lightly scented lavender massage cream over my back. I moan. I stretch deliciously. He gives my bottom a hard slap. I yelp, feeling the print of his hand redden where it had landed. ?Don?t move. I mean it, Sam. I warned you.? His voice is soft, teasing and warm.

 

?Okay,? I whimper. ?I won?t,? I say, so compliant.

 

I yelp and my body jerks again when another slap lands on the other side. ?Okay, Sir,? he says firmly.

 

?Yes, Sir,? I repeat obediently.

 

 

Oh I hope this continues! There is nothing hotter than academic/professorial sex. I can't even tell you how many times I fantasized about this one professor I had back at Laurier.

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

Oh I hope this continues! There is nothing hotter than academic/professorial sex. I can't even tell you how many times I fantasized about this one professor I had back at Laurier.

 

Oh, he's loads of fun! Really a great guy. I've had those fantasies, too, Erin. I spent a lot of time in grad school. Libraries are very interesting places to me!

[VedaSloan 119179]

Oh, he's loads of fun! Really a great guy. I've had those fantasies, too, Erin. I spent a lot of time in grad school. Libraries are very interesting places to me!

 

Don't you just love the smell of libraries? Something about old book smell, I find it comforting.

[YoungStud 468]

Yep. When you're way back in the stacks on a quiet night, down on your knees looking for something on the bottom shelf, no telling what might pop up. lol

 

Especially in the HQ 12 to HQ 449 section. lol

[buggernot 588]

Wow...I know it has been said already, but there is some phenomenal writing going on here. There really should be a book made of all your cumulative experiences - The Ladies of CERB.

[esoterica 624]

Oh I hope this continues! There is nothing hotter than academic/professorial sex. I can't even tell you how many times I fantasized about this one professor I had back at Laurier.

 

Some of us fantasize about the students too!

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

Don't you just love the smell of libraries? Something about old book smell, I find it comforting.

 

So do I! :grin:

 

Yep. When you're way back in the stacks on a quiet night, down on your knees looking for something on the bottom shelf, no telling what might pop up. lol

 

Especially in the HQ 12 to HQ 449 section. lol

 

Were we in grad school together? Because I have had some lovely times in the stacks, long ago... for free! LOL

 

Some of us fantasize about the students too!

 

I'm shocked, Esoterica. Scandalized! :wink:

 

Wow...I know it has been said already, but there is some phenomenal writing going on here. There really should be a book made of all your cumulative experiences - The Ladies of CERB.

 

I think that's a TERRIFIC idea! Really, it is. There are a lot of great stories to tell and there's a market for this stuff, too.... Do any of you gentlemen happen to have publishing connections? PM me if so! (And yes, I do know about new media, Internet options, e-books and the like. But I need to spend much of my time working on creating content <ahem!>. Besides, tt's a lot more fun!)

[Sputy 128]

I really really enjoyed reading that Sam! (I hope you don't mind me calling you Sam, I tend to shorten everyone's names)

12:30 pm The early morning hits me and I decide to have a nap. My cat naps with me.

Erin, Stay with the naps - napping is part of a healthy lifestyle if done properly. Just don't call me Spu.

 

Every day is different, but some days are good examples. Here?s one of mine. It's a bit long, but it's fairly typical. Share one of yours, please?

some freshly-squeezed ruby grapefruit juice.

 

 

Samantha, You are special! Freshly squeezed grapefruit ? love it! Wish I could have b-fast with you. You are also inspiring, so here is my day, pathethic as it is. One happy ending is that I recently actually took 2 days off in row!! It had been a long, long time, but I am committed to taking more time off - we'll see how that goes!

 

6:10 Wake up. No alarm, I always wake up between 6 and 6:30, no matter where I am. Kinda freaky, but it works for me. A little groggy, where am I? What time zone? Oh yeah, really flat outside, CST. Got a little time. Do a few stretrches.

 

6:15 The day beckons. Shower, grab some fruit and out the door by 6:40. (Yes, be jealous ladies ? my bed-to-door record is 7 mins, fully groomed and showered ? being bald has it?s advantages!)

 

6:55 Work. Nice. Meet my first goal of starting work before 7. I can get almost as much done between 7 and 10 as I can for the rest of the day.

 

8:30 Daily call to the fam: Wife is unusually happy today, ask her what's up? She (jokingly?) replies that her boyfriend was really horny last night and oh, he loves my new car. I hope that she?s either joking or he?s really good driver. Son is gone already so I catch him on his cell. He tells me about a new girl that he?s interested in. I encourage him buuutttttt?.. remind him of another of life?s cruel ironies ? he?s a really nice kid (takes after his dad!) and while the girls will want the nice boys to be a husband and father to their children, they want to have sex with the bad boys. He curses me. I tell him to be nice (hey, I?m too young to be a grandfather!) Tell him I love him and make him tell me the same, I hear his friends laughing in the background ? my fatherly duties are done.

 

8:45 Work

 

9:30 Take a little break. Check email, laugh at some of the posts on cerb, reply to some.

 

9:50 Work

 

12:40 Hungry and tired. Eat or sleep? Hmmm, nap time, get my gear, find a cozy spot and set an alarm for 40 min., no more, no less. I am a black-belt napper. Cursed are those who inadvertently interupt my nap. I am also a nap evangelist - people, listen up, when you are suddenly tired, your body and mind are telling you something - don't fight it! Learn how to nap and you too can work 16 hours a day!

 

1:20 Aaargh! Phuckin alarm ? want more sleep but I know that would be breaking one of the most serious commandments of napping. Short walk outside in the damn cold weather. Gotta grab a coffee (my one and only for the day).

 

1:30 Work

 

5:15 Dinner call to the fam. Like usual, "nothin" happened today. I long to be a part of "nothin". Feeling guity cuz I?ve been gone longer than usual this time. Do a little research on where I can take them to make up for it. Damn pandemic, gotta be somewhere we can drive ? stay off the airplanes, mmmm, maybe rent a boat, that's nice and isolated.

 

5:45 Work

 

6:30 Get angry at lawyers. Feel bad about yelling, but not too bad.

 

 

7:30 Got a problem I?m struggling with. Need to take my mind off it. Check out email and cerb. Laugh some more, post a couple.

 

7:50 Work. Almost done for the day. Cool, maybe back to hotel in time to watch a little hockey.

 

8:30 Issues arise. Damn, gonna be another late one.

 

11:15 Back at the hotel, turn on the sports highlights and me and my constant companion Johnny Walker get intimate, after 5 or 6 SOG (haha!) I gotta take a bathroom break. Whoa, really feeling it, wtf? Oh yeah, damn, forgot to eat today! Room service will take too long and I?m sick of it anyway. Oh well, grab some nuts and a barley sandwich from the mini-bar, mix it with tomato juice and call it dinner.

 

12:30 Write my list of must-do?s, should-do's and like-to-do's (as if!) for tomorrow. Spend a few minutes thinking about my newest fantasy (hello MB and EA!) and I?m sound asleep. G?night.

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

Awww, Sputy! No sex? In a whole day? What kind of day is that? LOL

 

If you'd been in Vancouver....

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

This is long. I don't have time to write less, unfortunately! I'll divide it into two parts, though.

 

Part I: WARNING: contains extensive references to the dietary wishes of a teenage male.

 

Up at 7:40, again, and the day starts as usual. But things are a little more relaxed because I’m not seeing any clients until this evening.

 

I linger over breakfast and read the paper online.

 

10:00 The chiropractor works on my neck and shoulders while I lie on a bench for my regular, every other week, adjustment. I was thrown from a few horses a few times too many when I was in my 20s and the legacy lingers on. Actually, it’s not the being thrown part that’s the problem. It’s the landing.

 

11:00 I’m at the hairdresser’s, having a lovely time with J. Our personalities mesh very nicely over our serious discussions about my hair. She trims away split ends and re-layers everything beautifully. I’m a bit vain about my hair, to be honest, and very picky about who can do things to it. Unfortunately, J. is having a baby soon and is going to be off for the next year. I’m going to need a new hairdresser but I haven’t been looking for someone else yet.

 

1:00 at MAC cosmetics on Robson Street, I replace a few things that need to be replaced, and find a couple of new things, then engage in a protracted evaluation of the relative merits of this shade of lipstick over that one, finally choosing something different from both. The girl who helps me tells me that X, who, she informs me, is one of Vancouver’s top escorts, bought this very shade just a few days ago. I nod slowly: I know who she’s referring to, but I don’t say so. She goes on to say how gorgeous this woman is, how she only wears MAC, and how awesome it must be to do that kind of work. She assures me that X really escorts men various places and doesn’t actually have to have sex with them, which she thinks would be “very creepy,” anyway.

 

“I mean, imagine,” she says, “these guys, what? They walk into your place, hand you some money and a few minutes later, they’re doing you!”

 

“Are you scandalized, or excited by that?” I ask playfully, laughing with her.

 

A tiny frown appears on her brow for a brief moment. “Well, it might be a little bit interesting, sometimes. Who hasn’t thought of that?” she shrugs. “But really, everyone knows that you’ve got to have a back-up plan because by the time you’re 30, you’re finished.” Her nod is emphatic. “It’s hard enough to look perfect when you’re young, but when you get older and your looks are going? Men,” she leans a bit closer to me, “don’t pay older women.” She rolls her eyes a little bit, but it’s hard to know whether that’s in reference to the men, or to the women who might think about being paid by them.

 

I nod slowly enough that she might think I agree with her.

 

3:20 After picking up the dry cleaning and buying some groceries, I’m back at home. A few minutes later, my son arrives. He brings in the groceries and puts them away. “There’s nothing to eat,” he complains theatrically.

 

I sigh as tragically as possible. “Poor boy! Nothing to eat but vegetables, meat and cheese, not to mention eight litres of milk and Raisin Bran™ cereal with extra raisins. How will we survive?”

 

“It’s terrible,” he moans as he slumps against the kitchen counter. “I’m growing. I need lots of extra food. But is there any food? No!” he shakes his head, almost heartbroken. “Just pretend food. Food that isn’t real food yet! We need chemicals! We need preservatives! We need trans-fats! Extra salt! Sugar, too! But the person who bought groceries left out these essential ingredients.” He appears to be grief-stricken yet trying to bear up manfully.

 

I open the kitchen cupboards and peer into each one, slowly. “Alas!” I say, trying to be deploring. Trying not to laugh. “Not a bag of chips, not a single chocolate bar, not a package of cookies in sight!”

 

“Don’t forget the Froot Loops™! There are no Froot Loops™!” he adds, in horror.

 

I fall out of character and laugh so hard I have to hold onto the counter to keep from doubling over. When I recover, I reach for the new loaf of 12-grain bread. “Care for a sandwich, love?” I ask in my best June Cleaver style.

 

“Depends. Is it the good kind of peanut butter or the other one?”

 

“Nothing but the best, for you,” I say, reaching for the jar. He pours a glass of milk. Tomorrow is Saturday. He’ll finish off the first four litres of milk by mid-afternoon, I predict. I hand him a plate with his sandwich cut into neat triangles, one large and two small.

 

He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Are you going to ask geometry questions, now?” he says in a warning tone. I shake my head. He takes a bite of the sandwich and rocks back in his chair, clutching his throat.

 

“Mom! You’re gonna kill me! This is the bad peanut butter!” Gagging sounds ensue.

 

I look at the label on the jar. “No, hon, this is the one without the icing sugar, hydrogenated palm oil and maltodextrin. Nothing but peanuts in this peanut butter.”

 

“I tell you, this healthy stuff kills people, Mom,” he says darkly. But he eats the whole sandwich.

 

I go and take a shower, wash my hair and get dressed, ready for my date with my client.

[SamanthaEvans 166767]

Part 2: WARNING: contains slightly disturbing references to bestiality.

 

I drive to B?s house. (B is not his real initial. Indeed, all the initials in these accounts have been changed, as have all identifying details.) I?ve been here once before. I?ve seen B about six times, three in hotels, twice at my place, and once here. I park the car and walk up to the house. I can hear B?s dog?a huge, shaggy animal that looks to be part Newf, part German Shepherd?barking. B opens the door before I reach it. The dog comes out and jumps up, briefly resting his huge forepaws on my shoulder. I take a step back, moving his paws out of the way to drop back onto the ground. ?Down!? I say, firmly, pressing the flat of my hand on the top of the dog?s nose. He stands still, looking sheepish.

 

?I forget that you grew up with dogs,? B says. I nod. ?It?s okay,? I say. B puts the dog back inside and then we leave in his car for the restaurant.

 

When we get there, he hands me a plain white envelope and I put it in my bag. We go in and have a nice meal?not fancy, but good Mediterranean food, well-prepared. I feel very relaxed and comfortable with B. We?ve had some great times together without any strain or nervousness between us. This evening is no different. The conversation is great, the food is just fine, we have a bottle of wine with the meal. Out in the parking lot, he pulls me close and kisses me deeply before he opens the car door for me. We go back to his house.

 

What happens next is slow and delicious. When we?re undressed, he cuffs my wrists together. ?My turn tonight,? he says, laying me down on the great, wide bed. He teases and torments me. He takes me to the peak but won?t release me. I?m on fire, licked by flames. I?m flowing like a river. I?m yearning to fly. I?m a captive, weighted to the earth, despairing. And then we are two eagles, clinging together, coupling in the air. He flips me over and fills his hands with my hair. I become the mare, mated by the proud, wild stallion until we both collapse, panting and giddy.

 

A little bit later, I take a quick shower and begin to dress in the bathroom. When I come back into the bedroom, B is lounging on the bed. The dog is up on the bed, licking the sheet. I stare for a moment, stunned. B reaches for my hand and pulls me closer to the bed. ?He loves it,? he murmurs quietly. ?See what you do to him? Just like you do to me, eh? That?s some cock he?s got, there.?

 

I can see the dog?s response, too, but I don?t like this. I shake my head dumbly. I start to lean back, just a little, and B?s hand tightens around my wrist. ?His tongue, Sam. Wouldn?t you love to ride his tongue? I bet its better than mine.? His voice is deep and smooth. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

 

I?m a big girl, but at about 6? 5? and close to 300 pounds, B is half again my size. I?m soft and curvy; he?s all muscle. The dog looks to be close to my size. I look from one to the other and start to say, ?No,? but my heart seems to be lodged in my throat, now and the sound is too quiet. I clear my throat. ?No,? I say, more firmly. B continues to hold my wrist.

 

?Lay down, Sammy,? he sings the joke he started when we were together the first time, echoing Clapton. ?Rest here in my arms??

 

?No, B,? I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

 

?Had enough?? he chuckles.

 

?Yes,? I nod. ?I?ve had enough, tonight.? But he doesn?t let go of my wrist. I try to keep my breath even and steady, to push the panic away so that I can think carefully. ?I need to get home, B. It?s late, you know.? I speak in an even tone, or so I hope.

 

He looks up at me and smiles. There?s not a trace of menace in that smile. He pulls the sheet away from his groin to show me he?s hard again and he pulls my hand. ?Come on, girl, give me a bit more of your special attention, won?t you?? I?ve always done this before leaving. But the dog is still here and I don?t want to be crouching there on the bed.

 

?It?s late, B,? I say again. ?Another time, okay? I need to go home, now.?

 

He lets go of my wrist and stands up. Just as he reaches for me, I lean to pick up my bag, and then I leave the room. He follows me to the front door. ?You upset, Sam?? he asks, softly, so tenderly, almost sadly. I look at him, clear-eyed, not upset, I hope.

 

?No, B. It?s just late and I?m tired.?

 

He laughs and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close and giving my bottom a squeeze. ?Okay. That?s better. That?s my good girl, Sam. Good girl, Samantha. Next time, then.?

 

I step away from him, shaking my head as I open the door. I?m so relieved when he doesn?t try to stop me. The door opens easily. ?No, B. That?s not? I can?t do that.? I try to keep from stammering.

 

He chuckles softly and I know he?s not really listening to what I say, or at least he?s not taking me seriously. There?s a lot to this ?no? that he doesn?t understand and I feel sad about that.

 

?Five thousand, Sam,? he says warmly, as though he was bargaining with me to get me to jump off the diving board. ?I think that?s generous. You don?t have to go down on him, just let him have you. You?ll like it, darling. The tie?I know you?ll cum forever then.? He reaches out and twines a lock of my hair around his finger. ?Better idea: ten thousand if you let me film it. You can wear a mask.?

 

I don?t say anything. I step out onto the porch.

 

?Think about it, okay? Next time, just say ?five? or ?ten? and I?ll know. That?s all you have to say. I?ll take care of the rest. Tell me you?ll think about it??

 

?I will,? I say. ?I will think about it, B. But now, I?ve got to go home.?

 

I walk away. I try not to run. I get in the car, fasten the seat belt, and leave. A few blocks away I break into a cold sweat. I pull over for a few minutes and breathe slow, even breaths. Then I drive home.

 

Even when we think we know the client, we don't.

[VedaSloan 119179]

Part 2: WARNING: contains slightly disturbing references to bestiality.

 

I drive to B?s house. (B is not his real initial. Indeed, all the initials in these accounts have been changed, as have all identifying details.) I?ve been here once before. I?ve seen B about six times, three in hotels, twice at my place, and once here. I park the car and walk up to the house. I can hear B?s dog?a huge, shaggy animal that looks to be part Newf, part German Shepherd?barking. B opens the door before I reach it. The dog comes out and jumps up, briefly resting his huge forepaws on my shoulder. I take a step back, moving his paws out of the way to drop back onto the ground. ?Down!? I say, firmly, pressing the flat of my hand on the top of the dog?s nose. He stands still, looking sheepish.

 

?I forget that you grew up with dogs,? B says. I nod. ?It?s okay,? I say. B puts the dog back inside and then we leave in his car for the restaurant.

 

When we get there, he hands me a plain white envelope and I put it in my bag. We go in and have a nice meal?not fancy, but good Mediterranean food, well-prepared. I feel very relaxed and comfortable with B. We?ve had some great times together without any strain or nervousness between us. This evening is no different. The conversation is great, the food is just fine, we have a bottle of wine with the meal. Out in the parking lot, he pulls me close and kisses me deeply before he opens the car door for me. We go back to his house.

 

What happens next is slow and delicious. When we?re undressed, he cuffs my wrists together. ?My turn tonight,? he says, laying me down on the great, wide bed. He teases and torments me. He takes me to the peak but won?t release me. I?m on fire, licked by flames. I?m flowing like a river. I?m yearning to fly. I?m a captive, weighted to the earth, despairing. And then we are two eagles, clinging together, coupling in the air. He flips me over and fills his hands with my hair. I become the mare, mated by the proud, wild stallion until we both collapse, panting and giddy.

 

A little bit later, I take a quick shower and begin to dress in the bathroom. When I come back into the bedroom, B is lounging on the bed. The dog is up on the bed, licking the sheet. I stare for a moment, stunned. B reaches for my hand and pulls me closer to the bed. ?He loves it,? he murmurs quietly. ?See what you do to him? Just like you do to me, eh? That?s some cock he?s got, there.?

 

I can see the dog?s response, too, but I don?t like this. I shake my head dumbly. I start to lean back, just a little, and B?s hand tightens around my wrist. ?His tongue, Sam. Wouldn?t you love to ride his tongue? I bet its better than mine.? His voice is deep and smooth. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

 

I?m a big girl, but at about 6? 5? and close to 300 pounds, B is half again my size. I?m soft and curvy; he?s all muscle. The dog looks to be close to my size. I look from one to the other and start to say, ?No,? but my heart seems to be lodged in my throat, now and the sound is too quiet. I clear my throat. ?No,? I say, more firmly. B continues to hold my wrist.

 

?Lay down, Sammy,? he sings the joke he started when we were together the first time, echoing Clapton. ?Rest here in my arms??

 

?No, B,? I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

 

?Had enough?? he chuckles.

 

?Yes,? I nod. ?I?ve had enough, tonight.? But he doesn?t let go of my wrist. I try to keep my breath even and steady, to push the panic away so that I can think carefully. ?I need to get home, B. It?s late, you know.? I speak in an even tone, or so I hope.

 

He looks up at me and smiles. There?s not a trace of menace in that smile. He pulls the sheet away from his groin to show me he?s hard again and he pulls my hand. ?Come on, girl, give me a bit more of your special attention, won?t you?? I?ve always done this before leaving. But the dog is still here and I don?t want to be crouching there on the bed.

 

?It?s late, B,? I say again. ?Another time, okay? I need to go home, now.?

 

He lets go of my wrist and stands up. Just as he reaches for me, I lean to pick up my bag, and then I leave the room. He follows me to the front door. ?You upset, Sam?? he asks, softly, so tenderly, almost sadly. I look at him, clear-eyed, not upset, I hope.

 

?No, B. It?s just late and I?m tired.?

 

He laughs and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close and giving my bottom a squeeze. ?Okay. That?s better. That?s my good girl, Sam. Good girl, Samantha. Next time, then.?

 

I step away from him, shaking my head as I open the door. I?m so relieved when he doesn?t try to stop me. The door opens easily. ?No, B. That?s not? I can?t do that.? I try to keep from stammering.

 

He chuckles softly and I know he?s not really listening to what I say, or at least he?s not taking me seriously. There?s a lot to this ?no? that he doesn?t understand and I feel sad about that.

 

?Five thousand, Sam,? he says warmly, as though he was bargaining with me to get me to jump off the diving board. ?I think that?s generous. You don?t have to go down on him, just let him have you. You?ll like it, darling. The tie?I know you?ll cum forever then.? He reaches out and twines a lock of my hair around his finger. ?Better idea: ten thousand if you let me film it. You can wear a mask.?

 

I don?t say anything. I step out onto the porch.

 

?Think about it, okay? Next time, just say ?five? or ?ten? and I?ll know. That?s all you have to say. I?ll take care of the rest. Tell me you?ll think about it??

 

?I will,? I say. ?I will think about it, B. But now, I?ve got to go home.?

 

I walk away. I try not to run. I get in the car, fasten the seat belt, and leave. A few blocks away I break into a cold sweat. I pull over for a few minutes and breathe slow, even breaths. Then I drive home.

 

Even when we think we know the client, we don't.

 

 

I had a guy email me and ask me if I'd let his dog mount me. I declined. Different strokes for different folks.