The Road Journey - Sex Stories

The Road Journey

... was in. Plus, it narrowed my search down to hot guys who would do what we told him to do. For money. With renewed confidence, I began to scour online for hot guys who required a fee for their services. How hard could this be? I thought. Shit, paying a guy to be with my sexy wife -- they would line up! But alas, there are a million male escorts out there who are more interested in serving the gay market. I guess bending over for some old, fat C-level exec of a financial institution beats working for a living. No thanks, I’ll take the daily grind. Over time, my frustration grew along with my intimate knowledge of homosexual acronyms as I searched for the right partner. Eventually, using the search term “straight male escort,” I stumbled upon a guy with some potential, and checked out his website. His name was Slate, and he was living in Toronto. I’m sure his name wasn’t really “Slate,” but it sounded a lot more manly and erotic than “Bob” or “Clifford.” Originally from upstate New York, he was thirty-seven, a former fitness instructor and was in Toronto for the next year to get a license in physical therapy. He also volunteered for an organization that reunited returning war vets with their service dogs. From what I could tell from the website, he seemed educated, intelligent and articulate. The tone of his website was sincere, but at times whimsical and irreverent. From a guy’s perspective, he seemed to be a “man’s man.” He had a few photos posted too, mostly classy shots ...

... in a suit or tuxedo, probably escorting some GILF to a bridge game or something. According to the “Stats” section of the site, he was 6’ 2”, 220 pounds, wavy brown hair, hazel eyes and an athletic build, with an extra pound or two. The few less formal photos confirmed this description, one with his shirt off at the beach. While he was no L.L. Cool J, he was a really good candidate. So, I sent him an email. I mentioned we were hard-working professionals, and very much in love. Without being specific or graphic, I described an “arranged date” for my wife in which she would enjoy the company of an attractive man, and that it would progress “as necessary.” Hitting the send button, I hoped I might hear something from him soon. I’m impatient, so if something doesn’t happen instantly, I’m officially annoyed. Three weeks went by. During this time, I had reached out to a few other guys. Most were monosyllabic meatheads who could only manage terse responses like, “Sure, name time and place,” or some who insisted on PayPal deposits before proceeding. One “dick” even offered the ultimate cuckold experience in which he would pound my wife while humiliating me. Oh cool! Name your price, Raging Bull! Finally, Slate responded to my inquiry. Scott, so sorry for the delay. I was in North Carolina at an event for veterans and I just got back last night. Thanks for your interest! You and your wife sound like a fun couple, and I’m honored you would consider me to fulfill your fantasies. In his ...