The day before yesterday I finished my chores at home and I looked at the clock: 11:11. The invitation to make a wish was met with an inner voice "sex sex sex"—"Oh always wishing for this yet never getting it, perhaps I ought to wish something more realistic", I thought. I rolled myself a joint and went out to the street smoke. I sat on the ledge of an apparel window and puffed away.
A lady walked by, turned around and said "oh would you mind giving me just one puff, I have trouble sleeping and I could really use some now". Of course, I said, and she sat next to me. She was originally from Argentina, having lived in various cities within Europe: Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona, Berlin... The list sounded suspiciously similar to my Argentinian guest, and from the way she avoided talking about what she did for a living I could tell she was an escort, but I gave her the benefit of doubt.
She pulled down the neck of her shirt and showed me a long scar along her shoulder: "I had a skiing accident in France about a year ago and broke my arm here, tomorrow I'm getting an operation to remove the metal plate they put in". Oh wow I said, "and you're staying at the hotel tomorrow? Do you have anyone to check on you", she didn't have family in Madrid. "Let me give you my number" I said, "just in case you need any help, I live right in front of your hotel". But I wasn't carrying my phone, and I haven't memorized my number since I recently changed it. "Give me your email" she said, I did that and later in the night she sent her number. Her full name was in the sender.
The next day (yesterday) I searched for the full name in her email. A youtube video came up: she was in lingerie walking the streets of a european city. A single comment was from a lady saying that they had met in Argentina at x agency. I searched for x agency and it was a boutique escort service for girls who do this "on the side". My hunch was correct.
Later in the day she sent me a voice message: "I'm out of the operation and I'm fine, but they recommended company for me to go back home, can you come to pick me up? I answered that I was at work, if she would wait for me to come out I would pick her up at the hospital (which was far away). I found her at the cafeteria with a sling around her arm. She was wearing a slim top and baggy jeans, which made her look very attractive but struck me as a strange choice to wear to an operation. I got us a cab and we made our way back home.
On our way back she told me she would be staying in Madrid for a week. She needed to wait for a final wound cleansing at the hospital before going back to Amsterdam, where she lived. She had health insurance in Spain but not in the Netherlands. We had topics in common and it was fun chatting with her.
She wanted to smoke so that she would sleep well so after we arrived (her hotel and my building are right in front of each other) we agreed to meet outside after we had done some chores. We looked for a park but they were all full of kids, the screams stressing her. I said "we can go to my place and smoke it there", she said yes.
Nothing happened except for a pleasant conversation, she left and I went to the gym. But underneath this there was a strange energy... I think she counted on me making a move on her, and she made some openings, but I was... ambiguous. Something struck me deeply about our whole interaction: she not once said thanks or please. It was as if it was expected me to pick her up at the hospital, pay for the cab and bring her home. I was more perplexed by this than bummed by it, and I think she thought I would "charge" her for the courtesy? I mean, I do want to get into her pants but she just had an operation, that's a dick move (literally, perhaps).
I don't know where this will lead, but I appreciate the bit of intrigue in my life.