Amsterdam Eleven: Vanessa

Around 11:30 PM I received a call from the front desk. I was informed that a “Miss Vanessa” was waiting in the lobby. I had read the guidelines about the hotel and there was apparently a strict policy about escorts. I told the concierge I’d be right down. I put on my shoes, looked in the mirror, and realized that was a mistake. I was tripping really hard. I managed to become functional, but my shoes seemed to be sinking into the carpet as I walked toward the door. I didn’t want to touch the handle with my hand—I don’t know why—so I used my elbow. I made it through the doorway and noticed the walls of the hallway were breathing in and out. I felt crushed then expanded, my breath matching the rhythm of the walls. I saw the elevator and looked at the button. It was red. Bright red against metallic silver. I pushed the red button and heard a whirring sound. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. I hoped no one would be in the elevator when it arrived. The doors opened and it was empty. Thank god for small favors.

Once inside I saw the panel of buttons. The one labeled “L” was the one I wanted but I had a hard time getting to it. The air was thick as molasses. I could have gone on a voyage to Iceland in the time it took to press the button. The doors closed and I felt the lighter gravity of going down. My stomach felt woozy. Not nauseous, sort of jellyish. The elevator whispered to a halt. “Wow, silent landing. I could sneak up on someone right now.” The doors opened and I realized I needed to exit. I walked around the corner to the lobby and saw Vanessa.

She looked radiant in the soft lights of the lobby. Her hair was shimmering blackness. Jet black mascara, winter white cheeks, and liquid red lips. She wore a black leather jacket that came down just below her waist. Six-plus inches of a denim miniskirt peeked out from under. Black diamond stockings gripped her slender legs and shiny black boots climbed up her calf. She was Romanian but my mind registered her as Russian. She was maybe 5'4" with heels, but otherwise looked like she could pass in a James Bond movie. For a brief moment, I thought she might have poison plastic on those liquid lips. Maybe she intended to kiss me to death. I thought that would be one of the best ways to die.

Apparently I was gaping at her because the concierge lightly coughed. I snapped to and turned to him. He said, “Miss Vanessa, sir.” I said, “Yes, I see. Thank you.” I don’t know if I was smiling or ogling or exactly how I looked because I was so wrapped up in her. She curled her lips into a smile and widened them enough for me to see her gleaming white teeth. “Michael,” she said, “Darling.” She walked over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Shall we?” she asked. Dumbfounded, I merely nodded. I turned to the concierge and nodded to him as well, but he had already turned his back to us.

Vanessa walked me to the elevator and as we turned the corner she whispered to me, “Are you high?” Her voice was sing-song with a thick, sexy accent. It may have been the shrooms talking, but I responded, “I’m drunk on you right now.” She gave out a little laugh then asked which floor. I held up four fingers and stared at them. She pushed the button and the doors opened immediately. She pulled me in behind her and pressed “4.” The doors closed and we were alone together. I turned to her and asked if I could kiss her. She smirked. “No rush, baby. I here all night. We get you to room first.” She was clearly amused by my bizarre behavior and looking at me with eyes that said “You are not who I expected you to be, certainly not at this address.” Her eyes were also soft and kind. To my eyes she appeared to be glad I was different.

The elevator doors opened and Vanessa pulled me by the hand, ever so gently, out of the elevator. “Which room?” I pointed and she walked me over. “You are puppy dog, baby. I like you, but you are strange.” She kept smiling that smile with the lips that dripped lipstick. I unlocked the door with my magnetic card and opened it for her. Vanessa walked inside and I followed behind. She unbuttoned her coat and let it fall to the floor. She wore a tight-fitting black blouse with a couple buttons undone to expose her cleavage. The blurb on the web site mentioned that she had natural breasts. They weren’t completely exploding through her shirt but under different circumstances she would be better off wearing a size larger.

The blouse fit tight around her shapely waist. Her skirt clung tightly to her ass. She twirled halfway round to face me, one leg out at an angle with her other planted firmly and straight. She nodded her head once toward me and flipped her wrist over to casually point. “You close door or you want whole floor hang out here?” She shook her head. “You are piece of work, baby.” That accent! Le sigh. I closed the door with my foot without taking my eyes off of her. I was in awe, but I was also hungry for her.

“I want to lick you all over.” Vanessa stared at me wide-eyed. “Did I say that out loud? I meant to ask if you want anything to drink.” She laughed. I opened the refrigerator and saw super-orange orange juice, dull green Heineken bottles, little itty-bitty bottles of Scotch, whiskey, vodka, and rum, an assortment of candy bars, and the rest just blurred together. It was like a clown car for drinks and snacks. I couldn’t believe the little thing could hold so much. I thought there might be a compartment in the wall where a walk-in cooler existed and a tiny man pushed and pushed and pushed all the stuff he could fit into the refrigerator until it bulged to the brink of explosion. I believed this was really true, as real as Vanessa standing in my hotel room. Then I thought it was unreal that she was standing in my hotel room. Was she really here? I was afraid to turn around and find out that it had all been a hallucination, a shroomy dream that had dissipated, and I’d be alone again, left with my ganja and a refrigerator that wanted to be bigger than it was.

As I turned around something shifted within me and when I saw her I realized what it was. She was real, a very real woman with a very real heart and mind. Some latent virtue came rising to the surface and I said to her, “Vanessa, if you don’t want to be here you don’t have to stay. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’ll pay you a gratuity as if you’d stayed all night even if you leave right now.” Vanessa’s mouth dropped open. She closed her eyes and shook her head and a bit of her torso as if she had a chill or a sudden recollection of a bad experience. When she opened her eyes she looked puzzled and taken aback. She asked, “Is this trick? I no like being toy, you know?”

I responded, “No, no. I’m being honest. I just … this is the first time I’ve ever done this and I don’t … I don’t want to take advantage of you.” Upon hearing this, her eyes went wide, her open mouth spread into a smile, and she clutched her belly as she doubled over. “Oh … my … god.” She started laughing. “You are … you are like virgin!”

I blushed. “Well, when it comes to escorts, I am a virgin.”

She shook her head and walked toward me. “Baby,” she said. I loved how she said baby. That accent was intoxicating. She put her arms around my neck and let her hands dangle. She leaned in and gave me a very gentle but sensuous kiss. “I here, baby. I here with you all night, okay?” My knees were a little weak and my lips were pulsating. My tongue felt like the size of a football. I tried to say something but my gigantic tongue wouldn’t let me. She put a finger to my lips anyway. She asked if I had any music. I forced my tongue to cooperate. “No, I don’t think so.” I remembered my laptop. “Maybe you can find something on YouTube.” Her eyes lit up and she walked over to the computer. I sat down on the bed and watched.

She bent over with her ass a foot or so from my face. I pondered it. A shroom voice that had a lot of hair on it said, “Grab her ass!” but then a shroomy Vanessa voice said, “Chill, you got all night, baby.” My mind said baby with Vanessa’s lilt. I went to the fridge. I saw the empty space where the Heineken I had drank earlier had been. The tiny man had forgotten to push more beer into the fridge. I asked Vanessa if she wanted a drink. She said a beer would be good so I grabbed a bottle of Heineken and opened it using the gizmo on the side of the fridge. The bottle cap clanked and fell to the floor. I looked at it and it seemed like a green life boat in a blood-red carpet sea. I picked it up to rescue potential survivors. As I stood there I felt myself sinking further into the floor. I figured it had to be the shoes so I removed them. My feet felt better and the carpet somehow seemed more stable. There was obviously something very strange about the soles of those shoes. Sole? Soul? Different spellings, different meanings, same sound. I shook my head and said aloud, “That’s fucked up.”

Suddenly gypsy music filled the room. I screamed, “Aaaaahhhhhh!” I turned around and saw Vanessa whip her head around at me. She looked shocked. “What? You no like?” I said, “No, no, I heard something and didn’t know—never mind.” Gypsy music seemed like a really odd choice; the fiddling was better for stomping about than setting a mood. Sure enough, though, Vanessa stomped around in a weird Romanian jig. She grabbed the bottle from my hand and took a big drink. She let out a squeal “Aieeeeya!” and continued gyrating and spinning as she danced, throwing her arms above her head, nearly flinging the bottle to the ceiling. She caught herself and brought it back down without spilling a drop. She half crouched, covered her mouth with her hand, and giggled. She pulled her hand away and looked at me with an eyes-wide grin as she said, “Oops.”

I shook my head slowly side to side and smiled at her. I reached out and she handed me the beer. I took a drink and handed it back to her. I asked her, “You like this music?” Her eyes went wide again as did her mouth. “You are joking, no? This is Romania’s best singer group!” She uttered ten syllables in Romanian something akin to “Uzabekesculatoradia.” It sounded like a weird fusion of Russian and Italian. She handed me the beer and again started dancing, this time sensually as the rhythm of the song changed. Her back was to me and she raised her arms above her head as her hips gently swayed. With a toe out front she gently tapped it again and again as she turned toward me. She very purposefully placed one foot directly in front of the other as she walked to me. She dipped her head and her face became shrouded by hair. Her deep, dark eyes peered through her hair. They were twinkling, so vibrantly full of life I gasped.

“Baby,” she said, followed by a string of Romanian words ending finally with iubescu. I was able to catch the last word and pronounce it correctly. I asked Vanessa what it meant. “It means ‘I love you.’” I stared at her thinking, wow, she doesn’t need much to get her going. She smirked, “The song. I repeat the words to you. It’s sexy.” She kissed me again. “Come, you dance with me, no?” I said, no, I’d rather sit and watch. The shrooms were losing energy and I felt anchored to the bed. She shrugged and started dancing again, sensuously moving her body. I drank the Heineken while watching. I remembered the marijuana and figured a small toke might take me back up a little higher. I grabbed my bowl, lit it, and inhaled. I blew smoke toward her and she laughed. “No wonder you are strange. You are always high.” I asked her if she wanted a hit and she gave me a hard, clipped, “No.” It sounded like she’d cut off the end of the “o” with a machete. Her eyes saddened and her lips formed a pout. “I no like.” It was so sexy! Fuuuuuck!

Honestly, I just wanted to listen to her speak. The accent made me delirious. I felt the flush of the pot mix with the shrooms and I leapt up to hug her. “It’s okay, baby”—now I was saying baby like she did—“I want you to be happy.” I was grinning ear to ear and I felt a wave of euphoria come over me. I blurted out, “We have to celebrate! I just made eight million dollars today! Whooooo!” I jumped up and down and started trying to dance to the song. I lost track of Vanessa and once the song ended I stopped moving. It had been an incredibly long song, perhaps a mix of many songs. I looked around until I saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, her mini skirt exposing just a smidge of the crotch of her panties. She was propping herself up with her hands behind her, leaning back a bit with her breasts thrust forward. Her head was tilted to the side. “You dance good.” A pause, “You are millionaire?”

I was high and the shrooms were back, clocking a gigabyte per second. “Oh, yeah, I am filthy rich!” I wasn’t sure why I was saying this, but there was something about spending gobs of cash that made me feel giddy. She was playing a role with me and something in me said, “Play a role with her!” So I played Big Daddy Warbucks. “I wish I had a cigar right now.”

She responded, “Ewww. Cigar is gross. It is for fat, greasy man who hate women. No, you are not cigar man.” She stood up and put her arms around my neck. “No, you are fun, you like life. You are strange and maybe drug addict, but you are good.” Addict? Ha! I was no addict. Neither mushrooms nor cannabis are addictive. Granted, to her eyes I was drinking beer, smoking dope, and maybe she figured I had taken ecstasy rather than shrooms. Given that, I understood why she would say it. But I felt defensive, like I had been insulted. I was on vacation, a vacation from my vacation, but she didn’t know that. Now that I had told her I was a millionaire she probably thought I was a trust fund baby or … who knows?

“You like drugs? You want cocaine?” I was super high and whatever rational part of me existed was lying on the floor completely incapacitated. I yelped, “Yes!” She said, “Okay, I make phone call.” She went for her hand-sized purse, pulled out a teeny phone, pushed a button, flipped her hair to the side of her head, and put the gizmo to her ear. A moment passed and then she began speaking Romanian again. There was a back-and-forth for a couple minutes before she hung up. “Okay. He call me twenty minutes and we go to lobby to get cocaine.”

The rational part of me jumped off the floor of my mind. “Whoa! Not in the lobby.” She cut me off quickly. “No, in car outside hotel, silly. He call. Twenty minutes.” Vanessa smiled. “You want ‘nother song, baby?” She paused. Then she undid one of the buttons of her blouse further exposing her cleavage and the edges of her lacy black-and-red bra. She turned to the computer, clicked a video on YouTube, and started dancing again. The song was much slower and the voice was of a Romanian Frank Sinatra. Vanessa licked her lips, turned to the fridge, and grabbed one of the seven Euro Heinekens.

It dawned on me that I probably didn’t have enough cash for the cocaine. Before Vanessa could turn around and start dancing again I asked her how much for the coke. She said, nonchalantly, 60 Euros. I told her I needed to go to an ATM machine, that I didn’t have that much cash on me. I panicked for just a second before she turned, smiling, to say that cash wasn’t necessary. “You pay with credit card, no problem.” Credit card? Credit card?! For cocaine?! I was flabbergasted. Vanessa danced sensuously but I was distracted. I filled a cup of water from the tap in the bathroom sink and drank it to fend off dehydration.

Twenty minutes passed while dancing, hugging, kissing, and singing. God, she was fun. Vanessa’s phone rang. She said something in Romanian and then, “Okay.” She hung up and grabbed her coat. “Now we go.” We went out into the hallway and I noticed my visuals were gone. I was still high, but mainly stony. I wasn’t sure what time it was but Vanessa had arrived more than an hour earlier. We took the elevator down, walked out of the lobby past the concierge’s desk, and over to a taxi parked just outside. A valet was nearby. I was a little nervous: smoking pot in my room, an escort in tow, buying cocaine in the valet drive-up.

We got into the backseat. Vanessa said something in Romanian and then the handsome, middle-aged dark-haired man replied. Vanessa nudged me and said, “Is okay. You give him card.” I handed him my credit card as he reached over the seat. He had an old-fashioned card slider. He did his thing and returned my card before reaching in a black backpack to pull out a little plastic bag filled with white powder. He ripped off the yellow receipt from the card swiper and handed it to me with the plastic baggie. I took the receipt and baggie and put them in my pocket. Vanessa pulled herself forward, grabbing the back of the front seat to do so, and placed a tiny kiss on the man’s cheek. He smiled and said, “Ja, ja. Go.”

We exited the cab and I looked toward the valet. He seemed entirely uninterested but I said to him anyway, “Changed our minds.” He didn’t look my way or even blink. It dawned on me that I probably was not the first nor would I be the last to conduct business that way. Staying at such a hotel has the wonderful benefit of affording ultimate privacy and nonjudgmentalness … on the surface, at least.

As we entered the elevator and the doors closed I thought, “Buying coke through a taxi driver ... what a brilliant cover! I love this city.” Vanessa was relaxed but quiet. When the elevator doors opened we walked to my door and I unlocked it. We entered and Vanessa again let her coat slide off of her onto the floor. She turned and gave me a relaxed smile. “You want line?” I said yes. She looked around the room for a suitable surface for the blow. I had brought a couple of CDs with me in case there was a stereo in the room—there wasn’t—and pulled out a case. Vanessa said “Yes, perfect.” I pulled the gram out of my pocket, placed the case on the top of the dresser, and dumped a couple rocks onto it. I pulled out my wallet and took out my credit card. I placed it flat against the case on top of the rocks. I pressed down softly, swirled it around a bit, pressed again, and swirled it one last time. I lifted the credit card and used the room key to scrape off the residue. I swiped a finger across the area and licked the white dust off. Instant nummie and just a hint of waking. I used the edge of my credit card to dice up the coke into a finer powder. I separated the pile into two sizeable lines. I had a couple of five Euro bills in my wallet. I handed one to Vanessa and I rolled one up for myself. I got up and offered her the first line.

I learned to use separate bills for snorting coke during my separation in Chicago. My time spent with brokers involved plenty of cola. One of them informed me that AIDS was easily transmitted through the nostrils. Using the same bill as everyone else increased the odds of contracting disease. I wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but better safe than sorry—especially with an escort. I didn’t want to make any harsh judgments but I figured it was prudent to be cautious.

Vanessa bent over and snorted a line. She stood up like a shot, like someone from beneath the floor had grabbed her breasts and shoved her as hard as possible toward the ceiling. She sniffed and breathed, sniffed and breathed, and then burst: “Oh, yeah!” Here she was calling me a drug addict! I was beginning to wonder myself: beer, pot, shrooms, and cocaine. Quite a night. Oh, and an escort to boot at a high-end hotel during a luxury-away-from-luxury weekend. Damn, I was doing it right. Fuck Vegas. I was plenty happy with the decadence of Amsterdam. I hadn’t been gambling yet, but there was a casino in the city if I got the urge to play Texas Hold’em.

I took my turn and zoomed a line. I shot up just like Vanessa. I had been on one knee and found myself feeling like I might hit the ceiling no matter how high it was. I was instantly flying. “Wow,” I said to Vanessa over and over. “This is really good coke.” I wasn’t sure if it was completely pure, but there was no ether or any other additives I could detect. Not that I was an expert, but I’d done some “rocket fuel” in my youth and so I knew the smell of ether in the nose. This stuff was as soft and odorless as powdered snow.

I turned toward Vanessa and her eyes were bulging from her head. She was panting and her chest was heaving, her breasts rising and falling. She started undressing, letting her blouse dropped to the floor. Her lacy black bra was see-through. She had sizeable areolas and protruding nipples. She zipped off her mini-skirt, not fast but with a little urgency. Her sheer black panties contrasted with her smooth alabaster white skin. Her breasts were perfectly rounded in the bra. She stopped what she was doing and said to me, “We share a bath, no?” I nodded my head while thinking, “We share a bath, yes.”

I unbuttoned my shirt. As I did she stepped over to kiss me, her hands sliding down my back, squeezing my ass, and then coming around to the front. She unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, reached a hand down, and grabbed hold of my growing erection. She pulled her mouth away from mine and pulled me by my dick to the bathroom, looking back at me with mischievous eyes and a sexy grin. She wiggled her nose and giggled. Adorable. She was sexy, beautiful, and cute all at the same time. I couldn’t figure out how she pulled it off, but I appreciated the rare combination while becoming more aroused.

The bathroom counter had a variety of goodies including a small bottle for a bubble bath. Vanessa bent over and started the tub as I uncorked the bubble bottle. I put my hand on a cheek of her rounded ass, squeezed while appreciating the firmness, and dumped the contents of the bottle into the water. Vanessa stood up and unbuttoned her bra. Her breasts spilled out. They were perfect or as close to perfect as I’d ever seen. She was breathing heavy and I noticed I was as well. I pushed down my pants and took off my shirt. Vanessa pulled down my boxers as she licked her lips and made a move that made me think she was going to take my cock in her mouth. She stopped, looked up at me, and winked. “Later, baby. Not without protection.”

Vanessa stood up again and pulled down her panties. She was completely waxed and I noticed the dimple of her labia before she turned to climb into the tub. I stepped out of my pants and underwear and joined her. The tub was mostly full and filled with bubbles. Vanessa’s breasts floated as they protruded from the top of the foam. We settled down and relaxed. She asked me if I liked her. “Of course I do!” She looked at me coyly. “You no like my breasts? Come, wash me.” I struggled for words before sliding to her and cupping them in my hands. They were slippery and soft but firm. I squeezed gently and massaged them. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. I allowed one hand to move down her stomach below her navel. She had fleshy abs. They were trim and silky to the touch, slick with the water and oils of the bubbles. She gave out a low moan as I lowered my hand further. It was as if we were at a sex spa. Vanessa then washed me, taking special care to massage between my legs. This time my head was rolled back with my eyes closed and I let out sighing moans of pleasure. It had been a long time since I had been in a bubble bath with a woman. I forgot how erotic it could be.

We got out of the tub and dried one another with enormous white towels. We put on cozy white robes and walked to the bed. Vanessa let herself fall back and her robe came open exposing her body. She looked incredibly sexy and I gently climbed on top of her allowing my own robe to open. She shifted before I touched down and climbed out of bed. She went to the dresser for her purse. She pulled out a condom and climbed beside me. She pushed me over onto my back, bit open the wrapper, and took out the rubber. She slid it on me and then lifted her leg to mount. She slowly lowered herself onto me and I slid inside her. Her eyes were closed and her head was bent forward, her arms dangling at her sides. She removed her robe entirely and quickened her pace. Her eyes opened and fixed on mine as she moved faster. I rolled my hips and twirled her onto the bed beside me, moving along with her without sliding out. It was my turn to take off my robe and I placed my hands on her breasts while slowly but rhythmically gliding in and out. I thrust harder and she winced, telling me to slow down.

“You are too big.” Was that a line escorts give their customers? She felt tight and other than her breasts she was petite. I couldn’t enter all the way so maybe penetrating too hard was painful. I slowed my pace and went in and out only halfway. It had been two-thirds of a year since having sex, but I was glad to see that sexual movement was like riding a bike. Everything came back to me. I wondered, though, how many men this nineteen year old woman had seen as an escort. I pushed the thought out of my mind. Why think about that? I was the one with her now.

We switched back and forth from foreplay to fucking, changing positions along the way. When I came I rolled off her, panting, not used to such activity in bed. The coke was wearing off. Vanessa got out of bed as I had been thinking that and started chopping more coke and forming more lines. I got off the bed and joined her. It was fun watching Vanessa snort lines while naked. There were wiggles and convulsions, her breasts heaving upward and flopping down against her chest. Then there was the eye popping and mouth-opened “Hhhhwowwhhh. Holy shit!” I did a couple lines and threw my head back. The shit hit quickly and I was flying.

We talked past one another for the next hour. Vanessa got on the phone at one point to call a friend and I listened to her chattering away in Dutch and French for about ten minutes, enjoying my high, her beautiful body, and the rat-a-tat-tat of her voice. Even in other languages her accent was sexy. Her emotions were all over the place, from giggles to pouty, clipped “No’s” to languid and dreamy-eyed French phrasings. When she got off the phone I peppered her with questions about her life. We were lying on the bed together by then, half-clothed in our robes, hers opened enough that I could see her breasts as she lied face up and I face down at her hip. My head was resting near her pubic bone on her soft upper thigh which was comfortably padding my cheek. I asked her about her classes, her life as an escort, and more. She asked me about my business—I had to make stuff up, being a faux millionaire and all—and my past relationships. I told her about my divorce, the reason I came to Amsterdam, and more.

Vanessa went to her purse again and grabbed another condom. She ripped it open with her teeth. She turned me onto my back, slid the condom onto me with her mouth, and performed the most spectacularly pleasurable fellatio of my life. I wasn’t as high from the coke and I came much quicker given her magical lips and tongue. She looked up at me and smiled. I lifted my head and looked down at her with my cock in her hand. I wasn’t sure how I looked, but I felt dreamy. She said quietly while nodding her head, “Yes, you are happy.” I laid my head back down and laughed. “Yes, Vanessa, I am very happy.” We talked a little more and I thought about doing more coke, but I saw it was nearly 5:00 AM. We were both sleepy-eyed and we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I woke about 7:30 AM feeling surprisingly fresh. I looked over and Vanessa was still sleeping. I went to the dresser and looked at the room service menu. French toast sounded delicious to me. I climbed back into bed and crept up next to Vanessa’s ear. I whispered, “Vanessa. Vanessa, wakey, wakey. What do you want for breakfast?” Her eyes were still closed but she started to wake. She gave me her clipped “No” then paused and said, “Pancakes … and orange juice.” Then she rolled over onto her back, stretched as far as she could while yawning, and opened her eyes. She smiled at me. “Good morning, darling.” I gave her a short, soft kiss on her forehead. She cooed and then said, “I have to pee.” I laughed. How romantic.

I ordered breakfast and we ate heartily. As she was finishing she said, “I have to go. It’s been more than eight hours.” I said, “Nooo, staaaay.” She shook her head no. “Even if you paid more I couldn’t stay. I have to sleep.” I nodded. Besides, I’d already spent more than a thousand dollars for her to stay the night. Still, I felt rich, like I hadn’t even gotten started spending money. “Can I see you tonight? I’m not leaving the hotel until tomorrow.” She turned and looked at me with her big brown eyes. She let out a gasp of exasperation. “Really?” I said yes. She looked deep in thought as if making calculations. “Okay, but we no use escort service. You pay me cash.”

I thought about this. I wondered why so I asked her. “Because agency take half. I charge you 100 Euros each hour, okay?” I liked the sound of that so I said yes. “Come by around 10:00 PM tonight, okay?” She shook her head no. “You call me when you want me come over. Maybe you change mind.” I knew I wouldn’t but she grabbed a pen from the dresser and wrote her phone number on my hand. Then she went into the bathroom to freshen up. When she came back out she got dressed. I wrote down the number on a piece of paper and then brushed my teeth. When I returned from the bathroom Vanessa said, “I go, baby.” Sigh. That sexy baby loosened every bit of tension in my body. She passionately kissed me then walked to the door. As she opened it she turned back, smiled, and blew a kiss. She walked out and the door closed. She was gone.