Thread: The Proposition ( Mr Quixotic & Xanaphia)

Damn-it. Jake banged his fist in frustration as he caught another red-light, and glanced at the dashboard clock of his Porsche 944. He was going to be late. The thirty-six year old Stockbroker had intended to be home early to finalise arrangements for the high-stakes poker game that evening a regular monthly event he hosted for friends at his Penthouse apartment however a last-minute hiccup had seen a deal almost fall through, and he'd had to remain behind in order to save it. He swore at the lights, then his fist banged the wheel again, as if that would cause them to change. He'd just realised that, with the stress of his day, he'd neglected to call the Escort Agency to confirm that night's booking, and it was now likely too late. For the boys, it was a night out an opportunity to enjoy themselves without nagging or complaints and as much as the cards, liquor and pills, the high-class strippers, cum prostitutes, were an integral piece of the action. No wives or girlfriends were invited to spoil the fun, and fun it was. Unlike certain women Jake could name, the whores never complained of having a headache and, if offered enough cash, allowed you to fuck them up the ass - everyone had their price -, and didn't expect flowers and chocolates the next day. Not that Jake was partnered up in any case he preferred to play the field. At six feet, one inch tall, with short-cropped sandy-brown hair, a runners body, and piercing blue eyes which always held a hint of mischief, his good-looks attracted the women. Or possibly their attraction was to his Porsche 944, and Armani suits - such as the dark grey number he was attired in, accompanied by a white dress shirt, and lilac silk tie - which bespoke his wealth. His first inclination as the lights turned green, and he heard through the open window a rough, drunk voice screaming sexual obscenities, was to ignore it, and drive on. However, then he spotted her. Never one to pass up the opportunity to appraise a pretty woman, Jake slowed to a crawl, and allowed his eyes to wander. Nineteen or twenty, he guessed, as he scanned her face, then slid his gaze lower, possibly a touch older. When he peered back up, his vehicle had stopped completely, and she was right there at the passenger door. Opening it. Damn, she was cute . Even as the stranger slid inside, and he stepped on the gas to get away from the jerk who was still screaming, and stumbling towards the Porsche, Jake's mind clicked over, and he recalled something he and his friends had discussed, drunk, after the strippers had departed one evening. It'd be a lot more interesting if they weren't sluts to begin with. Maybe we should approach some random girl on the street, and offer her a bundle of money to let us fuck her. You know, kind of like the Bang Bus. Except that isn't real. The men had laughed, and talked about it a few times after, but not taken it any further. They'd never had the opportunity. Nor a captive audience to proposition. The Porsche slowed as he put some distance between it and the bus stop, and his head tilted to glance at the young woman in the passenger seat. Jake's demeanour was totally friendly, and any perverted thoughts not evident in his expression. His eyes drifted down to take in the leggings and skirt, then lifted back to her face. It appears I arrived in the nick of time bus stops always attract the weirdo's and creeps, particularly this hour of the night. What were you doing there alone, late class? He'd made an educated guess, based on her apparent age and the proximity of the College to where she'd been waiting, and continued without pause. I remember those days, always short of funds. Couldn't even afford to put gas in my car, let alone have any fun. It was either walk or catch the bus. Or find a third part-time job, and fail my classes because I was so tired, and didn't have time to study. The man shot her a smile, and raised a querulous eyebrow. Am I right? Hopefully he'd be able to gauge from her response if she'd be open to the proposition of earning a little, or a lot, of extra cash, for one night's work. Jake was sure his buddies wouldn't mind stumping up a few thousand dollars each they'd only lose it to him at the poker table otherwise.