Incall

I am on time. I am always on time. Most SP's are not. That’s probably why it’s important to me. Client greets me at his front door, in what passes for an upscale subdivision around here. I’m just pleased it’s close to the drycleaners, I’ve been meaning to pick up a dress I left last week. He asks if he can kiss me, offers me wine. We cuddle on the leather couch and discuss the vagaries of the “hobby” and the internet community that goes with it. His house looks divorced, it's under-furnished, the couch and entertainment center a little lost under high white ceilings. My money is on a credenza near the door. I leave it there for now.

He kisses me, his lips are thin and soft, his mouth is small for such a tall, heavy man. His tongue reaches into my mouth, barely past my own lips. He discovers my stockings, delighted, and takes off my patent spike-heeled boots (what I hate about winter: the choice between cold feet and practical shoes). Off comes his shirt, my shirt, his pants, there are mouths on nipples, he is carpeted in hair. I take down his boxers and discover the smallest penis I have ever seen. It has no neck, the head pertly balanced on his scrotum, testicles small enough so that now, in fact, I don’t recall what they looked like. I mentally roll up my sleeves and figure, well, I’ll do the best I can with what I have to work with.

For the record, it does grow, quite a bit, becoming the second or third smallest I’ve ever seen. He mentions that he has taken a pill (later, I realize he means Viagra - let’s just say this blog will not be quotable as testimonial for the Little Blue Miracle) and puts on a cock ring. We adjourn to the bedroom. Photos of his now-adult son are on every surface and wall. Heart-shaped picture frames. A ceramic one with "I Love My Daddy" in faux-childish crayon. A series depicting a cute third-grader becoming a thick-spectacled high-schooler with a mouth full of braces and one lazy eye.

More oral at the edge of the bed – he is quite taken with me putting his hand on the back of my head and encouraging him to fuck my mouth until I gag. He only just reaches my throat, but it does create some eye-watering and nose-running, giving me that attractive slut-who-wants-it look so beloved of low-budget porn.

He goes down on me. Gentle Readers, you already know my position on oral, so to speak. A little dramatic scene for your entertainment pleasure:

(Client licks)
Me: Ohhhhhh….. Let’s see, I’ll use his money on dinner at nice restaurant, good salad…
(Client sucks)
Me: Yeaaaahhhh…. Cashmere sweater, I would love to have another cashmere sweater, Nordstrom’s having a good sale…
(Client rubs his stubble on my tender parts)
Me: Easy, there! That’s a little intense. If only you all didn’t insist on me being on my back for this, perhaps we could find some common ground…

I suit his little fellow up and we try for Full Service, but neither cowgirl nor doggie is a success. He un-suits and brings out a Rabbit vibrator from under the sink.

“Let me just give that a bit of hot water to warm it up,” I say, not realizing until I get home, that hey, dingbat, anything headed for the Dark Night of the Vagina should probably be donning reflective gear. I do, however, wash that sucker with soap and the hottest water I can stand. The Rabbit is pretty impressive – I think I want one. It swivels like Big City Lover, and it’s a lot less emotionally traumatic.

A brief scientific digression:

Time it takes the average woman to achieve orgasm, according to Sexuality Education.com: 20 minutes.

Time it generally takes me to achieve orgasm…let me check…

…: 10 minutes.

Time it takes the average client to start urging me to come: 3 minutes.

So Client sends in the troops, which are nicely intense. I definitely want one. But despite the Rabbit feeling pretty darn good, and me being relatively close to the edge anyway, when Client starts urging me to come I end up faking it. I’m close enough to try to push for it, but it’s clear that it’s going to take at least another 5-7 minutes, having started pretty much from scratch on insertion, and what I need him to do is shut up and let me push into it. It’s less trouble – and less personal – to just toss one off.

Afterwards, we cuddle on the bed, and I give him a backrub. This is the best part. I feel close to him, he enjoys it (“You have strong hands”), I like him. He wants to see me again.

While we cuddle, I ask him if he likes off-color jokes, and tell him one:

"A man goes to a brothel where he has heard there is an amazing special. There is a lady there who will give him a blowjob while singing the National Anthem. He goes upstairs, goes into a dark room, and sure enough feels an amazing sensation and hears the Star-Spangled Banner. The bombs burst in air, he pays her and leaves. He goes back the next week, asks for the same thing, it’s incredible, rockets red glare. He goes back again, he has to see who this fantastic woman is. He flicks on the lights and sees the lady…washing her glass eye."


Client says, “Well, I won’t be telling that one to my son.”

Me: ??

Client: “He has a glass eye.”

Oops.