Taxi to Paris Read Online Free PDF Page B

customer that she was saying goodbye to? No, she wouldn't do that! Or would she?
    The door opened. It was she. She held the door open and stepped aside. "Come in," she said.
    I walked in past her. A heavy perfume struck me. She seemed even taller than the last time. No wonder, with the spike heels she was wearing! She was obviously dressed for her clients. She wore a black leather miniskirt, shoes that made her almost four inches taller, and a leather vest, under which she appeared to have nothing else on. The outfit wasn't definitively that of a prostitute. Lots of women went out dressed like this, but I could picture how the woman who must've just been here had found these clothes exciting, how she'd unbuttoned the vest...
    She took a few steps - she could actually walk in those shoes! - and gestured to the sofa. "Take a seat and have something to drink." She smiled. "I think you'd like it better if I changed my clothes."
    I watched her disappear through a door off to the left. I realized that, until now, I'd assumed that this was a one-room apartment. That was because the bed was in here. But of course - that was professionally necessary. She had a bedroom in which she really slept - alone.
    What would her change of clothes bring to light? A see-through negligee and garters? What did she think I was expecting? I had clearly made this appointment as a client, and she would treat me as such. To hell with that! But what else could I have done?
    The door opened and she came back into the room. I'd guessed wrong about the negligee - she wore a floor-length white robe, something that every good housewife might have in her closet, if not in such luxurious silk as this one.
    She looked at me. "Didn't you find anything?" At first, I didn't know what she meant. Then I noticed she was looking in the direction of the bar.
    "I don't drink much," I said quickly.
    She smiled and walked over to the bar. "Neither do I, but I have nonalcoholic things, too." She poured something into a glass, came over to the sofa, and stood in front of me. "Would you like to try some?"  She offered me the glass. I looked up at her. I wanted to try something entirely different! She saw that I didn't want any and took a drink herself. Then she set the glass on the coffee table and sat down next to me on the sofa. She crossed her legs. Her robe slid open a bit.
    I saw her long legs. They were naked. The robe didn't reveal anything indecent, but I assumed that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it. My mouth went dry. I wanted her so badly, I could've torn the cloth from her body. I reached for the glass and took a long drink. It was apple juice. I had to smile. My first time - at least officially - with a hooker, and I was drinking apple juice!
    She sat there, calmly, and smiled at me. It was the smile she'd put on the last time to show me how well she could do her job. It was a friendly, almost loving smile. If it weren't for the heat building inside my body, I might've imagined her as an old friend. I wanted to touch her so badly I could already feel the softness of her skin on my fingertips. But I didn't want to be a client!
    She noticed that I wasn't getting down to business., as it were. "Do you like music?" she asked.
    Oh, no, that too! Some kind of sleazy mood music. But why not? That was, after all, what I was here for. I had to agree. "Yes." I didn't manage any more.
    She stood up and went over to a small stereo. She put in a CD, pressed the play button, and turned around. The Four Seasons. I'm sure I looked quite dumbfounded. "I believe you like classical," she said, "but I can put something else on, if you'd rather." She stayed there, waiting for my answer.
    "No, no - that's exactly right. I like Vivaldi." Even if she'd put on heavy metal, I probably couldn't have contradicted her, but in this case it was actually true.
    She came back over and sat down next to me. So now we'd have the great seduction scene. But she did nothing of the sort. She