I knew that she was going away. Perhaps for the last time. She, by the way, was the Russian-Jewish MILF.
But it really dawned on me for real when I called her close to the day I thought she was leaving, only to have her tell me that she was leaving in two days.
This was at least a week sooner than I thought.
So I called her the next day to meet up with her. She was having dinner with in the earlier part of that night, so we arranged to meet later near the usual club. I called her when I reached the place, and waited for her outside. Within a few minutes she walked out with a sheepish grin on her face.
Call me conceited, call me egotistical; but I'll call it as I see it: I think she was happy to see me.
In the cab to my hotel room, she told me about how at least a couple of her girlfriends had sniggered when I called her during dinner. "Your boy," they said. "My boy," she replied.
The fact that I was only a couple of years younger than her didn't make a difference; or rather, it made quite a difference.
Her friends didn't quite snigger when I called her later just outside the club. According to her, they went, "Your boy?" with some new-found respect, maybe even awe. "Yes, my boy," she said.
Then she started telling me about her 10-year-old son back in Uzbekistan, and how she was working as a freelance hooker to provide for him while she was helping her parents pay for their lawyer; it was for handling a case against the government for the unexplained death of her brother during military service.
Yes, it's a hard life. And I'm not being snide when I write that.
We reached the hotel. It was a small boutique hotel that a friend co-owns. Many of us help out by staying there whenever we can. I lead her up the steps (no elevators) to the third or so floor, and the walk seemed interminably long. Especially when you're horny.
Barely two minutes after getting in, I turned to her and grabbed at her thighs, laughing, and pulled her skirt up. She was wearing tights that covered her panties all the way to her waist. We were both laughing as I realised I wasn't going to go anywhere with it.
We tooks turns showering, she first. When I got out she was already snug in the bed, under the covers, watching TV. I dried off fairly quickly in the air-con and in light of my growing ardour and eagerness. She was equally eager, and when I got into bed next to her, she practically made a grab for me at the same time I was grabbing her.
We kissed. We felt each other in our nakedness, unashamed of touching, exploring, savoring and taking in the scent of the other. It almost felt as if we were lovers, not a client-provider relationship.
I can't remember how long the foreplay lasted. At some stage, she got on top of me.
And I said, "How do you like it...what do you like? D'you want me to hold you" - my hands on her upper thighs, close to both her buttocks and hips - "hard, or soft?"
"As you like," she said, her voice husky from the exertion and desire of the moment. And I knew she meant it.
So I alternated - holding, grasping her hips and thighs, first hard, then soft. Then hard and soft again. All the time I was in and out of her, me trying to rotate with a upward and downward motion, she at some point doing the same.
When it was over, it was blissful relief and we held each other for a while.
I vaguely remember some post-coital small talk before drifting off to sleep, and I think I mentioned something inane like, I have to wake up early for work tomorrow.
We woke up early-ish. And although she was expecting to, and was eager, I had earlier gauged that we didn't have time for another full-on sex session. In fact we didn't have time for much at all except a morning shower. And checking out.
I hailed a taxi for her, and we kissed goodbye, a final goodbye. I didn't think I would see her again. As of now, I haven't seen her for about eight months.
As I waited for a taxi, it was shaping up to be another warm tropical day. But at least it was a good night, and a great start to the day.