I’ve read my earlier post again and realise, in the cold light of day, that it might seem boastful; “Hey, look at me! Look at all the things I got to do with a beautiful woman half my age!” I accept that. I’m nearly sixty; I’m a bit overweight; I suffer from erectile dysfunction. Yet last weekend, with the beautiful Lilly, I had some of the best sex of my entire life. I hope my talking about it doesn’t offend you, but I have to recognise it might.
Morning – barely awake. In the walk-in shower together. Touching, kissing, we caress soap into each others bodies. I push her back up against the cold stone wall, kissing her hard, teasing her clitoris then working two fingers into her as the warm water cascades over us. I squash her firmly between my body and the wall so it feels that I’m touching all of her as she comes, breathing hard, her eyes closed, with water flowing round her parted lips.
I wasn’t sure Lilly had had sex in the shower before – her delight in it seemed too real for it to be familiar. “I felt like I was in a porn movie,” she said afterwards. She’s talks so openly about her feelings; it’s lovely and makes me feel connected to her when we are together.
She kneels on the floor of the shower and takes my cock in her mouth, licking and sucking, grasping my balls as she does so. I lean over her to keep the water out of her eyes until I feel my knees weaken. She stands up and rests against me for a few moments, my arms wrapped around her protectively as the water washes the sex from us.
While she got dressed I nipped out to collect coffees and croissants for breakfast. We ate them in the lounge of our rather bare Airbnb rental, both of us quiet. She sat on my knee for a while and let me hold her, content just to be with me, words unnecessary. I like that she does that, lets our last few moments together take their own sweet, unhurried time, untroubled by conversation.
Monday evening; too down after the weekend, too lonely in a dull hotel, so I ask her for a call. She sounds just lovely: so bright and fresh compared to my tired flatness. I thought I just wanted a chat but she’s in her robe surrounded by candles, the Doxy vibrator I’d bought for her birthday beside her on the bed. I can picture her exactly from her words and from the sounds she makes, as I get to hear again the beauty of her orgasm; I love the way she looses herself in it, coming back to me only slowly each time, letting me imagine her flushed cheeks and her soft, knowing smile. When our time’s up, we look forward to our next meeting and blow each other a kiss.
Oh, Lilly. What pleasure, what ecstatic joy you have given me this weekend. We both know what this is, with its rules and its boundaries and its white envelopes stuffed with bank notes. I really don’t mind about all that. I don’t even mind if you’re only pretending that I’m a hot stud who can make you come at will. What you’ve brought me is so special, so glorious so…..so ‘needed’ that, whatever it is, I’ll take it, revel in it, and be forever thankful that I had this time with you.
The first part of this post is here
The image is used with permission of Miss Lilly Watson
It is extremely rare, not far from unique, for clients to be able to write about the intimate details of the time they spend with sex workers. That Lilly allows me to do so is a privilege and I try to use this privilege carefully.