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He's forced to pleasure her.

Anyway, I'd been working for a few months when it became summer. It was a hot one that year, which brings me to the story of my first outdoor sex date.

First though, I'd like to talk about footwear. One thing I take a lot of 'professional pride' in is my dress sense. That's what I call it, anyway-others say I just shop like a woman. Without bragging, though, I think it's a major asset that I can sense what a client will like to see me in, often before our first meeting. I love going shopping in my free time for things to wear, taking in everything from 'mainstream' vintage stores to the kinkiest rubber-and-latex boutiques Amsterdam has to offer.

Luckily, my income easily allows me to buy almost anything I want, and I like to think that the clothes I buy are a big part of my success in the first place. I now have two separate wardrobes, one with everyday clothes and one with everything from leathers to sexy uniforms (more on which later) to hotpants and thongs. However, this story begins with a pair of calf-high, creme-brown leather cowboy boots.

I found them in a vintage store on the Waterlooplein. While browsing for some leather jackets, they caught my eye. At first I thought they were ridiculous and tacky. They'd look good on a woman, I thought, or a 70s gay porn star. However, something drew me to them, and I couldn't keep from trying them on. They fitted like a glove and looked strangely good on me, and being cheap as they were, I decided to take them home. Might be fun for a fancy dress party, I thought.

Two days later, I was due to meet a new client, Harold. Louis said that he was new to the agency, had requested a guy fitting my CV and wanted to meet me at a rest stop by a forest, in an affluent area about half an hour east of Amsterdam. This was pretty norma, many guys (mostly the closeted or bicurious married ones) like to meet me in their car at a discrete spot for a little gay fun. Usually, Louis or one of his 'associates' would drop me off and hang around nearby to make sure everything was OK and to warn me if there was any police around (prostitution is legal here, but there's been a crackdown on cruising in some public places recently).

I texted Harold the day before our meeting, which I usually do. I like to drop a new client a line, just to say hello, to gauge what kind of person I'm dealing with and to see if they have any requests. I immediately took Harald to be the strong, silent type-but also slightly perverted. He didn't say much, but he did ask that I dress 'sluttily' for our meeting.

I went to pick out an outfit. 'Slutty' could be interpreted in many ways, and I was a little lost for inspiration. Somehow, my eyes landed on the cowboy boots. I tried them on with a tight, slightly too short t-shirt and some jean shorts for a sort of 'gay Daisy duke' look, and I have to say, the result was pretty impressive in the slutty stakes.

Louis dropped me off at the rest stop the next day, a little before my appointment so that I could scope out the area a little. It was a very quiet place, just off a provincial road. Trees surrounded the whole area, giving valuable isolation from the road. I could see why my client liked it. I saw a few other cars, and one or two people walking their dogs, but nothing that couldn't be avoided by parking to the far side, away from the path that led into the forest. I got back into the car and got changed (I didn't really want to draw too much attention to myself by scoping out the place in short shorts and boots). Harald had texted us the plates of his car, and we waited for it to show up.

Minutes later, a big BMW pulled up with plates matching the ones Harold had sent us.

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