As I grow older, I wonder if I still have it. Sure, we still go to the occasional swing party and have a great time, but we know these people, and of course, no one wants to hurt anyone's feelings.

Paul, my husband, recognizes that I am not my normal happy-go-lucky self and begins the difficult process of finding out why I am down.

I can’t help myself; my lover, friend, and forever partner is asking me why I am so down. I curl up into a ball and begin to cry. In between sobs, I moan, “I am sixty, and no one wants an old lady like me. The last time I was out shopping, not one man gave me a second look, no one.”

“I’m not like you and other guys that get older; you bastards seem to get more handsome and desirable.”

He sits back, looks at me, smiles, and says, "Nadine, you are one of the most desirable women I know; when other men look at you, it isn’t a glance; it is one of pure lust.”

I scream at him, "Sure, it used to be that way, but now they could care less. I am full of wrinkles, my tits sag, and I am fat.”

Paul stands up and says, “Get dressed into something a little flashy, not too wild; we’re going out.”

I sit here feeling sorry for myself when he turns and tells me. “Nadine, I am taking you out and showing you off. I want you to understand what I am telling you is the truth and not a line a husband tells his wife. So, get your beautiful ass up and let’s go.”

I get up and move to the bedroom. I look and find what my mind says is show-off clothes for an old lady. Paul comes, takes what I have laid out, and throws them into the corner. He turns, holds me, and whispers, “To me, you are a beautiful and sexy woman, so please look again; I am sure there is something perfect for you.”

After looking and changing in and out of different clothes, I finally walk out to show Paul what I have chosen. He stands, grabs me, and whispers, "Yes, Babe, now that is the Nadine I know.”

I have put on a sleeveless dress with a plunging neckline, showing plenty of cleavage; it flows down to just above my knees, where you can see my stockings down to matching three-inch heels.

We walk to the car; as he begins to drive, I ask, "Where are we headed?”

“Honey, while you were picking out clothes, I was looking for somewhere you can just let your hair down. There’s a hotel with a bar about 30 minutes away; that’s where we’re heading to."

During the drive, he tells me he wants me to see what others see. I doubt I will get a second look; I’m not dressed overly sexy, more like a housewife going out for a drink or two.

We pull into the parking lot, and now the rest of his plan, Paul tells me he’ll go in first, find a seat, and wait for me to come in. He’ll set up a small camera to take in the action so that I can see later and understand the effect I can have on a room. He asks that I wait ten minutes and then make my way in.

It seems to take forever for ten minutes to pass by, but it finally does. I slowly make my way to the hotel bar. I first see it’s crowded—much busier than I expected for a Tuesday night. I walk up to the bar, feeling like everyone is watching me, and butterflies shoot up my spine. Paul is sitting at a table along the wall; he’s watching too, but he’s watching the crowd more than he is looking at me.

I find a seat; the bartender asks me what he can get me. I ask for a nice red wine. While I wait, I look and see only one other woman who is sitting in a booth chatting with a man.

It doesn’t take long before the first one, then another man comes up to me using the standard pickup line. I smile and say thank you, but I am not interested. I look over and see Paul smiling as he watches the game proceed.

Then an unexpected visitor. The hotel manager steps up and asks, "Miss, can I speak with you in my office for a moment?”

Confused, I say, “Of course." He takes my hand and leads me to the manager’s office.

He gives me a seat and asks me to introduce myself. I tell him, “Nadine. And I just came in for a drink.” He takes that in, stands, and almost shouts, "Nadine, are you in my hotel working?”

“Working? What do you mean by working?”

“Come on, Nadine, I believe you are here working as a prostitute, although I would say you are one of the high-class girls.”

I’m shocked. I’ve been taken for many things, but never once was I mistaken for a prostitute. I am upset, but, in another way, it’s flattering. Maybe I don’t have so many wrinkles, and my tits aren’t that saggy.

My face is flushed, and I deny any intention to work at his hotel. He says he heard two men walking from the bar talking about the new talent and wondering how much she charges. “So, my dear, there are only two women in the bar, and the other one, I know, is here working with my permission.”

I can’t believe it. This man is telling me he thinks I turn tricks for money, and he more or less admits he allows prostitutes to work with his permission.

I continue to deny that I am a prostitute, but it continues to fall on deaf ears. He stands, walks to the door, and locks it. He turns and tells me, "Nadine, this is so we aren’t interrupted while we negotiate a business arrangement.”

He walks back, leans on the desk in front of me, and says, "Nadine, as manager, I must be sure that those who work here are of the highest talents, so here’s how this will work. When you are here, I will, on occasion, direct you to a special guest who will need your attention; in exchange for that, you may ply your trade here three days a week.”

Oh my, I never thought of it, but I am being offered the rights to a hotel bar filled with horny men who will pay me; now that does sound interesting.

He steps closer and says, "First, it’s my responsibility to ensure you are up to my standards. Are you prepared to give me a sample?”

I look at him and see that he’s developed a bulge that needs attention. I reach out, undo his belt, and pull the zipper down. His pants drop, and he stands before me in a pair of boxers and a wonderful bulge. I grab the waistband and pull them down, releasing a nice but average cock.

I lean forward, holding him with one hand. I take him into my mouth and hear a moan as my tongue swirls around his head. I take my other hand, hold his balls, and push down on his hard cock, taking all of him in my mouth. He begins to fuck my face as I swallow his cock, and then much more quickly than I expect, he releases his load—not big but nice. I pull back, letting his cock slip from my lips, open my mouth, show him all his cum, and then swallow.

“Fuck, Nadine, you’re hired; that is one awesome blowjob. Come back tomorrow; I think you’ll find some business. I normally would let you work tonight, but I promised Cindy the bar was hers tonight.”

I thank him and say, “See you tomorrow; by the way, my prices are $75 for a BJ, $150 for a fuck, $250 for anal, and if they want me for the night, it’s $750. I will entertain doing doubles, but that price is $1000, and that is not guaranteeing an all-night stay.”

“You are an expensive one, aren’t you?”

“You just got a sample; I bet you’re thinking right now you would have paid much more than $75 for a blowjob from me; next time you will pay.”

I stand up, unlock the door, walk back into the bar, and signal Paul. I wave to the men watching and say, “If you are here tomorrow, we may have a good time,” turn and walk out the door, and head back to the car.

A few minutes later Paul gets into the car and says, “That was crazy; when you went with the manager, I heard some of the men wondering how much you would cost; can you imagine that?”

“Paul, we have an appointment tomorrow night back here. I will be using my body for some work. Would you like to come as my bodyguard?”