Thank you again for reading about my beautiful Asian lady and our adventures together. Even though I don't know her real name as yet, I am smitten with her. In this, the third chapter, things begin to evolve a little change ...
As ever, all constructive comments very welcome.
****
Another week, thinking about her, all the time.
Especially in bed, hard, tissue in hand.
Fantasising, imagining, spurting.
My personal whore.
-- -- -- --
Wednesday, something of a surprise.
Evening business meeting, swish restaurant.
Down on the quay, lovely spot.
A along from the 'Pleasure Parlour', a minute's walk.
Dining with a lady, wealthy and formidable.
Taking the train, meeting her at the venue.
Strolling down the familiar street, seeing the five steps.
Glancing at the door, willing it to open.
By her.
Not a chance, all quiet, walking on.
-- -- -- --
Pleasant evening, taxi for the lady, a stroll for the train.
Breath of fresh air.
Reaching end of the street, slowing.
Feeling bold.
Could I?
No way, I couldn't.
Besides, not enough cash, that settles it.
Looking ahead, a hole-in-the-wall, an oasis.
-- -- -- --
Almost skipping up the steps.
Decent red wine, guaranteed to loosen inhibitions.
Tripping on the musty stairs, glancing at the time.
Meeting guy leaving reception, eyes down.
Don't meet anyone I know.
Apart from her.
Another receptionist, younger, smiling.
Ignoring matrix of faces, asking for her.
Checking the system, shaking her head.
Crushing disappointment, then worse.
No longer with the Parlour, last Saturday.
Last Saturday?
Licking her to heaven.
Desperation, asking questions, pleading.
Looking at the screen, then around, pencil, figures.
Pushing paper towards me, taking, grasping, thanking.
-- -- -- --
Streets seeming quiet, station not far.
Phone in one hand, unread paper in the other.
Glancing down, eleven digits, memorising.
Standing on platform, almost deserted.
Train in ten minutes, hesitating.
Thinking of possibilities, would she answer?
Don't know her name, her real name.
Won't recognise my voice, surely.
Looking up at the bay roof, shaking head.
Hopeless.
What would I say?
Only one way to find out.
-- -- -- --
Waiting, listening, praying, eyes closed.
Ringing on and on, too long.
Give it up, take it on the chin, lost her.
No voice-mail, no answer.
Lowering from ear, fingertip looking for cancel.
A click ... a voice, a woman.
Adrenaline flooding, sudden exultation.
"Hello, who's that?"
Starting to bumble, speaking quickly, incoherent.
"Remember me? You're my personal whore."
A second click, dead line.
-- -- -- --
On the train, moving out of the station.
Mind in turmoil, embarrassment, crushed.
Staring through the window, not seeing.
Picturing her, phone in hand.
Inspiration, her mobile number!
Text her, why not?
Hesitating, no, not now, leave it.
Wrong impression, stalking, shaking head.
Tomorrow is better, following day maybe.
Time to think what to write.
-- -- -- --
Friday lunchtime, pondering.
Have to text her, I just have to.
Fed up with pressing delete, endless false starts.
Keep it simple, non-confrontational, relaxed.
Reading fine at last, heart beating like a drum, sending.
