After a few months of debating with himself, Tom Wilson finally decided to jump off the fence and visit an escort. It was now over two years since his wife died. He was 57 and in OK shape. He wasn't really that interested in women his age, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. He was OK with that. Yet still, for some reason, he was suddenly horny as hell and most importantly, he was tired of dating the Palm sisters.
Tom created a pseudonym, "Jack Jones," a Twitter account under that name and acquired a separate "burner" phone for which he paid cash. The "
nom de sex
," as he called it, wasn't very imaginative but provided sufficient distance from his real life. He didn't want this new lifestyle choice to be connected to his life.
He'd researched a bit on Escort Forums to figure out what the best practices were and gain more insight into this strange world. He had "shopped" a few escort sites and finally settled on Paris at Dream Girls. The agency webpage described her as: "This tempting treat is erotic, sensual, intelligent, sweet and ready to please! She is 29, works out daily and has the body to prove it! With her tight bottom, long legs and pert natural bust, you're in good hands. Paris is well versed in the art of seduction. Her confidence and playfulness will leave you craving more." He thought she might work and crafted his first message to her via Twitter
"Hi, Paris. This is actually my first encounter with an escort. I'll be brief. Might you be open to entertaining gents in their late 50s suffering from LOH? What's LOH, you ask? Late-Onset Horniness. Not fatal, and I'm hopeful that it can be well-managed thanks to beautiful women like yourself who might be open to providing the necessary therapy. OK, hope you got the kidding part. Can you provide the therapy? Would like to know either way. Cheers. Jack"
Here goes nothing, he thought and pressed send.
Silence.
Two days later, Jack's phone buzzed: New Text Message. "Hi, Jack. You made me laugh. Of course, I'd love to meet you. Age is a number. Check my schedule and book through the agency. Hope to meet you sometime. Paris."
Jack held off for a few days before responding. Then he texted back: "Paris. Thanks for the response. You sure you're up to seeing gentlemen like me?
A few hours later, Paris responded, "Sure. I love dads. In fact, I've got a bit of a fetish for them. The great thing about older dudes is they can fuck long, and they love pussy. Let's meet. Sorry for my cheeky talk. Book at my agency if you are interested. I'll rock your socks off - promise! Teehee! LOL"
And Jack did precisely that. Booked her for noon the following week. He was hard as a rock and more excited than he'd ever been in a very long time.
A week later, he was hanging out at a coffee shop near the location he received earlier. He was waiting for a text that would send him to his first encounter. He was trying to be inconspicuous.
The text message buzzed: "She's ready. The door code is 2304. Take the left corridor, past the concierge desk, turn right at the mail center, Take the elevator to PH. Turn left. The door will be open; please don't knock. Just enter. You have 1 minute to reach the elevator and select the floor; otherwise, you might need to sign in at Security. If that happens, don't stress; tell them you are visiting Bob Jones in PH14."
Jack left the coffee shop and headed to the condo. His head was swirling with the instructions, and he was now sweating.
The building was a new part of the new ghetto of young urbanites in Toronto. He punched the code on the screen 3204. An Asian voice answered. He apologized, "Wrong Number."
Dude. Take a breath, his inner voice said.
Jack punched the code again, 2304, the door buzzed, Jack rushed for the handle.
As he traversed the lobby, he thought he could feel the concierge's eyes on him. He pretended to confidently negotiate the large lobby hall in the direction he thought was toward the elevators. Was it right-left or left-right? FUCK!
No matter, he arrived at the elevator lobby, which was now packed with five or six residents. FML! All the elevators were inching down from the upper floors. Jack glanced at his cell phone, trying to look casual and not as an older sex-starved maniac. He'd started a timer at the door. 34, 33, 32...
Ding. The elevator finally arrived and disgorged what seemed liked 20 folks; it wasn't. Everyone then poured on punching their destination floors: 2, 17, 18, 22 and finally, Jack tapped PH. He glanced at his timer. 25,24. Phew. And off they whisked.
From the corner of his eye, Jack noticed a woman at the back smiling at him. Did she see he was aroused? Did she know something about his destination floor? Jack dropped his hand in front of his groin to cover his rising tumescence.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. The passengers left one by one at each stop. The woman who smiled at him earlier caught his eye and seemed to wink as she left the elevator. Finally, the Penthouse level arrived. Jack was very grateful to be alone in the car. Exiting the elevator, he scanned for PH14. There.
The instructions had read: Don't knock, just enter. Jack tentatively tested the handle - it moved. He opened the door and entered his first den of iniquity. A quick scan revealed that the condo was modestly decorated but tidy. The hall opened on a living room and then an island kitchen counter.
"Hello?" he asked.
Almost immediately from around the corner, he heard the slow, gentle tap of heels. Then he was greeted with the very essence of his imagination costumed as he requested.
"Hello Jack"
"Sweet Jesus! You're gorgeous," he stammered.
"Thank you, Jack. Welcome," she beckoned with her finger, "let's get to know one another better.
EARLIER THAT DAY
Paris woke earlier than usual, and for some reason, she was horny as hell. It was all she could do not to finger herself in the shower. She got the call from the agency mid-morning. Jack and a few other appointments were confirmed. Jack had requested she wore a business suit with a skirt. Paris was totally into that. She wondered what office slut she might channel; sweet and innocent intern or a dominant and demanding boss.
Her intuition told her there was something about this Jack fellow. It wasn't necessarily bad. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she hoped he would.
11:55 AM
As instructed by the agency, Paris monitored the lobby door on TV. This was her main chance to accept or decline a client. She'd learned that clients came in all shapes and sizes. She'd never needed to reject one yet. They were primarily sweet, lonely, awkward guys with a few awesome studs now and then.
Jack's phone buzzed. "She's ready. The door code is 2304."
He left the coffee shop and headed to the condo across the street.
Paris checked the time. It was 12:02. A man entered and keyed in the code. His first attempt didn't seem successful. He looked directly at the camera as he fumbled with his phone.
"OMG," she thought, "Is that Mr. Wilson!?" Tom Wilson was her best friend's dad. WTF!
The unit's door request rung again. "OMG, breathe, breathe," she thought. She realized she had just a few heartbeats to decide. She saw that Jack was flustered. The number rang again.
"Fuck it," and buzzed him in. Minutes later, the condo door opened. Paris heard the tentative "Hello."
The door closed. Paris took a deep breath. Should she reveal now or later? Her pussy was already flooded; this was so naughty.
Showtime.
She stepped forward and recognized him immediately. It was Mr. Wilson!
Paris wore a fitted black skirt and white blouse that highlighted her full, firm breasts and slim figure.
"Jack. So nice to meet you finally. Do you like the outfit?" as she did a little twirl. She stepped in and embraced Jack firmly. Her lips touched his, and she moaned into his mouth. The kiss melted into a full-on teenage tongue wrestle. He kissed her lips again, pulling her tightly against him. She reciprocated.
Jack thought, "I just want to melt into this woman and never come back." Jack moved his soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She tasted delicious, fresh. He nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her aroma deeply. Lavender and citrus and sweet notes swirled about.
Paris moaned appreciatively, thinking -"OK, this guy is pretty good at this. And he doesn't seem to remember me."
They both rubbed each other's backs and ass cheeks, pressed heads and pelvises together, and moaned into each other's mouths. It was a moment that seemed like hours, but it was only a few seconds. They broke apart, smiling and gazing into one another's eyes; her's deep green, his deep blue.
"Fuck me!" Jack blurted.
Paris giggled and smirked. She had made up her mind. "I probably will, but first, here's a towel, the soaps in the shower. Freshen up, and we'll continue when you get back. Would you like something to drink?
"Just a glass of water," he said as he turned to the shower.
"Oh Jack, the donation? Please just leave it on the counter. When you're done, join me in the bedroom." One thing Paris learned. Always get the donation upfront.
Jack fumbled in his pockets, placed the envelope on the counter, and then made his way to the bathroom.
In the shower, he fiddled with the knobs to get the temperature right. He squirted generous gobs of soap on his hands and rubbed all the crucial bits thoroughly. He knew that hygiene was absolutely essential to having a successful experience with an escort from his research. Though rinsed and towelled dry, he still smelled like a poster child for man-scented soap products.
Jack emerged from the shower, his cock straining at full mast. He couldn't believe he was actually going to fuck this beautiful woman. The towel just wrapped around him and headed to the bedroom.
"I hope you don't mind; I thought I'd slip into something more comfortable."
Paris stood before him in a gorgeous light blue lingerie set. His eyes were drawn to the gap in her thighs and how the sheer lace had moulded firmly to her labia.
"You know it's impolite to stare," she giggled; "I know what you're looking at, mister."
She closed in on him and kissed him full on the lips. He returned the kiss again, savouring her perfume and her sweet breath. His kisses moved along her jaw. She moaned and opened her neck to him. He moved slowly, alternating soft kisses with licks and gentle bites. She sighed approvingly, guiding his head.
Truth be told, Jack would have been fine if the whole session was just like this.
He moved down to her breasts which he had been not so gently massaging, drawing his fingers over her now hard nipples.
"Here. Why don't I take this off?" Paris sprung her bra and let it slide off her shoulders, releasing her girls. Her firm, perfect C breasts bounced in front of Jack. His cock got firmer.
