Thursday, January 06, 2005

“Hey look at me, what’s the matter?” I asked Christine. Wednesday afternoon she would leave for home and the good bye was going to be difficult.

“Maybe my coming along wasn’t a good idea.” She posited. “Why,” I asked.

“Well we didn’t spend much time together, you were always…”

I could feel myself getting angry but I stuffed it. I didn’t want have our last afternoon together spoiled by a fight.

“I know.”

It hadn’t gone as hoped. I’ve had a date each night so I left her alone. Sunday I met him in the bar of the hotel next to ours, which she knew. I guess curiosity got to her so she came to the bar. I saw her come in but she sat behind me. The client was fiftyish and unattractive but I’m sure she saw the whole act while I made this guy feel he was the center of my universe. I noticed her again as we left for dinner she was talking to some guy and they both looked toward us, he said something, I can just imagine what.

“Kim you’re so different.” She began to cry. “You come home and you’re quiet for a while and then you’re my Kim again. But then as you get ready you get so...”

It takes me a bit switchgears, to get ready to meet my date and then to relax afterward. We talked through that and though I didn’t say anything I have the same feeling about her when I’ve gone to watch her dance.

We curled up on the bed just holding each other. I told that I loved her and she said the same to me. Then it was time to take her to the airport.


Marie called me while I accompanied Christine to the airport. She asked if I was in a position where I could talk, I told her I wasn’t. So she just talked. My date for that evening had cancelled but she could fill the spot if I would like. A fellow from Miami, an irregular customer of Marie’s, he couldn’t do the overnight and wanted only four hours, at my room. I told her to set it up.

Upon getting back to the hotel I called him and confirmed the arrangements. He asked me to wear something sexy and greet him at the door. I called room service for a bottle of wine and some munchies; I wouldn’t have time for dinner.

Using my room is awkward for me. I’m an admitted neat freak, but not the type where every surface is bare, but the type where every pile is perfectly aligned and organized in a discernable pattern. In hotels I empty my bags a place everything in these neat little piles. When I have a client I need to put it all away leaving out only some toiletries and my purse (with my ID/passport in the safe) so he knows where to leave the tip. If the gentleman is not spending the night, I try to keep the action on one side of the bed so I have a ‘clean’ place to sleep after he leaves. (And yes I am neurotic.)

He knocked on my door precisely at seven. He was about fifty, average height and weight, his graying hair was thinning. He liked the merry widow and stockings. He doffed his clothes quickly and we went about massaging each other. When it was my turn to massage him I worked his lower back and ass. I pressed my finger against in anus and he hardly flinched. “Do you like that” I asked. He nodded so I got a latex glove and some KY. But before working I took off my stockings and used them to tie him to the bed.

Turns out that daddy likes fisting or at least being the fistee and he’s lucky I have small hands. With one hand massaging his prostrate the other gave him a hand job and he climaxed with enough noise that I feared security would come to check if some thing was wrong.

The room has a Jacuzzi so we relaxed in it and cleaned up while talking and drinking the wine. While talking he told me the “You Frenchies make very good whores,” I’d been affecting a French accent all evening. I took it as a compliment. The night finished with a blowjob in the tub, the introduction of a dildo into daddy’s nether regions and a bit of straight, female superior fucking.

Proof of daddy’s pleasure was the envelope left near the purse for that express purpose.



Blogger NCTRNL said...

You might switch gears slowly in real life but in your go from one to the other very quickly. Being a guy, I find it hard to believe that I would ever have the nerve to have someone I have never met do things like that to me.

5:29 PM  
Blogger Jengenis said...


5:54 PM  
Blogger Kim said...

The client has a fetish and his need to satisfy the urges overwhelms any fear that the hired help may injure him.

As to my own ability to switch, all I can say is that I went to work. Everyday people who are struggling with emotional issues in their personal lives go to work and conduct themselves professionally and their clients and coworkers have no clue what's going on inside. Prostitutes are no different than any other worker in that regard.


10:34 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Sounds like you did an excellent job, Kim! : )
~ Nicole

11:51 PM  
Blogger Garrison Steelle said...

Sorry you didn't get as much time with Christine as you wanted. :(


4:28 AM  
Blogger John Psmyth said...

I like switchgears as one word.

But there a few infelicities that make me think that the post was written with perhaps less detachment than I'd expect. Haste? Being tired? Emotion?

Thanks, as ever, Kimmie.

5:06 AM  

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