It was the end of an intense week. Another client was coming online and I had spent more time than usual with their configuration. Throw in another client that had notified us Monday of a change in data format that was due Thursday (to be fair, they had only known about it for three weeks) and I was a bit more frazzled than usual. I left work at noon and headed home to line up some weekend relief: relief that I couldn't research at work.
It had been a couple of months since I had enjoyed the company of a woman and I was ready for someone else's hand on my cock for once. I powered up my home laptop and headed to Backdoor to see who I could find. It was going to cost some money, of course, but less than dinner and a concert would, assuming I could find a woman who matched my tastes and would have me.
I already knew the answer to that. As a 52 year old bachelor, I wasn't exactly prime beef. Sure, I actually owned a modest home and a paid for car, and my checking and savings accounts were in reasonably good shape. I was a pretty good conversationalist, but not a party animal and a social slug rather than a butterfly. I didn't have a beer gut, by any means, but I did have a noticeable middle age spread. Women were quite comfortable talking to me, but that was as far as it went. Being an engineer, I was, by nature, a problem solver, not a complainer. My coworkers were strictly off limits and my few friends weren't able to meet my sexual needs, or even knew about them, so I either took matters into my own hands or contracted out that aspect of my life. After all, we were talking about physical needs, not emotional ones.
At the time, Craigslist was in decline and service providers basically advertised in one of two places in the area: the high end ladies posted on sites like Eros and linked to professionally designed Web sites showing them in typical glamor shots and offering delightful sensual experiences starting at $300/hour. They were young, lovely and, for the most part, tedious. After a couple of outings, I had determined that, while they were charming and delightful ladies, the whole girlfriend experience was an expensive fantasy and the sex ordinary at best: clearly not cost efficient.
Backdoor was the obvious replacment for Craigslist. It was more blue collar, down to earth and tawdry. I quickly learned to avoid the listings that were nothing but strings of emojis. I also found too many listings by barely legal girls (and, I suspect, sone not so legal; I had no desire to deal with victims of sex trafficking) whose postings were full of misspelled promises in crude language that turned me off immediately. I found I wasn't attracted to anyone under 30 and mostly to women around 40. They were, I reasoned, more likely to be grounded and less likely to be on drugs. Besides, having sex with someone young enough to be my hypothetical daughter seemed just a bit too creepy.
After a stressful week, I was in the mood for a massage with a happy ending. I perused the Massage section until one headline caught my eye: Magic Hands for Discerning Gentlemen. I clicked it and found myself looking at Ginger. She was a plain looking woman wearing a thigh length nighty and thong panties that looked like they were more likely from Target than Victoria's Secret. Her hands were holding a camera phone, which covered her eyes and nose. It was clear she was taking a picture in a hotel room mirror.
There were additional pictures on the ad, including one showing her breasts, which weren't quite pendulous, but getting there. Her nipples were large and erect, and I wondered how they would feel between my teeth. It was clear she had a tummy, though it wasn't quite as bad as mine. I would certainly not give her a second look on the street, but I had learned that looks are less important than attitude and willingness to please. Her ad was straightforward, but strangely touching:
"40 year old masseuse offers discerning, mature gentlemen release from their tension. I may be older, but my hands are magic: you'll be satisfied. $125 per hour. No short sessions."
I opened the local sex worker review site and looked for mentions of her. There were several mentions of her as a MILF type with a bad body but good hands and mouth. Then I spotted the review that sold me:
Her pictures are accurate, but her face looks older than what she claims in the ad. She has a bit of a belly, but I was expecting that and it doesn't bother me at all. The only other negative is that she's a smoker and you can tell it on her breath.
She actually gives a decent massage. There was lots of hands all over. She got a mouth on my dick and gave me a very happy ending. She seems to really enjoy her work!
The mention of her smoking was almost a showstopper, but I figured I was going there for a massage, not a makeout session and I would find out if she smoked in the room. I wasn't going to presume she would have sex with me (after all, she was advertising as a masseuse, not an escort, and I certainly wasn't a pig like the men posting the reviews). I wanted sexual release and a bit of tension relief. A massage was what she advertised; a massage would be what I expected. If she wanted to offer anything else, well and good, but I wasn't going to treat her like a trollop.
I called her number and got her voice mail. I expected that: she was probably busy with a client. I left a message: "Hello, Ginger. My name is Fred and I'm interested in your massage service. If you have time available this evening, that would be great. Please give me a call back at your convenience. Thank you."
About 20 minutes later, my phone rang and I saw her number appear.
"Hi, this is Fred."
"Hello," replied a husky, almost gravelly voice with a distinct rural accent. "This is Ginger. Sorry to take so long to return your call, Fred."
"That's OK. I figured you were busy. You got my message?"
Dummy! Of course she got it...Fred, you're an idiot.
"Yes, I did. Normally, I finish up at 5:00 and go home, but Fridays I work a little later. What time did you have in mind?"
I checked my watch: 4:32.
"I'd like to book 90 minutes, if possible. Can you do that today?"
"Hmm...I could see you at 6:00. Would that work for you?"
"6:00 would be perfect. What would your rate be for 90 minutes?"
"I can do that for $175. Is that all right?"
"It's more than all right, Ginger. Where are you located?" She gave me the name of a mid-range hotel near the Park. "When you get to the parking lot, text me and I'll give you the room number."
"Thank you. Could I ask if you smoke?"
"Is that a problem?"
"I had asthma as a child, so I'm very sensitive to cigarette smoke, especially in my clothes."
