I watch carefully as she gets into her car. The bottom of her dress caresses her wide hips, balancing just right as her ass rocks back and forth. I gulp down hard, feeling the click at the back of my throat. What do I want from her? I want to dive under that dress. I want her to sit on my fucking face. I want to pound that sweet pussy into submission. There are quick images in my mind of my hand around her tits, throat, gripping her ass. God, there’s so much I want to do to that woman.

Funny enough, none of this was planned. It’s just the way things worked out. I went to change the bloody song on the radio and, boom, her bumper is completely destroyed. It’s rather funny actually. My car has barely a scratch.

I drive to my next client’s house and park near her driveway. I glance in the mirror to make sure everything looks right. First, the hair. Next, the shirt. Lastly, the teeth.

Everything has to look perfect for these women. Tonight should be easy, however. I’ve been out with this woman before. No sex demanded. Just some woman who lost her husband the year prior. I never pry too much into their past. I don’t care to, really. For me, it’s just about the money. I don’t need to know or do anything extra.

I walk up to the door, but I can’t get myself to ring the doorbell. That woman I hit earlier. She’s invading my fucking mind. Now, I can’t get her out of my head. She must’ve been twenty-eight or so. Clearly, she was married. I saw her remove her ring with haste. She wants me. That much is obvious. The question is, will she call? The good ones never do. I’m always stuck with the crazy clientele. God, and I handed her my card. The whole thing is embarrassing.

“Walker, dear! So glad you could make it.” Loretta Dawkins, my date tonight, smiles. She’s wearing her classic pearl necklace, an obvious sexual innuendo.

“Darling Dawkins,” I smile. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

The things I have to say. It’s beginning to gnaw it me. This job can be too much at times. I want to go home. I want to step into the shower. I want stroke my thick cock and think about what that woman would look like with her mouth wide open. I want to see what she’d look like bent down, thighs out to the side, while her ass is square to the ground. I have the perfect fucking image in my head. I feel my cock twitch against the front of my pants.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much,” Loretta says. She’s forty-five. Not old, but not young either. In either case, she’s not my type.

Anyway, the details aren’t important with this woman. She invites me in, pours me a few drinks, and asks me if I’m ready to go. I am in fact ready to leave. The party tonight is a friend of a friend of a friend of hers. She claims, “Our husbands were good friends of one another.” But I can already tell she’s nervous by the way she’s drinking.

In fact, when we finally do leave, she’s shoveled down three vodka tonics and she’s slurring half of her words. Three thousand dollars. That’s how much I’m getting for this. It’s not bad for about eight hours. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for. That, or even less.

We pull into the Grand Hotel and I give the valet my keys. I hold the door open like a gentleman and reminisce about London with her for a bit. These are the parts of the job I tend to enjoy because it’s fun to make up stories. The truth of my life is that I grew up very poor in London. There were no weekend trips up north to go hunting with the hounds. Nor were there any galas with the Prince.

No, my life has been rife with twists and turns that would ruin any woman’s night. I grew up hard, as they say in America. I grew up on the fucking streets. My father ran out on my mum almost five months into the pregnancy. I never met the bastard. My mother? Well, she was just scraping by on crumbs. I vowed never to live like either of them. I promised myself I would live a free and carefree life, in America, the land of opportunities.

The party is fairly big, with over two hundred guests. How a woman has that many friends is beyond me, but I lavish in the free caviar, mussels, and wine. “Open wide!” Loretta exclaims, before stuffing in a square of cheese.

“You’re spoiling me. Really.” I smile and kiss her cheek.

“Oh, how I love to spoil you,” she laughs. “Come, I want you to meet some people.”

She’s much older than most of the guests. I scan the room, hoping to meet some influential people. Someday, I always think, I’ll get out of this business and enter politics. Anyway, it’s the same job when you think about it. Going out with people you don’t really enjoy, laughing at awkward jokes at parties, and falling asleep with the knowledge that you’ll always get what you want.

I bask in the thought a little. I mean, everyone has to have a dream. Just when I smile, do I see her. It’s that woman from the intersection. The woman of my fucking dreams. She sees me out of the corner of her eyes and quickly avoids eye contact. “What the fuck?” I whisper. Why is she being so cold?

“What was that?” Loretta asks. We’ve now entered the social center of Loretta’s life. The table is a few older women, sitting around, laughing about their husbands. Oh, how silly their husbands all are. How stupid they all are. I’ve heard it a million times and frankly, I’m tuning the conversation out.

I can’t stop staring. I don’t give a damn how crazy I look. After a few minutes, her eyes start to dart in my direction. At first, she tries to play it cool. Then, she can’t stop looking over. She blushes, but then her expression turns to annoyance. Honestly, I’m only staring at one thing: that body of hers.

My cock is already hard. I can’t help it. I keep wondering how her skin would feel against my palm and thighs as I’m pumping her, or how her tits might look. It’s the minor details that make a real difference to me. I look at the curve of her thighs. She’s wearing one of those black dresses that cut alongside the legs. Her bottom half drives me fucking wild. How can I man look away from something that sexy?

The woman finally gets fed up. Or, at least I think she does. She grabs her purse and walks into the women’s restroom. “I have to use the men’s room,” I announce all of a sudden, darting from my seat.

“Well, hurry. I want another drink,” Loretta says. “And we all want to hear about your hunting trips growing up.”

“Of course,” I smile. The hunting stories. Always a good one. I walk fast toward the restrooms. I shouldn’t act so crazy, but I’m not worried tonight. Tonight, I have my eyes on this woman and I am not taking no for an answer.

I walk right in, following her. Lucky for me, no one is inside, spare for her, analyzing her makeup in the mirror. I quickly lock the door and she jumps. “What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaims. “Unlock that door, now!”

“Hear me out,” I smile.

“Unlock the door!” she hisses, but reveals a hidden smile. She’s not angry with me. She wants me to be in here with her. I walk toward her. Two steps forward. She takes one step back. It goes on like this for another few seconds, until she stops and we’re left, closer than we were in that intersection.

“What do you want?” she whispers, voice shaky and cute.

“You,” I say. I’m blunt and quick to the point. There’s no time to beat around the bush. I want her. Now. In this bathroom.

“Well, I don’t want anything to do with you,” she says.

She’s lying, I think. I touch the back of her arm. She pulls away, turning red. I put my hand around her waist and she’s looking at me as if I’m out of my fucking mind.

“Stop,” she barely whispers. She smells like chocolate and red wine has stained her lips and tongue.

“You going to call me?” I ask her.

“Maybe,” she says. “I’m married, you know.”

“I know,” I smile. “You think I give a damn?”

“Well, you should. Adultery is a sin,” she says. I have to laugh at that one.

“You’re religious all of a sudden?” I ask.

“No,” she admits. “I just think it’s wrong.”

“Sometimes being wrong is the right choice,” I say. “You don’t like feeling naughty?”

She gulps down and bats her eyes quickly. “I,” she stutters. “Um. I—”

“Shh.” I put my index finger against her lips. I don’t remove it. I kiss her, crushing my lips against my finger, the one barrier keeping our tongues from intertwining. She breathes in hard and deep. I want to feel her cunt. I want to reach out and touch that sweet pussy of hers. I want to see how wet I get her.

She steps back, eyes wide. “I,” she stutters again. I smile and lean against the counter of the bathroom. “I need to go.”

“I’d love it if you call me,” I say.

She ducks her head forward and unlocks the bathroom door. She darts out as a few confused women step in, to find me.

“Sorry, ladies. Stumbled into the wrong bathroom,” I chuckle. Yep. It’s just another day on the job.