After turning off the engine to my Miata, I glanced at the dashboard clock. I was an hour and forty minutes early. That was good, actually. It was a long drive out to Watermark Estates, about five hours. I was nervous about getting caught up in construction traffic on the turnpike and didn't want to be late for my "date." Besides, I'd have enough time to touch up my make up and have a drink or two in the hotel lounge.
I had been chatting on-line with John for the last few months. At 31 years old, I was recently separated – young enough to have another crack at life, and yet I didn't want to rush into things. At this point I was just looking for a little physical satisfaction until I got my head together. And I think I found the perfect person to help me out. John was a bit older, 42 years old, married but in a loveless marriage. Both of us were looking for the same thing, namely a little tryst with no commitments. We settled on Watermark Estates, an exclusive resort in the mountains, mainly because it was far away from both of our respective hometowns.
I chat suggestively with a lot of guys on the internet. In a short time, I've amassed more than twenty names in my buddy list. Phone sex? Cyber sex? Done that. Initially I found those interactions hot, but the novelty has largely worn off. I am ready for a meeting in person. There's no shortage of men willing to help me, each citing their skills at pleasing women. Some of these guys are quite attractive. And yet I found myself gravitating towards John, a guy who lacks in tact and is, at best, average looking. John is direct, almost to the point of being rude. The strong appeal, then? His intentions are very clear. He wants to control me, to use me for his personal pleasure. OK, so perhaps this desire to be exploited is not healthy. But I'm captivated with the idea. No, more like obsessed.
For the last month or so, since we decided to meet up in real life, John had been directing me. He's devised all the plans, which I am not allowed to question. I am to meet him in the hotel bar, dressed as a hooker. He will "hire" me, and I will have to follow his every instruction, focusing solely on meeting his needs. As part of the preparations, he instructed me on how to dress. He asked me to buy a sports bra, cutting holes out for my nipples so that they would protrude. I was to wear a tight button down jacket over the bra. My skirt was to be short and sheer. He was very specific; I had to wear nude stockings with a seam down the back, held up by a lacy black garter. No underwear, and my pussy must be freshly shaved. Finally, he insisted upon stiletto heels. I rarely wear heels, as I'm pretty tall already. But John insisted on a minimum 4" heel, citing that he was 6' 3." He instructed me to practice walking in the heels in front of a full length mirror, and learn to walk like a hooker, slowly and seductively, my feet purposely overlapping each other, my hips swinging out.
As I stepped out of the car, I realized the game was on. Immediately, a bell hop in white gloves approached me, asking if I had any luggage to check. No, I told him, that I was meeting a client for drinks. Valet parking was quickly arranged. I wondered if I should have rented a different car for the day. Not that I was embarrassed to drive a Miata, but a Jaguar or Bimmer would have made me feel less conspicuous. Within a minute the white gloves were opening the lobby door for me.
I had visited the web site for Watermark Estates and knew that it was a classy place. But being in the lobby and seeing things in three dimensions for the first time, I fully understood why it was rated five stars. The lobby was the height of the hotel, seven stories, with a massive crystal chandelier over the front desk. Off to the left was a curved staircase that leads to banquet rooms on the 2nd floor. On the other end were three glass elevators. At each floor, cascading ivy hung over the railings. The atrium was adorned in tropical foliage, with a small trickling waterfall near the entrance.
As I moved through lobby, I noticed a placard by the stairs that announced, "Welcome District 7 American Bar Association delegates." Ah, I thought to myself, who else by attorneys could afford the room rates, which started at $320 per night?
Since it was early afternoon, guests were starting to check in. The lobby was full of activity but well staffed. I walked slowly and seductively through the lobby, feeling the stares of the male guests, as well as some glares from the women. I located the ladies room easily, feeling the need to freshen up. Per John's instructions I carried a small purse which contained only my car keys, a few personal items, and fir lined handcuffs. I reapplied the bright red lipstick and added a glossy overcoat to my lips. I ran a brush through my blond, shoulder length hair, fluffing it up a bit. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, I realized that I could pull this off. Away from my home town, I could be a hooker. I liked the feeling a lot, actually, to be viewed in a sexually suggestive manner.
I left the powder room and headed for "The 19th Hole," a sports bar that overlooked the golf course. There were perhaps twenty people in the room, mostly men dressed in casual attire. As I made my grand entrance, many eyes began to follow me. A few men elbowed their friends, pointing me out. I had never felt so desirable. At a leisurely pace, I sauntered toward the counter and selected a barstool by the window, with no other customers around. The bartender, a stocky black man, immediately approached me. A minute later, he returned with my apple martini. I asked him to start a tab, but the man indicated that drinks were on the house. I seductively smiled at him.
An attractive older man, perhaps 50 years old or so, with a full head of white hair, appeared by my side in short order.
"Whatever you are selling, I'm very interested in buying."
It amused me, really, that I – this high school librarian, pillar of the community – was being passed off as a hooker. I coyly smiled back at the gentleman, thanked him for his interest, but indicated that I was meeting a client.
"Would you mind if I shared a drink with you, while waiting for your client?" he asked, continuing, "I like the view from this chair very much."
"I wouldn't mind at all." I extended my hand and added, "My name is Paige." Actually, my name was Teresa, but for the show today, my name was Paige.
"Ted," he chirped in. "I don't suppose that there would be time in your schedule after you meet your client to fit me in. I'm supposed to be in a meeting this evening, but I would much prefer to spend the evening in your company. And I can assure you that I would make it worth your while."
"As tempting as your offer sounds, I have plans to return home after my meeting."
For the next fifteen minutes or so, Ted sat with me. He was a great storyteller, and had me laughing hard. It seemed like all eyes in the room were aimed in our direction. I sensed the envy from the other men in the room, but none of them tried to make a move. I was obviously very happy in his company. Ted took advantage of his proximity, staring at my chest, checking out my legs, touching me on the shoulder as he told his stories.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a tall man entering the room. Instantly I knew that it was John. I had seen a few pictures. Even though the pictures were 5 years old, I recognized the chiseled face, the dark hair. He was early. But then again, so was I.
"Ted," I interrupted, "I believe my client is here."
Ted stood up and extended his hand toward me. I expected that he would shake it, but instead he pulled it towards himself and gave it a kiss. "It was a pleasure meeting you, sexy lady." He backed away and walked toward the bartender, ready to settle his bill.
John was still in the bar entrance, looking around the room. He caught my glance and I smiled broadly at him. He nodded and moved in my direction.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked.
"No, please sit down," I implored. "So, you must have just gotten in."
"As a matter of fact," John started, "I did just check in." John glared at me, almost coldly. And then I remembered. He was to dominate me. As such, I was not to start a conversation, but only respond to his requests. Already I had made an error. I would not make that mistake again.
