At a Hotel Bar.

I can't imagine why you specifically wanted me at a hotel bar on a Friday night. If the sarcasm in that wasn't obvious, consider this your notification that I know you want to see me as a prostitute. I'd have let the game play out a little longer, but I'd like to remind everyone I only do this when I'm in need of some sleep. That said, I never start this totally . My eyes are getting heavy and my attention divides, but I never wait until I'm frequently yawning. This sort of work requires attention.

So, with that out of the way, let's get started showing you wannabe sluts how to do it right. I made my way to my gym's locker room. A clean body goes a lot farther than one smelling like the gym floor. Plus I needed a shave. And while I did play with myself, I didn't climax. Clients are more receptive when they can smell my love juices, and it boosts their self esteem if they make me come.

Next I hit up my wardrobe at work. For nights like this, I always go big. Stuff designed by world famous fashion designers, clothes that people choose in lieu of paying the rent. Of those three (hey, we don't sell these at our store, so there's no chance of wholesale), I went for one of my favorite dresses. It's a simple black number with a straight skirt that's supposed to come down above my knees, but for a taller woman like me it's a little higher; not mini, but still high enough that I need to be mindful of how far I bend. The scoop neck shows off enough skin to make you think I'm about to flaunt some cleavage even though I'm actually tucked in pretty well, unless I bend over of course. In fact, even the back is high enough to conceal a bra's band. While the shoulders could conceal straps, they start so close to the edge that such a feat requires a conscious effort. For both directions; the shoulders also stop right at the tip of my triceps, and my bra straps have fallen much further. Everyone who sees me in this thinks it's on the verge of falling off, making it very easy to see who's interested.

Since I went for a dress that begs for stockings, I grabbed my sheer lace thigh highs. Some guys like them, other don't, but I figure it's easier to shed them for the latter than don them for the former. And to complement these stockings, as well as hold them up, I went with more sheer black lace. My best bits would be discernible if not for the floral pattern requiring more opacity. Enough to turn them on, yet still leave them begging. Unlike my dress, the plunging cups of my bra do show off my cleavage, but not all of it. The sturdy thong completely disappears in my cheeks, and it blends seamlessly with the garter belt. They almost look like one item. The last garment is the shoes, which I decided to do boldly. I grabbed a pair of very tall stilettos with an ankle strap. This is one of my more nerve-wracking pair since the thin leather atop the pumps only covers my toes, but they work with the outfit perfectly and really help the stockings sell my legs, and it's not like I'm wearing sandals or straps. Plus I can really get some speed in these and not break a heel. Ample practice.

Fuck. Sorry. I forgot I'm not at work. My real work. The store. Well, it helps the story anyway. Back to that.

Once I had some clothes on, all that's left is make-up. Some guys don't really get it, especially since I do just fine without it normally, but there is a reason for all the work. Practically, I love marking a date, or even just a message for a date, with lipstick. Since my eyes sometimes get dark due to lack of sleep, which is less alluring an image, I spread some eye shadow and eye liner to restore a more natural look, and these first require a primer. At that point, I kinda need foundation, mascara, and rouge just to make everything else stand out enough to match my perfected eyes and lips. And from there I need a red leather purse with a golden linen trim to carry the stuff around so I can fix it if it smears, as well as not look gaudy with a monochrome outfit. And since I'm traveling heavy and fixating on my appearance, a hairbrush will go a long way.

So yeah, hard work for the successful working girl. But that's behind us. The present is I'm now in the lobby of The Quiet Aurora Hotel. It's one of the classier places around here. Besides the highly praised bar and grill, there's the lavish rooms with strong security, room service, and, most importantly, soundproofing. As a bonus, none of the staff had the good sense of mind to run a service out of here, leaving the entire hotel fair game for any pro who wanders in off the street. The only downside is there's very little to do in the bar besides drink and socialize, but I usually don't go here for much else.

Before actually entering the bar, I make one last trip to the restroom. The focus here is rub my box a little more (remember, stay horny and on edge), and then touch up anything that isn't flawless. For someone experienced like me, that just means washing my hands and evening out my dress. Now we can go back to the main event.

The Borealis may lack televisions for sporting events, but like I said, it's a social place. A large marble bar dominates the center of the room, the horseshoe shape making it easy for everyone sitting at it to see everyone else as well as displaying the large array of brands to anyone at the door. Instead of restaurant tables like those next door at the grill, the bar employs couches and coffee tables to further the intimacy between customers. The low tables make drinking a bit of a challenge for taller girls like me - one careless move and I'm showing off whatever's under my skirt. Of course, that never bothered me. Anyway, the point is The Borealis works very hard to bring its customers together, making it very easy for a working girl to work. It also makes it a prime target for the vice squad. Let's see how well practice works.

Thankfully, the bar's doing good business tonight. I'm bound to find someone soon, and the noise will make it harder for officers to bust me. That leaves the final and most crucial step: the entrance. Never, ever, under any circumstances, throw yourself at a warm body, or just slide around the bar. Desperation is the enemy. Slight want translates to massive price cut, and possibly jail time. No, follow my lead, especially if you're working a horseshoe bar.

Upon entering, I walk straight to the bar, turning only my head slowly and methodically. It looks like I'm soaking in the atmosphere and getting my bearings, but in reality I'm trying to see who's around, what's empty, and how long people are staring. At the bar, I lean over a bit. It helps me communicate with the bartender, but thanks to this dress and the horseshoe bar, everyone at the bar is getting a peek at some cleavage, and everyone behind it is seeing a small amount of butt cheeks.

"Could I get a Bourbon Lift?" I ask, still standing.

"Comin up."

With that out of the way, it's time for me to play my mark. Yeah, I already got one. It's...