Aristippus - Ginger's Story

I had never had sex with anyone other than Daniel in my life. And though I thought his oral skills were terrific, I obviously needed to get out more. Over the next fifteen minutes, and yes, I'm sure it was at least that long, Cole brought me to two of the most mind-blowing orgasms I had ever had in my short sex life. And as my third was beginning to build, I clawed at his shoulders and screamed, "Fuck me Cole, for God's sake, fuck me!"

Cole quickly sat up, pushed his briefs to his knees, and then kneeling between my legs, effortlessly entered me. I placed my hands on his butt cheeks and held him as tightly to me as possible. It was straight missionary sex. But after slowly plowing me for a minute or two, he slipped his arms behind my legs and bent them forward to where my knees were almost touching my chest. He increased his thrust and quickly brought me to my third orgasm in less than twenty minutes. And as his thrusts were now producing loud wet smacks with every plunge of his manhood deep into my loins. His hot release soon followed.

His warm essence filled me, like Daniels did when we were first dating. And I realized what I had been missing for several years now. Exhausted, Cole was panting like a racehorse and soon removed his arms from behind my legs. He then rolled off of me and flopped to his back beside me. "God damn, Ginger. That was amazing," he wheezed while staring at the ceiling.

"Cole," I responded, almost as breathless as he was. "I didn't do a damn thing. It was you, all you. I was just a very willing beneficiary of your amazing skills."

"Well, let's just call it a mutual effort," he said slowly as he was still trying to catch his breath.

After resting for several minutes, Cole sat up on one elbow to survey my naked form. In the dim light of his darkened room. My skin glistened with a thin sheen of after-sex perspiration, and my chest continued to heave up and down. Cole wet a finger at his mouth and drew tight little circles around my highly sensitized nipples. As I gasped for breath, he asked, "Can you spend the night?"

"Absolutely," I replied. "Let me call my girlfriend." And as I tried to figure out how to call another room from the bedside phone, Cole walked naked to the front room to retrieve a couple bottles of water. As he walked back into the bedroom, I was listening to the phone in our room ring and ring. After eight or nine rings, it went to voice mail, and I left her a message, "Megan, this is Ginger. I got lucky tonight, and it seems you may have also. I'll see you in the morning."

With the room now dark, Cole snuggled up with me under the sheets. Similar to the way Megan had snuggled up with me the night before. But Megan and I were in nightgowns, and we had not just had mind-blowing sex. By comparison, Cole was totally naked, and I could feel his wet semi-flaccid pecker sultrily sliding back and forth in my butt crack as he snuggled, and we drifted off to sleep.

Sharp piercing beams of bright desert sunlight awoke me several hours later. Cole had closed the blackout curtains when he returned to bed the night before. But sunbeams danced across our bed as the air conditioning gently rustled the drapes. I couldn't see a clock, so I didn't know what time it was. But I could see my current lover's morning woody.

Cole was lying on his back, and he must have thrown the sheet off at some point during the night. As I laid there, I couldn't help but admire his masculine form in the morning light. And further, I couldn't keep my eyes off Cole's magnificent towering monument to his manhood. I rarely sucked Daniel's dick after having sex with him, but for some unexplainable reason, I craved the taste of Cole's.

So as not to wake him, I slowly raised myself on one elbow. Then with the stealth of a Mata Hari, I lowered my head over his twitching phallus and succulently sealed my lips around it. As my head slowly began to bob up and down, Cole began to stir, and without breaking my suction, I moved to my knees. This way, I could hold the bottom of his stiff shaft with one hand while I cradled his heavy nut sack with the other. However, my typical sucking technique was complicated by Cole's reaching behind me and his persistent fiddling of my southern lips with his fingers.

After several minutes of tender fellatio, Cole's diddling of my nether region had gotten me so worked up that I suddenly had to fuck him. I sat up, placed my hands on his chest, and swung one leg over his lower torso. I was afraid that I might have already taken him too far. And I wanted every ounce of his warm cream as deep in me as possible. And though his release wasn't instantaneous, it did come quickly.

Cole gasped for breath, just as he had done the night before. But this time, I was the aggressor. I was the one that initiated the act and brought him to fruition through my proficiency and skill in the carnal arts. Sitting on his lap, in the afterglow of sex, I continued massaging his chest. And pressing my genitalia into his, I soon produced my own climax. An orgasm like I had never experienced before, despite the fact that we were both lying very still.

Several hours later, I met Megan and three of the four other girls downstairs for breakfast. The three other girls, which included Jackie, had stayed up until the wee hours gambling. And as statistics prove, the longer you play, the more you will lose. They had lost every cent. And if it wasn't for credit cards, they would have had no way to get home. The missing girl apparently had gotten as lucky as I did, and she texted that she would meet us at the car whenever we were ready to leave.

As for Megan, my hunch was correct. Bored watching me play roulette, she had drifted over to one of the craps tables and hooked up with some guy from Texas. She wouldn't say much about him during breakfast, but I figured I'd get the full scoop on the drive back to LA that afternoon.

We had driven to Vegas in Megan's car, so naturally, she was driving back home. And as soon as we were up on the Interstate, I couldn't wait to ask, "So, tell all. What happened to you last night?"

A big smile of satisfaction spread across Megan's face. "Well, you were so involved playing roulette, I wandered over to one of the craps tables. They seemed to be having a lot more fun than the roulette players. I knew absolutely nothing about craps, but this guy was throwing the dice. And he seemed to be on a winning streak, as everyone at the table was shouting and cheering him on. He was your classic tall Texan, with a hat and everything. And as soon as I placed my hand on his shoulder, he turned around and with a huge smile on his face, he asked me to blow on his dice for good luck." Megan quickly turned her head to make eye contact with me and with a guilty smile on her face, said, "And, well, I apparently turned out to be his lucky charm."

I glanced over at her as we sped southwest on I-15. She had that well fucked look on her face if I'd ever seen it. Suddenly I realized that I probably had an identical look on my face, and I quickly dug in my purse for my compact. Then as I was checking my mirror for any tale-tell signs of recent satisfaction, Megan asked, "And what happened to you?"

"Oh my God, Megan," I exclaimed. "That guy I was sitting with - Cole. He was winning big, and he helped me recover my losses for the night." I paused for a moment as I wasn't sure how Megan would take it. But I was excited, and in the spirit of full disclosure, I blurted out, "Then he offered me eight hundred dollars worth of chips if I'd follow him to his room."

Megan had been looking straight ahead down the freeway. But as soon as the words 'his room' left my lips, she whipped her head around to see if I was kidding. "You what?" she stuttered.

Realizing that she was shocked by my declaration, I had to quickly decide how I was going to spin this. I waited until she returned her eyes to the road. And then I tried to calmly explain, "Yes Megan, I was already trying to figure out how to get this guy in bed. And when he offered me eight hundred dollars - well, problem solved. And I know what you're thinking, but it would have been rude to not accept the money."

Unable to withhold her inherent reaction, Megan pursed her lips and sighed, "Eew, didn't it make you feel cheap?"

"No - no," I protested. "I felt that it empowered me. We both like sex; we enjoy it. And I was the only one that got paid. I got laid, and I got paid. What could possibly be better than that?"

I think I caught Megan off-guard with my fervent rebuttal of her accusation. She gently slumped back in her seat and after a moment of reflection, tightened her grip on the steering wheel and fixed her gaze on the distant horizon.

"Megan, I enjoy sex as much as the next person," I said. "And I do not want to live celibate the rest of my life. But what I don't want is another asshole, bitching that I didn't buy the cereal he wants, or expects me to clean up after him, or who craps his pants and expects me to do his laundry. I'm sick of his burping and farting and whining and complaining that somehow I've ruined his life."

Megan knew that I was talking about Daniel and that I was just coming off a bad relationship. And she didn't want me to snap her head off again, but just to try and soften my knee-jerk reaction, she said, "I'm not talking about Daniel, I mean in general. Don't you want to settle down someday? You know, find a Prince Charming or someone, start a family?"

I wasn't mad or trying to argue with her or anything. But after another moment of thought, I said, "I don't want to ever say never. What I'm saying is that I made a mistake with Daniel, and I don't want to rush into another mistake. I want someone who will wine and dine me, entertain me, romance me, and then take me to bed and fuck me silly. And after getting dressed, kiss me on the cheek, leave a pile of cash on the dresser, and then head out the door. I have no illusions about finding that one and only. And until I do, I'm going to play the field. And in doing so, I might as well utilize my built-in feminine advantage. Why give it away for free? When men are willing to pay for it."

There was maybe fifteen or twenty minutes of silence as Megan reflected on my revelation and her trying to understand my position on the subject. But after that, we chatted amiably for the remaining three and a half hour drive back to LA and our apartment. For the next several months, our relationship returned to normal, both at work and at home. And the topic of me accepting payment for sex was rarely brought up. And when the subject did come up, it was done in the spirit of good-natured teasing.

Over the next six or seven months, I buried myself in work. First, because I loved my job and I wanted to progress with the company. But the other reason was that I didn't want to think about my private life - or lack thereof. To be honest, I was a little taken aback by Megan's reaction to me accepting money from Cole to sleep with him. And to be even more honest, the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I did nothing wrong. I was still smarting from my breakup with Daniel, but I didn't want to save myself for some sort of mythical Mr. Right either.

However, while I was trying to keep my mind off of my self-imposed celibacy, Megan was working hard to find her next ex-boyfriend. I should not be that cynical. I loved Megan as a co-worker, as my roommate, and primarily as my best friend. And it didn't take her long to find some guy that she was utterly convinced was her true soulmate. Now, she's held these same thoughts twice before. So, who was I to throw ice water on the flames of true love?

Megan and I usually rode to work together. And it made sense, as we worked in the same office, and we lived together - utterly platonically, I might add. So, why not save gas when we could? The only downside was that we rarely made it straight home after work. We had a favorite tapas bar - that's Tapas, not Topless, that was on our way home. It's called La Paella, and it's actually much closer to work than our apartment. But it was a great place to relax with a couple glasses of wine and a few plates of tapas before hopping on the four-O-five.

And that's where she met Nicholas. He certainly did seem like a nice guy, even if he was maybe ten years older than Megan. So, he'd probably already had more than two previous failed relationships. But he was a great dresser, had a nice car, and he lived somewhere up in the Hollywood Hills. And any address up there was likely to be pretty damn nice.

It didn't take Megan and Nicholas long to become an item. They started dating within a week of their first meeting. And it was only one more week before she began not coming home at night. The good thing was that I now had the apartment to myself. The bad news was that I was afraid I'd soon be stuck with the entire rent. I loved our home sweet home, and I really didn't want to lose it. But if Megan moved out, I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

After another month or two of having the apartment almost entirely to myself, Megan informed me that she was moving in with Nicholas. I wasn't surprised, but we were still best friends, and she assured me that she would keep up her end of the rent until the lease was up. That was somewhat understandable, as the unit was actually in her name. Since I had moved in with Megan after my breakup with Daniel, we had never bothered to add my name to the lease. So, that gave me four months to figure out a solution.

Though our living arrangements may have been unraveling, Megan and I remained very close friends. But as her relationship with Nicholas began to look more and more permanent, I started to consciously look for a new roommate. I didn't go online or post a profile on a dating app. But I did become aware that either platonically or romantically, I needed to find a replacement housemate.

What didn't consciously come to mind was the third option. Since I discovered that I actually liked living alone, an alternative to finding a new domestic partner was to just find a way to afford my current living arrangement. Now, I wasn't dwelling on this problem, but as luck would have it, an opportunity soon arose on its own.

In the retail fashion world, there are massive Semiannual Fashion Shows staged around the country every six months. Now, these aren't anything like Fashion Week in Paris. Those are high fashion and aren't really intended for the mass market. The ones held in Los Angeles twice a year are exclusively for the retail trade. So that retailers can stock their stores for the coming season. And though it seems counterintuitive, winter clothes are shown in the spring, and summer clothes are shown in the fall - more than six months before they will be available in the stores. And that is due to the required lead time to manufacture whatever lines the retailers are betting on will be popular almost a year in advance.

As a buyer for a chain of 1,300 stores, I was fortunate to be able to attend these conventions twice a year - a dream come true for a shopaholic like me. These events were absolutely the highlight of my professional life. And even though I wasn't the final decision maker on major purchases, my input was always considered. In effect, I got paid to go shopping. What could possibly be better than that? Well, maybe, other than getting paid for sex.

And as luck would have it, the April show turned out to be very lucky for me. About a month before the show, we are divided into teams. And each team drafts a shopping list of styles we hope will be the next big hit six months from now. Megan and I had previously been on the same team. But for this show, it just so happened that we weren't. And I think that turned out to be a good thing.

The show is always held in the Los Angeles Convention Center (the LACC), and if you have never seen it, you can't imagine how big it is. It's easy to get lost, and even easier to get sidetracked by hordes of very aggressive vendors. As none of the manufacturers sell directly to the public, this is a make-or-break event for them. And every vendor is extremely anxious to ink a big order.

On the third and final day of the sale, my team and I were going back through the vendors' booths one last time. "Ginger," I heard a male voice shout out.

Spinning around, I saw this guy waving at me, trying to get my attention. As my team kept walking, I stopped and turned back to see who he was. Maybe he actually knew me from someplace other than the show. Or, more likely, he was just a vendor that remembered my name. As I approached him, I realized that he was the latter, a vendor. So, I put on my, No thanks, I'm just browsing face.

He stuck out his hand to greet me. "Stephen Powell," he said as we politely shook hands. "We chatted yesterday. I just wanted to make sure that we were on your buy list. And to see if there was anything else I could do for you."

Dropping his hand, I smiled, and after glancing down at his name tag, I said, "Stephen, why do you think you're on my buy list?" He knew that I wasn't the final decision-maker. But he also knew that the reports that the scouting teams for major retailers prepare are critically crucial to his sales numbers.

"Well," he said with that Music Man smile of utter confidence. "Your company always buys from us, and this season, we have the finest, the most amazing, and the most sought-after lineup we have ever had." He paused slightly to see if I was buying any of it, and then to close the deal, he added, "Besides, you are the most beautiful buyer here. And why wouldn't the most beautiful buyer want the most beautiful line-up ever offered?"

I studied him with a little bit of apprehension for a moment. And then I asked, "And how did you remember my name?" I was wearing a buyer's badge on a lanyard around my neck. But there was a fifty-fifty chance that it was flipped over so that he couldn't read it. Besides, I didn't see him glance down to look anyway.

"We met yesterday, and how could I possibly ever forget you?" And when I didn't just fawn over his exaggerated flattery, he added, "Besides, how could I forget that gorgeous ginger hair?"

Now, I was actually flattered over that. I don't know why, but I like my hair, and I have to agree with Stephen, it is gorgeous. And since he didn't make any stupid references regarding Gilligan's Island. I think I did actually blush a little.

"We have a Vendor's Reception tonight over at the Ritz-Carlton. Why don't you stop by, and we can go over your buyers' notes? I really don't want you to forget anything," Stephen pleaded.

I realized that he was hitting on me. But what the hell, he was a nice-looking guy. And besides, it would be free food and drinks. "Sure," I said. "What room?"

He beamed with satisfaction that I hadn't turned him down, and said, "The Sunset Room, on the third floor."

I shook hands with him again and then ran to catch up with the rest of my team. Now honestly, at that moment, I really wasn't thinking of anything other than socializing with a few other vendors, a free drink, and a couple of appetizers. But once I got there, Stephen zeroed in on me. Charm dripped from every sweet line of subduction. And I hadn't even finished my first drink when it was clearly apparent that he was more interested in getting me in bed than it was to review my buyers' notes.

And I was seriously thinking of continuing our discussion up in his room. That's when I suddenly realized that I had an opportunity to solve my need for additional income. "Ahh, how much would it be worth to you to discuss this in your room?" I asked.

His face lit up, and I was satisfied that I hadn't offended him in any way. "How about a grand?" he said with a big smile.