Angela lived in a typical older suburban 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom brick home with the front door opening into the lounge room / living room with dining area and kitchen beyond that while the bedrooms and main bathroom were off to the right.
Her house was one of two that sat side-by-side at the end of a short cul-de-sac with vacant land surrounding the houses on three sides that had been set aside as a nature reserve.
"I had no intention of inviting you back here before things went pear-shaped at dinner," she said quietly as she unlocked the front door, "but here we are and ... well ... I hope you're not shocked."
Lots of people say something similar when they are inviting new friends into their home for the first time and what they're really trying to say is that the house is a mess because they're messy people ... but that wasn't what Angela was preparing me for at all.
When I stepped through the front door the first thing that struck me was just how tidy the house seemed to be. There was nothing out of place and it made my house look like the home of a hoarder ... but then I looked up at the walls.
The wall in front of me had a huge mural on it of a naked couple laying on their side with the woman in front and her partner entering her from behind. The look of sheer pleasure on the woman's face was incredibly arousing and whoever had painted the mural had even included little details such as the woman's nipples poking between the guy's fingers as he held her breasts and the way the shaft of his cock glistened with her juices.
On the opposite wall, on either side of the front windows, were two framed prints that almost extended from floor to ceiling. One showed a naked woman sitting back on her knees surrounded by naked men. She was holding two of the guys' cocks in her hands while she was looking up at a third guy as his cock rested on her outstretched tongue.
The second print was a side-on view of the same woman but this time she was with just one man, a big muscular black man who was standing up. She had her arms locked around his neck while her legs were wrapped around his hips as his hands supported the sweet curves of her arse.
Their lips were almost locked together but far enough apart to show that their tongues were touching. His cock was hidden by her body but there was no doubt in my mind that it was buried in her cunt ... so she was basically impaled on him.
On the side wall, behind the television, was a long, narrow, framed photograph of the same woman on her hands and knees being spit-roasted by two well-hung black guys. The guys were obviously deep in her holes and her nipples were reflecting her arousal.
The guys in the images didn't matter and on several of them you couldn't even see their heads because the images were all about the woman ... and the woman was Angela.
I stood rooted to the ground not quite believing what I was seeing but at the same time gobsmacked by the erotic beauty inherent in images of a stunning woman enjoying the ultimate in pleasure.
"Steve?" I suddenly realised that Angela was speaking to me. "Are you OK?"
"I'm fine Angela. I've just never seen anything like this before. The images are absolutely stunning and you look ... incredible!"
She smiled as I began to slowly turn and look at each wall again. "These are totally amazing and you look so ... I don't know ... alive and desirable."
A little voice in the back of my brain was also asking an interesting questions, why would she have these images on the wall of her living room and what was it about the house that was not quite right?
"You're starting to look a little puzzled." And she was beginning to sound a little unsure of herself.
I looked around the living room again, not at the images on the walls but at what had first caught my attention. I walked over to the entrance to the kitchen and a quick glance was all I needed.
"I think that you might be more than a successful graphic designer." I smiled as I said it and I made sure that she had an escape route if she didn't want to tell me what her other occupation was but to my surprise, she smiled and nodded.
"I'm a high-class escort too," she said quietly as she looked me straight in the eye, "but I'm not working tonight." So, she wasn't embarrassed by what she did but how did I feel about that?
I chuckled, "Earlier tonight I sat across the table from you and realised that you were a smart and sophisticated woman who was so far out of my league that I wouldn't even get to first base with you.
"Now I see these amazing images and you tell me that you're a high-class escort and that puts you even further out of my league. You're amazingly beautiful as well as smart and sophisticated and I'm just a burnt-out slob."
Angela took my hands in hers, "I am definitely not out of your league Steve, I'm the girl who knew want NRNR stood for remember?
"And I like you a lot and I thought that you were the sort of guy who could look beyond what I do and see the real me."
"Aw come on Angela, stop putting yourself down. I was just bare arsed dropout who can't hold down a real job anymore and you're stunningly beautiful as well as being incredibly smart.
She stood looking at me until I began to feel as though I should leave but before I could she took my hand led me out into the kitchen / dining area.
"Sit," she said in a tone that left no room for debate and so I sat down at the table while she went to the fridge and came back with two beers.
"First let me make it really clear to you, the only difference between a high-class escort and a girl who works the streets is the price she charges. That's it and all this talk of being 'high-class' is just to pander to my clients who think that they deserve more than a street walker.
"So forget that 'high-class' bullshit!
"Secondly, it should come as no surprise to you that I meet lots of guys and I've learned to 'read' them so I can stay safe and in control ... until I'm ready to not be in control," she grinned and I realised that I could see her nipples pressing against her dress.
