Anyone who considers working as a call girl should know something about obtaining clientele: The only place to advertise is on the Internet. The Information Super Highway has become the main venue for clients to find a match. There, one is able to browse hundreds of pictures and ads of women. In cyberspace, every call girl is a "provider," and the clients are "hobbyists."

The Internet makes meeting a call girl as easy as ordering a double cheese pizza. Generally, the women's phone numbers and rates are provided in the ads. That's how Jack got my info.

He was on his way to my apartment, so it was time for me to get dressed for our appointment. You know, males can be very simple; they read our signals as green lights or red lights, I swear it. To them, women in well-chosen, drop-dead, intimate attire are a turn-on. We know this.

Jack adores real boudoir babes in Marabu slippers and camisoles in candy-land colors. He delights in 1950s-style push-up bras and frilled panties a la Bardot or risque sheer silk gowns with lacy insets.

Actually, all my clients do. And with good reason! I mean, I always dress for them as if I were off trysting with the man of my dreams.

I stood in front of the mirror and slowly bent down to bring the sheer, black mesh thong with the scalloped lace trim up over my hips. Then I adjusted the sheer matching bra with its low plunging center over my breasts. It barely covered my nipples.

I honestly believe that when you are a call girl, you absolutely should wear the most extravagant lingerie. This, in my opinion, boosts your confidence and makes you look and feel alluring. Without this confidence, there would be no point in being a call girl. But with confidence, if I don't like the client I'm with—and sometimes I positively don't—at least I still like myself.

Jack is a tall, blond, athletic-type man who owns a window glass business in Tahoe, California. At 42 years old and never been married, he is "still waiting to meet the right woman," he says.

The thing I know, which Jack doesn't, is that when he meets that woman, he won't know what to say or do. He's just too shy around women. I should know. This is a man who needs to be seduced.

"Make yourself comfortable, sweetie. I'll fix us some orange juice," I said, smiling up at him. When I returned with the juice, Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had placed a white envelope on my dresser. I knew what it contained.

I seldom have to ask my regular clients, like Jack, for the money, and I really never have to count it. I completely trust them. All my new clients get screened extensively before I agree to meet them. After I know them for a while, they start to feel like cozy old friends. I know this is going to sound totally weird, but my regular clients are utterly decent and reliable men.

"Jack, do you like my tiny, very expensive, outfit?" I teased.

"You know that I do."

Already, he was virtually hypnotized and unable to look away.

Walking to the bed, I slowly started to undress him. First I removed his jacket and shirt. Then I unbuckled his belt and popped open his pants. They fell to the floor, revealing boxer shorts with a colorful pattern of martini glasses. His erection was pushing against his boxers. He truly blushed as I pulled them off.

I took a condom from my dresser and expertly rolled it down on my client's hard dick. He was solid in the palm of my hand. I smiled my most seductive smile at him; all the while, my hands caressed his blond hair and the tanned skin on his neck and back.

"Lie down," I whispered.

With Jack under me, I slowly peeled off my thong. I positioned my body over his. He cupped and squeezed my breasts through the flimsy material of my bra.

"Take it off," I whispered in his ear.

His fingers trembled at my back, and then he found the clasp of my bra and quickly opened it. Breasts free, my nipples played at his flesh while I helped guide his stiff cock slowly into me. He moaned lower.

"Fuck me!" I yelled.

My demand turned him on even more. Surprised that so many girls have chosen a profession like mine?