Nothing pisses me off more than getting all dressed up and sitting there waiting for the phone to ring to pass on the address where we will meet and then ending up being stood up. It takes me from one, to one and half-hours, to transform into Michele (read my stories to see the ritual I go through to transform — the ritual is pretty much the same in all of my stories and that's what I do in real life). So to all you timewasters out there; go to any of the websites listed above, look at my pictures and have a wank; don't call me for a meet unless you really want to!Once I have established trust I will then arrange a first meeting; always at a place of my choosing. I am fortunate enough to have a discreet address that I can sometimes use, or I may use a hotel room. I never meet at an Admirer's place for the first meeting. I also never give out the address of the meet until I am dressed and ready to receive the punter; I have the suitor call me to arrange the meet, get dressed, and then. I sat and watched the sun set and sent messages on my phone.At 8:45 the room phone rang, which startled me, as they never ring.It was Kasey."We are not coming to you," she said. Then a pause. "But you can come to us. 364." And she put the phone down.Would I go? Of course. Was I confident? No. They could be planning anything. They could be intending to sit on my face and suffocate me, which had a bizarre sort of appeal. Or they could try to fuck me to death, each, in turn, demanding I rattle their bones until my back broke and finally my heart gave out. Again, not entirely unwelcome.Or they might simply grab me and slit my throat. Was that how a gang of girls would do it? Probably not. Poison, more likely. Hold me down and pour hydrogen peroxide or hair dye down my throat. Or maybe the police would be waiting when I knocked on the door, to drag me away on a charge of excessive lust and suicidal optimism.I headed for the bar and had a large Cuba Libre, then another.At five past nine, I.
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