Let’s just say I was a little excited. After all, I was about to consummate longtime fantasy: a night with a guy who gets paid to please. With my husband out of town on a business trip, my rent-a-stud was coming over to wine and dine me, pleasure, serve and shower me with romantic attention in the privacy of my own home.
It’s not that I couldn’t get a “real” date on the side. Hell, I looked forward to an evening designed around my desires…of feeling totally free to ask for what I wanted…of enjoying emotional satisfaction without emotional demands.
The thought of a sex stud for hire had always intrigued me, but I never quite knew how to find one I’d feel comfortable allowing into my home— and body— short of doing a police check first. I heard about my gigolo through a friend who encouraged me to take him for a test drive.
He was an electrician in his 30s who did sex work on the side. We hit it off from the first time we spoke and he actively wooed me for two weeks before our big “date.” He really got into the role. He sent perfume (with a note saying, “This is all I want you to wear when I see you”) and then a sexy nightgown. He asked if he could call me “sweetheart” and phoned daily at my job, as if he were my boyfriend. He warned he’d be wielding a special gift (“about 10 inches”), so I was primed for an
evening of lust.
With massage table and overnight bag in hand, he showed up looking all fresh-faced and happy. I was so relieved to see a hottie – a handsome, blue-eyed, Baldwin brother-type.
The first thing he did was drop everything on the living room floor and scoop me into a warm embrace. I could feel his dick pressing through his pants. It felt massive! Then he led me to the couch and just gazed into my eyes and held my hand as I rambled on like the Energizer Bunny, trying to get past my nervousness. My anxiety soon transformed into a tingly prelude to lust. This is a man who understands the key to foreplay, I thought: Let a woman yap for a half hour and she will be totally ready for sex!”
As his eyes burned into mine, I was getting wet just from all the attention. When the sex heat that began to rise in the living room magically transported us into the bedroom, my boudoir seemed like a passion palace. He was clearly devoted to conducting a pre-dinner familiarization trip over every curve, peak and valley of my body. Sexy, soulful music stirred through the air as his hands roamed, tracing my flesh over clingy clothing. I became lost in the exquisite feel of his caresses, so soft, subtle and smooth. Then he added his lips… planting tiny little kisses on my cheeks,neck, shoulders, arms, hands and, ultimately, on the sensitive skin between my legs. The sensual steam rising from our bodies was filling the room, making us both feel an almost mystical connection.
When the music stopped, I opened my eyes and realized we’d gotten so turned on that he was on top of me; his hard cock, trapped yet bursting straight out of his pants, was poised between my legs, the head pressing through the material that stood between our sexflesh. Tantitalizing the sensitive nerve endings below, he pressed against me a way that made me cum! As I grabbed hold of his muscular arms and cried out, his mouth came down on mine. When the calm returned to my body, he lifted himself up, his weight up by his arms, and looked at me in a way that seemed genuinely loving.
“I didn’t know gigolos kissed,” I said.
“I kiss…only if I want to kiss the person,” he replied.
“You’re really good at your job!” The words slid out on a sigh.
It’s important to me that I do a good job,” he said softly, “but this is different. I wish all my clients were like this.”
Thus began my date with a gigolo – a partner in passion who was a stranger to me, yet who seemed to intimately understand my needs and desires. We tore at each other’s clothes and, when we were both finally exposed, his tongue traced a path down my stomach to my pussy… slowly… rimming the outer lips until finally finding my clit. I melted into his mouth and almost immediately felt another orgasm building. I came again, flooding his face with my juices. Then… nothing! Usually a guy will try to mount you at this point to get his, but not my stud! It was a breakthrough – accepting orgasmic pleasure without having to return it!
After our bedroom frottage, I opted for dinner out, just to get a little grounded. He looked more suave for our outing: silk dress pants, classy shirt and tie, and cologne that made me hot. All I remember is the intense eye contact over wine,footsie under the table, and the way his hand expertly slid between my legs right as he was helping me out of my chair. He was like a regular guy, with a heart, soul (a BIG dick!) and desire to connect with another; someone I would be interested in if we’d met under different circumstances.
When we got home, he disappeared into the bedroom to set up the massage table and oils. Then, back in the living room, he put on music and took me in his arms for some slow, sensual dancing. Just as he got me all worked up again, he whispered: “Do you mind if I slip into something more comfortable?”
“Please do,” I said, handing him the “fantasy man” costume I’d purchased: surgical greens, stethoscope and latex gloves. “We’re playing doctor tonight.”
He laughed and headed to the bathroom to change. “Please disrobe and lie on the table,” he said, playing along. “I’ll be in to examine you shortly.”
Following “doctor’s orders,” I stripped, got on the table and covered myself with a sheet. His blue eyes twinkled against the green scrubs as he entered the bedroom, looking like my own personal Dr. Kildare. He gave me an amazing breast exam, felt around in all the right places for anything suspicious,and then conducted a search for my G-spot.
“Please open your legs and come down to the edge of the table,” he said like a pro. I got goose bumps as I moved downward and felt his fingers slide into me. He pressed and probed for a much longer time than most doctors allow for exams, and then, his lips went down on me. It did not take long for me to cum.
“Well, I’d say you are in good health, and my diagnosis is that you just need some loving…and a good massage,” he said. “Mind if I get even more comfortable?”
I nodded. Off came the doctor shirt and pants and down came his hands, which he’d slicked with oil. They kneaded and pressed my flesh with the adept skill of a professional masseur, with just one difference—there was no body part, or entrance, he shied away from. He did amazing things with that oil and those hands!
“It’ll take me all night to get this oil out of me,” I laughingly complained, while giving him total access.
“That’s ok, I’ll help you.”
After a 30-minute rubdown, I was feeling sleepy and satisfied, yet he was hard and ready to fuck! He mounted me and I felt his thick dick slid slowly into my wet oil-slicked pussy from behind. It felt like heaven! He slowly worked it. In. Out. I was on the verge of cumming very quickly and suddenly did. Hard!
I could tell by his breathing that he was close, too. But I made him stop and get off of me. He was pouting like a little boy! That was sooo cute!
“Most women, most clients, like to make me come too.”
I felt the vague stirrings of guilt, and then reminded myself that his orgasms were not my responsibility on this night.
“I’ll watch you jerk off for me,” I offered. “That would be fun.”
“No, it’s OK, sweetheart, this is your night. I’m going to run your bath.”
The warm, welcoming waters felt wonderful. As he bathed me, we talked intimately about life, men and women, and sensual pleasures and power. Then he patted me dry, put me in the nightgown he’d bought me and escorted me to bed. I fell asleep in his arms. In the morning, I could smell the coffee brewing when I was delciously awakened by the feel of his fingers removong the covers and lifting the nightgown, followed by sweet kisses slowly traveling up the backs of my legs.
“It’s time for another exam,” he said, tickling the backs of my thighs with a his hand. “And then, I want to eat you for breakfast.”
I hadn’t even opened my eyes, and the day had begun with pleasure and fantasy. When he left, I felt totally satiated and sexy.
My gigolo called later to see how I felt, tell me he had a great time and shower me with the words of flattery and affection that made the evening before even more special.
“You are so sexy, I’m going to need to turn a trick just to get some release,” he said. “What would it take for me to cum inside you?”
“Well, I do have this other fantasy of being paid a lot of money for sex….”
We laughed and agreed that perhaps, someday, we’d meet again.