This story is written in response to someoneyouknow's superb story, 'A Taste Of Cock'. If you haven't read it I urge you to do so first; it really is rather good -- and I'm not the only person who thinks so. But, as I read it, I not only empathised with the main character, I also couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be the 'other' guy. That got me thinking and so this version of the story was born.
To make the stories gel I have, from time to time, lifted sections of dialogue directly from 'A Taste Of Cock'. Similarly, although I have added and enlarged, the basics of the story are the same. As this borders on plagiarism I contacted someoneyouknow and asked his permission first. He was gracious enough to give this story his blessing, and, for that I am sincerely grateful.
On with the tale...
So, yeah, I'm in the entertainment business. Well, that's what I tell my mum. The web site says I'm an 'escort' or 'chaperone' depending on which button you click but it comes down to pretty much the same thing. In my job I need to be easy on the eye, easy on the ear, acceptable in all company and, above all else, a good listener.
Because it's not what you think, it's really not. While, yes, there are the birds who want a no strings quickie and the occasional lesbian who needs a dinner companion so she can stay in the closet, the vast majority are bored and restless housewives who just want, for once, to be the centre of attention. They spend their lives being their husbands arm candy and, once in a while, they want their turn. And that's where I come in. A little wining, a little dining, an appreciative ear who tells them that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, they're still young and desirable and then it's off to bed for the big 'O'. And I never leave my clients wanting. I live and die by the old adage, the customer always comes first; several times if she can manage it.
But then, once in a while, there's the oddity. Oh, I've done my share of kinky stuff, although it's not as common as people think, but, from time to time, there's one that stands out. I mean, take the assignment I had other day, weird or what?
It all starts when Julie, OK, no, not her real name but no one uses their real name in my business, anyway, this Julie, she books me for a straight wine and dine. No sex, well, not unless she changes her mind later. I'm to pick her up at Euston Station, take her to this little restaurant I know, and, for the evening, she's Cinderella and I'm Prince Charming.
When I get there she's a bit of a looker. OK, not top model or anything and it's been a while since her eighteenth birthday but, compared with some of the clients I get, she's a dream. For starters she smart, dead smart. She's obviously been to the hairdressers that morning and she's taken a bit of thought over how she's dressed; dead sexy without being in the least bit slutty. What's more, she's no stranger to the gym and she's as fit as a fiddle. Part of me is hoping that she does change her mind about the sex part because, as soon as I see her, I'm definitely up for going back to her hotel for a little how's your father afterwards.
We sit and we chat and it's all going well. However, there's something on her mind. I can tell there's something she wants to ask me but she can't quite find the words. Time to turn on the old charm, find out what she wants and then give it to her. The restaurant isn't quite the place but it has a great balcony overlooking the Thames. It's a nice night and it's quiet and I just know she'll open up easier if we're out of doors. I suggest we take our brandies out there and she agrees. There we are standing side by side at the balcony rail looking out over the river and it's just perfect. I make sure my hand is available. We haven't touched yet, not beyond the obligatory peck on the cheek when we met, and, if she puts her hand near mine, then that's a sure sign that we're moving on to the next stage.
"Dan," she starts. OK, so I know, I'm no more called Dan than she's called Julie but, as I said, you don't use real names in my game. "Dan, you must have had some strange requests in your time. Have you?"
I glance across. She's staring out over the river and she doesn't want to catch my eye. Here we go, I think to myself. I wonder what this one wants?
"I've had my share," I reply. "I think you'll find me pretty broad minded and totally unshockable. Why don't you tell me what you want and we'll take it from there?"
"It's not for me, it's for my husband," she says, her voice gaining in confidence now that the Rubicon has been crossed. "I want to give him a rather special birthday present and I need someone like you, some one with your... qualifications to make it happen."
"Sounds like fun," I reply. I always say that, well, unless it's children or animals. If you tell the punter that you think their idea is fun then they can relax and that's when you get the nitty-gritty, that's when you get what they really want. "Tell me more," I prompt.
And she tells me. Well, I've known worse, I've done worse, and it's looking like easy money for not too much work. We agree a price. She baulked at first, but then they always do. However, I stood firm and, in the end, she came around and, with that out of the way, we agreed a time and place. We swap mobile numbers, I give her the one I keep one just for client work, and organise an outline plan.
So it is that, a few days later, I'm knocking on a front door of a house in suburbia. It's nothing special either way, you know the sort, hey, you probably live in one. I've know better areas and I've know a heck of a lot worse. Hey, I came from a heck of a lot worse. The door opens and there she is. Wow! If she looked good when we met in the restaurant then it had nothing on how she's looking now. She's wearing this slinky little outfit in dark red and it's only just long enough to be decent. As we walk back into the house I'm checking out the view and I'm pretty sure that's all she's wearing. I'm not seeing any panties, that's for certain. Although it's not part of what she's paid for I'll have no complaints if I end up getting a little action with that sweet arse.
Once more we run through the plan. Her husband is due home from work in ten minutes and I'm to go into the spare room to get ready and wait for him. She closes the door and I get my kit off and put on my robe before settling down on the bed. Fortunately I brought the paper to read so as to pass the time because hubby was a little later than planned and, once he arrived, she had to do her bit first. Suddenly her head appears around the door.
"OK, he's ready," she whispers. "You know what to do."
"OK," I whisper back as I stand up and take of my dressing gown. "Will this do?"
She looks down and gives the old meat and veg a long hard look.
