The first time we met was in his hotel room in Callea. Big suite, big soundproof walls. It’s a good thing.

I think he thought I was more experienced, but he knew a hell of a lot more than me, and had a lot more nerve. Which is ironic, considering I’m the prostitute.

I walked in the door, nervous as hell, wearing a black knitted skirt and turtleneck, like a poet. I had on a bright red lace bra and panties set underneath. With ruffles accentuating everything. Crotchless. Black sheer thigh high stockings and a red lace garter belt. School teacher looking slip-on black flat shoes. My hair was actually in a bun, with a neat black clip holding it in place. A french twist actually.

He opened the door when I knocked and the sight of him took my breath away. Thin muscular body, faded jeans, a gray striped button-up shirt barely buttoned up, exposing a tan chest, tan arms, tan neck and face. Sparkly green eyes, feathered medium brown hair, loose and shaggy and perfect. Perfect “I’m a rock star” sparkling white teeth as he smiled and said, “Marina?”

I could say nothing, only nod and give a slight smile. My voice was locked somewhere in my throat as he pulled me inside with just the right sexy amount of roughness.

The room was bright, the bed was made, and before I could speak, he had tossed my hair clip aside and was kissing me against the door as my hair fell down around us.

His tongue knew magical tricks I’d had yet to experience when I met him. It was a wet energetic acrobat just desperate for a playmate. It found one in my mouth. Later that night he worked his oral magic on my cunt. An even more amazing feat. I almost passed out.

But now, as we were pressed hard against each other against the door, introductions barely made, I felt uneasy and overwhelmed. I began to cry. How embarrassing.

“God, I’m sorry.” He pulled away and looked at me with true concern. “Are you okay?” he asked after a minute of trying to wipe my tears away with his own fingers. He grabbed a tissue and tried to do a better job. It only made me cry more.

Here he was, my dream guy, ravaging me with a kiss and now drying my tears with concern. Wonderful and embarrassing. God, I could have just died. I couldn’t believe it.

“Sh, sh, sh…” he said, handing me the tissue to blow my nose with. I did, and stopped crying, and threw the tissue away and sat on the bed. I took a deep breath.

“I am so so sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“No, I came on too strong. I shouldn’t do that.” He smiled sheepishly. “I just get so anxious.”

I smiled, and put my black purse down on the floor and slipped my shoes off and left them next to it.

“Shall we try again?” he said with a big grin. I nodded nervously, but had to smile at his boyish eagerness.

This time he moved toward me more slowly. Leaning over to kiss me, then sitting down on the bed next to me. He slowly removed his shirt as he looked in my eyes, and I removed mine. His hands were on my breasts before I got my head out of my shirt and it made me jump.

“Sorry,” he said again.

“It’s okay.” I smiled and tossed my shirt next to my other things. He leaned forward and began to kiss and suck all the parts of my breasts he could see, and my cleavage. I have never been made so hot by an almost sexual act before. He moved around to suck on my armpit and worked his way down my arm. Then he came back to my neck and he reached down to push my skirt off. I lifted my butt so he could.

I eagerly unbuttoned the fly of his jeans as he pressed against them from inside.