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I’m surprised by how persistent the guy was. I mean, I look around and see tons of younger, available girls, and clearly my friend, Jenna, didn’t have a problem with me not hanging out with the bachelor party.
Just as the DJ introduces a new song, I look over my left shoulder and see an older gentleman with deep penetrating eyes staring at me curiously. His gray hair has a slight curl to it. Even when I gaze back, he doesn't divert his stare, so I give him a quick smile before quickly turning my head in another direction.
The man begins to fidget in his barstool, shuffling his feet, and glancing my way every few seconds. Finally, he looks around the room to see if anyone is watching, stands up, adjusts his jacket, and walks towardme.
I wonder why a man—especially a man of his age, I’m guessing he was easily in his 50s with salt and pepper gray hair and wild eyebrows—is this nervous and paranoid about approachingme.
He grabs the barstool next to me and sitsdown.
"What is a beautiful woman like you doing sitting alone in a place like this?" heasks.
"Is that the best pick-up line you've got?" I reply playfully. "I've heard better."
The man smiles. "Can I buy you a drink?"
I laugh. "Sure, why not. There's no harm in one drink, is there?"
The man orders me a drink and then extends his hand for a shake. ”I’m Rick, what's your name, beautiful?"
"My name isn't 'Beautiful' but you can call me Christina.”
As he extends his hand, I see the flash of his wedding ring, and recoil at the thought of this man married—his wife at home, possibly a handful of kids. Just another dirt bag, I think. I knew his type back from my years at the Spearmint Rhino. The kind of man who would head to the strip club minutes after his wife brought home their first child. But maybe this wasn't the case. Maybe he and his wife have an open relationship—swingers. I bite my lip and decided to hear him out. It is too soon to judge.
I notice his gaze scanning my thighs, my ass, and my breasts—everything except my face. He doesn’t seem shy about it either.
"My face is up here," I say with a laugh.
The man stares at me for a moment, and an awkward silence sits in theair.
"Right," hesays.
Rick takes a swig of his whiskey and asks, "Howmuch?"
"What do you mean?" I ask. "You mean, how much are these drinks? I'm sure they're expensive. It's a Vegasclu—"
Before I can finish, Rick interjects with a soft laugh, "You know what I mean. I like the games though. Would $1,000 work for the next couple of hours? I know women of your…quality…are usually a lot more. Latex is okay, right?"
I can barely suppress my shock. I ask, almost too loudly, "Why on earth do you think I'm a prostitute?"
Rick shoves one hand in his pocket, leans back in his stool with eyes wide in shock, and answers, "Well, you are a gorgeous middle-aged woman sitting alone at a bar in Vegas, flirting with me in a playful way.” He runs his hands through his hair, looks around, and strokes his chin before continuing. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't believe I just offered a woman on vacation at a bar $1,000 for sex. I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding.”
"I'm not here on vacation," I reply, because this stuns me and I can’t seem to think of anything else to say. "I'm here on business."
I can’t help but wonder how is it that a complete stranger is offering me $1,000 for sex. My knee-jerk reaction is that this is repulsive, but then I start wondering. If I let him fuck me for a couple of hours, I would have $1,000 cash in hand. Given Rick’s age, would he even last two hours? How hard can it be…and yes I know what I said? It will be a lot of money, especially with the budget crunch I have right now. But what am I thinking? I’m not a prostitute. Why am I even consideringthis?
Just as soon as I dismiss the thought, I reconsider. Rick would be wearing a condom. I would insist on that. It would be safe. No one would know and for just a little bit of effort, I’d have actual damn money rightnow.
Rick, still visibly shaken and confused, takes out his wallet. He opens the fold and reaches for money to pay the bar tab. A plethora of $100 bills spill out of the leather of his wallet.
I take notice of the money. There must be thousands in that fold. Just this once, I think. If I fuck this guy tonight, my financial problems will be solved. I'll have enough money to maintain my life—spa dates, wine, clothes, daily non-fat lattes, the whole thing. And it's not like I'm being unsafe if he's wearing a condom, right? I wouldn't actually be touching his cock inside my body. Like the old saying goes, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." No one would ever know that I did this, or that I am broke.
My mind contemplates all of these thoughts while Rick stands up to walkaway.
Before he can exit and without any further thought, I tap him on theback.
Rick turns around.
I lean into his ear and whisper, "I was just joking, honey. I love to tease. Let's go up to you’re your room. Are you staying at this hotel?"
"In fact, yes I am," he smiles, his relaxed composure returning.
