“I think she was what? 5’ 7”. Blonde hair. Body like a goddess. Last time I saw her was ten days ago, the night I had Sophie and Heather up here,” I tell Yasmine.
Stifling a look of disappointment, Yasmine backs off.
“That’s where I saw her for the first time, and then I actually shared a cab with her, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to her much,” I say.
Yeah, I’m a fucking asshole because Yasmine looks completely fucking disappointed. I guess she really did want to fuck me tonight, huh?
But you know what? I’m going to be the first one to admit that in reality I am a fucking asshole. I got nothing to fucking hide. So there. I’ll be completely honest about it with you as to who I am.
I mean, I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings, but would you rather I lie?
“You’re talking about Ashley,” Yasmine says quietly.
So this Stripper Goddess has a name! Finally.
“Is she working tonight?” I ask her.
“She doesn’t work here anymore,” Yasmine says and I think I see a glint of pleasure at the total look of devastation that wracks my face. "Her stage name is Misty, but her real name is Ashley Lane. Don't tell anyone that I told you."
Just my fucking luck. The one woman I obsess about ends up being the one who doesn’t work here anymore.
But Yasmine has a heart of gold, because her next words are, “She started working at Simulated Pleasures last week.”
Fucking bingo!
Good thing I didn’t sell that place yet.
First thing tomorrow, I’m stopping by there and finding out how to get ahold of this girl.
I rush over and kiss Yasmine on the lips.
Hell, I break it off before she wants more. I know what I do to women. And I don’t want to go down that road now with anyone but Stripper Goddess. Wait. I mean Ashley.
“Thank you so fucking much, Yasmine,” I say and she just looks at me in a daze as I rush down the stairs.
I got to get ready for tomorrow.
It’s going to be a great fucking day. I can feel it.
41
Ashley
It's been exactly one week of taking calls and I've learned a few things: never ask permission questions, never asked if they're married, and hot girls aren't bored. So when the phone rings, I immediately snap into character. I lower my voice almost to a whisper. I finger the lace of my bra—Agent Provocateur—and then run my hands up my stockings. I know some people can do this job while they're washing the dishes, or mopping the floor or something, but for me, I have to be all in. I can't multi-task. I think it should feel authentic, and wearing the heels and lingerie instantly gets me into character. I even turn down the lights. I find that the darker the room is, the more I can focus on the voice on the other end of the line.
I answer the call and sit back on my bed. I whisper in a soft, sultry voice. The secret is to keep your voice smooth as a stick of butter. "Hi, this is Misty. Who am I speaking with?"
I hear a man clear his throat. "Mike."
I wait for more but it doesn't come. "That's my favorite name for a man," I purr, urging him on. "You sound strong and handsome."
"You can say I'm strong. I work construction—concrete pump operator."
"Oh that's good because I could use a few pumps of your hot concrete. I'm so glad you called. My neighbors have been fucking all day and listening to them has made me so horny…"
"That makes two of us," he says.
"And I've got a secret to tell you. I'm not wearing any underwear."
"Is that right?" he replies, and I can almost hear a smile in the way he asks.
"I've been so horny. I can hardly stand it. I haven't had sex all day and it feels like forever. I have myself so worked up and hot that I'm lying in front of a fan, and the cold air is making my nipples hard. Do you like hard nipples, Mike?"
"Mm hmm," he mumbles, and I continue.
"What kind of girls do you like?"
"Young, blonde, and busty," he says without hesitation.
"Well, you're in luck. I'm 18, and I have long, blonde hair that goes down to my tiny waist. I wish you were here with me right now," I say, just above a whisper, and Mike lowers his voice as well.
"What would you do to me?" he asks, as if it were a shared conspiracy.
"Oh Mike, I'd make sure my lips touched every manly inch of you. I'd start by nibbling on your ear—playfully, but then I'd get more serious and move my lips down to your neck and I'd touch your strong chest—I can tell you have a strong chest just by your voice. And I'd run my tongue over your nipples, circling them a few times."
"And what else?" he asks.
"I'd let my mouth move down your body even further, my tongue resting in the deep V above the waistband of your pants. I can even taste the salt on your skin and it leaves me wanting more—so much more."