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I sign the credit card slip, but I’m not ready to leave. My target is just finishing her desert. She has been there a long time and will want to visit the Ladies Room before leaving. Yes, she is getting up now.
Silently I count to fifty, then follow her. As expected, she has finished her business and is leaning into the mirror, touching up her makeup. She must be pushing 70, and although she has a good figure, the years show. I check her out—medium height, very slender, small breasts, died blonde hair, generous mouth, nice eyes. In her prime I’ll bet she was a real beauty.
“Lovely, the way they’ve done the lighting in here,” I say, standing next to her.
“Yes it is. If only my skin looked as good out there as it does in here.”
I laughed. “I know what you mean. But you don’t have to worry. I hope I can age as well as you.”
She looks me over. I am twenty-nine, five-six, one-twenty, and if I do say so, well put together. My waist is slim, my breasts are large and firm, and my rear is round and volleyball tight. I work to keep it that way.
“Oh dear,” she says with a sigh, “I was like you a long time ago. If only there were a magic pill.”
For the last hour I have observed her dining with her attractive husband. It’s my job. I was blessed with a sultry kind of beauty, and I have discovered a way to use it to make other people happy, doing what I like best, and making a good living in the process.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a prostitute. Not by my definition. A prostitute lets men dominate her and use her body in return for money. I don’t take money for sex, at least not directly. And I’m not a marriage-wrecker, a woman who seduces husbands to become a well-compensated mistress.
No, I have discovered a much more beneficial way to use my beauty and sexuality. My job is to seek out wealthy older women who truly love their husbands and help them show their love. I think of myself as a kind of marriage consultant.
“We all have to take life as it comes,” I say, turning towards her. “You seem to have done it well. I am here dining alone, and you have been enjoying the attentions of a man who obviously adores you. I’ve been watching. You two never stopped talking.”
The woman looks at me appreciatively. “I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you like this,” I say.
She smiles. “Oh no, and you’re right. I’m a lucky lady, married to a wonderful man for over forty years. There’s nothing we don’t talk about.”
“I so admire women like you,” I say sincerely. “In fact I’ve started a business based on serving older, happily married women. Well, it’s been nice speaking with you.”
I start toward the door. If this lady is a good prospect, she will be dying to know about my business. Otherwise, she is the wrong type, and no sales pitch will work. What I am selling is more than a little unconventional, and my customers must be curious and open-minded.
Sure enough, she calls out. “Wait. You must tell me. What is it you do?”
I give her a big smile. “It’s very simple. I help women give their men presents that demonstrate their love. Here’s my card. Call me if you are interested.”
Quickly I exit the room and leave the restaurant. I don’t want her to feel any pressure. It’s bad enough that she may suspect I followed her into the restroom. If she is the right type, she will call.
Her husband’s eyes track me as I go. Another good sign. He’s not afraid to stare at a pretty girl when his wife is not watching. When I’m out prospecting I always dress fashionably, but sexily, with high heels and short dresses that show off my exceptional legs. Out of the corner of my eye I see him fighting to tear his eyes away as his wife approaches.
Everything is going as planned. I have a hit rate of better than fifty percent. But then I am very particular about qualifying potential customers. The couple must seem close, be over sixty, expensively dressed and refined in appearance, and the man must be reasonably attractive. I now have five of them paying me a retainer of a thousand a month. I want five more.
The next morning I am sipping coffee on my balcony when my phone chimes.
“Hello. Is this Daphne?”
I recognize her voice. Bingo.
“Yes, this is Daphne.”
“Hi. Uh, I’m the woman you met last night at the Café Roma. My name is Claire.”
“Why hello Claire. I’m so happy to hear from you.”
“Well, I was intrigued by your card. You invited me to call you, and here I am.”
“I’m so glad you called. You are probably wondering what exactly I do.”
“Your card certainly makes one curious. All it says is, Daphne, Gift Consultant.”
“If you will meet me for lunch, I can explain.”
Three hours later we are seated in a booth at a popular downtown restaurant. Claire is wearing a dark suit with a white blouse and pearls. Very elegant, very conservative. Her eyes radiate intelligence. She is alert, lively, and obviously very interested. I will soon learn how open-minded she is.
I am wearing a casino siteleri short skirt and sweater, a tight sweater. Underneath I have on my best push-up, and my breasts are standing out like grapefruit. I want her to see the effect I have on the men in the restaurant. They probably think I am her out-of-control daughter.
We make small talk and both ordered salads. Our male waiter leaves, giving me a final once over. Men are so predictable.
“Now, tell me,” she says expectantly. “What is a gift consultant who helps older women show their love for their husbands?”
“It’s hard buying gifts for your husband, right? If he wants something, he buys it himself.”
“Yes, that’s true,” she replies, cocking her head, waiting to see where I’m going with this. “My husband’s birthday is this week, and I am at a loss.”
His birthday. What a fortunate coincidence. I press on. “He seems to have everything, but does he really. What is it that men always want, can’t get enough of, no matter what their age?”
She smiles. “I had a feeling you were going in this direction. Sex seems always to be lurking in their heads, but age does temper it. It certainly has for me. I don’t think my Tom misses it so much anymore.”
“How do you know? Could that be wishful thinking? Wanting him to be like you and see sex as a pleasant memory?”
I have hit it hard, and she reacts angrily. “Hold on young lady. You have just met me. You know nothing about our sex life. You are presuming a lot.”
“Sorry to be so direct,” I say. “But it’s a sad fact that most women lose interest in sex after their child bearing years.”
She leans back. “So what are you offering, some kind of Viagra for women?”
Another bingo. Her reaction has confirmed that sex is no longer a big part of her loving relationship with her husband. However, I still have a long way to go to hook her.
“Don’t I wish,” I say earnestly. “Unfortunately, as things stand now, men and women remain very different in that category. Vital older men are blessed, and sometimes cursed, with a continuing strong sex drive. Not so for wives their same age.”
Claire throws up her hands. “Tell me something I don’t know. What is your solution? What is this ‘gift’ you are selling? A new, younger wife for my so-called sex-starved husband?”
I shake my head. “Not hardly. He doesn’t want that, and I doubt you would pay me for it. And just in case you may be thinking it, I’m not a prostitute.”
“Oh, heavens no. I never thought that,” she lies.
“Here’s what I do. I become your friend, earn your trust, and work with you to devise ways for you to give exciting sex to your husband, whether you are into it or not. Although, I often find that older women do get into it with the kind of stimulation I provide. I never do anything with your husband that you are unaware of and have not approved.”
Her mouth drops open. I can almost see the wheels spinning in her head. Images of lap dances, threesomes, and some of her own fantasies are no doubt firing her neurons. But it will take time, and a lot of persuasion, before she will allow herself to think seriously about my proposal.
“Oh my,” she finally manages. “Do you mean that I would give you as a present to my husband?”
I grin and pull my shoulder back. “Yes, among other things. Do you think he would like me?”
She returns my smile. “No doubt about that. But then what use would he have for me?”
My expression becomes serious, and I give her my standard pitch. “Here’s what I have learned. You give your husband this gift, and your relationship with him will deepen. You will share all the same things you do now, plus mutual revelations of your innermost desires and cravings. His gratitude for your understanding and willingness to give to him in this way will be overwhelming. He will love you more, not less.”
The part about ‘mutual revelations’ is an attempt to draw her out on her own sexuality. She takes the bait.
“What do you mean by ‘mutual revelations’? Does the wife get involved?”
“If she wants to. And in my experience, she usually does. It opens new doors.”
I wait for her reaction. I am thoroughly bi-sexual and love it when the wife participates. More than once wives have called me to come over when their husbands were away.
Claire is thoughtful, alternating between looking at me and down at the table. The waiter returns with our salads. He realizes we are having a serious conversation and leaves without comment.
She picks up her fork and spears a piece of lettuce. Her eyes stare into mine. I am expecting more questions about girl on girl sex, but she surprises me.
“This is all very interesting, but in my case there would be a big problem. My husband has erectile dysfunction, the dreaded ED. I’m telling you this because I feel I can trust you. If you breathe word, I swear I will murder you.”
“Privacy is paramount with me,” I say. “Talking about my clients would not only be fatal for my business, it is morally repugnant to me personally. You don’t have slot oyna to worry. Now tell me more. I assume he has tried Viagra.”
“Once or twice. It helps some, but not enough. He has given up.”
Another bingo. I can really help this couple. Claire is probably giving hubby minimal stimulation, and what juice he is getting is not being held in. It’s amazing how little men and women know about each other’s bodies.
I put my hand on hers. “Listen to me Claire. Your situation is as common as apple pie. And it’s fixable. You can give your husband the greatest of all gifts—his self-respect. And a lot of sensual pleasure for you both in the process.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not giving him some new super drug.”
“No drugs,” I exclaim emphatically. “Here’s what happens. Older men’s erections can soften because the tissues that hold in the blood have become weak. More stimulation may produce enough blood pressure for a workable erection, but the foreplay for married couples is usually the same-old, same-old, and because the woman has a lower sex drive, she is not taking any initiatives.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Claire says.
I smile. “You may know the causes, but you haven’t thought seriously about the cure. It’s simple. An order of magnitude more stimulation, and a device to help retain the blood. A simple band at the base of the penis, tightened at the right moment, will keep him stiff as a board.”
Claire is doubtful. “And this always works?”
“Not always, but it’s worth a try. It’s easy, and it’s fun.”
“And I suppose you provide the super stimulation.”
My response is to grin and lick my lips. She laughs.
“Maybe Tom should talk with a urologist first. I suggested he do this when the problem first occurred, but he never did. Honestly I think he sensed my lack of interest, so he just dropped it.”
I nod. “That’s what usually happens. Sex is no good when your partner isn’t responding.”
She grins. “And you always respond?”
“Always. I don’t take clients whose husbands are gross. And I get rid ones whose husbands are mean.”
For a long minute Claire eats her salad in silence. I keep still, letting her mull over what she’s heard. The interest is there, but will she take the next step?
She looks up. “You actually have couples who pay you to do this?”
“Oh yes, but it is the wife who pays me, not the husband. She is in control. I began doing this six months ago and now have five women paying me one thousand dollars a month to be available when they want me.”
I take a bite and smile. “Yes, it’s been incredible.”
“What about your personal life? Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I’ve had many, but right now, no. It would take a special man to share this time in my life. I get real satisfaction from seeing the results of my work, and I love the sex. The unconventional nature of it turns me on like you wouldn’t believe.”
She laughs. “Unconventional is the understatement of the year. How did you get into this?”
“When I was younger I worked for a while as an aide in a nursing home. I gave sponge-baths to old men, and with many of them I saw the pleasure I was able to provide when no one else was around. Their wives came to visit, but would never do what I did for them. I loved the feeling I got from the experience.”
Claire is mesmerized, her salad forgotten. “What did you do?” she asks, wanting details. It is an opportunity for me to become more intimate with her.
“At first I would innocently give more attention to their gentiles, you know, just linger, like extra cleaning was needed. Sometimes I got no reaction, and sometimes an indication of impatience or embarrassment. With those men I backed off. But other times the man would signal either verbally or by his movements that he liked it. I knew if he told anyone it could get me in trouble, so I would act like it was an accident and move on.
“However, I would remember the man, and if I got no blow back, the next time I sponged him I would be more overtly sexual. Buttons would mysteriously come undone on my uniform, showing young cleavage while I worked. Four out of five would eventually have orgasms.”
“My goodness!” Claire exclaims. “I had no idea such things went on!”
“People can be so prudish about sex. Once a nurse caught me and gave me this big lecture. She said it was disgusting, that it was like raping the poor old men. Ridiculous!”
“I agree,” says Claire. “How can it be rape if they consent?”
“Right,” I chuckle. “Often the consent was in the form of a happy facial expression, like when I fed them ice cream.”
Claire laughs. “You are wise for your age, my dear.”
“Sex is a wonderful part of life,” I respond seriously. “If it can last all the way to the end, so much the better. And when I can demonstrate love for my fellow human that way, it gives me pleasure. So that’s your answer about how I got into this business.”
I hope I haven’t overdone my ‘nobility’ speech, but Claire seems captivated. She takes canlı casino siteleri a bite of salad.
“I have to say, I’m intrigued,” she says.
Bingo again. She’s coming along nicely. Time to try to hook her.
“Back to your situation. If you decide to work with me, you wouldn’t have to commit to a monthly arrangement in the beginning. You could try it out, see how your husband reacts, how you feel. Treat his birthday this year like a once in lifetime adventure.”
“I’m not sure how Tom would react. He might not want to take a chance on upsetting the apple cart.”
“That can be an issue,” I agree. “He may worry that his relationship with you will suffer, and think it’s not worth the risk. It would be important for you to allay those fears. I would work with you on a plan.”
“Just making a plan would be fun,” she giggles. “What would trying it out cost me?”
“Nothing. I want to establish our friendship without money being involved.”
“Then what do I have to lose by continuing to talk with you? We can make a theoretical plan and I can decide later whether to go through with it, right?”
I am sitting on the couch in a two room suite in the fanciest hotel in town. Claire is beside me. Her husband, Tom, is in the big upholstered chair opposite us. Soft music comes from a Bose radio, driven by songs from my cell phone. Two bottles of Champagne are in ice buckets on the coffee table between us, both open.
Claire has booked the suite in my name and brought Tom to see me on the pretense that I am an old friend passing through. After a number of meetings, Claire and I have worked out a plan for her to try out my ‘marriage counselling’. I have been amazed at her imagination and creativity. This is going to be interesting.
“This Champagne is delicious,” says Tom. “Good that you ordered two bottles.”
“Glad you like it”, I say, crossing my legs in spite of my short skirt. “I’m so happy you could stop by.”
He fights to keep his eyes on my face. “How long will you be in town,” he asks.
“Only a couple of days.”
“Daphne is here on business,” adds Claire.
“Let’s don’t get into that,” I say, following our plan. The idea is to make it seem that I am reluctant and that it his wife who is driving the action. Then we will get him turned on to the point where he will be incapable of thinking about anything except getting into my pants. The Champagne will help.
“Oh fiddlesticks,” Claire says. “You can tell Tom about your business. He’s very broad minded.”
Tom is all ears, and eyes. He has been ogling the swell of my breasts visible through the open lapels on my blouse. Claire is also dressed more sexily than normal, wearing a short, form-fitting sheath with buttons up the middle. Her eyes are bright, excited. Tom is not stupid. He probably suspects something is going on behind the scenes. If he only knew.
I sigh and accede to Claire’s request. “Well, I am a special kind of marriage counsellor. Most counsellors work with people whose marriages are in trouble; I work with older couples who have great marriages, but are missing out on opportunities for more closeness.”
His eyebrows come up. “That is different,” he says. “How do you do it?”
As planned, I glance at Claire, seeking her approval to continue. It’s important that Tom know that his wife is onboard one hundred percent. She nods for me to continue.
“I become a close friend of the couple. We spend time together, share experiences, even go on trips together. I introduce the perspective of a younger woman into their relationship.”
Tom’s mind is racing. I can see it in his eyes. What in the hell is going on? Has his wife brought him here to have a threesome with this young hottie? It’s fun watching him squirm.
“How interesting,” he says.
Claire rises and picks up the Champagne bottle. She tops off her glass, crosses to Tom and refills his. Then she perches on the arm of his chair.
“Happy Birthday, darling,” she says, raising her glass. Daphne is going to be our new friend and help us celebrate. We are ideal clients for her services, a happily married older couple that could use some spice in our life.”
She leans down and kisses him on the mouth. “It’s my present to you.”
His eyes dart from her to me and back. “I’m not sure what this present is, but I feel your love, and that’s the best present I could have.”
A good response. Tom is no dummy.
Claire puts her glass up to her husband’s mouth for him to sip. “Daphne has proposed a new way for me to show my love for you,” she says. “I want you to relax and enjoy.”
This is my cue. We have planned only to this point. From now on it’s up to me.
“Let’s change places,” I say to Claire.
She returns to the couch, and I replace her on the chair, straddling the padded arm. As I turn toward him, my tits are level with his face, only inches away. They strain against my tight blouse, begging to be freed.
“Have some more wine, Tom”, I say, moving my glass toward his lips. “You are going to need it.”
He takes a gulp, then resumes staring down my shirt. A breast man, for sure. All those years he had to make do with his wife’s small tits. Now he has a treat in store.
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