The Escort

I don’t think I ever need a wedding, not for most of the reasons I usually spout about them but because I had my big day. I had a glorious few days surrounded by the people I love. Doing exactly what I want.

It was the greatest party that anyone had ever thrown me. The house was heaving, the DJ’s were in and the base bins were hired. I won’t bore you with how good the rest of the day was we’ll just pick it up when we all piled back to mine around 3am. Which is when all good house parties start.

As I said the house was heaving, all three floors were packed and the music was great. A little too great. And the cops were inevitably called. It’s my house, I’m not sure where the house mates had disappeared to, but it was definitely me who was called to the door to deal with the cops. I don’t know if any of you know this but the law in Ireland is that if a neighbour calls to complain about the noise, the cops will show up but they can’t actually do anything. They can’t cross the threshold and they can’t arrest anyone. Essentially all they can do is ask you to turn it down. So unless anyone invites them in (much like vampires I note) they can’t come in or break up the party.

So out I went to talk to them. It’s worth noting that at this moment in time I am the happiest girl in Ireland. Quite truly. And I gleefully skip to the door to handle this.

“Hello Gardas!” I beam at them. And they immediately know what’s up, all 5 of them. They are smirking at me and are very amused at the situation.

“How’re you doing” is the first question, in a big Kerry accent.

“I’m great it’s my birthday!” I say, to barely stifled giggles from the cops.

“Do you’ve any idea how loud that music is?”

“Oh yeah” I concede, “that would be the bass bins”

“Oh we know, you don’t get that sound from anything that isn’t professional”

Me: –

“Any chance of keeping it down a bit, a few of the neighbours have been on to us?”

“You know what Garda, I’ll do my very best!”

And they all break down laughing and he gives up and heads off.

 

And I still don’t know how I didn’t default to shouting ‘Ah will you not come in for a quick dance?’

 

Anyway, as delighted as I was to get away with it that time, I’d heard that they had been at the door previously and no one could find me. So when the door went again, I was summoned. I wasn’t sure that my luck would last through a third warning. And what if there was another law? One that said that on a third warning they could come in and do what they liked?

But it was my house and it was my responsibility to face it.

 

Hello?

“Em, we’re your neighbours”

And my head then explodes.

 

Wait a second? You don’t look like you’re old and loaded and live in a giant house where my house is the mews? And you’re all … what’s going on here.

I think this in my newly exploded mind –  but I still start my, ‘ok we’ll try to turn it down’ speech but they stop me because they’re not the ones that complained, they were just on their way home from some other party and heard the noise.

Well come on in guys, there’s booze in the kitchen.

And 5 young fellas pile in, with a chorus of ‘Thanks, whose house it is, great party, is it a birthday, thanks’. While every one piled up behind me expecting a Cop Encounter points at me and I start my ‘Thank you, you’re welcome, get in quickly’ rant.

And the last guy in, hands me a china cup filled with sugar. “We em, needed sugar”.

Which was just so fecking cute!

 

I handed the cup to someone else and turned to try to head back down the hall into the sitting room. But the guy with the cup of sugar caught up with me.

“Hey, it’s your birthday, yeah?”

“It is!” I confirmed with another beam. And then he said he’d better give me a birthday kiss. I’m not going to stop him as I assume he means on the cheek. But nope, he means on the lips and he full on lobs the gob. And I just ….. let him.

And for the rest of the night he is by my side. In an inexplicably suave way. He asks me if I want a drink, I tell him that I’ve paid for all of it and he says, so what, do you want me to go get you one. And that’s how it continued. He kissed the face off me, told jokes, danced, checked on anything I needed. It was, well unprecedented. And it just seemed lovely, not weird at all.

I am enjoying it immensely and all of a sudden I think of that film True Romance, and I start to think that this is all too good to be true. Not that I care, but I really start to think that …. Someone got him for me as a birthday present!

No seriously, I did.

So I asked the girls, and their incredulous laughter didn’t actually allay my suspicions. The night wore on and the more I enjoyed this guy’s company and his attention to me the more I convinced myself that they had hired him. He was perfect. And anyone who knows me well would know damn rightly that the best present that I could get on my birthday would be sex.

 

I knew it sounded crazy but the better he was the more I questioned them, the more they laughed the less sure I became that it was a crazy notion. I mean it can’t be impossible, can it? (just to clarify, in the cold light of day, I think that it might be impossible to get a 25 year old, hot, straight male escort in Dublin – I’m open to being corrected)

 

The party rages on. It winds down, some head off to an early house and then back to my place and eventually it’s just a few of my best mates and The Escort as I’m not calling him, and his best mate. Me and the escort go to bed. We don’t have sex but we do have some fun.

The party was Friday night and he stayed until Sunday evening. And eventually we do have sex and it is everything.

He doesn’t have the biggest cock but he sure knows his way around a girl. And I have some of the best sex of my life with him. I come every time.

He would start kissing me, then bite my ear and start the whispering.

Do you know what I’m going to do to you? I never answered.

Then he’d slip his arms around me lightly, at first but I knew what he was doing.

I’m going to fuck you til you’re out breath from screaming my name. And at that I would buck, arching my back and exhaling a sigh.

I’m going to push right into your aching pussy and work it until you can’t even beg anymore. Again I’d buck and he’d tighten his arms around me, so I couldn’t move.

Next up he’d go back to kissing my neck and then sucking my ear – which sends me wild. I can’t keep still if someone does that. He was well aware.

I know you want it, but you’re not getting it yet, I know what you want, I know you’re aching for it.

And of course I was, but he wasn’t done yet.

But I’m not going to give you my cock just yet, I’m going to hang on to your tits with one hand while I slip the other into your knickers.

He narrated everything he was going to do, making the anticipation all part of the fore play. He never stopped talking to me, either telling me what he was going to do or describing what he was doing, always at my ear, filling it with words I loved.

Telling me how much he loved my pussy, telling me how he was going to eat it. And when he was in me, he’d tell me how he loved how tight it was, how wet it was, how neat the lips were and how he loved to see them swollen.

 

It was all words and all talk all delivered well. He’d have me so aroused even before he got his hand in my underwear. Every time.

I didn’t realise how much I was into in until him.

 

Every ride we had was perfect. Even the last one. Where we had sex, ate pizza, had sex again and then he went home then called me to end it.

 

It was 6 weeks of perfect kissing and spectacularly successful sex.

And he’s still up there as one of the best. He is similarly referred to as The Escort or Edward Norton by my friends. And even now when I think of good dirty talk I think of him and I get wet.

 

I wonder who thinks of me like that?

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