Come For Me Baby

I recall, when I was about 20, a conversation with a friend, in his car, while he was driving. He turned to me and said "When I die, it's going to be a fatal accident, because I always have to look at a beautiful woman by the side of the road."

At that moment, I knew exactly what he meant, "Yeah. Me too." I replied. "I check them out too." I felt the same. Always have done. Still do. So many years later, I can't help turning my head or eyes to check out a pretty girl. Countless times, I have observed a girl, while driving, enjoying the sight of her lovely figure disappear in the side mirror, all too quickly.

I don't know if my friend is still alive, or had his fatal crash, as we lost contact many years ago. But, I am still here, in this world, and that brief conversation is clear in my mind, as if it were yesterday.

Walking past a woman in the street is much more rewarding. She can be young or older, as long as she has a nice face, hair and body, and carries herself with elements of poise and grace. Such women are a delight to look at, and this is a compliment to them all. Ladies; when you go to the trouble of putting on make-up, style your hair, choosing to wear elegant or snazzy clothes with accessories, believe me, it is appreciated from afar. It might be only for 3 or 4 seconds as you walk past. Just be aware, that a stranger you never even notice, knows with feeling, how beautiful you truly are. Then, the moment is gone and life moves on for everyone.

Age isn't kind to men or women. It is tough getting older. You gain experience, wisdom, usually money, but your own body? Well, after your 20s, it's never quite the same. Going through the 30s, 40s, into 50s. You become resigned to the changes in your body. But you can look after yourself, work out, eat properly, which all helps, and your mind can stay young and your imagination never goes away.

Everything here is a true story, except names and a couple of minor details to preserve anonymity. Now, I want to share an experience, share my real feelings with a beautiful, mysterious girl in her early 20s. I poured out all my appreciation of women into living a brief fantasy of raw sexuality. I rolled back the years for a few hours and will never, ever, forget it.

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Recently, to the date of this story, I arrive at a large city I have never been to before. I am attending a multiple-day financial conference. Yet, my mind is already distracted by thoughts of trying a new experience. I have never paid for sex in my life before, but there is a first time for everything, but, I am so ignorant of which sexual acts are on offer. I find myself outside an up-market adult establishment in a good area of town. It is a marbled building with dark windows. What happens inside, I can only guess. It will be my first time to enter such a place and I have no real idea of what to expect, except the rush of sex and the company of a young woman once more.

Day 1

It is about 1 pm in the quiet edge-of-city street. Making sure no one else is around, I nervously push the heavy front door, expecting it to be locked and needing to use an intercom. It opens easily into a plush dark-themed reception area with scarlet and mauve brocade. No one is here. I hear a voice from the back call out. "I won't be a minute."

An older woman walks through a door behind the reception desk. Yes, I think this lady is a madam who has seen it all before. I tell her it is my first time and she is good about it, asking how I found out about her business. I tell her, adding that I am a sucker for a place with a nice name. She smiles "We have two girls on at present. Trixie and Wanda. Please take a seat."

In a minute, Trixie enters from a side door. She is petite, slim with gentle curves, wearing white lacy knickers and bra, and high heels. She is about 5'3" without the heels, but with them, she stands only a few inches below my height. Her body is fit, young and curvy in the right places. Long dark-brown curtain bangs partially hide the sides of her face and cast shadows as she moves. Even in the light of the reception room, she has a shadowy ambience. Trixie smiles, says hello, walking sexily in a small circle, then exits.

Afterwards, Wanda came in. She is also slim, wearing white, but taller and older, maybe 30s. She could be good, but no. I am sorry Wanda, it is no contest. She went too, so I approach the desk to pay for the maximum time on offer. One hour. With Trixie.

Trixie returns and leads me to a massage room. Face to face, I can see her eyes are green. A thought flickers in my mind, that I have a similarity to this beautiful little minx, maybe an edge. My eyes are a blue-green to dark-green, depending on the light, and around my black pupils I have faint rings of gold fire, which fade out into the green. Perhaps my best feature and, bonus, my eyes never age.

The room has a long padded massage table, set in the centre, with folded towels. It is dim with only an amber light. Music comes from a small boom-box on a long side-cabinet, where many folded towels, massage oils and other useful items are kept.

I tell Trixie it is my first time anywhere and she quickly runs off the options for extras. Such and such dollars for oral sex on me, oral sex on her, and for kissing. As soon as she says oral sex on her, I get weak at the knees. Oh yes, that is exactly what I want to do. I choose the last two and peel off the right amount of notes. She seems happy that I want more than a nude massage and points to an armchair in the corner of the room "Leave your clothes there."

Well, this is it. No going back. My first time in a massage parlour, first time paying for sex, by paying for extras. "Have a shower" she points to another doorway leading to another small room with a shower. I had a shower just before coming here. In fact, I cleaned every crevice thoroughly, not knowing what to expect, but wanting to be prepared. Nevertheless, I soaped down once more as instructed.

When I came back to the massage room, she is seated cutely on the padded table. The boom-box played edgy music at a reasonable volume. I have never experienced music with sex, as I consider it off-putting. Like laughter, it detracts from the intimacy of a sexual act. However, soon I am tuning it out. Most of it I did not recognise, showing my age, though I did like listening to Pat Benatar belt out 'Love is a Battlefield'. At that point, I am face down on the massage table, getting an expert nude massage. There is a large wall-sized mirror, and I can watch Trixie as she moves up my legs, her face tilted down in concentration. "Do you like giving massages?" I ask.

"Yes. I enjoy it."

I must admit, I am enjoying the massage even more. I let out a series of oohs and ahhs as she works her magic. My mind drifts forward to the "extras". I know what awaits and the expectation of it is a mild torture. She finishes my back and moves in front of me to do my shoulders. In front of my eyes are her cute pear-shaped breasts. Her nipples were not much larger than my own tiny male ones, through her areolae were at least twice as wide.

"May I touch you?" I ask.

"Yes, of course" she replies. Every sentence she speaks is so precise and clear. No wasted words, no slang, no swear words. Just an efficient command of English. She clearly knew how to handle men with her professional manner and deportment.

I reach up both hands and ever so gently, tease her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. We continued for some minutes, she massaging me, while I pleasure her nipples and areolae.

Eventually, she finishes, and I sit up on the table, legs over the side. I don't want a massage on my front. I guess that is the routine without any extras. She moves to stand between my legs and looks expectantly at me. I lean down and kiss her lips. She is simply lovely. I gently stroke her back and buttocks as we kiss. I forget myself for a moment and hear the words "No tongues."

I like kissing her, but I am conscious we must be over half-way through the time, and I desperately want to move on to the highlight of the session. I motion for her to lie down on the massage bed and I climb on too, so I am on my front, right between her legs. "I'll shuffle up" she says, and does so, which means I can get more comfortable, only my feet hanging off the long table.

Her pussy is inches away and a pure delight. Totally shaved and tanned, her clitoral hood is narrow and short. Her mound is tattooed, upper left, upper right, and above her clitoral hood. I suddenly gain an appreciation for the side-benefits of the tattooist profession. Her outer labia are long, but narrow with small inner labia protruding, like a newly budding flower, widening below to a coin-sized circle, which is her opening, and I can see right inside her pink-red interior. It is intoxicating.

I feel I am switching to auto-pilot, my sub-conscious taking over, with only one aim in life, which is to pleasure the hot, beautiful woman waiting patiently for me. I gently tongue between her legs, around her vaginal opening, held by her well-trained muscles. I lap inside, enjoying the moment of supplication, giving everything to her pleasure. But, reality returns, my tongue is no cock. It is better on her clit and the little folds protecting it, so I lick up higher, rolling her skin in my mouth. My forefinger slips easily inside her and I pleasure her soft flesh, but, heck, this is one dry girl! She needs a lot of work, so I set to the task, using my finger and mouth.

I switch to my middle finger so I can get to maximum depth and rub the inside of her front wall, hoping to tease her G-spot. Trixie remains professional, lying there, not giving clues about how she feels, and the music drowns out any little sounds she makes. I reach my free left hand up and tease her nipple and areole. Now, I am working three erogenous zones. She will have to be an ice-maiden not to respond in appreciation.

"Come for me, baby." I plead, instruct.

I feel a little movement, and look up to get confirmation for my efforts. A few more minutes and I can tell she is getting damp on my finger deep in her pussy hole. Not wet, just damp, enough to make me happy to redouble my efforts for a while. Finally, I slow down. She looks totally relaxed, like a rag-doll.

"Did you come?" I ask lamely.

"Didn't you feel me do it?" she replies.

"Yes. But I want to make sure."

"That's so sweet."

I get up and face her, then I show her my pussy juice-stained finger and place it into my mouth, gently sucking it clean before her wide, smiling eyes.

Time is ticking away.

"Can you sit on my face?" I ask, hopefully.

"Yes, of course."

We swap places, with me lying down and I see her hot pussy, with a few drops of perspiration or her juices, lowering onto my mouth. Her pert bum is before my eyes. I go to work once more, eating her folds, tonguing the delicate little clit, so close.

Now I rub her bum cheeks with my hands and slide a finger down her crevice.

I heard the words "No anal."

I start to protest, as I only want to touch her rosebud, but my words fade away. She is now leaning forward and has my semi-hard cock in her hands. For a moment she plays with it. I keep up licking and sucking her folds. The weight of her on my face is exquisite.

Then I hear "Four minutes."

What a girl! I thought, did she just say 'four minutes', or, is it 'a few minutes'? Either way, time is short and I can feel her working my cock. Her hand feels so good, just the right amount of pressure and movement. I feel the rush of impending orgasm in my body and mind, letting it wash over me. My muscles spasm as I erupt a big, sticky load onto my stomach. While I come down, I can hear her sighing words of appreciation. This girl clearly loves seeing creamy sperm ejaculations. Right. Up. Close.

Within a minute, the hour is up and we rise from the massage table. She smiles. "That was just in time. Have another shower." Which I did, washing myself down, except I deliberately avoid getting any water on my face. I am buzzing. I feel a glow of exhilaration which lasts the remainder of the day. Love is a drug, but also, pure sex is a drug too.

After I left the massage parlour, I realise I never thought for a single second about anything else, except the pleasure of the present and what we were doing, and would be doing, to each other.

Day 2

The next morning at the hotel, I wake up early. It is still darkness over the distant glass towers of the city, and I have to make a decision. Yesterday was such a buzz I want to do it again. I want to experience more with Trixie. But, today is my only chance. She isn't working tomorrow and the next day I have to leave town early on a scheduled flight.

I have the second day of the conference to attend. So I eat breakfast out at a café, on what is proving to be a very misty morning. Then, I head on to the conference. I scan the speaker schedule, and see two presentations after lunch are outside my field of interest. A plan is forming, where I will skip lunch and the next two sessions, then re-join in the afternoon break.

I surprise myself, being able to give the morning talks due concentration, but when the lunch break comes, I slip out the main doors and hit the road. First, I need to find another $700, by raiding a couple of ATMs, because of stupid low withdrawal limits. Then I head over several blocks to the black-windowed building, in its quiet, leafy, Victorian-era street setting. Once more, I push the front door, and enter into the plush dark-coloured reception area. Just 24 hours earlier, it was all totally new to me, but now, I feel, if not yet experienced, just more knowledgeable.

A different woman comes to the front-desk and I ask her "Is Trixie available?" She looks at the book. "No. She's with someone right now. She's very popular on a Saturday. But, she will be free if you can come back in 40 minutes?" Raising an eyebrow in my direction. I don't waste any time responding "Yes. Of course, that's just fine. I will come back then."

"Have you been with Trixie before?"

"Yes. I have." I reply. I don't add that it was just yesterday.
 I give her my first name to write down and offer to pay for the hour, then and there. "No. Just do it when you come back." She says. "Don't be late or someone else may come in."

No chance of that!

Outside, I need to kill some time, so I find another coffee shop and, sit surfing the net, while looking at people passing, going about their business. My excitement is building again. I walk back and re-enter at the exact minute. I pay the massage fee for an hour and sit down on the sofa waiting for Trixie to appear. My heart is racing.

A minute later, she enters from the side door, just the same as before: lacy white knickers and bra, contrasting with her tanned skin. Again, she wears 5-inch heels, hair in a pony-tail, curtain bangs framing and shading her cute young face. I see a happy smile appear. My heart simply lifts with joy. "Hey. I had to come back, but this is the only day which works."

"I didn't expect to see you so soon." she says.

I follow her into the hallway and then she leans in to give me a kiss. Oh. Wow. I haven't even said what I am paying for yet. She is so sweet.

She leads me to a different massage room, this one with the proverbial red ceiling light, which I like much better than the amber light. I tell her "I just want the same as yesterday. I know the rules too." I add, then I peel off the currency for her. "Leave your clothes there." She says, but I don't need to be told, as I now know the routine.

From the shower, I come back to the massage room, to find her as before, sitting in a coy pose on the table, naked, like a muse for a classical painter. I face her and say "Trixie. I have a confession to make. Yesterday, I didn't wash my face. I went straight to the conference, registered and networked. I spent the whole evening with your pussy juice on my face." Well, it was dried, prostitute, pussy juice to be precise. Like I mentioned earlier, yesterday, I was still buzzing from our session and wanted her scent on me as long as possible.

Her eyes sparkle and she is smiling at this revelation. "Did anyone notice?" she breathes the words huskily.

"No. I don't think so." I add "But you can never be sure, and I don't care."

Trixie makes way, so I can lay down on my front on the table, and she proceeds to massage my legs, feet, bum and back, like she has done with many others before. I am so relaxed, almost purring with enjoyment. Maybe I should have a raging hard-on, but somehow it hasn't happened yet, perhaps because I am still nervous of the situation and also I don't want it, as I want to last the hour at full energy. I also want to make this session all about the young vision of beauty in the room with me.

"I would like to give you a massage. Can I massage you?"

"Yes. You can."

We swap places and she lies on her front. How often this happens, I have no idea, but I don't think it can be frequently. "I have never massaged anyone before." I say, "But, I want to try." At least, I have not given a proper massage on a proper table, using oils, only just the occasional shoulder and back rub. I make a mental note to learn more about the art of massage. I want to try and do my best to make her feel good. I'm a giver, more than a taker. I enjoy giving a woman pleasure, more than receiving it myself. At this moment, I resolve to pleasure Trixie as much as possible for the rest of the session.

I massage her delicate, slim legs with the oil, trying to remember how she did it, to copy her. Her skin is silky and flawless. I reach her smooth, yummy, pert bum and lean down to tenderly kiss each cheek. Tempting though it is, I avoid exploring her crack.

"You have no tan lines, Trixie. And I know why, you don't bother with silly things like bikinis, do you?"

"I have my own tan bed" she confesses, as I proceed up her back, studying her set of Chinese symbol tattoos, as my knuckles work their way along her spine. Despite my amateurish stroking, she is clearly enjoying this. A LOT. I do get the impression that males rarely give her this pleasure. Using the oil more liberally, I massage the knots in her shoulders and then I do her neck. At this point, I can feel the tension in the air, she is basically trusting me with her life, but doing anything rough with her is the absolute last thing on my mind. I just want her to feel my unconditional affection for her, and to be as one for a moment in time. It is a lovely moment.

Finally, she says "I'll turn over" and rolls onto her back. Oh, what a delightful sight, pouting before me is her lovely pussy, below her tattooed mound. Taking the oil, I start at her feet and legs up to her pussy. It pains me to move on, but I don't want oil on her pussy as it is due a tongue-lashing, so her stomach is next.

When I reach her breasts, I don't want to oil them either, as I learn down to pleasure them with my mouth. I gently tongue her nearest nipple, then move backwards and forwards between them. I stroke and massage her under-boobs. While lying on her back, both tits are somewhat flattened, but still have a nice shape, small and cute. Well, she is early 20s. I move back and forth, taking a lot of each breast in my mouth, sucking and pleasuring them. She is liking it, I could tell, but never releases a moan. Soon, she says "My breasts are sensitive." That is good enough for me to move on. Still standing by the massage table, I lean in to give her a kiss, the first since her unexpected kiss in the hallway, before we started. However, she is going to get a special kiss.

Kissing is an acceptable public act of affection, for sure, but not the type where a roaming finger goes up to the second knuckle in her vagina at the same time. We share a long, erotic kiss. "Oh. You are damp." I tell her, briefly breaking the kiss. Whether it is my amateur massage, or foreplay with her tits, I don't know, except she is like we had left off the previous day. My dry girl is now definitely damp inside. A further delight follows, as I feel her legs widen to enable better access for me. This moment is always a delicious thrill, when a girl gives herself over to the pleasure of lovemaking.