Men and women meet in a variety of ways. Some involve activities designed for introducing people like singles bars and dating services. Others aren't such as jobs; there people interact for business reasons. Chance meetings are rather scarce.
Ellen and I met when I was one of her customers. She was a prostitute. She wasn't a streetwalker, a sidewalk sweetheart. She was an escort, a call girl. I had dealt with whores before, but she was completely different from any I had known before. Before you judge her on her past occupation, let me tell you a few things.
Ellen is a beautiful woman. She stands five foot six barefoot and weighs 112 pounds. Her figure is fantastic. Her breasts are firm 34Ds, no sagging whatsoever. She has high cheekbones, sparkling deep blue eyes, long, natural shiny blonde hair, and a smile warm enough to melt the polar ice caps. She has a dancer's firm shapely legs. Quite simply she is gorgeous. She's not the stereotypical dumb blonde, although she is very good of playing the part when the occasion warrants.
As I said, I met her as one of her customers. To this day, I am still amazed that we fell in love and got married.
I was horny as hell the night I called the escort agency. The only thing I had I mind was getting laid. The girl I talked to on the phone said she'd send her most beautiful girl in an about an hour. Friday nights were always busy. I stripped, put on my bathrobe, and watched tv while I waited.
About half an hour later the wind picked up. A squall line was about to come through. Fifteen minutes later the rain began. With a strong wind driving it, the large drops splattered against the windows. The whole house was shaking. I thought it would be very inconsiderate to ask someone to come out in such a storm because I was horny. As I looked for the agency's phone number, the doorbell rang. I ran to the door and opened it. "Hi, I'm Ellen," she said, "from the agency."
"Come in quick," I said. She dashed in and I closed the door. She looked like the proverbial drowned rat. Water was flowing out of her hair. Her dress was completely soaked, and I could see she wasn't wearing any underwear. I dashed to the linen closet and brought back a couple bath towels.
"I was about to call and cancel so you wouldn't have to be out in this mess," I said as apologetically as I could. "I hope you don't get sick."
"You didn't make it rain," she said as she dried her hair. "I should have had my umbrella and raincoat in my car. I'm sorry to be making such a mess of your house. If I had been properly prepared, this wouldn't have happened."
"You're wrong. I did make it rain. I waxed my car today."
She giggled. "Where's your mop? I want to clean up this puddle I made."
"Don't worry about it. Let's get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold. I'll throw them in the dryer so they will be ready by the time you leave."
She wrapped her hair in one towel, then stripped off her dress and handed it to me. When I returned to the foyer, she had the second towel wrapped around her chest covering her breasts. "Please let me clean this up," she pleaded. "Your time won't begin until I call the office."
I relented and got my mop and pail. She took the mop and started cleaning up the puddle. As she leaned over to press the mop's sponge down to make it draw up the water, the towel under her arms popped loose and started to fall. She immediately tried to hold the towel in place and hang onto the mop at the same time. The mop she held onto, but the towel dropped to the floor. She dropped the mop, which fell to the floor with a loud bang, and desperately grabbed for the towel. She tried to hold the towel to her chest with one hand and pick up the mop with the other. In her frantic haste, she slipped on the wet floor and fell. Hurrying to her side to help her up, my feet flew out from under me, and I landed on my butt. I slowly sat up. Seeing her hold the towel in front of herself made me realize my genitals were full exposed. I started to close the robe, then stopped. "Why are we being so modest," I said, "when we are going to be naked in a few minutes anyway."
"You're right," she said and dropped the towel. "Are you okay?"
"I'll live. How about you?"
"I'm probably going to have a bruise on my ass. Everyone will think you spanked me."
"I've heard of guys falling for girls, but this is ridiculous."
"Girls fall for guys, too. What is your name?"
"John."
She smiled. "John?"
"Yes. Would you like to see my driver's license?"
"I'm supposed to compare the name on your credit card with the name on your license, so, yes, I would like to see it."
"You need to be sure I'm not using a stolen card?" She nodded her head. "Makes sense." I got to my feet and helped her up. I led her to the living room, then went to the bedroom to get my wallet. My right hip was aching when I returned to the living room.
"John, you're hurt!" she cried and jumped up to help me. She put her hand on her left hip and yelped in pain.
"Sit down," I said slowly walking to the sofa. I sat down beside her. I handed her my license and credit card.
She starting dialing, then stopped. She put her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. "Maybe we should do this some other time when you're not limping so badly."
"You aren't doing very well either." She smiled faintly. "What are you going to do until your hip is better? You're in no shape to be working."
"I can put up with the pain. Customers shouldn't have to."
"I guess you don't have any medical insurance."
She looked down at my license and credit card on the coffee table. "No," she said softly. She seemed very sad.
"I'll leave it up to you. I feel bad enough having you come out in this awful weather. I don't want to cause you anymore pain. How about this? I'll pay for an hour. We can sit here and moan and groan in agony. It will take that long for your dress to dry."
She smiled and put her arms around my shoulders. "You are so sweet. I want to do right by you. I'll give you my cellphone number. Call me when you're feeling better so we can actually do something."
