Thursday, December 4, 2008

That's What Friends Are For

"You wanna do WHAT with my dress?"

It was one of my best friends, giggling down the phone line at me as I awkwardly tried to explain. She wanted to meet me for after work (realjob) cocktails and I was trying to explain why it might be a problem all in one rushed breath.

"Um, it's my first ever outcall, and that little black dress you lent me for the realjob Xmas party was so hot I decided I was going to wear it tonight. And I was hoping you would never find out. But if I meet you for cocktails before the outcall you'd see me in the dress, and then you might feel weird that I was gonna take it out whoring without your permission."

There was more laughter from her end.

"At least someone will be getting some in that dress. Come to cocktails and show me how hot it looks on you."

And that's why I love Bell. She's a fashion guru for sure, funny to boot, and totally openminded. She's full of curves too, we're about the same size.

When I look at her I always think she's been to some secret class on how fat chicks can actually dress in a totally funky, unique way. So when my realjob Xmas party rolled around, I'd asked for her advice, and that black dress had turned up on my door in a plastic bag.

It was wasn't all layers of material to hide rolls and bulges. It was truly the cocktail dresses than skinny gal wore. But it had a layer of material that seemed to hold my belly in, and, most importantly, it had straps wide enough to cover the F cup bras I was forced to wear. And still looked slinky and come-hither.

That dress is probably why I decided to do the outcall. He was gonna be client #5 in my brand new hobby/enthusiasm/exploration of the escorting world. My age , and his photo showed him to be cute - probably someone I'd pick up in a pub anyhow. The downside was it was only a half hour booking and on the other side of town. I tried to talk him into an incall - explaining he'd save travel money. But he didn't even want to pay travel money.

I try never to negotiate, but I'll admit his pic was so dammed cute, and I wanted so badly to turn up on his door step in my dress that I agreed to do it at least to test the waters of outcalls. It seemed a safeish experiment - since he lived in the nice part of town too. The least likely of serial killer suburbs, although of course you never can tell.

I explained that I'd give a friend his details - photos, address, phone numbers - the works. And that I'd have to call her at the beginning and end of our time. And that he'd need to give me a tour of his entire apartment so I could make sure he was alone. He agreed.

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