Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. So... basically, Berne convention, etc.. etc.. Don't bitch about anything you read here, unless it refers to the quality of the writing. If you don't like smut, you shouldn't read this, it's loaded with smut (and worse!). If you're too young to read smut, then don't read this, it's loaded with smut (and worse!), and you're too young. So on and so forth. If you're too young, or don't like smut, and you read this anyway, I don't want to hear any complaining. Of course, if you like it, then I want to hear all about it. I've had this story up far too long with a feedback option. Please e-mail your feedback to email@example.com. Feel free to e-mail with any kind of critique or support. If you like the story and would just like to talk to the author, see what's going on in my demented mind, talk about a story you thought up, or just talk dirty, please go ahead and e-mail me. Also, this is the first part of two stories. This is more of an introduction. There's not a lot in the way of details, at least, not compared to the second part, the real meat of the story. If you'd rather just skip to the main story, click here: I'd been going through some rough times. I don't want to go into too much detail, but I'd had a dry spell in a number of areas, including money. I finally made a decent score, so I paid some bills and purchased some things that I needed. I also decided now that I had some extra scratch on hand, I'd use it to have a little fun gettin' some strange. I'm single for the time being, and given my current life situations, I'm not inclined to change that. With no real money coming in I just don't feel like I could participate in a relationship the way that a person my age should. In my time, when not in relationships, I've explored different forms of prostitution, often out of interest in the culture, but at many for lust and satisfaction. I've experienced straight up street whores with some varied results including a few serious nightmares, but sometimes the worst experiences provide the best (and funniest) memories. I've frequented many a massage parlor and learned a lot about the culture found there. I've tested the limits at a number of strip clubs and have pushed and even broken the rules at a number of establishments. Also, I have tested the waters of the average and high class escort pools and have found them quite fine. It was here that I recently chose to find my utopia. I first tried out an escort service when I was 24. I had an OK job at the time and was living alone which gave me no end of privacy. It wasn't exactly a high class agency. It featured very reasonable pricing and even nice discounts, like a free half hour during the week between 9AM and 5PM. Since I worked nights, so that worked out rather nicely, whether it was a working day or not. It cost me about $150 to have a girl come from the nearest metropolitan area to my home. When she got there I tipped her about $75, seeing as how she only gets half the fee. That gave her $150 for the hour and a half (don't forget that free half hour) and she was happy to do almost anything I liked (she wasn't crazy about anal, but was willin' for the shillin'). We started by taking a shower together (any Teddy Pendergrass fans out there? "Let's take a shower, a shower together. I'll wash your body and you'll wash mine...") and having some sweet, slippery fun under the nozzle, and once we got squeaky clean, we relocated to the bedroom section of my studio apartment and had a grand time on (and around) the bed. I like to make a girl come and though I wasn't exactly an expert at the time, I was still pretty good, and just my skills at giving head were good enough for her. She came three times to my once (during some nice cowgirl sex), and though I could have come again (and again, and again), I chose to spend the rest of my time cuddling (sorry guys, that's just the brand of cat I am) and going through my music collection on my PC and talking movies. May not sound like your cup of tea, but I just enjoy having an attractive, naked, post-orgasmic woman sitting on my lap. It makes any activity better. She apparently enjoyed herself quite a bit and suggested that I take her number, but bade me to keep this secret from her employers, and call her whenever I wanted to have some fun. She promised me cheaper rates than what I was paying the agency, with the added bonus of not having to tip. She figured a hundred an hour would do fine and if we went a little over here and there, that was fine. She also offered nice deals for spending large amounts of time together. 5 Bennies would get me a nice 8 hour day or night. I did take her up on that, and sometimes we only spent a fraction of the time fucking (45 minutes is the shortest I remember, the rest was spent either out of the apartment, or in the apartment watching movies, listening to music, eating, bullshitting, what have you...), but it was all wonderful. About a year later something happened, I never found out what, but I could no longer get a hold of her. Maybe I should have made a move to change our situation from client and provider to something more... normal? But I think I was too young for a move like that, or just unwilling to do so given her lifestyle ('tis pity she's a whore). I did miss her, and in truth, I only ever even consider that I should have done something to change our status as a result of my missing her. I can honestly say I never had a relationship with a working girl quite like the one I had with her, and only one ever came close. That was a Korean masseuse I met at one of the local massage parlors. Generally, if you want to fuck at an Asian massage parlor (AMP), you have to go to the city, but this one afforded every luxury found in the city, with a much shorter ride and better pricing. In addition, it sported a rather attractive lady who, though not young like the girls you find in the city, was very good at what she did and, over time, made me wonder about her feelings for me. I've shared the story my visits to Linda with my best friend and it's his conclusion that she was spirited away from the AMP so suddenly because she was pregnant with Mini-Me. The ending of the story makes me wonder if he isn't right. For starters, she stopped accepting tips somewhere along the way. Then we got so familiar that we got careless. A few times I reminded her to put a condom on me, which is not something you ever have to do if you're getting laid at an AMP. After those few times, I just didn't bother mentioning it, and she didn't bother putting one on me. And the first time I fucked her raw, I warned her I was coming, but she did nothing to stop me. I was certain she understood me perfectly, and I blew my load as deep inside of her as my pelvic bone would allow. Her reaction was one of tranquility instead of shock, and it confirmed for me that she had known I was going to, and wanted me to come inside of her unprotected, and had no qualms about the matter. I assumed she had other forms of protection, like the pill, and simply afforded me this convenience out of respect for our increasingly close relationship. One day I showed up and she was gone. No one there wanted to talk about it, and Lee, the mamasan seemed rather cross with me. They had a good couple of girls there, one of them young, but she would only offer me her oldest (and ugliest... and fattest... and worst mannered) girl, who was 50 if she was a day. I protested and asked for a line-up and she snarled that I could have old, fat n' ugly or nothing, unless I wanted to put my treasure in her hands. She said this menacingly so I just left and didn't return until I found out she had sold the place and opened a new parlor under her name. At some point, while I was "dating" Candy(whose real name was Christine), my first escort, who was now my anytime call-girl (providing I gave her some notice), I decided to try my hand at a high class escort agency. I only ever did this twice. I would have only tried once, but I felt to be fair I had to give them a fair shake, and that meant another attempt. The price tag would have easily afforded me a night with Candy, going by our "off the books" arrangement. The only nice thing was that I was not expected to tip. Honestly though, the girl they sent was a pain in the ass, laying out everything she wouldn't do. I sent her away and asked for something different. They obliged and the next girl was better, but our experience couldn't hold a candle to that first time with Candy, let alone any time since. Furthermore, since I had started seeing Christine(Candy) regularly, I also tried another girl from her agency, and yet another girl from a similar agency. To be fair, the performances of these girls just didn't measure up to Candy, but they were nice. The replacement girl who this high class agency sent me did measure up, roughly, to what I had become used to from the average agencies, but of course, not to Candy. I think the situation with Christine/Candy was just one of those things that you can't expect to come across very often. Even what I had with Linda wasn't quite the same. So, the second attempt (a few months after Christine's disappearance) with the high class agency was no better than the first, except the girl they sent did just fine without having to be replaced by another girl. I learned from these experiences that the only real difference one can regularly expect between the two classes of escort is cost. Years have passed since I've spent any considerable amount of time trolling for prostitutes. I did my "research" and learned what I wanted to. The only times since that I have reentered that culture have been times when I have been very horny, short on time and low on the dough, but not too low for a prozzy and a motel room. These occasions do happen from time to time, probably once every few months if I am not in a relationship, but they also have to happen at a time that I am out and about at or near a location where hookers can be found, and I have to be able to find a decent looking one that doesn't act like a fucking alien from Mars. Frankly, these few encounters over the past half a decade have been ultimately unfulfilling and in a few cases simply horrifying. So, it was my decision that I wanted to spend my time and money with an escort. As to which class I should opt for, I ruled out the high class, but found that below it there were more options than there used to be. Competing with the agencies are lot more independent escorts than I ever noticed before. It turns out that mere street whores have finally discovered this ingenious contraption called the Internet, and have realized that horny guys with money use it. This made the process more difficult. I never had to contend with ''low class escorts'' before, and I'll be damned if I'm going to pay a hundred bucks for some crackhead that gets 40 at most on the street. No. Fucking. Way! By some happy coincidence, I managed to find the same agency that I had used years before, the one that gives the free half-hour on weekdays between 9AM and 5PM. I don't live alone; hell, I can't really afford to right now, so I have no privacy at home. If was going to shell out the money for a real escort, I wasn't crazy about putting up for a hotel room either, and let's face it, if I'm going to provide the surroundings for this tryst, I'm not going the cheap route with some flea-bag motel that hasn't seen a renovation since The Great Depression. Besides, if I did provide the location, I'd either have to go to the nearby major metropolitan city to do so (incurring more pissed-away dinero) or get stuck with a greater cost to have the girl travel outside of the city to meet me. Obviously, the answer here was incall, which, for those of you who are unschooled (don't be embarrassed if you are. You know I won't be sharing this story at church. Or at least, I wouldn't, if I attended one) means I go to the girl at her place. It's cheaper, when it's available. I called the agency the night before I planned to set up my little rendezvous and found that they don't do incall at night, but it is available during the day. They could not make a reservation for me, I'd have to call during the day and see what was available. Now, I had no problem getting someone on the phone for the aforementioned phone call - just like the old days - I called, a girl answered, and she either made things happen for me, or told me what needed to be done. Now the day had arrived and I couldn't get the fuckers on the phone (no pun intended)! I called and called, and it just rang and rang. I gave up and tried to decide what else to do. I had read through backpage.com and had seen a few appealing ads, but I didn't know anything about these women, they were independent! I've heard nightmare stories about this. They might not look anything like their picture. They might be cops. I might get mugged or killed! I wanted an agency. The only other agency I'd been able to contact did not do incall. I'd have to decide whether it was better to get the more economical hotel nearby and pay more for outcall, or pay the extra for a nice place in the city and get a better outcall rate. Suddenly my phone started ringing. Escorts were calling me! WTF!?!? I spoke to one and she was black; a deal-breaker before anything else could be spoken. I let her know that I wasn't interested in any blacks or Asians, and would be wary of a Hispanic as well. I'm not attracted to blacks or asians, and though I find spanish girls VERY attractive, I've also had morethan my share of headaches for dealing with them. Basically, I stated, a white girl is what I'm really looking for here. I detected a bit of testiness over the matter, but she said she'd relay the message anyway. The rest of the girls that called told me they were white, but none of them did incall. In fact, they all told me their agency didn't do incall. I insisted that they did, based on the previous night's conversation, and finally I got a call from someone who worked at the agency. I let her know that we were talking about a must and that if they didn't have incall, I'd just find someone who could meet my needs better. She apologized that they could not accommodate and wished me the best of luck. I felt a little foolish after hanging up. Surely, I'd found one of the best deals out there and I'd told them to fuck off despite having already convinced myself that incall was going to be a pipe dream? I realized that once I made my decision, a hotel in the city, or one nearby, I'd have to call back, hat in hand, tail tucked betwixt legs, and eat a little crow. I priced a few hotels and decided on two that I would consider, one local, one city-bound, and decided I'd let the market make the call. I can do a little math when needed and it would only take a second or two after the city/travel rates were cited to decide which would give me more "bang for my buck". Just as I picked up the phone (I know it sounds silly, but it's true!) it rang and I found myself on the line with yet another escort, from the same agency, but this one did incall! I asked for her description, despite the fact that I knew, and they knew, (and she knew) that if I wanted to do incall this day, I'd just have to take her, no matter what she looked like. She painted a fairly pretty picture, and I accepted. Really, I shouldn't have.