My first time with a provider was about four months ago in Washington DC. A girl named Lesa had given me the experience of a lifetime, so of course I just had to see her again...to prove it wasn't all a dream, I suppose. But living about 3,000 miles away on the West Coast made this almost impossible. I feared she might fall off the face of the earth before I could return to her city, and I'd never see those tender eyes and perfect breasts again.
In March, fate smiled on me. My job required a conference in Stockholm, so I had my employer arrange a one-day stop in DC for the return trip. I wanted to visit a friend, I said. Lesa's agency told me she always works Wednesday through Friday, and my DC layover would be on a Thursday, so all was well. I reserved the Presidential Suite at a fancy hotel in Alexandria, just for Lesa and me, and I decided to bring back some Swedish chocolates as a gift, since I knew of her weakness for the cocoa bean.
As soon as the plane touched the tarmac at Reagan Airport, I texted the agency to confirm my two-hour outcall with Lesa. And that's when fate's smile became a derisive laugh. Lesa had chosen this week, of all weeks, to work Monday through Wednesday instead. The best laid plans, as they say...
The agency texted me an apology and asked if I might want to see another girl. Though I was crushed, the suite was already paid for, and I can't eat a whole box of Swedish chocolates by myself. Why not have a little fun with someone new? They told me a lady named Zarah was in the area and could visit me that evening. I told them to send her over at 9.
At the hotel, I cleaned myself up, put on my nicest shoes and dressiest shirt, and sank into an overstuffed chair. As I sat there, scanning the walls of the enormous Presidential Suite, feeling like -- well, like a president I guess -- I wondered what kind of woman would soon be knocking on the door. The agency's website described her as a "Caucasian and Exotic Mix", and with a name like Zarah, I imagined her to be a sultry Eastern European type, perhaps dressed in a designer suit from Milan and sporting a thick Romanian accent.
Suddenly there was a knock. Imagine my surprise when I opened the suite's double doors and was greeted by a chipper, bubbly, all-American blonde wearing old jeans and a faded T-shirt. "Hiya!" she said, giving me a hug. This was Zarah. Thin and pretty. I guided her through the cavernous suite to show her the bathroom, where she could prepare for our session.
As she was closing the door, I said, "Zarah, if you're planning to change into something else, please don't. I have a little surprise for you first." She paused, then squinted and gave me a wicked grin and said, "Mmm, I can't wait to see it!"
A few minutes later, she stepped out, and I led her across the room to the surprise.
