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She fulfilled her fantasy of experiencing another woman.

I had finished my cocktail and you asked what it was, and said you would buy me another one. I wanted a different one. I am so dumb! and I know I have expensive tastes. I don't want to impose on people. I said: "Are you sure? It will set you back a bit." What a green lady! You, who were clearly staying in that exclusive expensive place not just popping in for a Bud. You really laughed and said: "Money is not a problem," as you went back to the bar.

So then I am thinking about the missed opportunity to go upstairs with you and a bottle of red wine (probably not a Margaux, although possibly it might get the chance to breathe). When you come back and my cocktail arrives, I twiddle with the stem of the glass and you can get another of your carelessly penetrating questions in. I lift a corner of the curtain from the picture of my life and you laugh and say you don't believe me and I laugh and take a sip of my drink.

When I get near the bottom of the glass, I decide. I lean over and say to you softly: "If I come up and give you a blowjob, will you not pressure me for anything-else?"

I think you might have been trying to figure out if I would at least give you a blowjob, since you are smart and had realised you would probably not get anything-else. Maybe, too, you expected me to ask for ... whatever the going rate is for men like you to screw a woman like I look like.

But I am not like that.

"I ... can do that," you say hurriedly, trying to suppress the satisfaction in your voice.

"I just like to suck cock," I say, as softly as I can -- although our near neighbours are quite a noisy party of cackling women and the music is quite loud.

"Oh...kay," I can see you are on the verge of asking about it, because like me, you like to lift the curtain on people's lives. But you are smart and you know that at this point there are still two ways the game could go. I could come up and give you a blowjob. Or you could talk to me and find out more about me. Then I will not give you something casually blown like a kiss from someone passing in the night. I will give you something more intimate: a deeper look into my life. Maybe you are surprised that I have made the forward pass, but you are very pleased to have the advantage.

You drain your Bud quickly because you see I'm near the end of my cocktail, and you stand up while I roll that last mouthful down the concave side of the glass, over my tongue, to the back of my throat. There are red lipstick kisses from my Dior Dolce Vita on the rim of the glass.

I stand more slowly, collecting my handbag and coat. My heart is already beating faster, anxiety and desire making my skin prickle. You take my hand and put it through your arm -- like I might change my mind and go. I smile, reassured by your anxiety not to lose me to the anonymous autumn night.

We walk through from the noisy cool exclusive atmosphere of the bar to the lobby. You press the button for the lift. It makes a discreet plush ping as the doors open. Another couple get in so we have to stand behind them, you holding my hand firmly in your arm. They are young: giggling and pushing each other, honeymooners maybe. We stand not looking at them or each other.

I long to kiss you so much that my cunt has gone wet and soft. The feel of your muscular arm under my hand makes my legs shake. I want you so badly that if I look at you I will cry with excitement and suppressed lust.

Along the corridor to your room. I always wondered what the rooms are like, ever since I declined an invitation from someone too young to be fun, to go up and see him with a large cucumber. (Uh -- that was a joke! I don't really like to have sex with vegetables on public transport.)

Now I can't take it in, what it's like -- other than discreetly luxurious.

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