Call Me!
there’s a limo involved, I always wear a short skirt. What I’m saying, I know I’m playing with fire. I’m well aware it’s hypocritical of me to get annoyed when a man touches me inappropriately. On the other hand, income tax auditors are paid to catch cheaters, and no one ever tries to grope them!
     
    There are typically three places I have to be prepared to fend off amorous advances. The first is in the elevator, when we’re going up to my room. If we’re alone in the elevator, most guys will use that as an opportunity to cop a feel or steal a kiss.
     
    My solution? Enter the elevator with others present. Barring that, I’ll say there’s a camera in the elevator, so he needs to be a good boy till we get to the room. The cheaters always keep their heads down and look the other way.
     
    The second time I’m vulnerable is when we’re walking down the hall toward my room. For some reason, guys think this is a good place to try to pat my behind, or stand me against a wall like they do in the movies, where the hero gives the girl a long, sensual, tongue kiss. On the big screen, this move always reduces the love interest to putty and leaves her panting for more. My solution for avoiding this? When the elevator doors open to my floor I push the mark backward, off balance, and yell, “Tag! You’re it!” Then I run full speed to my room, giggling all the way.
     
    The final place I’m most apt to be mauled is when we’re standing at the door to my hotel room, and I’m trying to make the key card work. This is the place they always want to reach their arms around me and cup my breasts. My only solution is to have the key in my hand when I exit the elevator. Unfortunately, hotel key cards are unreliable, and by the time I get to my room door, he’s caught me.
     
    In most cases the seduction has gone on for well over an hour before we get to the “Tag, you’re it!” phase. By the time we arrive at the door to my room most of these guys are worked up to the point they’re willing to face a rape charge. So the longer it takes to get inside the door, the more places on my body they’re able to grope.
     
    For this reason, I always practice getting the key card to work before meeting the mark.
     
    Simon Claire’s dinner service is painfully slow. I order a spinach salad and grilled chicken. Joe’s a steak and potatoes guy. He’d normally order the chopped salad, he says, but doesn’t want me to smell onions on his breath later on.
     
    What a guy!
     
    Speaking of guys, some are all confidence, others need constant reassurance. Joe’s a member of the second camp. He’s touching me every chance he gets, as if my allowing it gets us one step closer to sex.
     
    It’s driving me batty! Especially the part where he looks around the room just before touching me, to make sure no one he knows has entered the room. He does it every single time! Could he possibly be a more obvious cheater? If I knew nothing about the guy I’d know he was cheating.
     
    If I reach for my drink he puts his hand on mine and looks to see if I’m smiling.
     
    I am.
     
    When he tells me how wealthy and clever he is, he punctuates each point by patting my arm or, when he can get to it, my thigh. He’s staring at me in such a creepy and lustful way I loathe myself for putting up with it.
     
    He’s had a couple of drinks.
     
    I can tell he’s in complete control of his faculties, but he’s pretending to slur his words slightly, using the liquor as an excuse to speak more suggestively. As dinner drags on, he’s becoming more aggressive, as well.
     
    The low point comes when he insists we check out the dessert menu. He scoots his chair toward me till his right arm brushes my left. As he holds the menu in front of us with his left hand, he reaches up and grabs my boob with his right. I expect him to remove it as fast as he put it there, but he doesn’t. He’s rubbing and cupping my breast, and rubbing his thumb where he thinks

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