Somewhat factual. I'll leave it to your imagination to decide what part is factual and what isn't.
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It was another brutal day at work; everything seemed to go wrong and everybody wanted something, including a piece of him. He picked up his jacket and thought this would be a good evening to stop off at his favorite watering hole. As he stepped through the doorway, it was as if all his cares were stripped away; the familiar sounds, smells and sights of the tavern instantly relaxing him.
He was sitting there sucking down a brew when she walked in. Lithe, lean and exuding sex, wearing a tight skirt that was just a little too short, her makeup a little too heavy, and lipstick a little too red on her thick, luscious lips. She sauntered up to the bar and plopped herself down on the stool and ordered a shooter. He turned back to his beer and chuckled inwardly as every other guy in the joint checked out what was obviously a "working girl". Still, he couldn't help looking as she sashayed to the ladies' room a few minutes later; "what a nice ass," he thought. Her slightly too high heels made her tight rear end twitch just right!
He sat there thinking about how his life had panned out over the past few years; a scholarship to a good school, the hard work to keep his grades up with very little time to socialize. The dream job that kept him busy 50 hours a week or more. The all to infrequent nights out with friends...
It wasn't until 20 minutes had passed that he realized she'd dissed three different guys who had hit on her, and that she had looked his way more than a few times, her eyes lingering on him for just an instant longer than normal.
"Hey, what the hell" he thought, "I can tell her the project at work is a killer, my girlfriend dumped me and I don't really care what I'm doing." All these thoughts were going through his mind; she was halfway across the room before he realized she was coming over to his table, her 4 inch heels clicking on the barroom floor.
She sat down across from him, and in a husky, Lauren Bacall voice asked, "Why is it you're the only guy in here who isn't trying to put the make on me."
He hesitated for a moment before replying, "Probably because I've never paid for it before, and don't plan to start now."
Fire flared in her eyes. "Maybe not in cash," she said, "But trust me honey, you've paid for 'it' before!"
"So are you going to slap my face or what, I mean I probably deserve it" he mumbled.
"No," she retorted, "Even though you're right, you deserve it. But you are also correct, I am that kind of girl, so I guess I don't have a right to complain."
She rose as if to leave, and for some unknown reason he said, "No, please don't go. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said something so rude."
She sat back down; two drinks and a few shared laughs later, he thought, "Hey, why not, I've never done this before."
He leaned close and asked, "So, how much WOULD it cost me in cash to have you leave with me?"
She glanced down quickly, then looked him in the eyes and said coldly; "$250 for an hour and the clock starts now, or $900 for the night, and that means breakfast too. Or if you're cheap, I'll give you a Monica for $60, but no cigar."
It may have been the liquor, or possibly the extra pay for all the OT he'd been putting in, but suddenly he heard a voice that sounded like his saying, "sure, lets go for the whole night." Fortunately there was an ATM in the bar so it only took a couple of minutes to settle his tab, grab some cash and they were out the door.
The Downtown Sheraton was just a few blocks away, so 25 minutes later they had a king sized room. The clerk smirked as they turned away from the desk; he knew her type; it seemed like all the high class "ladies" liked the Sheraton.