Wrong Room

As I was absent-mindedly getting ready for dinner in my luxury hotel room, I ruminated about how my life was going. I thought that I had gotten over my ex-wife's cheating, but I realized that I still had some form of condition like PTSD. I was chagrined when my therapist first brought that up – I mean, come on, how was dealing with your spouse's cheating in any way similar to what soldiers go through in battle? I was more than chagrined – I was embarrassed.

My therapist finally convinced me that everyone is different and that I had nothing to be embarrassed about (at least not much anyway, and since I gave a cool million dollars to programs for ex-military with PTSD I salved my conscience). What was important was that I continued to receive therapy. His advice that it would be helpful if I sought another relationship, or if I simply had a few one-night-stands, went in one ear and out the other. I figured that my hand would never cheat on me or cause me distress so I decided masturbation would have to do to give me sexual release, at least for the time being.

As I was tying my tie fortunately my mind slipped from the anxiety of still remembering my cheating ex to more pleasant things. "You have lots going for you," I tried to cheer myself up. "I mean you're still young at 34, you're good looking if the attention of the women at the office is legitimate, and you're rich as shit." At least the last part was true. I was definitely rich – affording the best room (aside from the penthouse) in the upscale hotel that I was staying in – was no issue at all for someone with my means. Even though I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth I had achieved on my own too and grew one hundred-fold the company that my grandfather had started, and incorporated other successful companies too. "Then why can't I turn my business acumen into a successful relationship with a woman?" entered my head, and I started to feel badly again. "Why am I nervous around all women when in a social situation – has my ex's cheating really made me gun-shy?"

Fortunately, just then my doorbell rang. [Yes, my hotel room was so fancy that it had a doorbell.] That snapped me out of my re-appearing malaise. I looked at my watch. "Chris is right on time," I said to myself as I walked from my bedroom, through the large ornate anteroom, to my door.

One of the few things that gave me joy since the divorce from my cheating ex was to give money to worthwhile charities, like the ex-military PTSD treatment organizations mentioned above. My staff had set up a meeting in Seattle with the outreach director of a charity called "Escort To Success." It is a local charity that was in fact having success escorting homeless women out of poverty and into the work force. Unfortunately because my phone had gone haywire for some unknown reason the day before I hadn't gotten an email with information about Chris and the charity from my staff, but that was no big deal since I could easily get what I needed over dinner and at the charity's offices the next day.

I was surprised when I opened the door to see a really striking women standing there; I had assumed that "Chris" was a man, not a "Christine." She looked to be in her mid to late 30s, probably five feet eight inches tall – nearly six feet with her heels on – stylishly (even if a little slutily) dressed, with a very nice shape including big boobs (not that I noticed, cough, cough).

"Hi, are you Brad?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Bret," I corrected her with a smile. "Bret Connor," I continued as I shook her hand.

She seemed a little perplexed by my offering of my hand to shake, but she accepted it. She had a firm but soft grip. "I assume that you're from Escort," I smiled.

Although a little taken aback, she replied "Yes...I am."

"Come in," I said, opening the door fully and moving out of the way.

Chris seemed to be impressed with how ornate my hotel room was. She made a number of nice comments – some of which indicated that she had an understanding – maybe even an affinity – for art. I got her a drink – she wanted a vodka martini – as we talked about the surroundings. I even asked her if she wanted a quick tour and to see the view from the bedroom – which was a truly spectacular view of the city.

She appropriately oohed and aahed, and while standing in the bedroom started to take off her pashmina.

"Keep your wrap on," I smiled. "We'll discuss business at the restaurant, not here. Let's finish our drinks and get going."

I saw a puzzled look on her face, but she got with the program. We finished our drinks in the anteroom and then left, got in the elevator, and went down to the lobby.

"I hope that you don't mind a farm-to-table restaurant," I said as we rode down. "I'm tired of both steakhouses and nouvelle cuisine," I stated.

"Anything's fine," she replied.

As we walked together toward the front door it seemed like she was almost expecting me to take her by the arm – which kind of surprised me. "Business associates don't normally have body contact in Chicago," I mused to myself; "maybe things are different in Seattle."

When we got to the front entrance I asked the doorman if our limo had arrived. He smiled, waved his arm to a limo parked a few vehicles away in the driveway, and it pulled up. He opened the door for Chris and me and I handed him a twenty, for which he profusely thanked me. Since my divorce I have gotten very generous in giving out tips.

Chris and I talked about the weather, Seattle politics, the local sports teams, and things in general as we rode to the restaurant. Chris seemed to be very impressed by the limo, and even accepted an offer of a drink from the in-vehicle small bar. When we got to the restaurant the driver opened the door for us – he seemed to get wide-eyed when he saw Chris' shapely legs exit the vehicle. I asked him to pick us up in two hours, to which he tipped his hat.

As I had requested, we got the best table in the house, causing me to smile when I tipped the maître-de $50, which Chris noticed and which caused her eyes to open wide.

After we chatted about general things – including art, which Chris seemed to be particularly versed in given her present comments about the artwork in the restaurant and her previous comments about art in my hotel room – we ordered appetizers and wine, and once the appetizers arrived we ordered dinner.

The meal I selected just happened to be the most expensive one on the menu – I wasn't going for that, it just looked like the one I'd enjoy most. When Chris asked what I was having and I told her she asked if she could order the same thing, and I said "Of course." She smiled, and I ordered for both of us.

As we were eating the appetizers and drinking wine I asked her "How long have you been with Escort?"

Chris looked a little funny, and then replied "Four years."

"Has it been a rewarding four years?" I asked.

She looked surprised by the question, but after a pause said "It's OK; not as desirable as the art job I used to have, but after all sorts of cuts I couldn't get another job in the art field and I had bills to pay and two young daughters to support." She went on to explain what job she used to have in the art world, and that she was a single mother with no male in the girls' lives.

"You make more at Escort than in your previous art job?" I asked, a little surprised at what she seemed to be implying.

She again looked perplexed. "Yes...I do...make more," she stammered out.

"Well what are your present fund-raising sources at Escort To Success?" I inquired.

This time she really was bewildered. After a long pause she said "I think that we have a disconnect Bret. I'm not sure that we're on the same page..." She was going to say more but just then her cellphone buzzed – it didn't really ring, but I could hear the vibration. She took it out of her small purse, looked at the screen, and said "I have to take this."

She made few comments into the phone, and then her eyes got wide. She said "Holy shit," at one point. She then pushed the mute button on her phone, looked me in the eye, and said "You didn't order a call girl named Tammy tonight, did you?"

"What are you talking about, Chris," I replied. I realized that that might have been the first time that I actually called her "Chris."

"My name is Tammy, not Chris," she said, first seriously and then breaking into a grin. "Uh...listen, Bret; I don't work for a charity. I work for an escort service. I was supposed to meet a guy named Brad at your hotel, room 2901."

"What?" I replied; now I too was completely mystified. "I...I'm the only one in 2901, and I didn't ask for Tammy. I'm supposed to be meeting Chris, the development director of the charity Escort To Success."

Tammy got back on the phone. After she said a few things into it she laughed "1901, not 2901?...No shit!...My handwriting is atrocious... Too late now." Then she looked at me "Despite the mix-up do you mind if I stay for dinner?"

After a pause I smiled "No problem – I just need to use your phone when you're done since I need to make a call myself."

She nodded her head "Yes," returned to her phone and said "I'll call you tomorrow, Bee," and terminated the call. Laughing she handed the phone to me; I was laughing myself.

I called my charitable outreach coordinator at home. She didn't answer the first two times, probably because she didn't recognize the name on caller ID, but by the third time I called in quick succession she apprehensively said "Hello."

"Dawn, this is Bret. My phone isn't working and I'm using a Good Samaritan's phone. Have you heard from Escort To Success?"

"Yes, Christopher Thompson called about twenty minutes ago and said that he was running late and that you weren't in your hotel room when he arrived," Dawn replied.

Stifling a laugh I responded "Please call him, tell him that I'll be at Escort To Success' office at 11 a. m. tomorrow instead of 10 a. m., and we'll just have to skip the dinner. Something else came up. Call me at this number to confirm."

"OK, Bret," she responded, obviously confused.

I handed the phone back to Tammy. "When Dawn calls back would you please answer the phone, tell her that I'm indisposed, and take a message. That will really liven things up at my office tomorrow."

"OK, Joker," she laughed.

She did as asked when her phone buzzed a few minutes later, making sure to answer in her most seductive voice. After she terminated the call we both were laughing so hard that we barely finished our appetizers by the time that the main course arrived.

Now that things were straightened out, we had a very mirthful and interesting conversation. This was really the first non-work-related extended time that I had spent with a woman since my divorce and the first social situation since my divorce that I wasn't nervous. As the night progressed I started noticing more and more – since I now knew this wasn't business – how attractive Tammy (not her real name – it was Susan) was. She was also charming.

I was charming too. The circumstances were so unique that the anxiety I felt earlier that evening had vanished – at least for the night.

When we had been at the restaurant two hours, since I was phoneless and didn't know the limo driver's phone number anyway, I went outside and told him to park within sight of the restaurant and wait for us to come out. The two crisp $100 bills that I gave him resulted in a big smile and a "Yes sir."

Susan and I essentially closed down the restaurant; the staff wasn't upset in view of the tip that I left. As we were leaving she grabbed my arm, planted a kiss on my cheek, and said "That was the best time I've had in a long, long time." There was a little tear in her eye.

"That was my best time in a long time too, Susan; but why the tear?"

"Even though I'm a call girl you treated me like an equal; like a date that you wanted to impress," she sighed.

"Why would I treat you any way except as my equal? I'm sure I'm better than you at some things and that you're better than me at others, which makes us equal," I responded.

Susan smiled widely, kissed my cheek again and then said "I'd offer you a freebie except that the babysitter requires me to be back by midnight."

When I looked into Susan's enchanting eyes, saw the devilish smile on her lips, and then continued my gaze down to her enormous bazoobs, I confirmed that I had a sexual attraction to someone for the first time since my divorce. That inspired me to respond "If the babysitter got another $200 could she stay the night?"

Susan smiled, got out her phone, and made a call. "Cheryl something has come up. If I pay you an extra $200 could you stay the night?...Yes I'm serious...Great, call your Mom...Unless you call me back I'll assume that you can...I'll be home by..." and then she looked at me. "What time tomorrow will I be home?"

"Ten," I replied.

Susan smiled. "Ten," she said. "About seven o'clock tomorrow morning tell Mrs. Johnson next door to come over early so that you can get home and get to school; tell her that there's extra cash for her too..."Susan continued, then looked into my eyes. I held up two fingers.

"$200 more for her too," she continued, then after a little more chit-chat terminated the call.

"Let's go," she grinned, putting her phone in her purse. "Whores almost never get horny, but this whore is horny for you. I haven't given a freebie in years, but I can't wait to fuck you."

"My freebie, my rules," I devilishly smiled. "I'm taking my time with you and intend to do my best to make it a night that you'll never forget."

We steamed up the limo on the way back to hotel. The driver was happy with yet another $100 bill that I gave him. When we got to my room we had each other's clothes off in the anteroom in record time; but when I carried her to the four poster king sized bed in the bedroom I didn't succumb to carnal lust and immediately bury my cock in her pussy despite her begging me to do just that. Instead, I went after her pussy with my lips, tongue, and all ten digits on my hands. While doing so I took notice that her body was goddess-like; the best that I had ever seen in my life by a long shot.

I had no experience with whores, but my understanding was that they didn't orgasm, although they were happy to fake them for their Johns. I guess it was because of the circumstances, especially this being a freebie, but Susan did orgasm. She couldn't fake almost flipping off the bed during the two times that I stimulated her to nirvana. After the second orgasm as she finally came down, and I was now playing with the biggest most delicious tits in my experience, she moaned "Please fuck me you bastard."

"I don't have a condom," I moaned.

"I don't care," she snapped. "I'm clean; I get tested every month, including just two days ago, and all my paying customers wear protection. Stick it in me you shithead!"

Of course I'd be stupid to believe a whore even though Susan seemed like an honest person, but when she grabbed my rock hard dick nothing but "stupid" filled my brain. Once I entered her I fleetingly thought "Well if I'm gonna get diseased, what a way to go."

The three fucks, and endless tit play (I probably sucked more tit that night than during the entire time that my high society mother nursed me as a baby), that I had between midnight and eight the next morning made me more serene than after any other sexual experience I had ever had in my life, including with my ex-wife – who I had actually once loved. Susan was not only a goddess as far as her looks were concerned, but she did things to my cock with her pussy that I didn't think were possible. Also the pillow talk was fun and invigorating.

Despite our fatigue – since we got very little sleep – the next morning, we were both cheerful. We ordered a room service breakfast, and showered together before it arrived. My red, hurting, over-used cock wanted to fuck her again in the shower but the doorbell rang much faster than I anticipated, and I had to exit and throw on a robe to answer the door. The wide-eyed waitress was happy with the $20 in cash that I gave her.

In the morning light a wet-haired no makeup Susan, looked even better than she had the night before. We laughed, kissed, and touched between bites of breakfast. Once we got dressed in time to get her to her condo by 10 a. m. I had an epiphany.

"Susan; is there hope for a real relationship with you?" I seriously asked.

At first I think that Susan thought that I was pulling her chain. But as we rode in the limo to her house she realized that I was serious. "Why would you ask that question of a whore who is four years older than you are and who has six and seven year old daughters? I mean I know that I'm a great fuck – but be serious dude."

"Look," I replied. "I learned more about you in the fourteen hours that we've been together than I do about most people in months, and I really like what I found out. I'm only concerned about the future, not the past; and you've made me feel more alive than I ever have before in my life, even after making billion dollar business deals."

She looked at me strangely.

"I have a plan; I haven't given it tons of thought, but enough to follow through with the first part. How much are your expenses per month?"

Susan was stunned, but not too stunned to answer. "About $6500," she replied.

"OK; how about you take a sabbatical from your job for a month. I'll write you a check for $13,000 right now, double your expenses. In that month I'll meet your kids, we'll date, you can visit me in Chicago, and we'll see if we are suitably matched. It can be with or without sex; the $13,000 isn't for sex, it's just to allow you to take a sabbatical without prejudice. What do you say?"

"You're serious, aren't you," she replied.

"As serious as a heart attack," I responded. "Come on – a month – what do you have to lose?"

She thought for a few more minutes, fished her phone out of her purse and pushed a speed dial button. "Hi Bee; it's Tammy. Can you have someone else cover for me this week and not schedule me until thirty one days from now? I need to take a sabbatical...I don't give a shit what Simone says, I have other employment opportunities as she well knows...OK, just call me back to confirm by noon...Bye."

As soon as she terminated the call I got my checkbook out of my jacket pocket. "You know, I don't even know your last name," I chuckled as I posed a pen over it.

"Susan Collins," she smiled.

I wrote the check and handed it to her. She stared at it like she wasn't sure that it was real. Just then we pulled up to the address she had given the driver. I peeled $400 in cash from my money clip and handed that to her too. "This is for the babysitter and Mrs. Johnson," I smiled.

She kissed me quickly on the lips and as she got ready to alight from the limo through the door the driver was holding open for her she said "Be here at 7 p. m. to meet my daughters and for dinner."

"You got it," I smiled as she turned and walked into her condo, making sure to wiggle her stupendous bubble butt as she did so.

***********

I found it hard to concentrate at Escort To Success that morning – I was daydreaming about the night before. However, I found out enough about the charity to be impressed with what they were doing. I made a donation of $250,000, leaving everyone there very thankful. Before I left I asked one of the female employees who herself had an eight year old daughter what six and seven year old girls would like. She gave me a list of five possible gifts, and the store that would most likely have them.

I picked up a dozen pink roses for Susan and a relatively modest gift for each of her daughters – I didn't want to go overboard. I arrived promptly at 7:00 p. m. About the cutest little girl I had ever seen answered the door in a nice dress and a bow in her hair. "Hi – are you Mr. Connor?"