Birthday Boy
Written by ArseGratiaArtis
As will become obvious, everyone in this story is over 18.
It was my fiftieth birthday, and my girlfriend Carol arrived right on time, at 3:00 in the afternoon. We had planned to have hot sex for a couple of hours, and she would take me to dinner at our favorite sushi joint, then a movie, probably followed by more sex. That was not what happened. I'm not going to give the details of exactly what did happen, but after 10 minutes and us not even getting undressed, she stormed out the front door and slammed it behind her, furious. If I told you, you wouldn't think it was that big a deal, but let's just say Carol was the jealous type, virtually always without reason, and there was no reason this time or any of the other times she had blown up at me. She apologized a couple of days later, but it was too late. The relationship was over. I can take only so much craziness.
And so there I was, all dressed up, so to speak, and nowhere to cum. I considered my options, like calling an ex-girlfriend and seeing if she wanted to go out, or calling a male friend or two and hanging out with the guys. But the hurt was too fresh, and I didn't figure any woman would want to be the rebound choice. I
didn't want to talk to any of the men I knew; at that point it would sound like me being sorry for myself. I thought about going to dinner alone, then to a bar, but I don't like that scene and I've had very little luck picking up women in bars.
I went to my computer and brought up a porn site, which got me nice and hard as I watched a cute redhead bend over and take it from behind. But that wasn't what I needed. I needed to have actual human contact. Why did Carol have to be so volatile? I had been faithful to her since we started dating, but she knew I had a past. Most divorced men my age do, and she did too. Maybe she was looking for a reason to dump me.
I looked at personal ads on a local web site, but all I saw were fakes, probably looking for my credit card number. Then I found another site advertising "personal services." Perhaps a massage would help, perhaps something that turned into more than a massage.
An ad by a girl who called herself Clarissa caught my eye. She was half my age, 25, and looked very nice, even though the photos didn't show her face clearly. She said she would "relieve my stress" for $200 an hour.
I was torn. I had absolutely no experience with escorts, or whatever the polite term for a prostitute is, although I knew a little about the protocol from reading. I had been tempted occasionally, even approached in Paris and Vancouver, but never gone through with it. It just felt weird, and I also knew that many women in that profession had been abused and didn't like men very much. I had also read that many were drug addicts. And I had never needed to pay for sex. Once I was past my twenties, willing, even eager, women were fairly easy to find, just not on short notice. I also had some minor moral qualms, all the more because of my relatively high-profile job.
On the other hand, I was incredibly horny. You might think a man my age would be past his sexual prime, and I was. However, my prime had been pretty amazing, and I had kept myself in excellent shape by eating right, not smoking, not drinking much, and good exercise. I had a great job, so I had enough money to afford a
nice house with a heated pool, and I either swam or ran nearly every day.
I looked at Clarissa's ad again and found others by her, and I looked at other ads. I kept coming back to Clarissa and did a little research, but she covered her tracks pretty well, which made sense. It was illegal, and she probably had family and
friends who would be shocked. I looked at other ads again, then back at hers. I thought long and hard about it, and in truth I was both long and hard.
Finally, I nervously dialed the number. I heard a pleasant voice on the other end say, "Hello." Nothing sexy or overdone, just a simple greeting.
"Hi. Is this Clarissa?"
"Yes. Who's this?"
"My name is Jack. I saw your ad. Are you going to be free in about 45 minutes?"
"You know I only do sensual massages, right?"
"Yes, that's what your ad said, and I really need one."
"Good. I can see you in an hour. Where are you coming from?"
I told her where I was and she texted me her address. I knew enough not to say anything about sex, anything suggestive at all, on the phone.
I got out an old wallet and put $350 in cash and my driver's license into it, and nothing else. I found a couple of condoms in a drawer that were still good even though I didn't use them with Carol. One of the good things about being in a relationship is that you usually don't need them, and I didn't like them. Carol was on the Pill. However, I was sure Clarissa would require them, and I wanted to be safe. I had a key ring with a house and car key but nothing else, and brought that. I figured everything would be okay but I'm cautious by nature.
I found the place easily enough, an older but upscale apartment building in a nice part of town, and parked two blocks away. I swallowed, pushed her button, and heard her voice. "It's Jack," I answered, and she buzzed me in. I walked up to her apartment (I don't like elevators) and knocked. She opened the door almost immediately, and I saw an extremely attractive girl in a white blouse and short black skirt smiling at me. I entered and she closed and locked the door behind me. After saying hello, I got out my wallet, took out two crisp century notes, and put them on the coffee table without saying a word.
"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked politely.
"Nothing now, thanks. Perhaps later." I could feel her sizing
me up.
