Yeah, I'm just a Gigolo and proud of it. We all have talents, mine just happens to be sex and pleasing women. What can I say, except I am damn good at it. It is not very often a person can turn their passion into their career but for me it just worked out that way, you might even say it was inevitable. I was always sexual, always chasing girls from as far back as I can remember.
All that being said, it just happened, no plan, no thinking about it as a future vocation, nope, stumbled upon it by accident. I never pursued it, even to this day I do not advertise, merely word of mouth from satisfied customers wanting to share with their friends. Now I admit I get paid plenty and garner a lot of perks the normal person could never fathom, but being a kind man, I will also do some work pro bono so to speak. Not every woman can afford my services and occasionally I will entertain one of the lonely not so rich clients and if I can make their week, who am I to disappoint.
I learned at a young age to understand the needs of the fairer sex, studying them, realizing every beautiful sensual creature is different, yet the same. All they want is to feel desired, that they are beautiful sexual animals that even when denying their urges and fantasies, all it would take is pushing the right buttons.
Some are submissive, some are dominant, some just want to feel young again, some want to feel wanton, some want a secret side. The key is to watch, listen and learn without asking. Show them that they are worth the effort to learn and impress, surprising them. Chivalry is not a lost art, and most women would turn back the clock to destroy the women's lib movement if truth be known. That is where I come in, replacing the boring men in their lives, not taking them for granted.
Now I am not your standard image of a gigolo, I am not in my thirties; I am not 6'4", nor do I work out or have the proverbial six pack, instead I am your average fifties male, 5'10', and a slight paunch, not obese, but not slim, salt and pepper hair, decent looking with bluish gray eyes and a genuine smile and love of life.
It started just before my 25th birthday; I had already been working numerous typical male jobs when I met her. She was in her mid-forties, a voluptuous hair salon blond type. Not wanting to be who she really was, looking for that something extra to bring her back to life. I was out for Friday night drinks, cruising the bars looking for that young naïve notch, the one you take home, fuck and hopefully never see again. I know, I can read your mind, typical male chauvinist, but hey we were all young once, we all played the gender role games we were assigned, I am just upfront and honest about it.
Back to my story, she was rich, bored and needing to feel that spark, to feel the undeniable draw of lust, being the slut wife, if for no other reason than to get back at that bastard of a husband who spent too much time at work, too much time chasing his young secretary instead of trying to satisfy the so called one he loved at home. It was slow for a weekend night, not much happening and my hard phallus was definitely feeling the pent up frustrations of the week, even jerking off could not replace the need building inside me. She smiled, offered me a drink and feigning interest in this mature women seemed like a fun new venture for someone my age.
It was not long before the booze hit her, and I took the opportunity to dance with her, sliding my hands over the curves of a woman that had been used, and loved to play. She knew what she wanted, and I was along for the ride. Her full tits pressed against my chest, her pelvis grinding against mine as she laid her head on my shoulder. I stroked her hair with one hand, massaging her ass with the other. Tilting her head back, I gently bit her lip, working my tongue into her waiting eager mouth. When the song was over, we went back to the table in the corner where she sat on my lap, kissing my neck, guiding my hands to her heaving breasts, her nipples now trying to bust through the lace demi cut bra. This woman was dressed to the nines; money was definitely no object when it came to her pretty things.
