First story. Written in a single-setting so it's shorter than it ought to be. But I had an experience tonight I just had to share.
*
I didn't know what to expect as I knocked on the second-story apartment door.
Though I've had an active sex life in my twenty-eight years, I'd never ventured into the — shall we say — "commercialized" avenues. But one week into a three-month stay in Europe, and working twelve- to fourteen-hour days, I was finding it difficult to make the time to even hit the bars, let alone get to know the local ladies.
I turned to the Internet. The city in western Europe apparently has a thriving sex scene. Sex shows. Brothels. Escort services. I inquired about a particular escort, a tall twenty-something Scandinavian blonde named Sara with beautiful, perky tits. My imagination quickly ran rampant as I imagined her in my hotel room, but the combination of the 300-euro hourly rate and the nagging concern in the back of my mind about contracting a little souvenir on my trip kept me from sealing the deal.
I went to work that next morning and my foreign colleagues kept catching my eye. As we sat around the large table, my cock kept twitching as I gazed upon one particular woman. She was 5-8, not particularly skinny but by no means out of shape, with these beautifully shaped breasts that pressed against her blouse. As we studied our respective documents, she caught my glances on more than a few occasions. By the time I got back to my hotel tonight — yes, this happened tonight — I was hornier than I could remember. I google-searched for Sara, the escort, again. But another result caught my eye. "Tantric massage." Before I knew it, I was walking down the dark alleys of this metropolis, navigating toward its address.
As I walked along, I started thinking: What might happen? My erotic fantasies were tempered by concerns over what else might happen. What if it's a scam? What if there's a huge pimp there who empties my wallet before he lets me leave? What if the massage therapist pick-pockets my unattended clothing and I'm left explaining to my employer how I lost my wallet, passport, and company credit card?
Mustering my courage as I arrived, I knocked on the door, and a comely Caucasian woman answered wearing a black negligee that fell just below the curve of her ass cheeks. "I'm Andrea," she introduced. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Oh, um... I didn't know.... I needed one."
"One moment please..." she said as she walked away. Returning a few minutes later, she explained: "Ten minutes?"