This was originally published here: https://such.forumotion.com/t1984-u-turn#17087 .

As per Subbu's request, publishing and continuing this on a separate thread of its own.

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This reminds me of the only time I ever paid for sex!

When I was a kid, there was a hot aunty-looking actress who played secondary roles in South Indian movies. She was usually the hot older sister or sister-in-law, etc. in a handful of movies. When she came in initially as a perky 19-year-old, she was made a heroine in a couple of movies. But then, one of the producers left his first family to marry her. A few years after marriage, she wanted to get back to her artistic career, but her husband would only allow her secondary roles (although she was just in her 20s) in which there was no danger of some old or older sleazy South Indian hero feeling up her considerable frontage.

She had beautiful tits that seemed to defy gravity. They were these dynamic D-cups that always seemed to be at raised attention. The only things that come close to comparison are the voluptuous sculptures in ancient Hindu temples. I still remember a HUGE argument I had with a Retardmun-like classmate who claimed that she didn't wear bras. My theory was that nobody's tits could be so big and still appear so firm and stand-up, without proper support. His theory was that this actress had indeed grown this type of wonder-of-the-world assets not once, but twice. I was infuriated with his virgin stupidity and we almost came down to blows.

What does this have to do with my paying for sex years later? Break ke baad, while I go for a late lunch.

A few years ago, I was in India and had gone out to party with old friends from my school and college days. We were all sitting around, drinking and chatting and laughing late into the night when the discussion turned to sexy actresses. While everybody were chanting the names of Bipasha Basu and Mallika Sherawat, I said something about how the actresses of today have neither the looks nor the grace nor the class of some actresses from yesteryears like Ms Srilatha from our school days. Ms Srilatha (not the real name) is the well-endowed actress that I described in my previous post.

At this point, all my friends burst out laughing. When I asked them why the hell they were laughing, my Retardmun-like friend asked me slyly if I really liked Srilatha a lot. "Of course!", I declared, "I am sure she is an awesome MILF now. Would love to meet her." And then, this guy cooly declares, "I can arrange that. Just give me Rs. 25,000".

Turns out that the producer who married Ms Srilatha divorced her at some point of time for yet another young actress. He let go of her with a small pay-off that ran out pretty quickly. In order to make ends meet, Ms Srilatha had turned into a high profile 'working lady' in my hometown in India. Her going rate at that time was Rs 25,000 per session. For Rs 45,000, I could spend the whole night with her. For an additional bonus of Rs 5,000 I could either have dinner or breakfast with her, depending on her convenience, in addition to the whole night session.

I didn't believe it when my friends gave me all these details. For a woman as pretty and smart and talented and classy as Ms Srilatha, surely, there were much better ways than this type of work. There was only one way for me to ascertain the truth for myself. And, I reasoned, this would also give me an opportunity to settle that age-old argument once for all - did she use support or not in those movies long ago? I also reasoned that as long as I was paying to 'meet' a much-lusted after actress, why not go for the full 50K deluxe package?

A few days later, everything was arranged. I gave Rs 15,000 "token advance" to my friend as proof of my serious intent. The rest of it was to be paid at the start of the 'appointment' evening. I expressed my preference to have dinner with Ms S instead of breakfast the next morning. Fortunately, she agreed.

The appointment was at a hotel in the better part of the city. I was shaved, dressed, perfumed and cologned like I was going to a corporate job interview. I have to disclose that at this time of my life, I was still a virgin. So, what the hell did I know about the dress code for this type of a rendezvous. Somehow, I didn't think a traditional kurta-pyjama, with a string of jasmines around my wrist would be appropriate. My friend told me that it was one of the more respectable hotels in the city where lot of business people stayed. But the hotel management also occasionally rented rooms out for other types of businesses such as the one for which I was going to be a client that evening.

My friend took me to the hotel on his motorcycle and introduced me to Mr P, the owner of the hotel. Apparently, when Ms S had her appointments there, Mr P personally handled the arrangements. Mr P was a Gujju guy who had a striking resemblance to the Congress guy Arjun Singh. His English was also heavilty accented albeit grammatically perfect. He looked more like a sleazy bureaucrat in his safari suit than a hotel owner cum pimp. But then, what is the difference between the two?

As soon as I was taken into Mr P's office and introduced to him, he asked about the cash. I handed him Rs 35,000 in cash. That is the largest cash transaction I had done in my entire life in India up to that point. Only after the cash exchanged hands did Mr P make further conversation. To my surprise, he seemed to have all the details about me, such as the areas of the city where my house was located in, the fact that I worked in the US, the name of the company I worked for, the city in the US that I stayed in, how long I was visiting India for on that occasion, etc.

After I bid farewell to my friend, Mr P took me up to the roof of the hotel. There was a penthouse at the top with a cute little balcony and garden. In the middle of the balcony a dining table was neatly set for two people. If you walked to one edge of the balcony, you had a nice view to the western horizon of the city, which was still lit with the last of the fading daylight. But when you moved to the middle of the balcony and sat at the table, the potted plants and bushes, along with the height of the hotel building provided a rather cozy sense of privacy.

Mr P got me to sit at the table, showed me the teenaged boy who was going to be our waiter that night, told me that Ms S would be joining me shortly, wished me good night and left. The boy asked me if I'd like something to drink and I asked for a fresh-lime soda. I did not order any alcohol out of deference to Ms S. I was not sure if she would like a drinking guy or not.

Just as the boy brought my drink, I heard a rustle and some clinking sound behind me (my back was to the penthouse door to the balcony). I turned around and there she was, Ms S herself. I struck speechless as I nervously got up. She was dressed in a fashionable saree, with her long hair loose and flowing, a simple necklace and matching earrings with lots of shiny stones in them. And of course, I couldn't miss her prominent bosom under the diaphanous saree. I don't know how I expected her to look, but it was certainly not like this. As she walked towards me with her characteristic bright toothy smile, she looked like a stylish, extremely sexy, confident middle-aged woman going out with her husband to a trendy restaurant for dinner. I felt like a shabby klutz in front of her and my palm felt extremely sweaty as she said hi and shook my hand.

I don't know exactly what happened next. All I know is that we found ourselves sitting at the table, facing each other and having a great conversation. Ms S was extremely well-spoken in the contemporary English lingo, peppered with popular American phrases and idioms. I had almost never seen her speak English on the screen and so I had totally been expecting to talk with her in the local language. So, it took some time for me to get used to her English. She was very articulate in the local language too, when she used it to speak to the boy who was serving us. She spoke to him politely and respectfully, using the plural form of pronouns and verbs to talk to him. And when she spoke to me, she easily switched to English.

She was a great conversationalist. She put me at ease and took the initiative to guide the initial conversation. Pretty soon, we were chatting comfortably like old friends. She could have easily been one of my female friends from highschool or college. The boy served us food, providing better service than many of the professional waiters in more expensive restaurants. We did not have any choice of the menu. All the food was brought and ready to be served before we got there. It was hot, fresh and tasty North Indian fare. But I barely noticed any of it as I was lost in conversation with Ms S, drowning in her big mascara'd eyes, her wide smile, her melodious laughter. I was also vaguely aware that I was talking too much, pretty much laying out my entire lifestory, my value system, my belief system, my best jokes, cherished ideas, even my dark secrets.

At some point during dinner, I was clumsy enough to spill some curry on the front of my shirt while it was en route to my mouth. Before I could express my dismay at the accident, Ms S had gotten up from her chair and walked over to me. She leaned over me, holding the front of my shirt in one hand and grabbing a napkin with the other. She asked the boy to bring some soda for 'sir'. She used the soda to delicately wipe the curry off my shirt. While she was doing that, I could feel the fabric of her soft saree against my hand, her long cool hair brushed the side of my face occasionally, my nostrils filled with her heady perfume, and a couple of times, I even nervously and stealthily lifted my eyes to look up at her cleavage that was right there in front of my face. When she was done cleaning my shirt and went back to her chair, I regained some of my consciousness to realize that I had popped a tent in the front of my pants. I face flushed warm and I wondered if she had noticed it. I hoped not!

The dinner seemed to be over in 15 minutes. In reality, we had been talking and eating for 1.5 hours. We spent another 30 minutes, standing at the edge of the balcony, looking down at the well-lit city, chewing paan and talking some more. Eventually, Ms S suggested that we go down to the room. I was a little disappointed that we were not going to use the penthouse. I had noticed when I walked in that it was very nicely decorated and I had kind of assumed that we would be using it. After all, I had paid half a lakh rupees for the night! Apparently, it was not to be so. On our way out of the balcony, Ms S patted the boy on the shoulder and thanked him for the excellent service. She asked me to tip him. I reached into my pocket and handed over the first note I could grab. It was a Rs 500 note. The boy's face lit up with a smile that was brighter than Ms S's, if that was possible.

Then, we took the stairs one floor below to our room. Ms S had the key and she handed it to me to open the door and let her in...

After I followed Ms S into the room, she sat on the bed, leaned back on her hands and looked up at me. The way she leaned back, her breasts were pushed up prominently under her thin saree. She smiled mischievously at me and asked, "So, what do you want to do now?"

I shrugged and said, "We could talk". Seriously, what a klutz I was!

She laughed out heartily and asked, "You didn't have enough talk for the past 2 hours?"

"I could listen to your voice and laugh all night... all life... all seven lives... all hundred lifetimes... forever!" I replied, while awkwardly standing next to the bed and shifting from leg to leg.

"Liar!", she said, "Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!"

Then, to my surprise, she grabbed my pants and pretended to pull them off as she pushed me on to the bed next to her. I was startled, but calmed down quickly and lay on my back next to her. I didn't even make a move to get closer to her or touch her or anything. Remember again, that I was still a virgin at this time. I had never been in bed with a woman after I had grown out of my boyhood.

She turned towards me on the bed, propped up the side of her head with her hand, looking down at me and asked, "So, I am really going to be your first one ever? Or, was that also a lie?"

"I have not lied to you the whole evening," I replied.

"Lies! But cute lies nevertheless."

"It's true. There has no reason to lie to you. If had to lie, I would rather boast that I have expert experience with many women rather than admit I am a virgin."

At that point, she leaned to my face and kissed me full on the lips. A soft, warm, lingering kiss. Only our mouths touched... and some of her hair on my face... as we kissed. I just lay there still, but gently returning the pressure of her mouth on mine.

After the kiss ended and our lips parted, she again looked down at me and smiled beautifully. At that moment, she looked as beautiful and hot and desirable as she had looked in any of the old movies at a much younger age. I let out a long suppressed breath and she smiled again.

"It's so hot here. Let me switch on the AC," she said and got off the bed. My eyes followed her, devouring her swinging hips and juicy ass, while she walked towards the AC unit. She turned it on, turned towards me and started walking back. As she walked back, she let the "saree drop off her shoulders and slide behind her. Oh. My. God. Her small blouse barely held back her luscious breasts. A large area of her mid-riff was bare, including several inches below her deep navel. This 45-year-old beauty had the perfect Indian woman's body - curvy, sensuous, voluptuous, feminine, comforting, welcoming.

When she got close to me and stood by the bed, I just sat up and wrapped my arms around her waist, burying my face in her bare bosom above the edge of her small blouse. My face was in some warm, soft, intoxicating heaven. I felt her hands go around my neck, her fingers run through my hair. I just held her tight, my face pressing, rubbing, kissing all over her breasts.

I don't know for how long we stayed like this, but eventually, she loosened my arms from around her waist. She asked me to sit tight and wait while she went to the bathroom. As soon as she was out of sight, I plonked back on the bed, almost fainting with pleasure and anticipation. I looked down and found an even bigger tent in my pants. I tried to adjust my pants and push it down to keep it less prominent. Alone with my thoughts, it finally hit me fully that I would actually lose my v-card that night. With the hottest actress from my childhood. I couldn't believe my good fortune.

As these pleasant thoughts and anticipation were going through my head, somewhere at the back, another part of my brain seemed to be ringing some warning bells. The longer Ms S stayed in the bathroom, the louder this other side of my mind got. It started to say there was no good fortune involved here. It was just something I bought for 50K. The more I tried to suppress that side, the louder it got. And, just as Ms S walked out of the bathroom, I might add, in a very sexy black lingerie showing off more of her fair skin than I had ever dream of seeing, that gaandu side of my brain came up with a question that I couldn't ignore.

"I have a question I want to ask you...", I said hesitantly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"When you were telling me earlier about your life... about how your husband left you for a younger girl and you had to struggle to maintain the luxurious lifestyle you were used to..."

"Yeah?"

"You told me that you had a friend who supported you and helped you get established in this line of work... a male friend..."

"Yeah?"

"Who was this guy?"

"Oh, I thought I told you... It was Mr P. You met him earlier in the evening."

Oh. My. God. Again. Just as the gaandu side of my brain suspected. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. You see, Mr P had not just encouraged and helped Ms S get established as a high-profile call girl. Mr P had actually been her first customer, the first person to enjoy Ms S's intimate company after her husband. The whole image of that Arjun Singh look-alike Gujju uncle being close to Ms S nauseated me. All of a sudden, the buzz was gone from my head... heads, both heads. I was thinking clearly. I realized the full extent of what I was doing: about to have sex with a person who has been intimate with god knows how many men before. Not only that, but losing my v-card to her. And, when was the last time she was with a man? The previous night? Oh god... that afternoon? More than anything else, how could I ever go where Arjun Singh's twin brother had gone?

Things went rapidly downhill from there. To give Ms S credit, she immediately noticed the change in my mood. She seemed to understand what was going through my head. She was actually quiet sympathetic, although I thought I sensed some disappointment in her voice and eyes... at least, that is what my ego would like to believe. She made absolutely no attempts to influence my thoughts one way or the other. She did tell me that I would not be getting back my 50K. But she said if I ever changed my mind, I could always call on her again and she would give me a second chance. She wouldn't charge me again.

I used her cell phone to call my friend to come pick me up at the hotel. He was surprised. He didn't expect to pick me up until the next morning. He wanted to know what was wrong. He wanted me to tell him right then and there on the phone. I shouted at him to just come and pick me up. The minutes I waited for my friend to come seemed very long and awkward. All the easy conversation between Ms S and I, from just a few minutes ago seemed to be gone. We were like strangers sharing a few minutes at the bus stop and not having anything to say to each other. When I heard my friend's knock on the door, Ms S asked me not to let him come inside. She hugged me, kissed me on the forehead, said bye and told me once again that I could call her for a second chance. I stepped out of the room and walked down with my friend shouting at me to tell him what happened with Ms S and why the hell was I getting out of there so early.

That is the story of the only time I ever paid for sex... I never did go back to get what I paid for. Now, years later, no longer a virgin, after having dated many women, I sometimes think of Ms S and wonder if I could go back to take that second chance she promised. But I have never really been tempted enough to do so.

Did I miss an episode? The last I read was you and your friends discussing her support, and then your friend telling you you can have her for 50K... And now you are straight into her bedroom after 2 hours of dinner maybe. Where is that two hour dinner episode? I won't be able to read this part until I can read what led upto this.

nvm: that was my iPhone setting. I thought This is your first post on this....

I have my tea ready. The cat is out so mice can play. Let me read it through.... so excited.

Hmm... in this story, how much do you think Mr P took and how much did she get?

Moral of the story:
Caveat emptor!

Tracy Whitney wrote:Hmm... in this story, how much do you think Mr P took and how much did she get?

That was one of the things I asked her during our dinner talk. He got 3k out of the 5K for dinner since he provided the food and service. Otherwise, his usual cut is 33%. He not only provides the place for her appointments, he also screens clients to ensure they are safe and she mentioned that there was a secret button in the room that she could press to summon immediate help from his 'employees' if anything went wrong.

Another thing she said: she limited herself to 3-4 appointments per month, although she could make much more money if she didn't limit herself. She preferred full-package appointments cuz that meant almost double the money for slightly more real work. But her main concern was to limit her exposure to risk and problems.

And oh, I did clarify that old question: she did wear bras in her old movies. She thought it silly that anybody would think otherwise. No surprise that my Retardmun-like friend was wrong. Forgot to mention that in the story.

After all those gabsa dating and breaking-up posts...here come's a true story from my well-wisher SP:P

She preferred full-package appointments

>>>> Oh, for cryin' out loud, she is getting paid for it! I don't think he should be insulting her clientele like this

I meant 'she should be insulting', unless Mr.P was on the same page with her on this 'package' requirement