Her politeness indicated a lady of some education in the social graces. She had already demonstrated that he had two huge tits hidden under her tent, ...ut she was not, in any way, shape, or form, really pretty. In college the term used for girls like her was “Butter Face”. As in her body is fantastic, but her face is a no so great.“I write erotica. It was an erotic romance.”“Erotica? As in porn?”“No. I don’t write stroke stories. That’s what those kinds of stories are called. Those stories are. I’ve waited and wanted this time to come all of my life and now that its here, I never want it to end.”I was dumbfounded at her confession, of her declaration of her feelings. It suddenly started coming together in my brain. She wasn’t just teasing me with her suggestive displays and her coyness. She was trying to get my attention so she could show me how she felt. I’m not saying that I agree with her ways but I’m starting to at least understand her actions.I turned her head to look into her. The escort gazed at her client standing in the doorway. Feeling her rising excitement as she looked at him taking in his appearance. He was tall and broad shouldered an immaculate gray suit clothed his firm build. She dragged her gaze higher and felt a smile curve her lips. With his midnight black hair that just fell short of his collar, chiseled features and blue eyes now darkened with lust she wondered why needed her. She squashed that thought quickly. Tonight she was his. Deep down she had a. But lovely as all that was, none of it mattered. What mattered for mewas the maelstrom of emotions throughout: the nervous anticipation;the whirlwind of anxiety, hope, fear, terror even, giving way to evermore delicious excitement; the rapture, exaltation, love, and bliss.And the joy, unending and almost unendurable. And how can one putthat down on paper? I loved them all, and none more than that nicenewcomer, who turned out to have no sense of proportion or limits, nonotion of when to stop. He.