He waited a week, unsure of what to do. He'd been going to clubs off and on for years, something Anne hadn't objected to. Emmy's blow job was more than any VIP room pleasure he'd had except one, and he'd always been content with those lesser encounters. But not even girls he'd patronized regularly had offered to take him home, for money or not.
So what was making him hesitate now? Fear of entrapment? Fear of going too far? Feeling up strippers in dark rooms, sharing saliva with them and drinking in their smooth, taut skin didn't look much like fidelity, but Anne knew all about it, even that one encounter he'd had years before.
At last he made up his mind to confine his relationship with Emmy to the back room of the club. That felt safest, the most comfortable. He texted her on Thursday morning, asking if she was going to be in the club that day.
"Not scheduled today," she replied. "Come see me."
He stared at his phone for a long moment. If she'd said she was dancing, he would have happily taken her into one of those little curtained rooms again. But her words, glowing on the screen, taunted him. His better judgment melted away.
"Where?" he thumbed.
It was close to the club, just as she'd said, a nice looking apartment building. Heart pounding, he pressed the buzzer. The response was almost immediate, and he pulled the door open. The place had a garden in the atrium, but he had no eyes for it. Instead, he wondered how she could afford something in a building like this? Did she have a roommate? Or did the club keep a place for some girls, which seemed ridiculous? Or was she a procurer for a prostitution ring?
To the top, she'd told him, seventh floor, take a left. Around the corner. 701. His mouth was dry.
He knocked. The door wasn't latched, and his knock swung it free.
"Come on in," she said, her voice like a purr, quiet in the near silence.
He stepped in.
Light filled the tiny apartment. The living room to his right was separated from the bedroom by a wall open on both ends. The bed almost filled the bedroom. Nothing blocked the view of the bay from her windows.
She stood against the wall beside the door, naked except for the same white fishnets she'd worn the first time she'd danced for him, as if to assure him she was the same woman in the light she'd been in the dark. Her skin was olive, her black hair pulled into pigtails, her pink nipples erect. Her dark eyes looked at him from behind her zebra stripe-rimmed glasses, anxious, seeking approval.
He pushed the door closed and moved toward her. At his movement she grinned, her teeth very white, and slid along the wall beside him to lock the door.
"Take off your shoes before you take another step," she said. "No one wears shoes in here."
He bent to take them off and came up into her arms. Warm and naked against him, she pulled away too soon.
"You can take off your clothes in the bathroom," she said, smiling, backing away a step, bouncing on her toes. "You want just a towel to clean up, or you want to take a shower?"
He opted for the towel, and left the bathroom door open as he undressed.
"So," she said from the other side of the bedroom. "What do you like? Do you like to kiss?"
"I wanted to kiss you last time you danced for me."
"Why didn't you?"
"I don't push things with dancers." He wet the towel, put soap on it, rubbed his penis and between his legs.
"I know you like oral. So you like to fuck?"
"Of course I like to fuck." The word rolled off his tongue. He rarely said it aloud, but there was no reason for to be inhibited here. "But I want both. It's been a long time since I fucked."
"Really?" Her face appeared in the mirror, on the far side of the bed, her breasts rising as she put both arms behind her head. They were just as lovely in the light as in the dark. "Do you like feet? Kinky stuff?"
"No feet." He turned to face her. "How much? I have a certain amount of money I can spend doing this. When it's gone, I'm...done, okay? I might want it to last."
She laughed, and came around the foot of the bed, smiling, looking him up and down.
"Not much to look at, I know," he said, not modest, but a little shy.
"Turns out I have a thing for older guys." She put her arms around him, pressed herself to him again, the bold skin-to-skin contact bringing his cock to attention. Her head came to his chest, and he tightened his arms her. She named a number. It was a bit less than what he'd brought, and he agreed. She released him, and he fumbled for his shirt pocket, almost knocking it from the hook. He laid the bills on the bathroom counter. Without looking at them she took his hand and led him to the bed.
"There's a bottle of water for you," she said, presenting her ass as she crawled across the wide mattress. He followed her, his erection bouncing. She sat cross-legged on the bed and twisted the cap open. "Just to show you I didn't put anything in it." She handed him the bottle, and he took a swig and handed it back to her. "Breath mints, too." She handed him one, and took one herself. "What you see is what you get," she said, her face serious. "I get tested every month. I drink a little, and I do weed. You want some?"
"No, thanks," he said. "I haven't been with anyone new for years, so I know I'm clean."
"You're married? Why don't you fuck?"
"She paraplegic."
"Oh, God, I'm sorry!"
"It's okay. We find ways. She knows I'm here."
She shook her head. "Well, everyone deserves to fuck."
"That's why I'm here."
She laughed again, and he smiled in return.
"Let me hold you," he said.
They lay down, face to face, arms around each other and legs entwined. Tentatively he kissed her, and her mouth opened willingly. His hand slid down to her ass, then back up and into the high waist of her fishnets.
"Can you take these off?" He didn't know what to ask for, what would relax both of them, make them both of feel good.
"Sure," she said, and peeled them down, tossing them off the bed. She lay back down and pulled him to her. "Relax, baby. Your heart's pounding like it's your first time."
He buried his face between her breasts. "It's been a long time."
