OK, there's an old expression that applies to my evening's adventure tonight, and it goes like this: "I didn't know whether to shit or wind my watch." Because "YMMV" doesn't really seem to BEGIN to cover it. It started out with fun-with-scheduling and then got much, MUCH weirder, so bear with me.
I guess everybody has an off night, and I think I'll omit the agency's name for now; they seem willing to try to make it right, although I haven't really decided what to do yet. I've decided I may think more clearly after I've slept on it.
I scheduled two hours starting at 9 with a provider who has stellar reviews, and was pretty excited about it because I've had a bit of trouble making connections with some of my top picks during this current business trip. (Maybe they all took vacations someplace cooler. But I digress.) This gal was definitely a top pick.
I was a little early to the incall hotel. Called and was told she was running a bit late. Waited longer. 9. 9:10. I'm in a parking lot for a private business, and if I was the manager, I would DEFINITELY have called the cops on me by now, so I pull out and drive around the corner to a drug store for some mints and water. Then back to the lot. 9:20. I get a call saying she's arriving shortly and will appear by the door to the left to let me inside. Headlights pull in. "I think this is her-- thanks," I say, and hang up.
It isn't. 9:30. 9:40. Still nothing. Now I'm getting voicemail at the agency. A guy in the lobby starts giving me the hairy eyeball. A woman arrives, but she takes forever getting stuff out of her car and I'm not about to hail her in a dark parking lot and be wrong. I take another little drive and return, parking someplace a bit less visible to the security cameras. 9:50. 10. Still nothing.
At 10:10 I get a call back from one of the messages I left. "She's not there? I thought you two had been inside for an hour already!" The agency tracks her down. She's at a sushi joint a block away. Apparently has been there, well, at least an hour, and wasn't sure if things were still on. But she had a driver, and the driver has gone off someplace, so she's stuck there. Or I could pick her up; what am I driving?
I'm driving a piece-of-crap rental that I've been sitting in for better than an hour now, but sure, I'll go get her.
The restaurant's closed, as a pot-bellied restaurant worker informs me when I pull up, making TWO local business establishments that now believe I may be lurking with nefarious intent to do bodily harm. "I'm just here to pick up a friend."
"Well, she's waiting." As indeed she is. We walk to the car. It's a bit awkward as I'm still kind of riled about the long, confusing wait, but we talk a bit and things seem to settle down. We're not connecting real well on conversation, but I tend to talk softly and can be a bit hard to understand, so I figured the evening would find its groove eventually.
But wait; she doesn't have the key. So we sit in the car a few minutes more until the key is dropped off by somebody from the agency. We're still in the car. "Wanna make out in the car?" No, I want to go inside. Using that key. "So what do you think?" Is this some sort of new LE test? I think I want to go upstairs, and spend two hours with a woman with great reviews, even if it's later than I expected. She's worried that I'm angry about the delay. I was frustrated, but I'm not angry, I assure her. We tak some more. "Why did you pick me?" I tell her that her reviews seemed to show that she was really in the moment and responded to whomever she was with. (This is what you'd call 'foreshadowing.')
It's almost a quarter to 11 by the time we get inside. I put an envelope on the table. We kiss a bit. She pops into the bathroom, then joins me on the couch. "So, what do you think?" I think I want to kiss a whole bunch of you. Most of you, in fact. We lose clothes as we move toward the bed.
The next part obviously falls under the 'everything on this site is fiction' clause of the site rules, but it felt like maybe Philip K. Dick or some other dystopian sci-fi writer was involved. We kissed a while longer, but she was kind of passive, which didn't seem like her reviews at all. We stripped and she locked her arms behind her knees, holding herself wide open as I DATY.
She still seemed pretty passive. How passive? She started snoring. With my tongue inside her.
How the hell do you respond to that? Besides losing all wood and interest, I mean.
It was 11 o'clock. She let her legs back down, apparently no longer bothered by pesky cunnilingus, and commenced to snoozing. I sat on the couch. Do I wait for her to wake up? Leave? With or without the envelope? Is she OK? There are witnesses to her getting in my car. If she has OD'd or something, this would qualify as "Very Fucking Bad."
I check her arms. No track marks. She still seems to be breathing without difficulty. She's apparently just very, VERY tired, and no clitoral stimulation was going to stave off the Sandman.
So, figuring that I would be an asshole to stiff her and that she has far bigger problems then I can help with, I left enough to cover the prorated "conscious" portion of our time together, dressed, left, and called the agency to suggest that they send somebody over to make sure she's OK. They were, I think, a little stunned -- not as stunned as me, but a little -- and very apologetic. Having already invested two hours of frustration, I decided to sleep on it.
Now, I think I'll find some high-octane alcoholic beverage and smash my head against the hotel wall until I, too, can get some sleep.
And if any of you ladies are really tired and need somebody to give you head to keep you awake? Apparently you should get in touch with somebody else.