Milan

If there is one cliché? to describe how I feel in Milan during Fashion Week, it would be like a kid in a candy store! I was there on business though but I could not help but scheduling my meetings in the mornings so that I could at least catch some of the shows: Sander, Armani, Prada, etc., beautiful clothes worn by some of the most beautiful women in the world. Don?t get me wrong, I?m not one of those shallow men who goes entirely in for the model type. I think beauty comes in a variety of shapes, sizes and hues. For me it?s more the way a woman carries herself. That vapid, human clothes-hanger thing didn?t really do it for me. I preferred my women with distinct and strong personalities, that assuredness of confidence was what really got me going. But even with all of that, I must say that the Jill Sander show was by far my favorite, even though I consider myself to be traditionalist and lean more toward the home-town hero, Giorgio Armani. The pieces in her collection were incredible and the girls who modeled them were just as awe-inspiring. The full contingencies of hanger-ons and entourages were in town as well, making the city a veritable poser?s paradise. I was staying at the Hotel Bulgari. * That evening, I decided to check out the always hopping Gold. Gold is a club designed by Dolce and Gabanna. I figured the place would be jumping and I was right. It was absolutely the night of the beautiful people as I made my way along the velvet ropes, to one of the beefy doormen and gave him my name. He politely asked me to wait and someone would come and take me to the VIP section. After about five minutes according to my vintage 1960?s silver Rolex Date-Master, a leggy blond waves me into the club, through the mass of people and into the VIP section. I slid her $100 note for her troubles, ordered a bottle of Krug Rose and a double Louis XIII and passed her my platinum American Express. I was wearing a pearl grey Oswald Boateng suit with a white Ascot Ankara bayan escort Chang custom straight collared shirt with a black Yves St. Laurent logoed belt and black Gucci patent leather slip-ons as I took a seat on the couch in the VIP area. From my seat I could look down and see all of the people dancing and carousing. The girl returned with my drink order. She sat the bucket with the iced-down champagne in front of me as well as the Louis XIII in a very nice crystal tumbler. I slipped her another $100 ask her and asked her to close out my tab. As I sat in the VIP, my mind wondered toward the seemingly endless wave of people in the club. Who were they? Where did they all come from? Where did they go once this spectacle is over? My daydream was interrupted. ?Jill Sander, third row, next to the woman in the horrible hat?? I looked up expecting to see the drink girl with my tab instead it was another blond, with a short cropped haircut, an tight black sweater dress, Chanel maybe, black, knee length boots and black Prada glasses. ?Hi there, excuse me.? I said trying to focus on where I knew this girl from. ?Have we met?? ?No, no, I?m sorry. I just remembered you from the show this afternoon. You were there, right? The Jill Sander show?? She bent down over me speaking in my ear over the loud music. ?Oh yes, I was there. It was a great collection. I don?t write for a magazine or buy for a store. I?m here on business and thought I would check out some of the shows.? I said, trying to let this girl know that there would be no real reason to cozy up to me. ?Well you certainly dress the part of an aficionado.? She said, eyeing my suit. ?If that was meant to be a compliment, then thank-you.? ?Oh, it definitely was a compliment. So where?s the rest of your entourage?? ?Entourage?? I replied curiously. ?Yes, I read all the time about the black entertainers in America traveling with an entourage Escort bayan Ankara everywhere they go. Is your?s near by?? She eyes surveyed the VIP looking for those who might be a member of my entourage. ?Are they on the dance floor?? I could feel the warmth of her breath on my neck as she spoke to me. ?Slow down. First of all, I am not an entertainer. Secondly, I don?t have an entourage.? ?So where is your partner?? ?Partner? Like business partner?? ?No, not exactly, I meant like lover.? ?Lover? Oh, you thought I was at fashion week and that I?m not an entertainer and I didn?t have the posse with me that the next logical conclusion would have to be that I was I was here with my lover, my male lover none the less.? ?Well how else would you explain it?? ?Explain what?? ?The fact that you have yet to ask me to dance!? She smiled widely, causing both of us to burst our laughing. ?So you are the female Benigni, huh?? ?I?m sorry; I could resist taking a piss. I?m Stephanie.? She said still smiling. ?Stephanie, I?m Preston . Have a seat if you like.? ?Thank-you. Business trip, what sort of business?? She asked, falling deep into the sofa, her legs spread slightly giving me a slight glance to what lie between her thighs. ?Don?t blame me for the price of your petrol but I am in the oil and gas industry. It moves me around a lot and every so often I get stuck in a place like Milan right in the middle of Fashion Week. If it wasn?t for bad luck, I wouldn?t have any! How about you, how do you pay the bills?? ?I?m a writer.? She said as she poured herself a glass of the Krug. ?Really, anything I might have read?? ?Do you read Italian?? ?No.? ?Then most likely the answer is no. I write for Italian Vogue. I?m sure a man such as yourself has seen it before.? ?Sure, I look at the pictures every time I?m in my dentist?s office.? ?You are an Eddie Murphy, aren?t you?? Bayan escort Ankara ?Excuse me?? ?A comedian! A black Benigni!? She said laughing. ?No not me.? ?You don?t entertain, no entourage, no gay lover, no jokes, please tell me you can dance my dear Preston .? ?I do alright.? ?In that case what are you waiting for?? With that she places her flute onto the table. I stood and took her hand and we made our way toward the crowded dance floor. The music was so loud I could feel it in my chest, Stephanie wasted no time transforming herself from sarcastic, dry-witted writer in the VIP to a veritable dancing machine on the dance floor. She could actually dance, I was impressed. The way she moved and shimmied was both confident and sexy, her body writhing and swaying to the music as if she was an extension of it. ?I?m impressed.? I yelled, pulling her towards me by her shoulder so that she could hear me over the deafening music. ?You doubted me?? She replied, taking a step closer so that as she danced she was rubbing her chest against mine. ?Not any more.? I laughed. ?Definitely, not anymore.? ?Good!? And with that she turned her back toward me and began to shimmy and shake against my body. The crowd was so thick I was unsure if she had intended to actually be this close or if the density of the crowd had made this so. For whatever reason there was no doubt that Stephanie was red hot and her mating dance was getting me excited. She backed in closer to me, her ass grinding on my dick, her hands running along my thigh and the back of her head resting on my chest. I met her grind and bent my knees slightly so that she was cradled between my knees and pelvis. I placed my hands on her hips and balanced her as she danced. She pressed herself harder against my hardness. My hands slipped past her dress and made contact with the sides of her bare thighs. Her skin was so soft but I could definitely feel the muscles and definition. I slowly ran my hand up the sides of her legs, inching her dress higher and higher until she finally grabbed both hands and turned to face me. ?You are being a very naughty boy.? She smiled. ?And the penalty for that is?? I replied. ?No punishment, only pleasure if I choose.? ?Then why move my hands?? I asked.