Understories by dijan

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Stevie hesitates, finger poised over the doorbell ringer. Besides, were he to leave now, what would she think? Which is ironic, at some level. He rings. Light footsteps from the other side of the door.

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Stevie hears the bolt of the lock being pulled. The door opens. Before Stevie can say anything, she throws her arms around his neck, and hugs him tight. He feels her breasts against his chest. He is nervous.

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He must relax. Care to keep me company and tell me all about your trip? Your s were too short. Stevie watches her go, long brown hair swaying as she walks. She is dressed casually with a light green tee-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, a tight pair of jeans offering her rear as a treat as she disappears through the swinging kitchen door. Taking off his shoes, Stevie glances around the entrance. He stands at one end of a hallway, a living room opening to the left, warmly decorated in rich tones of red and brown.

Stairs on the right lead up to what he figures are the bedrooms. The hallway proper le to the kitchen, glimpsed when Laura went through its door.

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Stevie follows in, nervous in spite of the warm welcome. Two glasses filled with red wine sit on the counter. He takes one. Laura looks at Stevie while she sips from the glass. Her eyes, wide and green, are as beautiful as he remembers. After putting her glass down and licking her lips, she takes a step towards Stevie.

She runs one hand gently along his chest. Her lips part, and her tongue timidly sneaks out to caress him. Stevie can feel her body against his, can feel her breasts once again pressing on his chest, feel her thighs between his, not quite rubbing his crotch but not keeping away either. His free hand wraps around her waist, caressing it down to her hip. Just sit down, drink, relax. Stevie came across the ad on craiglist early on a Sunday morning.

Flexible hours, in-call, city only. There was a picture with Understories by dijan message, a shot of a woman, from the neck down, naked but for a white thong and a pair of tall white heels. Twenty-nine years old, five foot six, brunette. That silhouette. Portland was a big place. And that was eight years ago. Stevie paused, basking in old memories, old fantasies. Laura Metkins, the girl of his dreams back in his college days. Every boy that met her had fallen in love with her, Stevie included.

She was smart and friendly, and was studying psychology. She did not date a lot, or perhaps she had just been discreet about it. Stevie himself had been way too shy and intimidated to ask her out. They talked, were friendly, but nothing more. Stevie had kept pinning for her from afar, fueling his fantasies. He would often jack off to images of her, wondering what she was like in bed. Not that he himself had much experience in that domain to serve as a reference. While not Understories by dijan virgin since his late teens, he had not had as much sex as he would have liked, and certainly not as much as he had been led to believe he would have in college.

In truth, college had been rather too much like high school for Stevie, but with harder classes. Laura, beautiful Laura, long-legged Laura, had seemed to breeze through it all though. He especially liked the white. The perfect touch of innocence. Damn, he was hard already. He noted the phoneand searched a bit online. He logged into a couple of sites he knew that hosted forums on escort services in and around Portland with discussions and reviews. Nothing like the girl in the ad stood out. He confirmed what he thought he remembered.

GFE was an abbreviation for Girlfriend Experience, an escort that for a suitable fee would behave like a good girlfriend. A more personal, more intimate, warmer experience: kissing, cuddling, playful love-making. What one would expect an escort to provide in the first place, really. LWE, on the other hand, was a stumper. Tried calling a few times no callback. Never heard of LWE either. The wine is definitely Understories by dijan, and the food is simply delicious. The conversation is going smoothly, surprisingly enough, without any real direction.

He has talked about his trip, inventing details about Memphis and his customers there. As expected, Laura does not seem to pick up on the fibs. She came to visit for a few weeks, and she was a real support through everything that happened these last few months.

Thank God she was there. Laura smiles back, half-heartedly. She drinks her wine down in one gulp. His cock hardens immediately. Her tee-shirt does not let him see anything, but he remembers how her breasts felt earlier when they kissed. Neither large nor small, but firm and full. He wonders what her nipples are like. He crossed the line in a bad way Taken by surprise, still a bit frazzled by the discussion, Laura guffaws, almost spilling her wine. It took six rings before the call was picked up. Stevie almost lost his vodka-induced courage after the fourth ring, but inertia saw him through.

Fully expecting an answering service, he was steeling himself to launch into his rehearsed speech. He could therefore only stammer when an actual human being, a man no less, answered. Stevie, never the most forward of men at the best of times, was feeling small and ashamed and was madly hoping the man did not have caller ID.

Fat chance, he thought, despairing. He was ready to hang up. You are lucky. I am her agent, if you will. Not a problem. I can tell that you are a person of interest. Put bluntly, I like you. So here is what I propose: How about we meet, you and I, tomorrow, at a time and place of Understories by dijan choosing, and we can discuss this.

What Laura offers is somewhat Trust me, you will not be disappointed. Stevie suggested a late morning drink at a quiet cafe downtown, and went to sleep thinking about the conversation. And he did jack off to visions of his Laura posing, on display with a wanton look on her face. He came as he imagined entering her from behind, her ass spread wide before him. The man from the phone, it turned out, was in his late forties, a tall skinny gentleman with streaks of gray in his dark hair, impeccably dressed.

He called himself Volpinex. Stevie thought he only lacked a British accent for the picture to be complete. But you have to understand that the service we provide is rather special. I view this as an investment.

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Most of our clients tend to turn into regular customers. All the benefits, none of the inconveniences of the real thing.

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It is no more and no less than a fully immersive fantasy, acted out within parameters you provide, and using several proprietary psychological evaluation mechanisms that ensure you the maximum satisfaction. This is what this interview is all about, Mr Saxx, to assess what you want. Therefore, let us start slowly. Tell Understories by dijan about your life, who you are, where you are going. And Stevie spoke. Hesitantly at first, but steadily. He told of his youth out in the midwest, a middle child in a fairly large family, neither abused nor smothered, mostly left alone.

He told of his high school experiences, his tendency towards nerdiness that made social interactions difficult, his awkwardness with girls; he even told of his first experience with an older girl, who was not very attractive and was drunk at the time. He had been drunk too, and it was late, and it was dark in the little wood near the old mill where the end-of-year party was held that spring, and he lost his virginity with his pants halfway down his legs, an affair that must have lasted all of five minutes.

Volpinex listened to it all, attentive, empathic. Stevie told of his college days, studying business and computer science. He did not have the technical skills to be a star programmer, and did not have the attitude and self-confidence to become an entrepreneur. He would go on to work for a small computer support business. Social interactions had been difficult, but he had developed a small circle of friends, outcasts like him, and he had even managed to get involved with two girls over his four years.

The relationships had not lasted. And, of course, there had been Laura.

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