The escort was due at seven. I kept wondering what it would be like when she got there. I suspected the girl in the photo would not be the girl who showed up at the door. I was expecting a stereotypical prostitute, unable to hide how worn out she was, even with her big hair, heavy makeup, and skimpy clothes. He looked handsome and casual. I looked in the mirror and shook out my light brown hair, which hung down loose over my shoulders.
We sat and sipped our vodkas together, unable to keep our eyes from drifting from our view of the Strip, where the sun was setting and the lights were pulsing even brighter against the darkening sky, to the clock by the bed.
At exactly 7 p. My nerves pinched and fluttered as I jumped up to let Pearl in, excited to see what she looked like and to experience whatever would happen next. I opened the door slowly, and there she was. I was immediately impressed and already a little turned on.
She was a beautiful girl, and she had a golden glow about her, as if she had just climbed out of the swimming pool at our hotel, sliding into her cute jean shorts to come up and see us.
She looked fresh-faced and cute, just like she had in her photo on the Internet. She looked at me and smiled, waiting to see where I would sit. When I slid onto the sleek cream-colored couch with its view of the Vegas Strip, she slowly and very deliberately sat down close to me, leaning her body slightly in toward mine. My nerves evaporated.
