I meant to type this up last night, but things derailed a little bit…
Yesterday morning, I called back Martine to set up—well, I’m not sure I can quite call it a date, more like a sex appointment. We both knew what would happen if I called her and the short conversation somewhat confirmed it: we’ve got the hots for each other. She was direct and to the point: let’s meet at my place and “see what happens.”
When she showed up, I knew she meant business. That form-fitting red minidress she was wearing left little to the imagination. No bra and, as far as I could tell, no underwear. She wasted no time and gave me a kiss. Damn, I thought, Montreal girls are FAST! Then she mentioned she was hungry—she’d barely had time to finish work, change, and run over to my place. She was hoping we’d get dinner before “what comes next.” I was pretty hungry too (and not just for food), so I agreed. She suggested a place in Old Montreal, a restaurant called Stash Cafe, which sounded fine to me. I figured a cafe would be fast and not too expensive. Downstairs, we grabbed a taxi (it wasn’t walking distance from my place), which set me back around $20.
The Stash Cafe, it turns out, is not cheap, especially when your date likes vodka. They’ll gladly suggest you try their vodka sampler, and have more vodka of the type you like best. Then there are the appetizers, entrees, desserts, specialized coffees, etc. All through dinner, though, my focus was on something else—her incredible, absolutely stunning eyes (no, perverts, I mean her real eyes!). She had a way of looking at me that made me feel like the most important (and handsome, and smart, and capable) guy in the world. She asked me tons of questions, laughed at my jokes, and showed genuine interest in everything I did and thought.
And at this point, I know what many of you are thinking: “Jaycee,” you say, “she’s working you. This is what she does for a living. She’s just after your money and this is a test to see if she can hook you. Don’t trust her, she’s a pro.” And most of the time, you’d be right. But please bear in mind a few things. First, I’m friends with Brooke, which means I’ve learned a few things about “hired guns” trickery (hired guns is a term Brooke uses to describe girls who make a career exploiting their looks and how they affect men). Second, I’ve hung out with strippers in the past (Mandy and Roseanne, to name the obvious ones). I know the tricks and I’m not easily played.
So no, there was more at work there than Martine just working me. Now, I know she WAS working me, but that’s not what was working. I think the fact I couldn’t read her was connected to this strange attraction we felt for each other. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this was some kind of faerie trick, but by now I’m pretty much immune to faerie curses, so I knew that wasn’t it.
But I’m getting ahead of the story. Back to dinner, we wrapped things up after a bit, which set me back almost $200. That girl sure likes her high-rolling lifestyle, I thought. But it didn’t matter, we were headed back to my place and then I was going to get my money’s worth. On the ride back, we were both struggling to keep our hands off each other. The climb up the staircase was another struggle, with me following her and mock-pulling the hem of her minidress to see what she WASN’T wearing. When we got to my apartment door, I couldn’t take it and pushed her against it, her boobs squashed against the wood. She gasped and parted her legs, pushing her butt against me. I lifted her minidress, unbuckled my belt, and went for it. We didn’t care that we were doing it in the corridor! But I had a quick moment of clarity and while rhythmically ramming in and out of her, I unlocked the door and we both fell inside. I closed the door with my foot and took her like a dog.
Seriously, we were like animals in heat and acted out my every fantasy. It seemed everything I wanted to do, she wanted to do as well. And even more surprising, I had the stamina to match hers. We went at it for nearly an hour before we collapsed with exhaustion.
She left in the middle of the night. I gave her enough taxi money to get her back to her place, which is off the island of Montreal (in a place called Laval, just north of the river). Then I had a chat with my Minx to ask her if she knew what had happened. Clearly there was something supernatural at work, but she shrugged her tiny shoulders and said she knew nothing about that. I should ask Attitude, she said, she would know. So I did, and got some answers (but as always, with Attitude, I didn’t get the whole story).
It appears that Martine is what faeries call a thrall. They’re pretty rare, apparently, and they are highly suggestible. You know how AB blood types are called universal receivers? Thralls are like that, but for mind magic. And my Nudge ability apparently qualifies as mind magic. Except that instead of being this tiny little archaeologist hammer, it’s a huge sledgehammer. That’s what happened, I realized! Every little thing I wanted her to feel, she felt! And not just a little bit, a LOT! Thralls naturally amplify suggestions to ridiculous proportions. Attitude didn’t want to say more, but said what would come next would be a LOT of fun.
Is it just me, or is that a bit worrisome? But when Attitude doesn’t want to talk, there’s not much I can do, so we’ll just have to wait and see.
“I’m doing it.”