I paced up and down the hotel room anxiously, pausing by the window to take in the view. We were on the top floor and outside it had finally gotten dark after a long hot summer day. The sun had shone from a cloudlessly blue sky and although it was now night, the tarmac and concrete that made up this vast grey city still retained some of its fierce heat. Outside, I watched the blinking red light of a distant helicopter floating over the patterns of silver and gold lights that marked London's twisting streets. I felt full and content after our Italian dinner, the pasta and red wine making me feel pleasantly drowsy. Ordinarily, I might just get into bed and fall asleep in front of the TV, but not this evening.
I checked my watch again, noting that it was 11:05, two minutes since I'd last checked.
"She's late," I muttered, briskly pulling the thick, rust-coloured curtains closed to shut out the noise of a siren somewhere far below.
"Relax, she'll be here," my wife sighed. "Come and finish your champagne before it gets warm."
She was lying on the king-size hotel bed, her back propped up with a mound of pillows and looking cool as a cucumber in her light summer dress, her bare feet crossed at the ankles. She casually scrolled through her mobile 'phone and sipped her drink as if we did this kind of thing every week.
"Sorry, I'm just nervous, I've never done anything like this before," I said, reluctantly perching on the edge of the bed and taking a sip from my champagne flute.
"Well, never have I, silly. Listen, we both checked her out. She's a professional, she'll guide us through this. We're all grown-ups here; I mean she's not going to make us do anything we're not comfortable with."
It was true; we'd done our research thoroughly. Well, the truth was that I'd done most of the research. I'd looked through a lot of escort websites to make sure we found someone who should be well-suited to us, someone who liked to work with couples, someone who was experienced and a bit dominant. Not in the sense of chaining us up and beating us with whips, but in the sense that she could take control and help us to find what we were looking for. Not that I was entirely sure what that was.
"Candy" wasn't cheap; in fact, she cost a lot more than a weekend in this five-star hotel room, but what the hell? It was our fifteenth wedding anniversary, and if there was a time to splash out, this was it. Besides, if the claims on her website were true, she'd be worth every penny.
I'd suggested it to Lynn a few times over the years, never entirely serious, always half-joking. What's that old saying: many a true word spoken in jest? Anyway, Lynn had always been quite conservative in bed so I was surprised when she finally relented and called my bluff one morning. Suggested (perhaps a little angrily) that I do something about it, rather than keep going on about it, year after year.
I recall getting on the internet the same day, checking out escort sites, reading reviews and making a few suggestions. One woman in particular seemed perfect and I booked Candy within a week. Then later, as the date approached, I was sure Lynn would have change of heart, but here we were in this hotel room, my wife still looking surprisingly relaxed, me still pacing nervously, too late to back out now.
"I need some more liquid courage," I said, lifting the thick green bottle of champagne, watching as little chunks of half-melted ice slid back into the silver bucket. "Do you want some more?"
"Please," she said, leaning forward and holding out her glass.
"Thanks again for this, I mean I know it's not really your thing," I said, trying to keep my hand steady as I filled her glass, the foam rising quickly, a few drops spilling over the top of her glass and running down the side.
"Well, you've always wanted to try this, right?" she said, her large brown eyes meeting mine as she licked the spilt alcohol from the back of her fingers. "Anyway, before she gets here there's probably something I should tell you..."
"I know what you're going to say, but if you're not enjoying it we'll just tell her to go early and chalk it up to experience," I interrupted.
"No, no, that's not it; it's kind of the opposite actually. You see, I..."
She was interrupted by a sharp, businesslike rapping on the door.
"She's here!" I exclaimed, sounding as excited as a child on Christmas morning.
I hurriedly gave Lynn a quick peck on the forehead and placed my glass on her bedside table before hurrying towards the door.
"Hi, it's Candy right?" I said, opening the door to a tall brunette, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties. She looked stunning, slightly taller than me in her shiny black heels, thick waves of chestnut-coloured hair falling in glossy waves over her shoulders. Her trim yet curvy figure looked like it had been poured into her tight dress, the same shade of dark green as the champagne bottle. I was relieved to find that she looked every bit as good as the pictures on her website. I felt a surge of excitement knowing that I'd soon see her naked.
"So can I come in?" she asked, as I lingered, taking in the way her cleavage bulged enticingly against the plunging V-shaped neckline.
"Yes, sorry, yes, please come in," I said, embarrassingly aware that I'd been staring at her for several seconds as I stepped back then closed the door behind her.
"Hi, I'm Candy," she said, spotting Lynn on the bed and striding over, her heels tapping out a muffled rhythm on the thick carpet, a well-manicured hand outstretched. "And you must be Lynn."
"Yes, pleased to meet you," my wife said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and leaning forward as they shared a curiously formal handshake given the situation.
"Nice room," she said, easing the strap of her handbag off her bare shoulder and slinging it casually onto the middle of the bed. She walked over to the window with a lithe feline grace, her hips swaying seductively, looking around with the confident air of someone who'd seen the inside of a lot of expensive hotel rooms. I couldn't help noticing the way her dress clung snugly to her neatly rounded rear.
"So just so we're clear, I have some rules. I don't like being tied up, I don't do anal, I don't do penetrative sex without a condom and I don't do anything really weird without prior warning, okay?" she added, spinning around to face me.
I nodded dumbly, wondering what constituted 'really weird' in her world.
