From my vantage point on the terrace of the hotel's rooftop bar, I could just make out the dark ribbon of the Mississippi River punctuated by the lights of a barge headed downstream. I turned back toward Elise. "What a great place to celebrate our anniversary," I enthused, and she reached across the table to press my arm.
I'd deliberately picked one of the older hotels along St. Charles rather than stay amid the bustle of the French Quarter. We'd spent the day walking through the Garden District. "You're right, Richard. We really needed a getaway, and New Orleans was the perfect suggestion." She gave me a smile filled with promise. "Just don't have too many drinks before we get back to our suite."
She didn't have to warn me; I'd been looking forward to tonight all weekend. And as I surveyed her once again, I couldn't help but remark on how lucky I'd gotten marrying her a decade ago. In her satin blouse and her ankle-length skirt, Elise was a picture of elegance. But I knew that underneath her glamorous outfit she wore lingerie that would make a monk forget his vows.
Seeing her sitting there in the warm evening air, I had a brainstorm. I'd intended to give Elise the emerald necklace I'd bought for her over dinner, but this, I realized, would make an even better setting. I stood up abruptly and she gave me a questioning look. "I forgot something in the room. I'll be right back."
"Don't be long," she smiled, as I walked away.
When I got to our suite, it took me longer than I expected to find the necklace. I'd carefully packed it before we'd left to make sure it wouldn't get damaged, but now I couldn't remember exactly where I'd put it. Finally I found the velvet-covered box stashed between some workout clothes I'd brought along but hadn't worn.
Sighing in relief, I tucked the box in my jacket pocket and hurried out to the elevator. And waited. And waited. "What the hell is taking so long?" I muttered to myself impatiently. Finally I gave up and took the stairs.
When I got back to the rooftop, Elise was still on the terrace, but now she was chatting animatedly with a man I'd never seen before. He was wearing a suit and tie, and looked to be about ten years older than me.
Before I could react, Elise spotted me and waved me over. "Richard, come meet Julian. He's been keeping me entertained while you were gone." The man stood and offered me his hand, and I automatically shook it. Then he waved to the cocktail waitress. "Richard here needs another drink, and Elise needs a refill as well. And put all of this" -- he gestured at our table -- "on my tab."
"You don't need to do that," I protested, but he dismissed my objections grandly.
"Nonsense. After my date stood me up, your lovely wife rescued me from a night of drinking alone. It's the least I can do." With that, he sat back down and resumed the discussion he and Elise had been having about less well known places to visit in New Orleans. I sat down too, and almost immediately was drawn into the conversation.
Despite my reservations, Julian proved a delightful companion. He seemed to know all sorts of tidbits about the city, and he sprinkled his recommendations with interesting insights and humorous anecdotes that kept us amused. Moreover, he seemed to be well known at the hotel, and managed to secure some delicious hors d'oeuvres for us, even though the rooftop lounge didn't serve food.
As we were finishing the shrimp, Elise asked him if he had family living in New Orleans. To our surprise, Julian's expression grew pensive. "Actually, I have no family here or anywhere else, as far as I know. My mother, God rest her soul, was a prostitute working in the finest bordello here in the city. Despite all the precautions that working girls take, one of her customers impregnated her -- she never knew which one. And being a good Catholic girl, she wouldn't countenance an abortion. The result was me, born fatherless in a house of ill repute.
"That wasn't the end of her bad luck. When I was nine years old, she caught a particularly virulent strain of the flu and died." He shook his head sadly. "I hardly remember her now."
Seeing the look on our faces, he hurried on. "You needn't pity me; it wasn't all bad. After she passed, I found I had seventeen young women ready to serve as substitute mothers." He shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't a conventional home nor a conventional upbringing, but I benefited from it. The girls treated me like a kid brother. Not only did they take care of me, but when I was old enough they taught me all manner of things about what women want and need." He grinned. "I assure you, I received a graduate-level education in what Ovid called
Ars Amatoria,
the art of love. I believe I know more about pleasing women than they know themselves."
Noting uneasily how intently Elise seemed to be listening, I tried to change the subject. "So what do you do for a living, Julian?"
"Oh, I'm a male escort," he replied without hesitation, "probably the highest paid one in New Orleans. In fact I was scheduled to entertain a very wealthy lady tonight, but, sadly, her plans were derailed at the last minute."
Elise had been listening to his story intently, and now she challenged him. "You're certainly a charming fellow, Julian, but it's hard for me to believe you're the reincarnation of Casanova," she teased him.
Julian sat back as though offended. "I'm shocked you would doubt me, my dear. I assure I am, if anything, being modest." Then he gave her a fetching smile. "What would it take for me to convince you? How about a demonstration?"
"Hey, wait a minute!" I broke in. "That's not going to happen."
"No, no," he said reassuringly, "nothing like that. All I need is to borrow your wife's hand for a few minutes. Everything will take place right out here in public, and I'll do nothing to scandalize anyone on the terrace."
To tell the truth, there weren't that many other people left by now, but still... I turned to Elise, only to find her staring intrigued at Julian. "Nothing but my hand?" she asked.
"Well, I might need your forearm too," he said.
"Right here on the table top?"
"Absolutely," he nodded.
"Alright," she said, "show me."
"Hold up, Elise, this is getting a little weird," I protested.
She laughed dismissively. "He's hardly going to rape my hand, Richard. The worst that can happen is that he tickles me. Besides, you'll be here to protect me."
I rolled my eyes at her, but she ignored me and gestured to Julian to proceed.
He shifted to the seat on her right, took her hand and laid it palm down on the table with her fingers spread. Then he proceeded to stroke her forearm lightly, running his fingers down from the elbow, over her wrist and out each finger. As he did so, he began speaking in a low, calm voice.
"We tend to treat our hands as though they were somehow separate, a mere tool we use for mundane tasks. Only when they're injured or uncomfortable are we reminded that they are a part of our bodies. But in fact, each finger is connected to the palm of the hand, and from there up your arm to the rest of your body.
"Most women don't realize that their hands are actually erogenous zones, every bit as sensitive to arousal as their lips, their nipples or even their clitoris. In reality, all the erogenous zones are connected, and all share the capacity for intense sensual pleasure."
I glanced over at Elise and saw how carefully she was listening to Julian's words. Her eyes were staring at what his fingers were doing to her hand, and I noticed that her breathing had grown shallow.
Now he turned her hand palm up and lightly placed his fingertips at the crook of her elbow. "Women also don't realize that their pulse points can be extremely sensitive. You know that when you're aroused, blood flows to your pleasure zones, readying them for erotic experience. Pressure on your pulse points can be felt throughout your body, and when you are aroused, that pressure can clearly be felt in your other erogenous zones, if you will open yourself to it."
He pressed his fingers into her elbow just firmly enough to avoid tickling her, then drew his fingertips slowly down her forearm until he reached her wrist. He repeated that motion several times, and I saw Elise's muscles tense.
"Upon arousal, your blood flows where it is most needed and your nerves become energized, ready to respond to the slightest sensation," he droned on. "You can feel that now, can't you? Feel how sensitive your hand has become and how it carries those sensations throughout your body, to your breasts, to the juncture of your thighs. And now you can sense how those other sensitive parts of your body respond to what your hand is feeling."
Next he drew his fingers over Elise's palm. I thought he would resume his long stoking motion, but instead his fingertips traced intricate spiderweb patterns lightly on the skin. I looked at her face; she was definitely panting softly now.
"You're a beautiful woman, Elise," he told her. "You are elegant and refined. But underneath the surface you seethe and boil with passions and sensual desires others cannot see. Perhaps you yourself are not even aware of them. But your body knows, and it responds. It only takes the right cue, the right touch, the right sensation to bring that passion to the surface and have it erupt -- like this!"
Abruptly he took the flat of his thumb and pressed it into the center of Elise's palm, then quickly rotated his thumb in a twisting motion.
To my astonishment, Elise cried out, causing several nearby patrons to stare our way. I thought for a moment that Julian had hurt her, but then I saw a shudder go through her body. She took a deep breath, crossed and uncrossed her legs, and then stared at him in amazement.
"Did you cum?" he asked with a smile.
She glanced at me, then turned back to him. "I... I did. I mean, it was a small one, but still... I can't believe you could do that."
Julian sat back in his chair, folded his arms and regarded the two of us. "In that case, I consider my reputation vindicated."
Elise sat silently, trying to regain her composure, but I couldn't keep quiet. "What did you do to her?" I demanded. "I've never seen anything like that."
Julian smiled at me in a friendly way. "I have to be honest with you, Richard. That doesn't work on every woman. But your wife is a very sensuous woman; you are very fortunate to have found her."
Suddenly he leaned forward. "You told me this was your anniversary, correct?"
I nodded.
"I have an idea for a wonderful anniversary present you could give Elise. My services are unexpectedly available -- why not give her a night with me? She's already had a taste of what I can offer. I could give her a night she'd never forget." He grinned at me. "And in the process, you might gain some valuable insights that would enhance your sex life together."
I felt myself growing angry, but before I could respond he held up his hand. "Ordinarily, a whole night with me would cost $5,000. That's what my date agreed to. But don't worry about that -- she pays for the evening whether she uses my services or not. And now, since my fee is covered, why not let Elise experience what I can offer her?"
Suddenly, I felt Elise grab my arm. But when I looked at her, she was focused on Julian. "Let me be sure I understand. You're offering me a night of your professional services?"
