Women didn’t generally go for guys like Reynold. Not when there were plenty of sports-types or good-looking entrepreneurs out there. And why should they? With his poor eyesight and terrible fashion sense, he knew he was not a good catch.
He’d learnt that lesson early on, way back in junior school. When the other guys found out he had the hots for the class beauty, they teased him mercilessly. Even the focus of his idolatry—the blue eyed, flaxen haired Susie Rogers—joined in the laughter until, broken by shame, he retreated into his schoolwork and never looked her way again.
College had been even worse. There, girls had brazenly thrown themselves at class studs and lecturers, teasing with innuendo and flaunting deliciously rounded breasts in low cut tops. Once again he found solace in his studies.
Thankfully he was not the only one aware of the likelihood of rejection should he dare approach one of these goddesses, and soon a social group of like-minded IT geeks and nerds emerged. By his third year, Reynold was producing groundbreaking ideas in software development. Given his obvious potential, he was snapped up by a highly respected global corporation as soon as he graduated.
It was with equanimity that he accepted how his life was turning out. He had a job he loved and more than enough money to play with. He had friends to call upon and colleagues who respected him.
But he had no one to love.
He told himself it wasn’t a major issue; after all, work was very fulfilling. In place of love, he treated himself twice a month to the services of an escort. It wasn’t just for sexual gratification, although of course that played a large part. It was interaction with a member of the opposite sex he yearned for. Of course he understood that for her it was nothing more than business, but even that didn’t diminish the experience. Quite the opposite. The knowledge allowed him to relax and be himself, without the worry of looking foolish.
For that was the problem with trying to date a normal woman. Even if he could pluck up the courage to ask one out—and just where was he supposed to find one that would agree to a date with him, anyway?—by the time they met he would be a nervous wreck. He would stutter and stumble over pre-dinner drinks, and from then on it would all be downhill. He hadn’t a clue about small talk, and long silences made him anxious to the point where he would fidget with the closest thing he could get his hands on. Usually an item of cutlery.
He supposed that was the reason why, on the few occasions he had asked a woman out, she always had a reason to leave early.
There was no doubt in his mind that paying for the company of an escort was the ideal solution, and he soon established a routine. First came the anticipation of choosing his escort. He was not a man who needed the thrill of a new encounter; rather, after weighing the attractions of each girl, he generally booked someone he had met before, someone he felt he had clicked with. Then he would reserve both a room at one of the city’s better hotels and a table in their fine dining restaurant.
Wearing a suit—one of the few times he ever did—he would wait in the hotel bar for his ‘date.’ The look of surprise from other men when she arrived and made her way towards him often brought home how nondescript he really was, but he would welcome her effusively and place a courteous kiss on her cheek. Then he would lead her to the secluded table he’d reserved, and after scanning the menu and ordering drinks they’d chat happily about the innocuous things that had happened in their respective days. Of course, it wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it was certainly better than nothing.
After dinner they would retire to his room. Even that was nowhere near as terrifying as he had once feared.
Of all Elite’s escorts, Chloe was his favourite. Mainly because she asked intelligent questions about his work—and anyone who could do that had a guaranteed place in his heart. He tried not to go into too much detail, not because the work he did was classified or anything like that, but it could be a dry subject for the uninitiated. With too many women he had noted eyes glazing over, and that was when he regretted not choosing a more exciting profession, such as heart surgeon or barrister. Had he done that, he might have been married by now.
Chloe seemed to like him for what he was. She made him feel important, as if he had social standing. He had once thought of asking her out on a real date. Perhaps something as ordinary as the movies. But, knowing she’d likely refuse, he’d never summoned the courage.
That was okay. At least this way he got the sex. Later, when they were alone, she would undress slowly, putting on a provocative show for him. He loved that. After slowly easing her top from her shoulders, she would dance and gyrate for him until all that was left was to invite him to remove the last piece of her clothing—the warm panties that smelled so sweetly of her.
It was as if she knew that such eroticism was a rarity in his life.
* * *
Anna tried to concentrate. This was not the first time she had been booked by Reynold, and while he was far too serious for her taste, he was an okay guy at heart. She knelt beside him on the bed, and closing her eyes, cupped her breasts and squashed them together. Men loved to watch her playing with herself, and he was no different. She supposed she should be grateful he was so easily accommodated. Pinching her nipples to encourage them to harden, she threw back her head and groaned. Acting the part wasn’t difficult, and she was a consummate performer. But lately it had begun to feel almost like a chore.
What was wrong with her?
Opening her eyes, she gave her client a practiced, sultry look. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes, glazed over with lust, were fixed on her tits. He was also sporting a tolerable erection. She parted her knees and slipped a finger between the lips of her cunt, then lifted the glistening tip to her mouth.
Reynolds’s tongue flicked out to coat his own lips.
He was almost there.
Reaching over as if for the glass of Champagne she had left on the bedside cabinet, she ensured her rose-pink nipples grazed his chest, and just as she had expected, he made a grab for them. She held the position, offering up murmurs of encouragement as he mauled her flesh. It was all very predictable, and everything he did lacked finesse, but that hardly mattered. She was not there to be aroused. Her role was to ensure that he received his money’s worth. She would give him a little longer and then, when it all became too tedious, she would roll a condom onto his cock for the grand finale.
As was usually the case, the Champagne would have to wait.