Writer's Block 2

She was perfectly beautiful, though I didn't admit it and remained pissed over the fact that, sitting just three feet away, she had made me wait. She had some nerve.

"It's nice to meet you," I lied, "but you've wasted valuable time and I..."

Cutting me off again, with a wave of her hand, she interjected, "I know and I'm sorry, but I haven't started the clock yet, so don't worry."

"Big of you," I thought.

"And since you haven't told me to go fist myself, I'll assume we can continue on with this?"

She was playing a game with me and I was failing to anticipate her moves. I couldn't tell if it was some sort of power struggle or if she had something to prove to me, but she was winning. What had Peter been thinking? Laya was a nutcase. Men; they'll fall for anyone who spreads her legs.

"Yes Laya, I'm still sitting; despite your insolence. Peter said you were reliable, smart and sexual."

"And a lesbian?"

"Yes and if I knew of another girl who fit that description I'd walk out and find her right now."

Shifting her weight on the chair she began to get up. "I'm not one of a kind Heather. I have the names of a dozen girls in my BlackBerry who fit your wacky bill, but I promise none of them would expose herself to you, or swallow your snippety New York attitude."

"Wait," I said, thinking better of it. "Let's start this over." Slipping back into her seat, she rested her chin in her hands. Her dark hair fell across her wrists and her champagne-colored eyes bore holes in me. Her hair was just a little bit longer than mine.

"So, Heather, why exactly are we here? This is an unusual referral."

"Because you're a whore," I said, instantly realizing it was the dirtiest shot I could take at her.

"Yeah, and you're some big shit author with writer's block. Your husband dumped you right? Yeah, Pete let that slip. I bet it was some slut who stole him. Is that why you tracked me down; to take it out on me?

I could have slapped her smiling face. She was ignorant for assuming things about me, but I realized I had done the same to her. My curiosity melted the lump of anger that clogged my throat.

"No Laya, I said blankly, "I'm not here to take it out on you. But everything else you said is true." Taking out my legal pad I laid it on my side of the table where she couldn't read it.

"What's that?"

"Just some things I want to ask you. You're right, I am trying to write a book and I'm looking for the right subject; a young woman who has sex with men, for money but whose deeper passion is other women."

"All right, I guess that's me, but there has to be something more. I'm not the only dyke who turns tricks for cash," she said smiling. I was surprised she didn't ask me why I would choose such a topic.

"My editor thought you'd be articulate enough."

I explained that I would probably need to meet with her over a lengthy period of time, at which she frowned - the first one I had seen - and started to look impatient.

"I don't know how much time I can devote to this, Heather." As if it had a bad taste, her face pinched as she said my name. "I think I'll call you Thea, is that okay?

"Sure, whatever," I answered, just wanting to get on with it.

"Good. So, Thea what did you want to ask me? Remember, we're on the clock now, so its two hundred an hour as long as there's no sex involved."

"Do I get frequent flyer miles with that?" I asked sarcastically.

Laya chuckled, relaxing a little. "You'll get frequent fucker miles, if you want."

God, she was quick.

"I'll just stick with the questions, thanks."

As I was about to begin probing, her cell phone rang grinding our already limited momentum to a halt.

"You can't be serious," I said.

"Don't be so New-Yorkish Thea," Laya responded as she brought the phone to her ear. Hearing her side of the exchange that followed, I frowned.

"Hello...yes Mr. Guron, yes...no, half an hour will be fine, the usual wardrobe? No? Well, well. Don't make me bring my riding crop...all right, I'll see you then."

Taking her advice I tried not to show my mounting aggravation.

"I'm sorry, Thea, I have to run. Listen, I know I fucked up this first meeting, but at least we know each other now. I feel better, if that matters at all and I'm willing to continue if you are."

She stood up from the booth and straightened the hem of her dress. "I hate this thing, it makes me feel like I'm going to church. I love your hair by the way, it's so red. I love redheads. Listen, I just have to meet this guy, so I'll be tied up for awhile. Get it? Tied up? Anyway, we can resume this later, right? I haven't scared you off have I?"

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"Good. I'll meet you here." She seized my notepad and hurriedly jotted down the name of a pub.

I read it aloud. "T. S. McHugh's."

"It's on Mercer Street; every cabbie knows where it is. I'll be there at seven o'clock."

Nodding curtly, I watched her leave.

Part III

I spent the rest of the afternoon alone, glued to my laptop. The meeting with Laya had not gone well, but perhaps my expectations had been too high. Despite her initial prickliness, she had done exactly what I had wanted her to do; she inspired me.

Within an hour, I had every minuscule detail from our first encounter, such as it was, on my screen. As detailed a record as I could make, it included everything, even the way her eyes flashed angrily at being called a whore, even though her smile never faltered. I described her smile, her lashes, thick and full, and her perfect skin. How her knee once bumped into mine and how I had felt a strange sensation of warmth travel up my leg, not unlike the stir I experienced when Kait bought me a girl at 'Rick's Cabaret' during my bachelorette party before the wedding. Her hands roamed my body like a snake and she left me wet, something I never told Russell about and had been too apprehensive to take any further.

I knew her now; at least a little and I understood how fast she moved I knew how difficult it would be for me to keep pace with a mind that traveled at Warp speed. Peter had been right about her essential qualities, but I hadn't had the opportunity to learn whether she would really open up to me so that I might, as he had so astutely put it, 'get inside her head.'

Part of me thought it was just a matter of geography. Had she been on my home turf in New York, with its attitude, crowding and speed, she might have been the one off balance. But it was me who was out of place here. At the end of our abbreviated encounter, I understood she had played me just enough to keep my head spinning.

I found myself pausing, staring into space as I picked apart the details of her high-powered performance. She was interesting, though I wasn't anywhere near ready to admit that to her. Too risky, I thought. Besides, her volatility alone spoke volumes about the likelihood of our working relationship falling to pieces. Tempting as she might be, we had only talked in the shop for a few minutes, and that alone wasn't enough for me to consider making her the main character of my book.

As evening approached, I showered and dressed for our second meeting. I had packed one evening dress, a sky blue empire cut number with thick white lines slashing diagonally across the fabric. It was just enough to make my skin look soft and I knew it lit up my eyes like New York's Fourth of July fireworks display. The tight strapless top fit my boobs perfectly and did little to hide my cleavage, something I had grown ever more fond of flaunting since the divorce.

As expected, Laya was already there when I arrived at McHugh's. This time I at least recognized her and she was dressed more in the manner Peter had described. She was stunning in her tight, black, one piece dress. In the small spaces between the ribbing the material was thin enough to catch a glimpse of her white bra. It had a deep, U-shaped neckline, evidence of the daring and risqué woman I knew I was onto after this morning's stormy encounter. She had one leg folded over the other and her short hemline was stretched tightly, like spider silk high up on her thighs and afforded little coverage. It was not a dress meant to be worn while sitting, but sitting she was. My immediate thought was that it wasn't a dress at all; it was an exclamation point representing Laya's free-wheeling sexuality and I had no doubt that was why she chose it.

Her choice of a table was interesting; it wasn't in some far, dimly-lit corner but right in the middle of the place, directly beneath a strong, unflattering light. She already had a scotch in her hand as I sat down.

"Laya," I said, mustering a friendly smile and shaking her hand in greeting, "I see you don't want to do this quietly."

"It's my usual seat." She shrugged, "I like the attention Thea." Her handshake was tentative, but firm.

The waiter approached and I ordered a vodka martini as I pulled a notebook from my bag.

"I'll have one too," she added as he nodded and headed back to the bar.

"You go right to work, don't you Thea?" she murmured, her eyes brightening just a little.

"Well, I had hoped to have some of the preliminaries out of the way this morning, but your, ah... schedule interfered with that."

"Oh, just a little," she said, sipping the heavy liquid and looking at me with a glint of mischief in her bright eyes. In an obvious attempt to be coy, she struck first, asking, "Have you picked up on the scent of it?"

I had, but was too shy to say so it, so I played oblivious. Besides, I was growing tired of her games. "What scent are you talking about Laya?" I asked, my eyes disingenuously searching the menu.

"Don't be naïve with me Thea," she pouted. If we're going to do this we have to be friends. And if we're going to be friends, we have to be honest with each other. This is the place to start. So, answer me...do you smell it?"

In total control, she was seizing the moment again, leaving me speechless. I found myself half amused since I was old enough to be her mother.

"All right," I remarked, throwing an arm over the back of the chair. Though abruptly readjusting my body language, I knew she had already spotted it, the defensiveness I had been so guilty of displaying since Russ had left. Momentarily regaining my grasp of things, I simply blurted, "You smell like sex Laya! There. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Well, we're getting there; I do smell like sex," Laya countered, shrugging the comment off as if I had just told her that her pocket was sticking out. "But that's not really what you smell, now is it? So say it. Be honest; don't be ashamed for a change, tell me what you smell."

Looking directly into her eyes, I snapped, "All right, you smell like sperm."

"No I don't Heather. You really can't say it, can you?"

"I can smell sperm and it's in you."

She smiled faintly and picking up the menu, this time it was she who pretended to read it, but her sharp rejoinder followed smartly. "Well, maybe I should have been a dentist Heather, because dealing with you is like pulling teeth. Remember the guy who called during our first meeting this morning? I fucked him and another an hour ago. That last one came in my ass, so you're picking up on that naughty combination."

"Don't you use..."

She barreled through my question, "I also blew him and swallowed, so I have the smack of cum in my mouth. That's why I drank scotch. It's a god awful drink but it cleans better than Listerine. Guys would be disgusted if they knew how used I was before fucking them, now wouldn't they?"

"Each chooses to think he's my only client of the day," she continued. "But sometimes I barely have time to clean the cum off my tits with a handy-wipe before I'm on to the next one. Sometimes it leaks out of me, kind of like right now."

"Don't you think this moment is full of contrasts Thea? I mean, you're sitting here, acting the complete prude and dressed like a flirt, while I leak some stranger's jizz."

"Stop it Laya," I half shouted. "Point taken, okay? I get it. We can cut the bullshit and speak openly. That's what I want too. Now, can we get started?"

Laya, her face brightening, settled back in her chair and returned to scanning the menu.

"The Chicken Cordon Bleu is excellent here," she commented as the waiter efficiently placed the martini glasses on the table.

Having finally opened a dialogue, Laya explained how she had gotten into the business, how she had initially worked for an agency, Campus Cuties, and had since become an independent contractor, taking appointments and making her own rules.

"Look," she said suddenly, pointing to the tallish, good looking man of about forty-five, standing at the bar. "Watch this..."

Getting up, she dumped the remainder of her drink into my glass and strolled over to him. It took her just a brief moment to engage the stranger. Soon after, the bartender was mixing a martini which he slipped to Laya as the man peeled off a bill in payment. Glancing over at me, he smiled. After just a few minutes she returned, that already familiar look of triumph on her lovely face.

"You're not having your period are you Thea?"

"No, ah...why do you ask?"

"Because he wants to meet you too," she whispered, taking her place once again at the table.

"He wants to meet me, really?" It had been a while since I had allowed a man anywhere near me, at least not intimately. But he was kind of handsome and the thought of sleeping with him was tempting.

As I considered the possibilities, she struck again. "Thea, now that we're being frank and all, I thought it might be the right time to bring something up. It's kinda important."

"And what's that, Laya?" I asked, assuming she had just lapsed back into an all too familiar brand of prankstership.

"I have an idea for your book. I mean, you've been asking me questions about my work, but it's been mechanical stuff. The fact is, you and I come from different worlds and frankly, we've had a little trouble connecting today, wouldn't you say?"

Knowing she was right, I nodded in agreement.

"And...?"

"Heather, I think you should come with me when I fuck this guy."

"Oh no, I don't think so," I snapped. "I just couldn't do it. At least not with another woman present."

"Don't be so dismissive until you've heard me out. Pay attention for a change. I just let that guy pick me up and I lied to him. He thinks we work as a team."

Placing my elbows on the white linen table cloth, I leaned forward menacingly. "As a what?"

"Once he glanced over at you and saw those fabulous tits, I knew he'd go for it. Besides, he loves redheads. And you're pretty. Come with me. He's staying at the hotel across the street and has already agreed to pay for two girls."

Frankly, I don't think he's completely comfortable with, well, just me. I'm too young for him and he's probably got a wife at home and, well, you know how it is. He'll just feel better about it. Besides, men don't often have two girls, right?"

I looked at her in astonishment; partly because what she was proposing was outrageous and partly because I was actually listening to her.

Disregarding the look on my face, she continued. "At the same time, I've decided you should know the reason why I haven't taken you awfully seriously today. Now, I told you I was going to be completely honest and want the same from you."

"So why?" I asked curiously. "Why have you been such a bitch Laya?"

"It's simple; I don't respect you."

I looked at her disdainfully, but she went on. Think about it; you've come here acting like you can write about something you don't know a thing about. You come across like an idiot and would to any call girl. Look, unless you're willing to have sex for money, you'll never break into the world I live in. Don't you see? Something's not real until you do it, until you experience it for yourself. That's all that's wrong with you Thea. You just haven't lived."

In a fit of momentary incredulity, I abruptly refocused. Astonishingly, it was I who then blurted the unthinkable. "You're right Laya...but I think..."

"Don't think for a change. Just do it. We'll go with him and then I promise I'll show you who I am. You can write your bestseller and I'll be happy for you. Plus, I'll be a big celebrity or something, right?"

Remaining silent for a minute, I sat back in my chair. My heart was beating as my mind scrambled to find a way to remain outwardly calm while at the same time I was bursting with nervous excitement at the thought of joining in the unlikely scenario. "All right...I'll do it under one condition, you must tell no one - ever. You have to promise me you will never reveal what we do tonight."

"I promise," she answered offhandedly, without batting an eye.

Wondering if I had just lost my mind, I watched as Laya returned to the man. Five minutes later, after he had picked up the tab, we were crossing the street to the Mediterranean Inn.

Part IV

Justin happened to be a gracious man who didn't say much during what was, for me a somewhat distressing trip up the elevator, but he seemed comfortable with his arm around my waist. Paradoxically, it felt good to be held, like I was on my first date again.

Defying my innate apprehension, I found him attractive, with a strong jaw and distinguished eyebrows. His suit was perfectly cut for his body and there was a delicacy about his strong hands. He kept leaning over as if to say something, but stopped as his nose touched my hair, after which, he would turn away and nuzzle Laya, who, using the chrome shine of the elevator door as a mirror to check her makeup, stood in front of us. Her bottom looked adorable.

The elevator dinged and Laya's impromptu mirror slid back to reveal the lobby of the grandest hotel room I had seen since my wedding night.

"Oh my God," Laya almost squealed, "You have the presidential suite!"

"Yes," he answered softly, "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

With his mouth still against my hair, his voice rumbled in my ear and my body thrummed with the danger and excitement of it all. As might be expected, I was both stimulated to the point of wetness at the thought of sex with him, while at the same time, apprehension at the prospect of approaching the unknown oozed from my pores. "He mustn't know I'm not a hooker," I thought and wondered if he had ever read my books.

No, it didn't matter, I quickly concluded. This wasn't New York; this was Laya's world -- the one I had willingly ventured into. To him I was an escort from whom all he required was fantastic sex.

In a curious way, it was a relief to let myself go. The hard white tile clicked against our heels and taking our hands, Justin led us into the foyer. Moving slightly ahead of us, Laya began lifting the hem of her dress, giving us glimpses of her lacy blue panties.

"I'm going to mix us a drink, what would you like?"

"Water," Laya smiled.

"Something stiff, I could use it tonight," I added.

"Something stiff; I like that," he countered with a smile.

As Justin turned towards the bar I straight away grabbed Laya's arm, pulling her close.

"How do we know this guy isn't the Unabomber or something?" I asked in a hurried whisper.

"Does he feel like the Unabomber my naïve girlfriend? You just keep that sexy pussy ready my dear, the rest will happen naturally. Is she wet?"

Knowing she had asked a silly question, I didn't really have to think about its answer.

"Besides," she rejoined, "you're about to put in a serious workout and should have asked for water."

"Really, you think? Shit. Laya, you've got to be faster about telling me things. You know I don't know what I'm doing. What about condoms?"

Laya looked over my shoulder and ordered hurriedly, "When I start to giggle, pretend we just finished kissing. And this one's married so we don't need condoms. Besides, he's kicked in an additional three hundred if we go bagless."

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Disclaimer: All posted stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.