Some of you may know about my favorite client, May. She has the honor of being a one of a kind in my world. First, she’s the only woman who has ever hired me. And my first appointment with her and her man was so enjoyable that I completely lost track of time and stayed most of the night. And she’s the only client that I have ever told that I would no longer accept her money. I just felt such an immediate kinship with her, and just adored playing with her so much, that it would cheapen our connection in some way to turn it into a business arrangement.  
 
But I will say, that when I told her she would never pay me again, I did not include her man in that offer. She matters to me. And I don’t like the way he treats her. So he will pay for every minute of my personal time that he gets. But May just has so much love to give, and is such a beautiful soul, who never fails to make me feel beautiful. Even when she’s snapping pictures of me and says “Honey, that sucks, you look fat. Change positions.” Still, I feel like a beautiful work of art in her prescence. 
 
Today, I was at an event with a friend of mine when May contacted me. We don’t play much, because her relationship isn’t stable enough to accept outside interaction. She only craves sharing a woman with her man, not solo girl attention. So, we get together for drinks and we are truly friends, but we don’t get to play. Today, May says “I want you to come over so we can have our way with you. I have a personal fantasy in mind and you are the girl to fulfill it. And I insist on paying for this one. “  
 
This is a bit of a shock for me. But I’m thrilled that they must still be doing ok if she’s willing to not only let me join, but to pay me as well. Wow. So I make my excuses and find a ride home to pretty myself up to fulfill May’s fantasy. And we are texting back and forth.  
 
May: I want to hold your lovely body open for his invasion. . .I want to have your head between my legs while he fucks you from behind, and I want to call you a dirty slut and make you admit how much you like it.” 
 
And in the midst of all this flirting, I am also having an IM chat with my man, and I’m just fairly buzzing thinking about playing with May and helping to make her dreams come true. And thinking about the wonderful story I’ll have to tell next time my guy and I get randy.  
 
And things go downhill. She is excited and ready and thrilled with the anticipation. And suddenly I get a text that says they are fighting. She hires girls for them to share, she offers him his every thrill, and he is sneaking nasty conversations and liasons with other women. And the sad thing is that she wouldn’t care if he were honest and allowed her the same freedom. But the honesty and the freedom are his sole domain.  He can demand them, but he won’t give them in return. So, she says the whole night is ruined for her. She had been watching porn all day and had some hot ideas. And now she’s once again reminded that he doesn’t appreciate all that he offers. 
 
She asks if I would be willing to just take her out for a drink. She needs to talk, and she needs someone who understands that self-destructive kind of love that she’s submerged in. You know it is unhealthy. And you know you could do better. And you spend a large part of your time crying and trying to figure out what is going on.  And yet that person still manages to tug you in and keep you dancing on the end of their string.  We are intelligent women. We know intellectually that these relationships are toxic. But that doesn’t stop us from getting into them, and sometimes the only way we can get out is to decide to cut it out. And until we do that, no one can tell us we’re being stupid. We know we are being stupid. But we just have to be stupid right now. I’ve been there. Crazy-in-love. The stuff that you can read about in a hundred romance novels. And they make it sound so romantic and life-altering. . .we’re trained to want it. . .but the reality of that kind of love is that it can’t survive because there is a severe imbalance of power.  
 
So I rush out to go pick her up and have some girl time. When I get to his house, she meets me outside and says we’ll be going to get some alcohol and coming back to the house. I start to ask her what is going on, and she motions for me to not speak or ask questions. 
 
”I’m just gonna run in and grab my purse and we’ll go get some whiskey and wine and come back here. “ she says, as she’s motioning that we will talk once we are away from the house.  
 
When she returns and we leave on our errand, we wait until we are at the end of the block to talk. And the first words out of my mouth are “What the hell is going on?” 
 
When we decided to change our fantasy fulfillment into a girl’s night, she asked her man if he minded if we went for a drink. He said it would be fine with him. But before I could finish getting dressed and drive over, he has decided that if she leaves to go out for drinks, she should take her stuff with her, because he would lock her out while she was gone. Ugh. So we are going to go back to his house and hang out.  
 
So, my job description changed. I was no longer hired to provide assistance in a pleasurable situation. Now, I am a buffer and a referee. She has enough people in her life who are all too ready to tell her what she is doing wrong and how she should rectify her situation. She needs someone who will just stand beside her as she goes through this. And bolster her when she falters. I can hold her hand through this.  
 
May pays me when we arrive at the liquor store. She says that she doesn’t know if she’ll be emotionally able to accept my services tonight, but she wants to leave the possibility open. And because I know this matters a lot to her, I let her give me what she feels she needs to.  
 
When we get back to the house, things seemed ok at the outset. He seems genial. She’s simmering, but ok for the time being. But I can see her mood declining. And I fill the awkward silences and cover the increasingly snide comments from her by telling stories. In the moments we sneak when he’s refilling drinks or otherwise absent, she confides that her mood is getting darker by the moment. She looks at me with tears in her eyes and admits that he makes her feel like the ugliest woman on Earth. And in reaching to hug her and give her my shoulder to dry her tears, my hand brushes her breast. And I hear the sharp intake of breath. When my eyes raise to lock with hers, I see that faint spark of passion. Holding her gaze, I allow my hand to more fully connect and I stroke, cup and gently squeeze her wonderful breasts. And she’s so sad in her yearning. No one touches her. Oh, it makes my heart ache! I lean my head down to nuzzle her breasts and place a few delicate and loving licks and kisses to her cleavage. And I tell her how beautiful she is, how she deserves someone who will recognize the rare gifts that she offers. And though her tears still fall, they stream down to bracket her smile that says she believes me.  
 
The night goes on and she fights with him while I huddle in the garage trying not to smoke the lit cigarette that is my excuse for not being present for their argument. She opens the garage door to tell me that it’s time for me to go. She doesn’t even look at me. And she is seething. And hurt. And crying again. She’s not even in sight by the time I put out the now superfluous cigarette and swiftly gather my things to go. I linger at the door waiting for an opportunity to say my goodbyes. And her man apologizes to me and says his sad goodbye to me. And I swiftly swoop into the bedroom to kiss her on the forehead and assure her that I’m only a phone call away. I have no fear that there will be violence. And I’ve offered my arms, my ears, and my heart. And the only option I’m left with is to let her deal with this in the best way she can  and be there for her when she needs me to be.  
 
My guy and I were talking about the amazing secrets and confidences that people share with me. And it is true that confession and absolution are just two more of the services I offer. I get to share some amazingly intimate moments with my clients. And the thing that seperates a courtesan from a hooker is the feeling of love that comes with it. Ever had a best friend with benefits? A courtesan is that and more. I hear the horrifying things that my clients can’t share with anyone else in the world. And I hold them while they cry and I cry with them, and I’m there to let them know that no matter what has happened in their lives, they are still worthy of love and acceptance. Spider Robinson equates time with a sexual artist to time spent with a priest. He even goes so far as to say that courtesans are a confessional for people who are more comfortable bareing their souls when they are bareing their bodies.  
 
And so, tonight, I provided the service for which I am best known. To witness pain and elation and drama and tears and giddiness and a hundred other emotions. To be the support and validation for someone who is going through a horrible situation. And it tears my heart to have to see her hurting so badly. But I will stand beside her and bear witness. And I will help her put herself back together when she’s ready to move to a healthier place.

Thanks for listening
~Lola

I’ve been feeling for a while that something was missing. Like I’m not fulfilled and in fact am a bit drained. And I chalked this up to the giving I do. Even when my work partner Katy joins me in my sessions, I am giving so much energy. And so I thought that what was missing was the thrill of the seduction. Well, that and the deep dicking that so many of my clients are no longer able to manage. I thought what was missing was the sheer joy of having someone pursue and woo me. Of having sex just for the pure joy of having sex.

So, I figured it was only a matter of time before I was heading home from the concert with the handsome guitar player from the band. He looked like a young and scruffy Sinatra. And something about his classic tattoos and fedora set my mind to sizzling. He was just the kind of guy I used to seek out back in my simple slut days. Fun, uncomplicated, witty.

 
We had been flirting through the whole evening; had established the parameters of a no-strings evening of entertainment. It seemed a perfect conversation and situation. And he was charming in a shy, artistic way that told me he would be a wonderous lover.

We sat on my couch and drank whiskey and chatted about my record collection before moving into the bedroom. And I will say that he does start out with a bang. He was on me in mere moments scratching my neck and breasts with his 2 day growth of beard. With eager hands, we stripped each other’s clothing off and were on the bed, writhing and licking, in no time. I was primed by all the flirting, so I was hot and wet and ready to go. We went through six condoms and at least as many positions without any successful climax for either of us. I gave him a map to my body with each of my particular favorite tourist destinations marked with a big red X, and I played tour guide as well. He just wouldn’t take direction, nor would he let me lead. 
 

Finally, in utter frustration and irritation, both spiritual and physical (that stubble was much less charming when he kept insisting on eating my pussy), I pushed him onto his back and rode him. I wasn’t going to let his stubbornness deny me my orgasm. And I will say that he was encouraging at that point. Holding my hips and cheering me on as I brought myself off.

1. Ever heard of a Pillow Queen? A Pillow Queen is a girl, usually in her early 20’s, who is just so beautifully built and fair of face that she has never been taught anything about sexuality. Strange, I know, but there is an alarming number of young girls who are just so pretty that men just want to fuck them. And they are so excited to get to do so that they leap on her like a rabid dog and do their thing. So these girls believe that all they have to do to be great in bed is to lie still and look pretty. I’ve met plenty and am actually related to a couple. I once believed this to be a primarily feminine problem. I have now met my equivalent in the male realm. The Rock Star. I imagine he’s got girls in every town he plays just waiting for him to come back. He is not judged by his appearance, as the ladies are, but by his status. He’s got the cool required to provide him with pussy. Sadly, like the Pillow Queen, he has never had to take the time to learn to be a good listener or a good lover. He just has to bang away for as long as he can and rest on the Rock Star Reputation. Good to know it’s not just us girls who develop these heartbreaking sexual blocks. 

2. It is possible for beard stubble to actually remove skin from a woman’s most tender areas. It will hurt for days so you had better be sure there are some pretty damn amazing memories to make it worth it.

3. I now know that it isn’t the pure physical satisfaction of my past that I long for, but the specific attentions of my man. I miss the way he seduces me every day with his little comments and the “lucky guy” look that occasionally sneaks over his face. I miss the passionate way he fucks me and the smoldering way he makes love to me. And though I’ve been treated to some spectacular sexual experiences in the recent past, each event was shadowed by the fact that he could not be here to share in my discoveries.  

 
 
4. I used to wonder at the number of ladies in my profession who are involved in a relationship. I never thought there could be so many men and women willing to accept our line of work for their partner. I am lucky enough to have found one in my man. But I haven’t seen him since January.  And I’m starting to think that it is vital for a sex worker to be involved with someone who knows all about their work and is proud of the service they offer. Because what we do is so emotionally, physically and spiritually draining. The kind of reminders we need can’t be found in a one-night-stand. We need to be reminded of what it feels like to focus on ourselves for a bit. We need to be laughed with and befriended and cuddled by someone who has heard us fart. (hehehe…you’re so silly…but such a good way of explaining yourself and the level of comfort we have) We need someone who will let us stop being the Perfect Girlfriend and just let us be who we are. And still love us just the same.

I miss you, lover. Counting the days.  aww…you just made me melt…

You would think in my line of work, I would have seen and done it all. And I will say that even I am amazed at some of the things I’ve tried. But it still catches me by surprise when someone requests something I’ve never done before.

Back when I was a newbie, I received an email.

“Do you do foot jobs?”

That was all it said. Now, in my line of work, this is the ultimate in rudeness. Though there is no question that I am going to do unladylike things, it is expected that I will be approached respectfully and professionally. I was offended. And at that point I put foot fetishes into the same realm as ear licking.  It doesn’t really do anything for me, but if it turns you on, I’m on it.

I mentioned the email to my mentor and best friend, Robert. He said he knew the man and also knew that he was very inexperienced and timid and had been mistreated by the one girl he had seen.

Now, I know you don’t know me, so I’m going to tell you something about myself here. This man was yearning for his particular turn-on so badly that he was willing to take a second chance at finding a girl, despite a horrible first experience. That touched me. I hate to see someone in need. And it also made me want to redeem the art a bit.  Seeing a professional should be a wonderful experience. And it should be respectful, kind and caring at the very least. I didn’t want him to base his understanding of this business on that one girl.

So, over months of time we talked online and made ourselves comfortable and developed an understanding of what he was looking for and also of what I could offer. I admitted that I had no idea what a footjob was. Admitted that I had never been interested in feet during sex. But also enthusiastically agreed to letting him teach me a bit about it.

So, flash forward to the day when we’ve finally managed to work around his severely erratic schedule. And he’s running late, so this won’t even be a full hour appointment. But we’ve built it up in our heads for so long that it just has to happen. I’m driving to the hotel. And I’m stressed. I took special care in dressing. . .toes painted a lovely raspberry shade, just the right amount of cleavage, skirt just short enough and heels just high enough to accentuate the feet and legs. I know I’m looking good. But it’s the first truly warm day of the year and my feet are sweating. He has mentioned sucking my toes and my feet are sweating. Ugh. Adding to my stress is the image I have of foot fetishes.  While everything we’ve discussed seems pretty straightforward and easy to do, I can’t help feeling that there must be more to it.  There must be something that makes it hot. But I can’t imagine what that might be. So, my feet are sweating, my appointment is rushed, and I’m prepared to simply tolerate something that does nothing for me.  Not the most ideal of circumstances.

I arrive at the hotel, and a handsome young man is waiting for me. His youth puts me at ease, and my nurturing instincts come out. He’s just so cute I want to take care of him. Upstairs in the room, I quickly slip away to the bathroom and wash my feet. 

After some cordialities and chatting, he takes my foot in his hands and compliments my polish. It’s a new dynamic for me. . .suddenly I’m the student, and shy in that role. I’m not sure what to expect, but I’m willing to let him lead.  But the feeling of uncertainty doesn’t sit well with me. I reclaim my foot and stand to strip off my blouse and skirt to display my lacy white bra and panties.  And I manage to distract him from what I consider my least attractive feature for long enough to get his clothes off. But when we climb onto the bed together, I know I can’t put it off any longer. 

I’m leaning against the pillows and he kneels at my feet and gently takes them into his hands again. And I can tell he’s worried that he will upset or offend me. And again, I feel that nurturing feeling that makes me want to give the little boy with the teartracks on his face a cookie. I wiggle my toes just a bit in his hands by way of encouragement. I made him chuckle, which broke the tension for us both. With a new air of excitement, he focused on my feet. At first he just massaged them and laid gentle kisses along the tops and insteps. And it felt so fluttery and light. . .almost reverent.  He ran his tongue along the backs of my toes to end at my big toe with a sucking kiss. . .and my world. . .and my puss exploded. 

I came to this appointment expecting to tolerate having my toes sucked. When I mentioned this to my girlfriend she said “Well, duh, Lola! There’s a direct link between your toes and your pussy”.  And I have to say that I just never thought about it. Feet were always just a way to get around. 

Most feet are ticklish to the touch. And that is one of the things that makes this so delicious. There is that undercurrent of tickle when someone is sucking and licking your toes. But it adds only one very subtle flavor to the experience. He ran his tongue between my toes, sucked each little piggie in sucession, then nibbled the balls of my feet. And with each new sensation I felt a corresponding pulse and tingle in my pussy.  I could almost feel the texture of his tongue rasping over my labia as he licked the creases between my toes. It wasn’t long before I was writhing and moaning. I must have had that wide-eyed surprised look on my face, because he asked if I liked it. And if it shocked me that I did. And I answered yes to each question between panting breaths.  In his passion, he continued to lick one of my feet while placing the other on his swollen cock. My mind had tried in the past to conjur images of how I could love a cock with my foot without hurting the man involved. Feet can seem so clumbsy and awkward. But I was so inspired that I think instinct just took over. And a formerly odd appendage became a perfect object of pleasure. His cock fit perfectly between my two biggest toes. And the arch of a foot can be made to perfectly cup and cuddle his package.  It may sound silly or strange, but one properly motivated tootsie can do an awful lot to stroke and excite a man. 

It was later that same day that a girlfriend of mine took me for my first pedicure. I’m sitting in the wonderful massaging chair, talking with my girl about men and life and the universe as a lovely petite Vietnamese woman is massaging my feet and legs. And I realize that I have done a serious disservice to feet. While they may be a champion way of getting around, they are so much more than that. An undiscovered country of sensations and pleasures that I never dreamed existed.

So, let’s all raise our glasses to my ignorance and misconception. To appreciating the beauty in even the most mundane of things.  And to a whole new fascination with sexy strappy sandals.

Kisses
Lola     

Lila is a tall, stunning blonde with a pervasive air of innocence and society about her. I would expect to meet a woman like her at a charity brunch or other philanthropic function. Instead, she is sitting in my livingroom drinking coffee and talking to me about becoming a prostitute. 

She has been considering taking this path for most of her life, but really feels like the time has arrived. She talked to me of tarot readings and meditation that all pointed her in this direction.  She spoke of her visit to see an escort two weeks before the birth of her child simply to experience the kind of loving connection she couldn’t get from the man in her life. She was so beautifully spiritual and giving even in just discussing her hopes that I just wanted to hug her and not let go. What a shining soul!

But as we were talking, I felt a bit of despair. I hoped that the business wouldn’t hurt her heart. While it is probable that she would reach the point where she had a nice group of gentlemen regulars,  it would require kissing a lot of toads. And though her hope was to work with special needs individuals and women, I just didn’t know if that market was going to be large enough to meet her needs. Luckily, she came to me. At the very least, I could warn her about the pitfalls and be there to hold her when it got to be too much.

I sent her home with a required reading list and a laptop to borrow until she could get hers repaired. And was feeling the enormity of the mentor role for the first time in my life.  I had to protect her. I had to help. If she was set on this path, I wanted it to be as positive an experience for her as it has been for me.

The next morning, I met a prospective client for coffee.  I was somewhat surprised when Stephen walked up and introduced himself. His shirt proclaimed “I’m not gay, but my boyfriend is”.  My curiousity was piqued to say the least.

I quickly learned that he wasn’t seeking my services for himself. Stephen was in the awkward position of seeking a female companion for his good friend James.  The difficulty lay in the fact that James is severely physically disabled. Stephen was sure that he had been given an impossible quest. Even one bad experience would be devestating for James. He had to find the perfect woman for the job.  I was impressed that he would show such care for the well-being of his friend. The second time I’ve talked about sex for the disabled in two days? Sounds like a message. . .hmmm.

So, I sit listening to Stephen wax poetic on the type of woman needed. . .polished, lovely, firm and in charge, yet fully loving and supportive of exploration and growth. And as he’s speaking, my mind is dancing and goosebumps cover my arms.  Even the physical description fits. What a perfect match!

When I contact Lila later to see if she would be interested in meeting with Stephen to discuss the possiblity. Her reply email came so quickly that it left skid marks in my inbox.

 ”this really gives me Goddess bumps

i can’t imagine a finer thing to do than to meet this man and explore. 

How lucky i am to have you here right now.

In wonderment

Lila”

Blessed Be! After talking to each of them, I just know that they are looking for each other. And I was lucky enough to be an instrument of their meeting.  Stephen and Lila will meet. And they will work together to help James explore his sexuality in any way that he can. And I have the feeling that Lila may have just found the niche she was hoping for.

I’m sitting in the shade on a pleasantly hot afternoon. The condensation on my glass of whiskey is making a small puddle on the glass top of the bar that Dani and her man Bart have set up on their patio. It’s a birthday barbeque for me and Dani.  I’m surrounded by the people who know me best. My chosen family. Each and every one of them knows my secrets and would protect me with all that they have.  They know that my work takes so much out of me, in spirit and love and energy. They know I’ve been feeling a bit of care-giver burnout.  And every one of them is making sure I simply enjoy myself for a change.   I’m in the most comfortable space I can imagine.

But we’ve been drinking for hours now. The sun is starting to sink, and I’m feeling the heat and liquor. I ask Dani if I can lay down for just a bit. She leads me into her bedroom and pulls back the covers while I strip off my pants. I climb between the cool sheets and she tucks me in and places a sweet kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll come wake you in just a bit.” she says, as she’s walking to the door.  But as she opens the door, there stand Lia and Jane. These two are my partners in crime. And though Dani offers to shoo them away, I tell her to go ahead and let them in.  My girls are always welcome.

They come to the bed, one on each side, and stroke my hair and face, kiss my fingers, ask me if I’m feeling ok. I assure them that I’m just laying down for a bit. Recharging.  A look passes between them. A sly smile. They peel the covers down to my waist and encourage me to let them take my tank and bra. “To make you more comfortable”.  And they are right. I’m more comfy without them. Especially when Jane runs her hands up from my bellybutton to gently stroke my breasts. They are such dolls. Being soothing, kind, loving. And I’m feeling like the most loved being on Earth. 

After just a moment, Lia and Dani leave me to Jane’s tender care and go back to the party. I’m thinking she is going to just tuck me back in and send me off to a lovely nap. But that isn’t the case. It’s isn’t long before Lia and Dani are back with company. They’ve brought Bart, Olivia and Steve, and Carl.  

Now, at this point, instinct kicks in and I reach down to pull the covers up. While every one of them has seen me naked before, being the only naked person in a room with 7 other people can be a bit uncomfortable. I’m feeling exposed. And vulnerable. But Lia and Jane won’t let me pull the covers up. They each gently take an arm and pull me back down on the bed.

“It’s ok, sweetheart, we’re here” Lia says as she leans down to press her raspberry lips to mine. I look up, switching my glance from one to the other. Then I scan the faces in the room.  Olivia and Steve have their arms around each other and are smiling wickedly at me. Carl’s face is a mixture of concern and excitement. Dani is holding Bart’s hand.  And they both look fiercely protective.  And Dani says the magic words. . .

“Lola, honey. Say the word and I kick them all out. Nothing bad will happen.”

I could have sent them away. I could have refused the gift. But as I lay there looking up at the people around me, I realize that not one of them would ever disrespect me, much less hurt me.  So, I lay back, relax, and just let them take charge.

Lia and Jane each take a seat beside me and continued to stroke my hair and face, occasionally straying to caress my torso and shoulders. Olivia steps up to the foot of the bed and pulls all the covers off onto the floor to expose  me completely.  She hooks her thumbs under the tiny strings on my hips and pulls my black thong down my legs. She spreads her blonde curls over me, her forehead on my pelvis so her warm breath washes over my pussy. She teases me with it. Alternating between that warm wash of air and cool streams, stroking me as though her breath were fingers dancing over my labia.  It is maddening. And wonderful. I can’t help myself, my hips twitch, aching for her to touch me.

That one little movement seems to be the signal. Suddenly, almost ravenously,  she pushes her tongue into my folds and takes a long lick. And everyone in the room descends on me like a flight of angels. Dani is the only one who does not join in. She stands in the background, watching, hovering, ready to eject anyone who makes a wrong move.  Safely in the arms of my dearest friends, I surrender the last of my cares and let them take me away.

They touch me, they stroke my thighs. Six pairs of hands dance over my body leaving bliss in their tracks. Mouths on my breasts, nibbles on my hipbones, gentle pinching for my nipples.  Other heads and hands replace Olivia’s.  And kisses. . .a hundred kisses.

It isn’t long before my hips are a foot off the bed, my back is arched and my panting and small moans fill the room.  Jane, who understands my hunger better than anyone, brings me a cock to suck. . .I think it is Steve kneeling there by my head.  But by this time, my senses are so overwhelmed that it could be any of the men present. What is important is that there isn’t a single thing I could desire that they will not bring me.  Carl, Olivia and Bart are at the foot of the bed taking turns licking and sucking and nibbling at my pretty pansy while Lia and Jane dance attendance at my breasts.  Lia pours her Cape Cod over me and starts a frenzy of licking.  Again and again, she pours drinks over me for everyone to lick.

At that moment, Dani yells “Stop!” and the entire group freezes. We all look up at her in concern; a tableau of debauchery just waiting for her to tell us what is wrong. She sways her sweet ass up to the bed, puts one knee next to my hip, and declares “That is mine!” before leaning in to slurp the puddle out of my bellybutton.

For a full hour, my friends shower me with love, liquor and pleasure.   And as they leave the room later, each one kisses me tenderly and wishes me a Happy Birthday.  

I’m used to being the giver. I’m accustomed to taking care of everyone around me. I have never in my life been showered with that much unadulterated acceptance and love. For one hour, I was the client.  And as I tell this story now, I’m getting misty just thinking about them and the most beautiful, loving birthday gift ever.

I suck cock often. . .lick bodies, both male and female, every chance I get. And I do enjoy it. . .why else would I do it? But I miss the special way he pulls my hair as I mouth the head of his gorgeous cock.
 

Here’s the picture in my head. . .

I light a cigar, and hand it to him. . .and a fine whiskey in a glass, on the rocks. . .if there’s something he’s interested in on TV, so much the better. Light the candles and incense. Get him all settled in. The most relaxing and soothing situation I can manufacture. And then I pull his pants down to his ankles, trapping his feet by kneeling on the bunch of fabric between his shoes. 

It’s best when he starts completely soft. To nuzzle that silky softness, breathe in the scent of him and just tease for a moment. It never fails to start a small swelling that always catches my attention.  To take that tender, still soft morsel in my mouth. If he were just a bit smaller I could encompass his cock and his balls in my mouth at this point. But I delight in reminding myself every time of just how big he is. . .and that sets my mind to reeling on the thought of how much pleasure it gives me to have that gorgeous cock filling me. Just these thoughts alone are enough to make me touch myself and indulge the fantasy even more. . .to picture him filling my puss as he fills my mouth is heaven. 

I love feeling the change as he grows against my tongue and throat. He lengthens, and widens. . .becomes his wonderful fully engorged self as I nurture him. . .stroking my tongue from the base of his balls all the way to the tip to circle it, suckle it, devour his cock all the way to the base until the little bit of manicured hair brushes my nose and chin. 

There’s something about having him helpless. His hands are full. His legs are trapped. His attention is drawn to the Raiders game on the TV right in front of him. But it’s also  the luxury of it. That draws me. The idea of being just one part of a truly wonderful experience. To give that to him. That is wonderous.   

And all the while, I lap and suck and finger my clit and hopefully by now he’s found a way to sit the drink down and has his hands in my hair. . .at first he’s gentle, smoothing my hair from my face, but before long he’s got a good handful that hurts just the right amount as he thrusts his hips almost uncontrollably. . .he’s moaning, and I feel the extra swell. . .the throb. . .that lets me know he’s going to cum and fill my mouth with the taste of him. . .that first little drop, the tease, then that great groan and the flood. . .oh, my!

I want him to come home!

The stroke of the washcloth removes the last of the smeared mascara from around her eyes. She climbs out of the bath and watches the steam pour off her hips and arms. She feels cleaner and stronger than she did when she closed the front door behind her latest date, but the eyes that gaze out from the slightly fogged mirror look tired and faded somehow. Sighing, she gathers a soft towel around herself and ambles back into the bedroom to survey the wreckage from the hours past.

The smoke from old incense and snuffed candles curls around the ceiling. The sun sneaks around the edges of the curtains to shine on the empty wine glasses with small red circles drying in the bottoms. Wisps of silk and lace lingerie lay scattered about on the floor. The bed had lost all but its sweaty bottom sheet and a lone pillow that still retains the shape of his head. The plain white envelope on the dresser contains his donation to the maintenance of her life. And over everything is the faint musk of semen and sweat.

She pours the last of the bottle into one of the glasses, erasing the red circle, and sits in the room’s only chair. As she sips, she takes stock of her body. Her hips are slightly sore, just the tiniest bit out of place. There is a sore spot on her knee that she hopes doesn’t bruise too badly. Her jaw aches from overuse. All this is minor compared to the weariness that she feels in her soul. What had started as a quest to soothe and comfort had become a series of one-night-stands. She couldn’t be sure anymore if she provided anything more than a warm body. . .a sexual pizza delivered hot and to your door in less than thirty minutes.

 
She had to admit that there were some gentlemen who understood. They sought her out, not only for her passion, but also for her charm, her spunk, her wittiness. They asked for her counsel and honestly called her a friend. If she hadn’t met those gentlemen, she would have walked away from the whole situation ages ago. She smiles fondly to herself as she recalls a conversation where one of her dearest companions said he sought the services of girls like her as “the most time-and cost-effective means of finding a kindred spirit.” But her smile becomes a grimace as she ponders the sharp contrast of her most recent date. She would be surprised if he remembered her name.  
 

She drags herself out of the chair, leaving the towel behind. She starts to lazily move around the room gathering a corsette here, panties there, sheets, pillows. As she works, her movements become more agitated. . .quick and jerky as her angst grows. She piles everything on the bed and stands, her chest heaving, looking at the pile that her life has become. She just can’t look at it anymore. Just can’t think about it anymore. She pulls the elasticized corners of the bottom sheet off the mattress and folds it over the pile. Bundling the whole mess into the closet, she slams the door and braces her back against it. Sliding down to sit on the floor, she pulls her legs in tight to her chest and lets her head fall forward onto her knees. Hugging herself this way, she replaces each invasive image in her mind with love. Loving images and memories to strengthen herself . . .and as she does this, a wonderful idea forms.

 
Jumping up, she opens the door of the closet and grabs her trenchcoat. She slips her feet into a pair of shoes and is out the front door almost before the last button is fastened.
 

It takes only moments to walk to the news stand on the corner. The man behind the counter greets her in his cheery Persian accent. “And how is our Beauty today?”

”Better than ever, darling. . .better than ever!” she says as she picks up a complimentary catalog from the local community college and pays for a newspaper.

 
She takes her time on the short walk home. She’s reveling in the feeling of the sun on her wet hair and the steamy heat of still-damp skin under her long coat. Walking up her front steps, she is about to put her key in the lock when she looks up at the red lightbulb above the door. Impulsively, she swings her keys at it, hopping just a bit to be sure of the impact. She ducks her head quickly to avoid the spray of glass.

”Holy Shit” she giggles, as she dusts the shattered glass out of her hair and off her shoulders. She opens the door and strides in with her head held high for the first time in ages. The friends who need to find her don’t need the red light. And it’s time for her to start building something more solid than a pile of cloth. 

Let me make introductions. . .

Friends, meet Katy. . .a stunning little red-headed mama. . .she shares my vocation. . .bills herself as an all natural mama body. . .I don’t know about your reality, but my mama never looked so good. Thank heavens! Katy is just lovely. . .she is one of those wonderous earth mother types. . .

And John. . .John is a lovely gentleman in need of a little loving. . .he has been an email friend of Katy’s for a while, but they had never actually met in person. I met John through Katy. . .she referred him to me when she and John couldn’t make their schedules mesh.  He’s a tall, dark stranger kind of guy. . .very sweet and intelligent and a wonderfully enthusiastic lover. . .

We planned a day for me to introduce the two of them and have a bit of fun. . .and John arrived right on time to find a matched pair of petite goddesses, one redhead and one blonde, dressed exactly as he’d asked and smiling sweetly with their arms around each other. . .

We started out well with John watching us undress each other. . .pulling off blouses and tiny thongs. . .and turning to undress him. . .the pulse of Katy’s cd player’s latin beat accompanied us to the bed. . .

these situations are delicate. . .when a gentleman is paying for time with two women, the girls feel more constraint than they normally would. . .is this a gentleman who likes to see girl on girl action? Or is his fantasy to be smothered in the love of two sensuous, lovely ladies, the center of the show?  It’s a delicate dance.  So Katy and I erred on the side of caution and concentrated our attention on him. . .we stole caresses and licking kisses. . .we are, neither of us, saints, after all. . .but we concentrated primarily on John and his pleasure. 

We took turns licking and sucking. . .and at one point. . .when we were sliding our mouths down opposite sides of John’s lovely cock. . .we were nose to nose, chin to chin. . .John was moaning, attracting our attention, and we opened our eyes and looked at each other. . .that brief moment of sisterhood, connection, passion. . .I don’t know that I’ve felt anything quite like that heat before. . .

John asked for a taste of Katy’s lovely little mousetrap. . .so she climbed up to straddle his face. . .for almost an hour we were a tangle of bodies and mouths and hands. I have a wonderful memory of the sweetness of holding Katy’s back to my chest while we both rode John. . .stroking her curves, cupping her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples just to feel her arch her back and push herself closer to John’s hungry mouth. . .ah, what a day!

Turns out, John was a bit disappointed that he didn’t get to see the girl on girl action. . .and Katy and I are sure there is a lot more we would have liked to experience. . .but now that we’ve talked and we know that we all want the same thing. . .three people sharing as much touching, licking, sucking and loving interaction as we can. . .we definitely won’t be so cautious the next time! 

Thanks for going on that walk down Pretty Memory Lane with me. . .

Sweet dreams. . .
Lola

Hero is done. It really is a departure for me. A fairy tale. I would love any input. Not sure if it’s clear and coherent. Hope you enjoy it. . .