Reunited

Amy Lynn Steele's white canvas shoes barely made a sound as she stepped cautiously on the metal stairs that lead up the back wing of the Boston Commons Hotel. While the hotel itself was quite posh, the rear staircase was completely utilitarian, with hard metal treads, white cinder block walls and pipes and wires going in every possible direction. It certainly did not look like the place for a security camera to be needed, but as Amy paused on the fifth floor landing, she looked around for one nonetheless. After a moment of searching, she was convinced there was none present, and began to change her clothes.

The transformation was quite dramatic as she pulled off her sneakers using the heel to toe method to pop each one off with little effort even as she did so without bothering to untie the laces first. Typically she wore these type of shoes with a pair of slouch socks, or even just barefoot, but today she wore a pair of beige stockings underneath them. The reason for that became clear when she pulled a navy blue sweatshirt over her head, and tugged down a pair of matching navy blue sweat pants. Underneath, the persona of a college girl talking the more athletic method of ascending the stairs to her motel room quickly changed to the real reason Amy was at the hotel.

As she sat on the top step, she spent an exurbanite amount of time on her legs, extended her legs out and pulled the semi-opaque and stretchy fabric up from her toes to her thighs, making sure the sexy fabric was taunt. She also made sure the tiny black line that ran up the back of her legs was perfectly plumb, particularly behind the crook of her knee. Satisfied, she then fanned her toes out, knowing whomever was staying in room five sixty one, would be thrilled with the way her bright red toenail polish was just barely visible through the beige, nylon stockings.

Next she rummaged through her black and gray backpack and pulled out a pair of stiletto heels. Without straps, they were easy to put on, but would prove to be difficult to walk in with such a tall high heel. Regardless, Amy knew they were perfect for this date; black in color, the shoes had the tops of the pumps rimmed with chrome studs that matched perfectly with the silver ankle bracelet she now draped around her right ankle.

Technically Amy was now fully dressed, though Amy did not feel like it in the revealing outfit she had been wearing under her more casual clothes. Everything about the dress was wrong, starting with the color; a simple black number with a hemline so short that Amy wanted to pull it downward. Instead, she tugged it upward by at least an inch, setting the hemline so that even in a standing position, the tiny red elastic straps that clipped to her stocking tops, were visible. The top portion of the dress was no less revealing; boldly plunging into a deep v-shaped neck, the dress managing to keep her chest legal, but not from keeping it from bulging outward and displaying her young, slender form extremely well.

In fact as Amy stuffed her sneakers and sweat suit into her backpack, she felt like the tiny red straps, the only color to her rather meager outfit, drew anyone's attention upward and underneath her hemline towards her sex as if advertising what she was at the hotel to do.

Satisfied, but ashamed with the way she looked, Amy staggered with the heavy fire door, but managed to keep herself upright in the high heels as she apprehensively made her way to the mans suite and knocked on the door hoping he would emerge before she was seen by any other guests of the hotel.

It felt like a full minute had passed before Amy heard the lock mechanism of the door being removed and saw the door slowly swing open. She had formulated in her mind what sort of sexy pose she would strike for the man who had requested her, but as she saw the door slowly reveal a sliver of his face, Amy just lowered her gaze to her feet and let the man's gaze roam over her rather revealed body unceremoniously.

"Amy," the man asked in shock upon seeing the escort that now stood in his rooms' doorway?

Amy immediately recognized the man's voice, knowing full well that it was a man whom she had worn lingerie for before...a man whom she had cooked breakfast for numerous times...a man in fact whom she had stood in front of the alter and professed her love. But before Amy could turn and rush back towards the sanctuary of the rear staircase, Scott grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room.

"Amy what the hell are you doing? I can't believe this!"

Amy only looked down at her high heels in shame. It had been three years since she had seen her ex-husband and now that she had met him like this, she desperately wanted to escape. Still, running in these high heels would be impossibility, and while she hated the thought, she looked up at the man she once loved with tears of shame starting to run down her cheeks.

"I should have known it was you. The high heels; the seamed stockings; the ankle bracelet you requested...no one else ever asked for those three things. You haven't changed a bit Scott."

"And you still look good too Amy. You always were very pretty, but to do this; I just can't believe it."

"And you think you are so much better than me? Don't forget you are the one that called the escort agency to get me here!"

Scott only nodded and casually walked over to the end table and picked up two glasses. Splashing a bit of gin and tonic into the tumblers, he handed one to Amy who quietly accepted the only thing tolerable about the whole awkward encounter. Offering her a seat, Amy sat on the couch and nonchalantly drank her stiff drink and crossed her legs. As he did, Amy could not help but note her ex-husband's undying devotion to her legs. She watched his eyes be transfixed by the movement, his gaze moving to her right ankle as her ankle bracelet dropped from gravity before stopping at the start of her foot.

"You can't tell me your happy doing this sort of thing Amy."

"I am happy," Amy started to say, but the truth was revealed as Amy turned from him, too emotional to continue the obvious lie.

"Really," he said, now standing up to walk over to her. Placing his hand on her chin, he turned her face towards him and lightly touched a bruise on her cheek. "Bruises don't make a woman happy Amy."

"You're the one that hired an escort. You can't be too happy yourself Scott?"

Scott slowly turned towards her, taking a seat beside her on the couch as he quietly reflected on her words.

"It's kind of ironic then isn't it? Both of us thought we would be better off divorced, and yet it seems we are both pretty miserable." As he said it he placed his hand on her thigh, close to the hemline of her dress and watched Amy's reaction. For the first time in weeks, Amy found herself smiling back.