Pretending to be a Blonde Escort

What else could she do now that she had begun the pretence anyway, there was no way out of it except by making a complete fool of herself in the process. She had told him she was an escort and obviously he bought her, her long blonde hair styled neatly, her carefully highlighted bronze lips and her long nails only just added to the escort persona that she had unconsciously decided to portray.

She couldn't have resisted him, she could see the ripping muscles move underneath his shirt when he had sat down beside her. His curt words on the cell phone that he received a couple of times made it clear that he was a man of business. His short pepper salt hair and fingers that moved energetically and with precision over his glass of whiskey proved that he was a man wise and deep in thought. On a moment of whim and spontaneity, she knew that the only way she could distract him would be by introducing herself. So, twirling her blonde hair she said "Hi". His disinterest only spurred her, she wanted to seduce him.

"Would you need my services tonight?" she purred into his ears, the whole while almost giggling out because she couldn't believe what she was doing. "Are you a Blonde escort?" he asked, and she could see that she had finally caught his attention.

But an hour later, together in his hotel room, she knew she had taken it too far. He had taken one drink too many and had endlessly spoken to her about his life and remarked how easily he could open up to her. She had listened intently and been mesmerized by his very successful and eventful life and she knew she was falling in love with him. When he asked her about how much he needs to pay her, she knew she was way in over her head.

She could see he was obsessing over her blonde hair, she knew she was only an escort to him; but she knew she would have to find a way to tell him she is not who he thinks she is- an escort! She looked around nervously as he began to fumble with his clothes. She closed her eyes to concentrate on what she could do. Suddenly she heard him yell, "What in the name of God" he was holding up the hotel catalogue and pointing to a photograph on it, he had come across it on the bedside table. "You own this place?!"