Dream come true, or ... nightmare?

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by donQuixote04

The story I'll be posting over the next few days is true. Even the dialog is substantially accurate, though abridged. The story isn't over. It may be close to being over, or it may have hardly even begun. I don't know if it will end up as a dream come true or my worst nightmare. Although the story is true, I've changed the names, aliases, and a lot of potentially identifying details. This even includes my handle, which I just registered to start this thread. The purpose of the thread is partly to tell my story, and partly to ask for opinions and advice. Of course, I make no commitments about listening to your opinions or following your advice, but I'd like to read your comments and advice just the same. I will commit to posting updates here from time to time, so you can see for yourself how this will eventually turn out.
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chapter 1: dream come true, or ... nightmare?

by donQuixote04

It was a beautiful Spring day last year -- just about exactly a year ago. I was a couple of weeks past my 50th birthday, and in Manhattan on business. I figured it was time to buy myself a gift. But what? I've been married for a long time -- nearly three decades. My wife is a good mother and a good housekeeper, but has also gained nearly two pounds for each year we've been married, and no longer has any interest in making love. I may have been 50, but my carnal interests were still falling somewhere between twice a week and once a day. Not to mention the craving for variety. So what to buy myself for my birthday? Isn't it
obvious? I decided to visit my favorite incall place.

I've been hobbying for a while. At first it was for variety's sake. In the last few years, it was to find an outlet for my sexuality. Trying to make love to my wife is so much of an effort and apparent imposition that I frankly have a tough time sustaining an erection with her. Over the
years I've learned that the single most important factor for my arousal is how aroused my partner is. I think it's partly an ego thing, along the lines of: "I must be good if I can make her become excited." This means, of course, that my wife's indifference is a complete and total turn-off.
Continuing attempts seem destined to lead to increasing impotence. Is this the root cause of many cases of impotence among middle-aged men? I have no idea, but it sure seems to be an issue in my case. And masturbating all the time is just not emotionally satisfying.

Of course, this is an issue for my sessions with providers, also. If they are too mechanical, or too obviously faking it, or too aware of the time, or appear to be even a little bit indifferent, then it's just not going to work for me. That's why I ask my companions to help me act out a fantasy, so long as they're comfortable with it. Nothing too wierd. Just something designed to make their apparent arousal obvious to my dumb little head. If a provider is a good actress, I'm turned on, and the session is likely to be a spectacular success.

After my morning business meeting, I arrived at the incall place a little before noon. Things were very quiet. There was no evidence of any other clients; I may have been the first of the day. Five or six providers were lounging around and I got my pick. I didn't recognize one of them, and she was pretty and smiling and so obviously much closer to my type than any of the others. "What's your name?" I asked the thin pretty blonde with large breasts.

"Amy. What's yours?"

"I'm Don," I replied, sitting on the sofa next to her. She immediately put her hand on my leg, just above my knee, and leaned toward me, smiling. The top of her dress opened up a bit as she leaned forward, giving me a pretty good view of her cleavage. I was already getting hard.

"Can I get you something to drink, Don?"

"Thanks. Just a glass of water, please."

She stood up and went to the kitchen to get the water. While she was away the madame came over to the sofa and began to babble something about "apology," "appointment," and "thought I was someone else." Though she was clumsy about explaining it, I soon figured out that Amy had a 12:30pm appointment and that at first the madame had incorrectly assumed that I was that guy. "Can you come back later?" she asked.

Normally, I wouldn't have considered this suggestion. But Amy was so pretty, and exactly the sort of woman that turns me on. I looked at my watch, tried to remember my calendar for the rest of the day and tomorrow, did some mental calculations, and figured she would be free by 1:30pm. Amy was returning with my glass of ice water just as I replied "Sure, I'll get lunch. How about a two o'clock slot?"

"Two o'clock will be fine. See you then."

"Oh, you're not my 12:30?" Amy asked as she handed me the glass.

"I'm afraid not, Amy, but you're obviously worth waiting for, so I'll be back later." I sipped some water, and put the glass down on the counter, picked up my briefcase, gave Amy a goodbye kiss on her cheek, and walked out smiling.

I stopped in a luncheonette for a sandwich, and then browsed in a Barnes & Noble for a while, killing time until I judged it was okay to go back. While I was there, I picked out a blank greeting card made to look like an old-fashioned book cover. The book's cover illustration featured the picture of a young woman from the 1920s, dressed as a "flapper." The title of the book was "Stories of a Remarkable Young Woman."

I bought the card for Amy, and when I was outside, I found a place to sit in the warm breeze and wrote a brief inscription inside the card: "Dear Amy, To someone who seems to be very remarkable, indeed. I'm really looking forward to meeting you. With my best regards, Don." I wrote "Amy" on the envelope, and before sealing it, put enough cash inside to cover the house fee as well as a generous tip. It's been my custom in the last few years to pay more than expected. I do this partly as a way to show respect for the providers that I meet, and -- I admit -- partly to help communicate to these providers that I hope and expect to receive a high level of service.

I was a little warm when I got back up to the house. Amy was sitting on the sofa waiting for me, wearing a different dress than the one she had on before. This one also featured a low neckline. Clearly, she's interested in showing off her best assets.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted me.

"Hi, Amy. You look terrific! How are you doing?"

"Fine. The room is all ready for us. Would you like anything to drink before we go on in?"

"Maybe another glass of ice water, thank you."

Amy poured the water, and took my hand and led me into the bedroom. "Would you like to use the bathroom?" she asked.

"Actually, I would, and I think I'll take a quick shower, too, if that's all right with you?"

I put the envelope with the card and fee on the night table and closed the bathroom door behind me. I turned the shower on, stripped, and stood in front of the toilet to take a leak. The trouble was that Amy was beautiful I was already a bit hard in anticipation. This made it impossible to piss without spraying the wall at least seven feet high. It took a minute or so for me to soften enough to empty myself, and even then I had to lean forward against the wall, propping myself up at a very difficult angle. Then the quick shower,
a quick dry, back into my pants and t-shirt, and back to Amy.

She was sitting on the bed, smiling at me as I walked back into the bedroom. "Don, that was such a nice card. Thank you so much."

"Your welcome, Amy. It's my pleasure."

"So, what do you like to do," she asked?

"Uhhh, how do you feel about a little game of make-believe?"

"Well, sure. I mean, maybe. It depends. What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing kinky or anything. Just a little innocent game of pretend. Let's make believe we're in high school, and we've just come back from a date. It was our first date, and your first date since breaking up with your ex-boyfriend. We've been to a movie, and now we're back at your house, and no one else is at home. We decide to watch some TV and start to neck. You're cool with that, but you had decided ahead of time that you don't want to do much more than just kiss on a first date. So, when I get a little 'frisky' with my hands, you push me away, gently, but don't make a big thing about it or anything. The thing is, though, that I'm a bit persistent, and I try the hand thing again, while we're kissing. And the other thing is, you think I'm kind of cute, and it's been a long time since you've been out with anyone, and you've begun to get a little hot, in spite of yourself. So you take a little longer before you push my hands away the second time. This goes on a few more times, and each time you are getting more and more aroused and taking longer and longer before pushing my hands away. After a while, you are moaning and squirming a bit, and finally not stopping me at all. Next, I start sliding my hands up your skirt, and the same thing happens, until, after a few attempts, I've got my fingers inside your panties, and you're just about out of control. After a little more time, I'm not moving fast enough for you, and you take over the lead. Well, that's it. What do you think?"

"Wow. That actually sounds like a lot of fun! Let's do it. Where do we start?"

Amy played out the fantasy perfectly. She seemed to cum with my hands between her legs (more than once), and again later with my head between her legs (more than once), and again with her legs around my hips (more than once) until I finally came myself. Have you heard the term for storms that are so powerful they are rare? If they are rare enough that they are unlikely to happen more than once every 100 years they are called "hundred-year" storms? Well, this was at least a "decade" session -- the sort that can change the way a person thinks about the hobby and every provider that person has ever seen. I couldn't remember ever making love like that with anyone else, ever. The thing was, it seemed to me that we had real chemistry going between us. Amy seemed to came with me after just a couple of minutes of stroking or licking her clitoris. In a ten minute period, Amy might have come three or four times. I lost track of the total count during our hour together, figuring at first, that it was part of the fantasy and that Amy was a very talented actress. Every time her body stiffened and shook, I'd get that much more aroused. I couldn't remember being so hard in my life. I might as well have been 19 again.
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chapter 1a: dream come true, or ... nightmare?

by donQuixote04

My big head knew it was a wonderful act, and also knew that my little head couldn't tell the difference. Still, after decades of making love, the stiffening, the shaking, the way Amy's breathing would change, and the way her vagina seemed to spasm, all made me wonder if it was real. Afterwards, as we were snuggling together, I decided to ask her. She told me what I assumed was the lie she wanted me to believe, and I pretended to believe her. It had to be faked, I reasoned. Not only had I never experienced a provider who responded the way Amy seemed to respond, I had never been with anyone who responded to me that way. It had to be faked.

Still, Amy made it clear that the hour had been special for her, so I decided not to press the point. I also decided to see her again as soon as possible.
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chapter 2. dream or nightmare

by donQuixote04

The next week, I called ahead to book another session with Amy. Bummer. She wasn't working that week. Or the next. She wouldn't be back for nearly a month. Apparently she's very part-time. I made a note of when she would be back in action, and figured I'd go out of my way to visit her again.
Chapter 3. dream or nightmare

by DonQuixote04

It was early summer when I was able to book another session with Amy. A beautiful summer day. A beautiful session with beautiful Amy. She seemed happy to see me, remembered me from our previous meeting, and when we were in the room she asked me if I wanted to do the same scenario. I had a different one in mind. Amy was cool with the new act too, and the session was just as terrific as the first time. Once again, my big head told me that her dozen-plus orgasms had to be faked, but Amy, in happy post-coital talk assured me that they were very real.

Amy is not only a beautiful woman, but is also fun to talk to. I asked her when she was planning to work again, and when I heard that it was more than six weeks away, two thoughts went through my head. First, I tried to figure out if I could get to Manhattan again the next day. When I faced up to the fact that there was no way, I took a leap and asked her if she would be willing to see me again before six weeks passed -- somewhere else -- maybe at her place, or maybe at a hotel.

Amy seemed to like the idea of getting together, but it wouldn't be easy, she explained. She lived in Montreal, and came to New York every few weeks for a week at a time. This was a bummer, but not a total bummer. I actually visit Montreal every now and then on business. Not as often as my trips to Manhattan, but every now and then. Perhaps I'd be able to find some reasons to get to Montreal a little more often, I thought to myself. I mentioned this to Amy and asked her if she'd be willing to see me in Montreal if I were on a business trip there. Sure, she told me, and she gave me her cell phone number, with its 514 Montreal area code. Her real name is Lisa. In return, I gave her my voice mail number.

"So, Lisa, can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure, go right ahead."

"How is it that such a beautiful person as yourself could still be single?"

"Well, Don, most of the men I meet seem to want to move much too fast. I have a regular career besides this, and I'm not ready to settle down yet. And besides, I used to live with a guy, and that was kind of like being married, anyway."

"Were you with him a long time?"

"Yeah, ten years," she replied.

"That is a long time. ... Why did it end?"

"We were very young when we met and got together. I'm 33 now, so you can figure out that I was just a kid. His name is Ian. He's from England. I still love him, I guess, but not in a sexual way anymore. I see him every now and then. We're still wonderful friends, but there's nothing more to it than that."

"So why didn't you two decide to get married?"

"I don't know. I guess by the time it would have made sense to get married, our relationship had already cooled down too much for it to happen."

"I think he's crazy for letting you get away, Lisa. What kind of work do you do in Montreal?"

"I own a dress shop. That's why I come to New York every few weeks -- I do my buying here. And it's easy to combine a buying trip with spending some time here."

We talked some more about the things we liked and didn't like about New York and Montreal, kissed, and said goodbye.
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Chapter 4. Dream or nightmare

by donQuixote04

I continued to think about Lisa for many days afterward. I was convincing myself that the sexually the chemistry between us was real. In the next couple of weeks, I found some reasons to call my Montreal contacts, and see if I couldn't drum up some business to justify a trip. Sure enough, after just a day I had a reasonable lead, and decided to call Lisa. Again, a bummer! When I called the number she had given me, I got a recording saying the number was out of service. And it stayed out of service every time I tried over the next day or two. I wondered if Lisa had just blown me off by giving me a bogus number, or if there was some other explanation. There was nothing to do about it but wait for Lisa's next appearance in New York. So I did.
Re: Re: Hmmmmm....

Originally posted by hombre

It isn't me, if that's what you're thinking.
Gosh, Hombre I didn't even mention your name and you're already on the defense!!! Okay, I admit I thought it was you, so if you say it isnt you I will take your word for it. It just seemed like something you'd write, forgive me please.
Re: Hmmmmm....

Originally posted by JohnnyK
Okay, I admit I thought it was you, so if you say it isnt you I will take your word for it. It just seemed like something you'd write, forgive me please.
I'll let you live...this time. I'd have no problem owning up to it if it *was* me, though.

I noticed the similarity in styles myself. I've used the "continued next episode" gimmick elsewhere to great effect, and there's a level of detail there like something I might do.

How to tell it's not me?

-Writing style's a little straightforward, and the guy doesn't read like he's as much of an egghead as me. I tend to toss out metaphors and similes like Egg McMuffins during McDonalds' breakfast rush. (And use odd imagery like that.)

-Long passages consisting entirely of quotes aren't something I'd normally do. And my dialogue sounds different.

-My stuff tends to have more of an internal focus.

There are a couple of other Hombre writing quirks that astute readers may have picked up on over time -- idiosyncracies of grammar, style and punctuation -- but none of them are here. The guy did a good job, though; I want to know what happens next.
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Would you recognize MY writing style?

Another reason I thought it was you is the fact that he keeps reediting his posts and I know that you are a stickler and constantly want to refine your writings. (you have always stated that you want to have the edit function on JAG reviews, too)

BUT, maybe you knew that someone would recognize your writing and you have altered it slightly to throw us off!! I'm on to your conpiracy Hombre, I KNOW of your plans for world domination, it won't work THIS time. Go crawl back into your hollowed out volcano.
Re: Would you recognize MY writing style?

Originally posted by JohnnyK
I'm on to your conpiracy Hombre, I KNOW of your plans for world domination, it won't work THIS time. Go crawl back into your hollowed out volcano.
Perhaps you won't be singing the same happy tune when my laser satellites are raining down flaming death on your tiny head! Die, bitch, die!

Awww, fuck...that's the DVD remote. Where'd I put the satellite controls?
Don Q:

Some of us have our own "Dulcinea".

During intimacy, I also monitor breathing and try to sense vaginal twitching. I used to assume acting. Now I just consider their reaction just a part of their performance-- real or contrived.

You should be published--that is, if you haven't been up to this point. I am really enjoying this tale. I look forward to its resolution.
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