Anywhore, after the fail emails with L, I hit up three more escorts.
Only one of them, S, responded. At this point, I yearned to tick off my bucket list and decided to pursue S because she was the 2nd choice I held in mind after L.
I thought it was a done deal with L, but our schedules clashed, while me being a noob at this service didn’t help. I felt like I offended L at one point, so she decided to be unresponsive. But it could be she was swamped with her birthday schedule. I’d never know.
It wasn’t smooth sailing for us. As COVID happened, flights got canceled, and she missed our first date. Except she wanted to extend her stay in NOLA to hang with a few friends. Perfect timing as I was just back in town after a fight with my long-time friend.
Our email platforms jacked us up; S missed my verification somehow. And as I’m on the road, I didn’t have any proof of employment. These independent, high-end babes need references to get by.
Sure, I can deliver my shop number, but I don’t think my boss will provide anything if suspicious individuals call.
I was thirsty enough to contact the 4th escort. Lol. As soon as I’m about to hit the “Send” button, the 4th escort profile mentions that business cards work.
Perfetto! I just printed out my personal and business cards before this trip.
It was like everything fell into place, and the universe wanted it to happen for me.
S gave me her number a day before our encounter as we played some email ping pong the past few days. She’s very courteous and patient as pleb as I could get with this new kind of service.
Unlike some ordinary escorts, she’s in one of the most prestigious unis in the country that if you fall out of Ivy League, that would be the one school.
I’ll let you complete the puzzle yourself, but girls with beauty and the brain to match, my knees are weak.
Our meeting date is unchanging as she’ll head out with friends the next night, and I am not fond of afternoon dates. Plus, I don’t want to move the date later because my nervousness is already through the roof.
We still managed to miscommunication again. Lol. S thought I’d come to her place, while I thought she’d come to mine. So I legit decorated the hotel room like it’s my honeymoon. Lol. The gal the two following nights was fascinated. But more on that later.
I was trailing her to come to my hotel room, and she was extremely accommodating.
At least she tried, but she couldn’t make it with the airline losing her other suitcase, which has all the good stuff, plus lingerie. So she’d prefer I come to her.
In the back of my mind, I’d open the door to her nakedness. Lol. That was some motivation for me to throw everything out of my first duffle bag and re-pack just two bottles of Malbec I picked up the previous night, some local chocolate, a handwritten card, and lipstick. Plus, some vanilla bondage set I always pack when travel.
Her location is in a very secure building. I wait for a specific time to get a new passcode to get in, walk past the security guard like I own the building, and text S when the door is the only thing separating us.
Next time remind me to buy a better corkscrew because the one in her Airbnb was disastrous, but I still managed. Then, I whipped out my, ooh, not yet, local chocolate carton. It was mmm delicious. I slightly regretted not keeping that chocolate case for myself if only I knew how good it tastes. Lol.
As silly as it sounds, I was unusually nervous, I guess because I know she’s a nerd too. So I brought a conversation starter game. I didn’t realize how nerdy S can be with her two nerd tattoos, and the stage name comes from a nerd movie. Lol.
We both skipped many personal questions during the game, but she opened up a lot more as we hit our 2nd Malbec.
I wanted to hold her hands longer, but knowing I’m a professional in this field, while she just got her nails taken off, she kept pulling them back. Aw. Her fingers are long and slender. I think they’re beautiful, but she disagrees.
Do you think it’s silly? Men pay to get it in, and we sit there playing some tedious card game and talk to each other. Lol.
She’s in a lace bra and high-waisted panties, cloaked in a kimono in pump heels in black/red. I didn’t see the timer, and I didn’t witness her look at it either. But she’s a professional. As soon as I have 21 minutes left on the clock, she said, let’s hang in her bedroom, which is only a few steps away from her living room.
We quickly got topless as she climbed on top of me, pinned me on her bedboard, and held me ransom with her bosom. I couldn’t help but notice they’re some fine weapons that I don’t mind having a closer inspection with my hands, my lips, and my tongue.
You know, a good thing about having your signature scent and some body lotion to compliment it? She kept sniffing my neck and shoulder and told me how good I smell.
I use lotion for special occasions. Usually, I could care less because I don’t like stickiness.
It’s a good thing in this case as I have kisses planned everywhere she could bend her neck. Knowing one of her fave desires earlier in our “wild” card game, I asked like a gentleman if I may as I was making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass, and I’m homebound. *Piano playing in my head*
She took out her white electro wand, but she needed it no more as soon as a minute and something passed. I’m not sure if it was the wine that makes me so thirsty or what, but she soon finds out that my tongue and lips are better than that wand of hers. My left hand found its way to intertwine with hers, while my right hand was unoccupied to wander across her body, cupping her breasts, scratching her right shoulder, running across her side body.
Wonder where my face is? It is too busy burying deep down her nether region.
I worked my tongue as her body was twisting and turning until I shook her world. She tastes just as good as our last drop of Malbec.
She told me I’m talented, and I was pretty confused until the following couple of days, rethinking that moment. It’s a job; she doesn’t get to that point that often with clients without using toys and desensitizing her.
Getting there is a process on its own, you know.
In case you wonder, I’m bilingual. If speaking French weren’t frown upon because my hometown just got independence from them, I’d still remember that language. Put that tongue to work by acquiring a second language, guys. Or third language, if you don’t forget about it in my case.
I quickly went back to the living room to fetch a square package just for her to sit on the edge of her bed and laugh at me, saying I don’t need that. Creampie time, then. JK.
From what I know, unlike the fake porn you see, escorts won’t let anything near them without putting on a condom first.
Mine is a little special in that regard, as both sides of the condom have ridges to enhance the heat transfer and friction. Yes, a nerd is at work here. Therefore, it’ll bring pleasure to both the receiver and the giver.
She doesn’t know what I have in store for her. But I guess she likes me a little bit, so she gives me a pass. Except I still keep mine on for safety reasons. And I made the most of my time with some good ol’ missionary position while she wrapped her legs around me, rock her hips in rhythm with me. I slid both arms underneath her back, grabbing her shoulders for extra grip as we weave our bodies and our lips. She was fucking me fucking her. The rest was a mystery.
We rinsed off in her shower as I put my clothes on and got ready for that walk of shame. It never gets old.
I nearly forgot to give her my handwritten card, the lipstick, and some tips because of good “customer service.” Lol. I asked S to put on the lipstick. I don’t know why I expected her to like it, but I kind of did.
What I didn’t foresee was the deja vu as S held onto her bath towel while putting on the matte burgundy on her plump lips as my thirst continued to be seen from the reflection on her wall mirror.
We talked a wee bit before saying goodbye. S texted me after and said I set the bar really high, and that was the best card ever. She also found the lipstick color to be serendipity, in her own words.
We kept texting for the next few days until the day I left.
I was just glad she didn’t see it as a job and kept stating how amazing the night was. That was a big boost of confidence for me as I performed that walk of shame back to my hotel room with a big ass grin. I knew I did something right and prepared to the T for our date. It was a fantastic night indeed, and that’s what she said.
Then there was N, who I was in contact with just right before my friend’s visit.
We kept email ping pong for a while up until my trip back to New Orleans.
I didn’t think it’d happen at all, but I thought I’d initiate a date in my hotel room on the last day of my trip and see if I get lucky.
You may never know since N is also from out of town, so these one-night stand rendezvous are the norm. And I already decorated my hotel room for the previous meeting with S. But we moved from outcall (at my place) to incall (at S’ place), which was a bummer. So I didn’t want to waste all that effort and thought, hey, why not. Lol.
To my surprise, N is nothing like the Bostonians that I’ve met during my former voyages.
She’s a slender, blonde, all-natural gal. She’s very down to earth, nothing screams high maintenance at all, and she doesn’t even smell like potpourri the moment she walked in.
She was amazed at the decorations because it looked nothing like a hotel room; I kid you not. As an RGB lightning whore myself, I got some going with ribbons and all that. I reassured her we didn’t have to do anything if we didn’t want it.
That is obviously a big fat lie. Lol. Yes, I want something to happen, and I expect it at the end of the night because boys will be boys.
I brought that same Malbec bottle of wine since it was magic last time. Only to my disappointment, she didn’t drink.
She tried to get sober, so that bottle sat there with two lonely wine glasses.
We talked and made fun of her grandpa’s Boston accent and how she had not adopted it. I just felt as though we didn’t have any chemistry; nothing sparkled like S, and I have because we are both nerds. Like S’ main job right now is screaming nerdy than what I’m doing as a nail tech.
N and I are two horny individuals who happen to be in the same city and at the same time. Or maybe it was me having high expectations since a few nights before.
More or less, it was hot just lying next to a smoking blonde in skinny tight denim and a sexy lace tank top begging you to take it off. So I took my t-shirt off, and it took N a moment to take hers off as well. We leaned in and exchanged fluids a little bit; up here, you pervert.
I wouldn’t call she’s a good kisser, but she’s just so eager to please, you want to devour her. She’s like a little fox that is ready to wrap her tail around you and make you feel cozy in her presence. Thank goodness I learned French kissing from my half Parisian pure blood ex a long time ago, so I pulled her chin in, raised my body higher as I inserted my tongue down her throat.
Our body temperature quickly fired up, and I felt the need to take off her black lace bra with some nude flowery accents. One thing led to another; she was already naked on the vintage king-size bed full of rose petals. I like my routine as I was making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass, and I’m homebound. *Piano playing in my head*
N wasn’t as responsive as S; perhaps she was shy, so I led the way. I quickly ran into the bathroom to fetch my new favorite condom. When I was back, I kept teasing her by colliding our nether regions with a slower pace while taking turns to put her nipple in my mouth, one after the other.
I can see her A cup rise up and down as she is on the receiving end.
It was 10:22 pm as I glanced at the clock on my nightstand before the last digit shifted into a new number. All of a sudden, a rush of guilt caught up with me. I thought I’d grow up from this kind of temptation and tower above the old me 11 years ago, and here I am doing it again.
So I flipped her over, face down ass up, to hide my guilty pleasure as I focused on hers.
It’s a great shame I didn’t know what this position calls, but it’s one of my favorites. Spooning? Basic rear-entry position? Facedown ass up? Lol.
I stopped for a moment, just making a circular motion of my hip as I dripped my saliva on her spine, quickly followed up with my tongue, catching every last bit of it.
Eventually, her body just laid down entirely on the bed as I put my weight on her, kissing her back and her right shoulder as I work up my hip.
She just felt so good; I didn’t think I would want to stop until I gazed at the clock one more time; it was 11:03 pm. When my back was covered in sweat, and I could feel them dribbling down my spine while her hands were clutching onto the bedsheets, and her moans got louder and raspier.
I lost counting if it was one or two times she was trembling in pleasure, or I imagined it. Was I?
I just lost my shit and didn’t know how long it was going on. I didn’t think N could take it anymore at this point, as her body language was clearly betraying her. I should let her go and call it a night, but I didn’t forget to bend over and kiss her little friend a lasting goodbye.
I wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad experience for her or if she enjoyed it so much; she felt terrible, or it was a no-no. The aftermath was awkward for sure, even we rinsed off quickly in the shower, and she left her bra on the bed. And I don’t think anybody has left these things to me before, not that I remember.
I was puzzled as my head was spinning from the sensation. I wasn’t that creative because time was my enemy. So I grabbed the same lipstick color I gave S. She complimented how sick the lipstick case is with the magnetic and all that. She said she’d let me know later.
I had to text a few friends and asked what it even meant when one left their bra behind.
Is it a calling card or a souvenir that we’ll meet again, or just simply evidence of a fast walk of shame?
N was unresponsive until about four days later. I’m just glad everything seemed to be great, in her own words, and she wished we’d keep in touch.
Like S, N initiated that she would like to provide me with a reference if I need it in the future. If I ever order these “services” again. Lol. We’ll see.
There’s something about intimate items of clothing. They have the black magic power that pulls you in for a quick sniff.
The light, almost nonexistent perfume lingering with that first round of sweat is overwhelmingly intoxicated. I inhaled deeply and decided to keep it as a souvenir, and perhaps next time, I could give it back to N.
The mysterious closing night
I woke up with a big grin from ear to ear and decided to extend my stay just this one more night so that I could go bar hopping like my old, young, carefree me.
I missed out on a few fine dining restaurants because my new loafers still need some breaking in; they just hurt like hell at the moment.
Although I brought some shirts and a pair of suit pants, I didn’t feel the need to dress up, pay the high price, and eat tiny little plates.
I want to eat like a homeless because of all that sweat I’ve worked up. *cough cough*
I headed out for the Hot Tin rooftop bar inside the Pontchartrain Hotel. It offers a glorious view of New Orleans. You could feel as though you can reach for the Mississippi River if only it’s not too far away.
It makes you feel naked and exposed as the young men and women flocked into the bar filled up with craft cocktails and a pleasant atmosphere.
It reminded me of my young me all over again. My heart was just pumping with excitement as the night unveils itself.
I already set out to not pick up anyone and enjoy myself here, so I didn’t want to make any conversation. I move from grooving across the lounge to the bar to standing near the glass fence. I have a deja vu as it gets darker; the view reminds me of my hometown and its Chill Sky Bar.
A couple of bar-goers asked me out; we exchanged conversations about our drinks and dangerously let one another sip what our drinks taste like.
Things didn’t go as plan as I’ve met a player. He struck up a conversation and asked me to court the girls with him; four girls were standing next to us.
I was just like, nah, thank you, and kept on grooving.
I still responded to him because I didn’t want to be rude, but I helped others take family/group photos in between until there were three new gals just shoving themselves onto me and bumped me out of my spot. Legit bumped me out unapologetically.
This guy is like; it’s his first time here. In my head, it’s like no, bro. You’re telling me you’re living nearby, so you’re here probably every weekend trying to pick up unlucky girls who love that sweet-talking. Lol. Otherwise, you’d be dazzled by the view by now, you know. That’s the only thing he doesn’t care about, the view, which blew up his lie, IMO, because I’m all over it as a first-timer.
Eventually, I gave in and helped this player in a pink polo. The girls agreed to go down Bourbon Street with us. I took the most extended bathroom break ever and just sneaked out on my own. Lol.
It was much of a blurry after that. But I remembered I went to a gay bar near Bourbon St., which happened to be too gay for my ass. Lol.
So I bounced quickly and went to the second gay bar because it’s always fun in a gay bar. There’s this drunk, white chap trying to buy me a drink. I just had a hard time getting the bartenders in nothing, but their boxers and the bar counter are high.
Yes, I’m pretty short, and with some of the eyes gazing all around, I feel uncomfortable. I’m in my red corduroy shirt and short, pinstripe smart pants.
It felt like I had no choice but to take up his offer, and so I did. I thanked him for the one drink with some pinky finger action.
Not sure what it was for, but he kept waving his pinky at me, so I figured I should do something about it. Lol.
I poured myself onto the street quickly. I didn’t remember how many drinks I took after that or how I even got back to my hotel room; I woke up naked with a gruesome hangover I haven’t got in a very long time.
The bottle of Malbec unopened the previous night was drunk. There were two extra wine glasses, and all four were used. My footwear and my clothes the other night were everywhere on the floor. At least my butthole isn’t sore, so I’m safe. Lol.
I tried to regain some consciousness, and the first thing I did was to count my condoms. Nada. So I dug through garbage cans in the room, hoping to find traces of others’ condoms. Nada.
My personal belongings were untouched, though.
I had to check out soon. As routinely as it sounded, I did some “professional clean-up” before I used the rest of my strength to throw up in a garbage can under the TV because, alas, it seems a long way to the bathroom for a drunkard.
I called Uber to an authentic Vietnamese place and got some Pho. I sadly couldn’t even finish my favorite dish in a whole wide world.
I sat there, doozing on and off at the hotel lounge for another four hours when pretty people marched outside the hotel facade, and occasionally some guests checked in. Only to get a slap back into the reality that I’m about to get home, back to the old grind.
One thing for sure is that The Hangover movies were real, happened to me many times when I was much younger, except now I didn’t have the time nor the energy to find out what the actual fuck just happened.
We’ll never find out this mystery, and hopefully, one day, it won’t trace back and bite me. Or if I’m as lucky as I get, nothing happened. But still, those four wine glasses and an opened bottle make you question yourself?