Angela del Solar / Elizabeth
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Review by BOOMPROJECTS, August, 2010
I took the advice of Angela's last review and booked her for an hour. The review was dead on so I found myself refusing to let her go after the first hour. But I’m also not the type that can reload very quickly, so I decided that I had to be seen on the streets of NYC with this gem of a lady. She had arrived in perfect attire for a stroll to one of NY’s finest restaurants and I couldn’t resist that temptation. Oh btw, I found her clarification that I was paying for dinner to be hilarious in light of the reason. Whoever is the clown out there that somehow once felt that any woman, much less a lady of this caliber, should spring for dinner? Guys, c’mon, we’ve got to stop that kind of silliness. And for those of you that can’t help yourselves – go ahead. Keep it up... you’ll really make it easy on those of us that do get it. From the moment I met Angela in the hotel lounge to the goodbye kiss at the cab, she was perfectly graceful. My only regret is not having the foresight to hire a black car to carry her off. I had as much fun sharing that first glass of wine in the lounge as I was to have in the hours that followed the moment at the bar when she slowly moved her hand up my thigh. She noticed the room key folio in front of me, kissed me softly on the lips and then whispered for me to give her a 10 minute head start. No problem there, I thought to myself. Everything I had of value or of compromising import was sitting in my briefcase on the bar stool to my left. That I even had the thought is a bit of a surprise though. I was a little preoccupied with the site of that backside of hers rocking left then right and the sound of those heals on the wooden bar floor, her black heals and matching purse held at the bend of her elbow, then the almost pause in her retreat as she looked back with a slight smile, her tongue piercing her lips and an affirmative nod. The best part was my forgetting the room number and having to go back to the front desk to ask for my own room number. I love it when a woman has that sort of effect on my rather stoic, composed and controlled self. When I got to the door, it was ajar. I could tell the lights were dimmed. I gently knocked, there was no reply. But the music started playing. I considered that my invitation. It was a good guess. As I pushed the door open, there at the far end of the suite was a sight that one might find only in a fantasy...