“Happy Birthday. I didn’t want to wake you. I figured you were tired with all the pounding that happened last night. I’ll be back by 10 AM to pick you up. Hopefully, you’d be all set by then. Don’t make me wait.” This was from the note that he left on the dining room table right next to the flowers, the chocolates, and a big rectangular box.
“Happy Birthday to me.” I greeted myself. The box – there can only be three things inside it. Jewelry. Dress. Lingerie. Or all of the above. And if my instincts are correct, he will be expecting I wear all three today.
Today, I turn 35. Yes… Thirty and five years of existence. Not 25 and definitely not 15. As I walked around my condo, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. I stopped and scrutinized myself closely. The fact that I look younger than most women who are of my age is a blessing. I have been called beautiful one too many times that I no longer believe it when they say I am. What is beauty anyway?
My perception of life is more real than it was 10 years ago, let alone 20 years ago. With everything that I have observed and personally experienced, I know I live with a realistic view rather than a fairy tale dream.
I have met plenty of men – married men mostly. I think I should mention I used to be in the escort business for 10 years. Men. It’s better not to overanalyze them. Men and me. Some just wanted to lay there naked and talk. Some wanted to try to fuck me silly. Others wanted to do something sexually specific with me. And some just wanted to relax and not be nagged and to forget about ‘life’ for just a moment. I could handle all of that simply because cash was handed to me and I needed it.
As for sex? I like sex. Heck, I love sex. I think about sex all of the time. It’s what got me into the escort business anyway. I want to be fucked, and men want to fuck me. I have embraced this side of me like I exuded with a ‘come fuck me’ scent. I don’t know if I have a certain look, but I actually love the idea of men wanting to fuck me and of wanting to pay to fuck me. It doesn’t bother me like it used to. I have come to accept that I am one lustful creature, and it is perfectly fine. Once I quit chasing love a long, long time ago, it became apparent to me who I really am inside.
I am so glad that I have been in a coldblooded state of mind for years now because I can truly enjoy having really amazing sex without all of the emotions that would usually come along with it.
And being the “other woman” is a role I think I can do fairly well. I mind the rules. I stay out of the way, and basically I am there with arms wide open and legs widespread with an eager pussy and a waiting mouth when he needs me. I guess the cash separates the feelings of guilt. Some days I can’t tell if I am just bitter or simply soulless. Other days, I don’t care as long as I get what I want. So I guess it is a pretty neat arrangement and it works out well for the most part.
Being an escort was more like “the other side of me.” I had a ‘regular’ life that doesn’t revolve around me being naked and getting fucked. I actually had a real career. I used to work as an editor/proofreader. Being an escort is not what I ‘do’. It is more of a fetish if anything. That is what I think. I mean the more I think about it the more I want to do it based on the simple fact that men are willing to pay me thousands just to touch me or have me touch them. And the fact that I get to pick and choose who I allowed to pay me and fuck me is awesome.
In my quest to finding a good lover to fulfill my shallow needs (money) and my sexual desires, I met Luc. Luc is a divorced, 40-year-old very rich and successful businessman. That first night right after a steamy fucking session, he offered me a proposal. To be his mistress and he will take care of me and everything that I need. I have had offers like that before from married men – young and old – and I have always said no. It’s one thing to be an escort. It’s another thing to be a kept woman – to just be with one guy, but he made a pretty much interesting case about it and I ended up saying yes before the night ended. Stipulations were made. A contract was drawn and signed. And here I am a year later.
Luc is one great lover. I have no complaints. Have you ever been fucking someone and it got so heated that your heart feels like it was going to burn up in your chest? Where you thought your head was going to explode? Where you feel like you were both going to spontaneously combust? I feel that with Luc every single time.
Last night, my pussy was so worked up by him that I felt like it was on fire. Not a bad burning sense but it was the same feeling that I feel in my chest and head when I am extremely turned on and at the highest point of ecstasy. I was still throbbing 2 hours later and he was asleep. I was still so fucking horny that I had to ride him and fulfill my desire.
I was so deep into it. I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle. It was fucking crazy. It’s not something that can be explained. The sex with Luc - it’s all I ever wanted. Just to be left trembling, drooling, and slightly embarrassed from being out of control for a moment in time and then feeling childlike when left with the anticipation of when I’ll get to see him again and fuck him again.
I never wanted to be a kept woman. But I am her. And I am no longer naive enough to think I’d find love at the bottom of the barrel no matter if the barrel is made of gold and lined with diamonds.
I checked the time. It was almost 9 AM. I have to go and get ready for my man.
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