Melia's Time


"Carter, I think you turn down here," directed the escort. He smiled
at the limo driver's odd silence during the drive from the city. The
passenger daydreamed of a three-mast sailboat, with an unsure captain
steering in uncharted waters. The craft lumbered tentatively along the
unfamiliar, shoreline, hillside neighborhood, far removed from their
city's familiar pavement, stone and steel.

"Gee Hunter, nice neighborhood-for a change," Carter finally spoke.
"Maybe, just maybe, I can finally get a decent tip from you tonight."

"You're covered, with a twenty percent tip, on her credit card,"
Hunter replied.

"Why do you always have my windows down when I drive this beautiful
limo?" Carter asked annoyingly. "Do you have any idea how many cooling
BTU's this sucker puts out?"

"The ocean air is invigorating, it's primeval, it's good for what ails
you; try some," Hunter suggested. "Say, you've been awfully quiet," he
prodded, wondering if a conversation actually started. "You've been
out here to the shore before, haven't you?"

"If you must know good-lookin', no, not this place," Carter replied
acerbically and sniffed the air; he hacked facetiously. "By the way,
you really smell good tonight, even with the windows open," Carter
complimented. "Do you really do that for me?"

"The ocean is where it's at, my friend," Hunter laughed, now thinking
of a shiny lure at the end of a fishing line, "Very pretty
thirty-something bi-gal from the photos she exchanged with us. I think
she told the agency she's preparing a birthday surprise for her female
lover. The business of love: romance is not dead yet, my friend. It's
supposed to be just the three of us," Hunter grinned hoping Carter
would nibble.

Carter squirmed in his leather seat to unwind the early, uncomfortable
stages of a cramped, partial erection. "Hot damn," Carter sang his
standard high and low notes. He thought for a moment about the
escort's response. His brow wrinkled, "I don't get it babe. How does
my favorite suave and debonair gentleman of the evening get so lucky
to meet up with this young crowd anyway? You're more into the rich,
mature, and widowed set, aren't you?"

Hunter smiled, "I'm relying on our agency's wonderful computer
profiler program. You know how we love those fucking computers.
Besides, my tastes vary; you know that. I'm flexible."

Nodding, the driver smiled broadly. Besides the barbed repartee that
he enjoyed, he often complimented his friend, "You certainly didn't
need a computer program to hook me up with Sima." Carter tossed his
head back partly to reminisce, "A virgin-mind you-a virgin exotic
dancer. Who would have thought? I married her because of you. It was
the best damned thing I ever did." Carter looked back at his former
best man in the rear view mirror to grin a thank you. Hunter looked
tense to Carter, "I love you," he said jokingly. They both chuckled.
Carter went silent again in his thoughts of yesteryear, courting his
virgin Sima.

"You should thank your lucky stars I knew her widowed mom," Hunter
interrupted Carter's brief reverie. "In fact, I still date your
mother-in-law." They belly laughed. "Anyway, you're sweet too, babe,"
Hunter leaned forward slightly to whisper loudly, "You know, if I was
gay, I'd probably hook up with you." Hunter pursed his lips to blow a
kiss that caromed off the rearview mirror to smack Carter between his
eyes.

"Don't go there," Carter sneered at his friend in mock disgust, shook
his head, and shivered.

The escort pined, "To be married and in a state of bliss like you
Carter-it just tugs at my heart. Maybe, just maybe, one day I should
try that institution myself." The escort paused, "But then again, who
would take care of all of those lonely ladies out there?" Hunter
reclined back into the limo's leather seat.

Carter curled a smile, "Marriage: it's been good to me so far. I owe
you a lot." He paused to crane his neck to look back disappointedly at
his associate. "You know this pre-paid discrete billing is just a pile
of shit! I guess I'm really not going to see a tip from you tonight?"

"Sima must be shopping again. Just pull over here-driver," Hunter
volleyed back and smiled once again at his decision to affirm
bachelorhood.

Carter finally slowed his four-wheeled boat to a docking crawl. The
muffled quiet, air-conditioned stuffiness of the vehicle's interior
compelled Hunter to open all of the limo's windows to savor familiar
sights and sounds. It was as if they entered an art gallery to view a
large, well-lit seaside painting; a panoramic tapestry of the ocean
bay inlet, beachhead, sailboats, and slips unfolded before their
senses. Seagulls and terns flew overhead as sandpipers scampered along
the beach looking for a final evening snack. The bordering hillsides
were dotted with an irregular array of expensive properties
overlooking the harbor cove. Luminescent, sparkling shimmers of whites
and rainbow rays reflected off the ocean's liquid facets. A late
spring gentle, evening sea breeze washed across their faces. It was
invigorating.

"Not bad," Carter said quietly, genuinely impressed.

Carter berthed his vessel alongside a white gravel stone sidewalk in
front of the residence. Hunter opened his back seat door first to exit
the limo to walk to his driver's window. Silently, they both gazed at
the bright, reddish, orange disk that still peeked above the horizon.
As if cued by ancient instinct, Hunter breathed the cool sea breeze
deeply, only to sigh it out all too quickly. He panned the overhead,
indigo sky down to the horizon; the sun's waning wedge drew his gaze
as it kissed its day a goodnight.

By habit and experienced, Hunter forced himself back into a final
check of the more important aspects of a well-known profile:
middle-aged experienced male, fit, immaculately clean, polite,
attentive, well-dressed, good looking, dark hair, and medium height.
Dress that night was casual, including a dark sports jacket, loose
fitting dress light slacks; a tie was optional. Personal grooming
included a haircut, well-trimmed mustache, unobtrusive cologne, white
teeth and scrubbed, clean tongue. If requested, they were to dine at a
five star; dancing was a possibility. Personality traits of the escort
were: impeccable manners, knowledge of music, arts and the sciences,
attentiveness, and a very flexible attitude preferred. An experienced
gentleman was desired with a bent toward possible romantic interlude
with two female companions. The client finally selected Hunter from
more than four dozen candidates.

A more familiar and excitable mood washed over the escort as a
semi-erect bulge twitched in the crotch of his loose fitting tan
pants. He did not miss the usual formality; the client requested
casual dress this evening. No tux? On the one hand, it was
blasphemous; on the other hand, it was religiously liberating. Then
there was the specific request for him-from a new client. A referral,
he convinced himself. In all of the years he worked as an escort, it
was his first.

"A virgin . . ." Hunter whispered to himself.

Carter looked up at his friend, "She's a virgin?" he asked smiling
back quizzically.

"No Carter, not her," he smirked as he leaned against the clean
spotless limo door, Changing the subject, he instructed Carter, "Wait
here pal and relax. I'm not sure if we're going out or not. You and
this limo were last minute additions. Check out the CD I bought for
you. We'll likely have a get-to-know-you chat before we come back out;
maybe a drink. If my client and her birthday girl have dinner and
dancing planned, it may be a long night. Are you up to that buddy?"

"No problem boss," Carter replied. He felt bold enough to try for his
perk again, "But don't you think a cash bonus is a better incentive
for me as a really close friend and colleague than these lame ass Hits
From the Eighties?"

"Chill, we'll be out a little later. Make sure the wet bar is ready in
the back. If I won't need you, I'll give you the salute and off you go
home early to Sima. OK?"

At that moment, an overhead, gliding, cackling gull dropped a gooey
bomb that splat on Carter's pristine, tinted windshield. Carter
ducked, looked up at the laughing marauder, and cursed at it quietly,
"Fucking bird." He quickly extracted a bottle of a pungent,
ammonia-based, window spray, and a clean, white rag from under his
seat to commence repairs to the tarnished image of his land yacht.

"Hey!" Hunter quietly chuckled. "You'd better apologize to that bird
if you know what's good for you. You remember The Rime of Ancient
Mariner, don't you?"

"Oh yeah," Carter looked disgustedly up at the sky. Tilting his head
back, and rubbing his chin, he snickered at his memories of high
school senior English class. "Wasn't that about a no-good, stinkin',
dead seagull chained around a poor sailor's neck?"

"You surprise me," the escort replied disappointedly.

Carter was quiet for a moment, then grinned, "You know, I thought
Coleridge made that story purposefully unsatisfying," his well-read,
part-time limo driver reminded. "I hope you're satisfied tonight, my
friend," Carter wished his partner. Hunter winked and patted Carter on
his shoulder. To this day, Carter only knew half of his friend's life
story. "Don't forget the flowers," Carter pointed to two-longed
stemmed, velvety, red roses at the corner of the back seat wet bar.

"Thanks pal," said Hunter, grabbing the two roses.

He turned from the limo, casually strode up to the residence walk,
mounted the entrance steps, and paused to collect his thoughts. His
eyes fixed on the spectacular view of the shimmering ocean, bay, sea
craft, and sunset. Another refreshing sea breeze invited its way into
his nostrils; he breathed it in again. He sighed achingly to look
around the lot. The condo boasted a professionally manicured small
yard, curving walkway, and freshly cut scented, potted flowers that
paraded up to a large, but friendly entrance. He stood at arms length
from a hissing gas lamp as the early evening darkness descended. What
a spread; very romantic he thought.

He rubbed his hands together hard to generate warmth, took a breath
deeply, forced a smile, and pushed the door's two-chime bell. A long
minute passed. No one came to the door. He pushed the button again and
waited. A third ring was too intrusive, he thought. Minutes passed as
he looked over to his limo driver to shrug his shoulders. Finally, the
heavy front door's deadbolt clicked and the door swung open partially
to reveal a slightly out-of-breath, barely dressed, barefoot, petite,
beautifully sculpted, athletic brunette. Her face appeared flushed,
anxious, but radiant nonetheless. She opened the door wider and peeked
out to smile up at the familiar face.

Hunter smiled back broadly, "Good evening. Chelsea? My name is Hunter.
I'm from Fantasy Escorts."

She smiled to focus her wide brown eyes on his, "Oh yes, I recognize
you," she said while her eyes locked onto his. "Good evening Hunter.
I've been expecting you."

Hunter felt a small tingling run up his spine as he asked himself why
wasn't she dressed. He stared at her red, tight fitting, short,
pullover slip that appeared painted on her gym?buffed body's muscles
and curves. She slowly fanned the door with her arm. He scanned her
from the bottom up: unpainted toenails, tanned legs, muscular calves,
gym-toned thighs, tight waist, small round breasts, large erect
nipples, full lips, round face, wide brown eyes, and, short wavy hair.
They were always prettier in person than in their photos, he confirmed
to himself. Apologetically, he asked, "I'm sorry, did I arrive too
early?"

"No, not at all," she replied. She liked his attentive eyes. "We're
going to be really casual tonight. Please come in." She noticed the
parked limo and its window-cleaning attendant, "Oh, by the way, we
won't be going out; the limo and your driver won't be necessary. I
hope that won't be a problem? I suppose I paid for them anyway," she
said broodingly.

Dejected also, Hunter never showed it. He enjoyed Carter's company;
the routines of professional dating went by more quickly when he
drove. He turned to catch Carter's eye. Carter looked back as Hunter
waved his not-tonight-goodbye-hand-signal. Carter paused, cursed
quietly under his breath, waved back, and quickly finished his final
clean up of bird guano. He disappeared behind the craft's large door,
started the engine, and drove off. Hunter and Chelsea watched the limo
disappear from view before entering the house together.

"I'm sorry, but did we really get it wrong?" Hunter inquired
genuinely.

She turned and looked up to him with her large eyes, "No honey. Melia
decided to stay in. Thanks for bringing it anyway. You can catch a cab
home later, right?" she asked anxiously.

"That's never a problem," he replied. "Oh, this is for you," he
offered up one of the two single, de-thorned, long-stemmed red roses
to her. "I have another one for your friend-Melia did you say?" he
asked scanning the condo's interior for her companion.

"Why, thank you," she said staring into his soul. She took the rose
from him, sniffed its sweet fragrance, and rubbed its red velvet
sensuously across her cheeks and nose. She turned, closed the door,
and locked its deadbolt. Leaning against the door, she started her
in-person inspection. She began with features first: eyes, face,
shoulders, torso and waist. His slightly bulging crotch made her
pause. She caught herself staring, made no apology, and looked back up
to his eyes. She extended her warm hand to greet his as she took a
step back from the door to the entrance's hallway to invite him in
further. Her body radiated warmth as she offered him a hug. He stepped
forward to embrace and squeeze her gently with his left arm and hand.
He took the opportunity to nuzzle his face into her hair to breathe
her in.

She looked up to him and asked, "Technically, you're really on your
own time now, right?" She stepped back, held both his forearms, and
continued her probe of his face.

"The agency sets everything up for me from the limo and driver,
dinner, and dancing per our agreement. Dessert, technically speaking,
is on my own time," he smiled.

"So, you do like to eat dessert now and then before the main course,
don't you?" she asked with teasing, raised eyebrows.

The escort thought for a second since it was his personal commitment
to make or break. "It's certainly my favorite part of the eating
experience," he said smiling.

Her right index finger pulled down her lower lip, "Oh yes," she said
quietly, "I just knew I'd like you." Satisfied for the moment, she
tiptoed along the entrance's Italian terrazzo floor. "I'm going to ask
you to be quiet if you don't mind. You're supposed to be a surprise. I
just need to take care of a few things upstairs. I won't be long.
Would you mind waiting down here for just a bit?"

Her partner was still nowhere in sight. He politely responded, "Of
course not. I'm flexible."

"Hmmm . . ." she stared at his mid-section again as her wet tongue
circled her unpainted lips to moisten them. "I already know a lot
about your flexibility, doll. Pour us both half glasses of wine and
relax in the great room. I'll be back down to chat quietly with you. I
have to go back upstairs and check on Melia. She's a little . . .
she's tied up at the moment."

"I see. Your friend is here then?" he asked whispering.

Chelsea did not respond directly, "You're a surprise, remember? It's
her birthday." She searched for an excuse, "I think I'll tell her you
stopped in to drop off some flowers. Yes, that's it?you're the flower
boy. I'll take that sample rose up to her." Removing the other rose
from Hunter's hand, she used it to point at a portable bar that stood
guard behind a huge sectional couch that was bathed in the light of a
very white living room, vaulted ceiling, and the remains of a warm
fireplace that munched on the carcass of bright, orange, smoky log.
She turned and walked passed him, hair and body scented with
honeysuckle. But, another familiar scent was also evident to his
experienced nose: that delectable, residual bouquet of hot, wet,
female sex.

The furnishings and artwork that adorned the walls and tables were
impressive. The room was deceptively large, but professionally styled
unpretentiously for the expressed purposes of closeness, warmth, and
coziness; it was refreshingly inviting. A very large picture window
directly overlooked the bay. A baby grand piano was asleep in the
corner of the room.

"Do you play?" he asked quietly.

"We both do," she said. Chelsea stood at the foot of a spiral
staircase and flicked a switch on a buttoned control wall panel near
the base of the stairs. The great room's overhead recessed lighting
dimmed. She whispered, "I sublet this place from my folks during the
summer. They're jet setters. I'll be back down shortly. Look around a
little and relax." She quickly ascended the stairs with her roses and
out of view.

Hunter turned from the staircase, removed his jacket, and carefully
folded it over a comfortable, inviting loveseat near the portable bar.
He silently uncorked a chilled bottle of chardonnay and poured two
half drinks into crystal wine glasses. He toasted himself and sucked a
little through his teeth. The picture window drew him near; it
displayed itself as a living painting. The spectacular view of the
inlet, sunset and ocean, the lapping tongues of the tidal surf licking
the shore; all had a calming effect to ease his tensions of the
evening. He was grateful for the pause; he was close to his wild,
liquid, salty love again.

"Hello," he said quietly looking out the window at the tidal foam
scrubbing the beach. "I miss you-I can't stay long," he lamented.

He heard a muffled and unintelligible conversation that originated
upstairs, some giggling, then silence. After several minutes, an
upstairs door closed. Hunter watched Chelsea's agile frame and cute
ass sashay down the spiral staircase in her red slip. At the bottom
landing, she smiled quietly at Hunter who stood in front of the large,
picture perfect window. Not many, it seemed to her, appreciated its
wonderful gift. He greeted her again, but with a wider, more relaxed
smile. His eyes looked deeply into hers. He breathed her in
again-honeysuckle and sex. She extended her arms slowly to his waist
to give a firm palming squeeze.

"Your drink miss?" he asked politely.

"Thank you," she said removing the glass from his outstretched hand
while sliding two fingers across his knuckles. "What do you think of
the view?" she asked staring at his chiseled face.

"This has to be the nicest vista of the ocean I have ever seen while
on land," he complimented.

"Thank you. We love it too," she gushed. "So, you have been out to
sea?" she inquired. "A lot?"

Hunter thought for a moment before answering; it was awkward for him
to talk about himself and his past, "I used to work the ocean-in my
former life: fisherman, prospector, sailor in the merchant marines.
I've been around the world, many times, lived in three countries and
speak five languages; it's been a fantastic experience. I have seen
many wonderful things . . ." he sipped more wine, "but, there are some
very terrible things that are out there too," he said cautiously
grinning at her.

She gazed out the window with him, "It inspires me each and every day.
It's obvious you respect her. I like that in a man," she said placing
her hand on his arm.

"Yes, I respect her. But, you know Chelsea, her wildness,
tempestuousness and unpredictability attract me to her the most," he
said. "She finally became too much for me. I've become a land lubber
now," he smiled.

"I'm curious. You don't have to tell me, of course, but, do gentleman
escorts generally have significant others?" she asked inquisitively.

"Let's say that few do and most don't-men as well as women," he said.
"By the way, I'm not attached, and I'm straight," he offered,
grinning.