PROSTITUTE

This is an explicit and erotic book intended for the enjoyment of

adult readers only











Dedication:


To all my readers who supported me from the start!









Copyright © 2016 by Marina Mathers

 CONTENTS

Foreword

Porn acrobat

James

Honey

Womanizer

The Shy One

The Scariest client

Opera singer

The Old Man

The Player

Do you know business?

How Bill looked for a wife

The Terrorist

Autopilot

The Vet

Lickerman

Gary and happiness

The visiting dumpling

The best one

 The Whiner

Discount on a tombstone

Dog is a man’s friend

Crocodile tears

Scrooge

Stoner

Two for one

Businessman

Lickers

The Brave

Yeti

The wonderer

The Actor

Call–center

Talker Vulgaris

Masturbator vulgaris

What women want?

The Cheap Fairy

Naturalness

Daddy

The Aesthete and the Ass

 In the armpit

The Villain

The neat one

The vampire

The inventor

The sound operator

Love is blind

Babies

The illusionist

Chinese guests

Arabic love

Lipstick

Little whore

Peacocks

Was there a normal one?

Some words from Emily

Author’s conclusion

 Foreword
There is a saying: time defines music.

Why did Emily, a prostitute, share a part of her real life with us? It is quite
simple.
Perhaps she has a strong superiority complex and was affronted that the
experiences in her eventful life remained in her memory only. Hence, let this
book be an everlasting record of those episodes.
She was tired of having to hide her whole life from others. She could not tell her
mom how she lived and could not share her secret with her sisters. Even with a
large number of relatives and casual acquaintances, nobody knew what she
actually did.
Emily’s life consisted entirely of fantasies and of stories she constantly
invented for others to hear. And if she couldn’t open up to anyone in her life, this
would be the place for her to do so. It’s time to start sharing with someone. You
will learn details not shared with even her closest friends.

My name is Emily. I am a prostitute and I do not regret it.

 Porn acrobat

I think porn should be banned. It badly affects immature minds.
Or, let’s say, it should be allowed, but only after a medical examination by the
psychotherapist.
And with a reference: "This is to certify that the patient perceives reality
adequately and is allowed to view films of XXX format".
Well, no, actually they will have watched too much porn and will want to
embody it, and they can be too startled to find out that things aren’t so in real
life.
I have a client: utterly unpleasant, tall, bald and thin, enormous eyes peeking
behind glasses. And somehow his hands are shaking: either from impatience or
from seeing a woman at such a close distance for the first time in his life. Well
yeah, not every year beholds such happiness.
He books me for an hour.
We enter the room; he undresses and shyly hides his underwear in the pocket
of his jeans and leisurely escapes into the shower.
While he is in there, I am meditating: "Brad Pitt, Brad Pitt…"
He comes out naked after the shower and throws his bones on the bed; I purr
something stupid, lie down, caress his body, he turns me on my back…come up
from below and starts eating me out.
I meditate. Brad Pitt’s ears are turning red …
A minute or two passed and he was clearly in a rage: he was squeaking and
gurgling and suddenly I could feel my body crawling.
Down across the bed, naturally and my ass was going up, up, up. And he lifts
it up, lifts and raises himself as well …
Me:
–Honey, what are you doing?
–Oh! – He pattered suddenly. –Can you stand on your head?
–I don’t get it, – realizing, I ask. –Why?
–Well, it will be like a sixty–nine, only in a vertical position. You will be here
(points at the bed) on your hands, and I will be holding you from above, and
well…I saw how it’s done and wanted to try it.
–And where have you seen it, sweetheart? – I slightly astound.
–Well…in a movie, where else…
–Honey, – I purr lazily, –it won’t be very comfortable. Besides, I haven’t been
trained in a circus and I’m definitely not the best acrobat.
 –I will hold you from above, – he readily picks up, –let’s try, yeah?
And he pulls my eyes up without even waiting for my response.
I will not describe how I tried to take at least a little more comfortable
position while he groaned and sweated there.
It's indescribable. Face in the pillow, ass on top, longing in eyes and
wandering thoughts: "If he drops me, I’ll twist his neck ... Mine first, then his, if
I survive".
And while with a red face I was trying to resist crashing and all the while
praying "just don’t drop me..." he breaks from the process and asks me a terrific
question:
–Why don’t you moan? Don’t you like it?
–Honey! – I gasp. –I am not that comfortable, maybe, you’ll lower me down,
just like it was before?
–Oh no! You are just positioned uncomfortably. Move your hands a little, like
this...
And he so very neatly placed his foot beside the hand, on which I was
resisting and bang! He pushed!
Should I say what happened next?
Then there was a ravel. Of course, I lost my balance; of course, he did not
hold me; of course, I banged my thigh against the wall and of course he fell on
top of me.
I thought that was it, all done with experiments. But seeing him crawl away
and get back on his feet again ticked me off.
–Listen,–I said,–I am not an acrobat and besides, I am heavy for such strange
endeavors, so let’s do something standard, alright? You tried and that’s enough.
–Oh come on! – He whined. –Everything was alright. Is that why you can’t do
like they do?
–Who are they? – I asked skeptically.
–Well, they…those girls, – he shrugged his shoulders indecisively. –Those, in
the movies.
–Honey, – I took a deep breath so as not to crack his forehead,–honey, let’s
leave the girls alone. Let me do something for you, alright?
I wanted to quickly finish with him.
–Can you lift and pull your legs up? – He asked me after five minutes, as I
was just getting ready to get down.
–Why?! – I asked, predicting something.
–Well, look, – he declared the plan, –you will lie here, and if it is hard for you,
lean against the wall, your ass will be here, on top, and you will wrap your legs
around your shoulders and I will try it above…okay? Here, a pillow, for your
comfort.
–Have you decided to break my spine? – I quipped.
–No, why break, – he was offended, –I have seen it, they can do it, look…– he
tried to raise me up and bend.
–Easyyy! Easyyy! – I screamed and realizing that would try to get under my
skin at any cost, I decided to let him finish quickly and go.
I better try myself.
So I leaned my ass upwards: anything for my client. Apparently, a favorable
view opened before him because his eyes flashed carnivorously behind his
glasses.
–I’ll do you now! – He said loud and rather content.
He tried to embark on the process: he got up, tip toed around, clung onto the
well, aimed, missed, and aimed again, staggered, stumbled, and…
… stepped on my hair.
–Heeey! – I screamed. –Get off of my hair!?
–Oh, sorry, – he said.
He rearranged his leg.
–Here…here I…Here, yes, this way, here…
He finally entered and started doing me.
And I could tell that he was moaning just because they moan in films, he
thought that was how it should be done.
I watched from below – he was obviously very uncomfortable.
I was silent and tried to keep myself steady in the position: ass on top and legs
wrapped around my shoulders. Legs began reducing and I was flattening.
–Why are you silent? – He asked unexpectedly. –Are you frigid?
Daaaaaamnnnn…
–Aaah, aaaah, oooooh! – I moaned louder.
–Yes! That’s it!–he said, satisfied.–I will now, now…now…
But now never happened.
–Maybe, we should try something normal? – I croaked accurately –Do you
want to take me from behind?
–Yes, yes, let’s do it, – he suddenly rejoiced. –But not from behind, like
this…
He lay on his back, I straightened up with difficulty, and he pulled me to him
and said:
–Sit on me, broadwise.
I sat broadwise. It was definitely better than standing on my head.
I made every effort. I knew – if I didn’t do it now, I would have to soon hang
myself from the chandelier. I didn’t want the chandelier and I did all I could.
 –You seem strange, – he said, catching his breath.
–Yes? – I boiled. – And what should I be like?
–Well, you are a bit…cold. I told you, you are frigid.
–Why is that? – My brain could not take any more…
–Well…he said indecisively. –You don’t moan…that’s just not normal.
–Sweetheart – I said softly. –You see, honey, I do not know any woman who
would be moaning with delight in this position.
–How is that? – He asked, amazed. – Girls have pleasure, they do! And they
cum. You are just cold.
I took a smoke and asked one question:
–What girls?
–What do you mean, what girls? – He said confidently. – Those, in movies.
They get…
His forehead was so close, and the temptation to slam – so high!
I resisted.


 James

"Come on, confess, who lives there with you?
Delicate Charles?
Brutal Ben
Nifty Leonard?
Or, maybe, shy Bobby? "

*

I had already undressed, laid condoms, the lubricant and sat down to wait.
He was plump, short–legged, slightly flabby and cheerful. He had been in the
shower for ten minutes already and his snorting was so loud that it could be
heard in the room. And when I was almost tired of waiting, he finally came in:
completely naked, of course.
Under his chubby tummy hang a small and harmless outgrowth.
The Chubby lingered for a moment in the center of the room.
Stood.
Took a thought
Winked.
He gave me a terrifyingly proud look, as if, "check this out", flashed his eyes,
and…
He bent his arms, lifted them up and placed almost on his nape, flirtatiously
cocked his head and made three to four round movements: with his ass.
Tydynts! Tydynts!
I was silent and in shock.
The Chubby took my puzzlement for admiration and decided to enhance the
effect.
He came up to me, placed weary and petty tool in his hand, waved in my face
and said in all seriousness:
–This is James.
And, turning this time to him, he said:
– James?
"Easy, easy, Emily!" – said my inner voice.
–Hello, Jamesy, – I greeted while trying to keep a serious face.
–Oh nooo, – the Chubby said and corrected me, –he is not Jamesy, he is
James.
–Alright, – I raised my hands in surrender. And then I asked:
 –Well, James, would you like to meet Cecil?
And showed James my tit.
James was silent. No greeting, no compliment. He obviously had bad
manners.
–James and I want to have fun, – said the Chubby and gently patted it.
But, as it soon turned out, James didn’t like the «we want».
The fact is that he turned out to be a complete nudist, despite its initial
cheerful jumping– any attempt to dress up James in a fancy condom ended in
complete failure. He was capricious, slouchy and hard to please.
–Maybe we could do without it?–asked Chubby with hope in his eyes.
–No,–I said seriously. –My Peggy does not accept that.
Chubby looked at me strangely, took a thought and asked:
–What do you mean? What Peggy?
–Well… – I shrugged my shoulders. –The…Peggy.
He was blocked.
–Well, if you want, I could do a hand job, – I shut him down further.
NO, – he sniffed, –I can do a hand job myself.
– Well, James, come on, what are you doing. – The Chubby whined for about
ten minutes, terribly twisting his head on unfortunate James.
James went nuts and announced a boycott.
–Ohhh, James, you failed me, – sadly said the Chubby, getting up from the
bed, when the time was over. –Aren’t you ashamed...
James remained silent.

*

It’s an eternal man quirk – to give their penises names.
I do not know why, but this is something I meet often.
I have talked to Superman (he was really good), raised Max to fight, and
explained to apathetic Tom for quite a long time that the rules of etiquette
require getting up in front of ladies.
Tom, however, was not a gentleman.
Men terribly love their boys, fighters and one–eyed snakes.
Sometimes this love is so big, that I am starting to think they need women just
for the mere pleasure of boasting about their treasure.

 Honey


–Sugar, let’s do it fast, I have little time! – He declared from the doorway.
He handed me the prepared money.
Moments after taking off his shoes, the first thing he did was to run to the
window. He hid behind the curtain and nervously watched to see whether there
was anyone around the house.
It seemed like it wasn’t the first time and was purely a reflex.
The next minute I found out that the man was married and was hysterically
pissing at the thought that his wife could burn him. Well, yeah, he had come
straight to me right after work.
Actually, let’s assume that a lot of married men are scared.
But this one is scared from the heart, on a grand scale.
Hello, paranoia!
Looks like his wife and the experience taught him well.
Not seeing anyone suspicious, he relaxed a little and I was able to shove him
into the shower. Moments after the shower he emerged into the room and
anxiously glanced at his own phone.
And I realized that his wife was quite the character.
We started in a standing position and made French love. Well, I mean he was
standing and I was down under, making love to him.
It didn’t last long, as his phone soon rang. Yes, he had been holding it all the
time.
I stopped in front of him on my knees, with reserves in my cheeks, like a
hamster and gave him a questioning look from bottom up.
He nodded to me as if, baby, go on. And I did. So what?
–Honey – he compelled into the handset, stroking his hardworking hamster
with his free hand. –Honey, yes, I'm on my way, no, I won’t be late. No, my tone
is normal! No, it’s normal, it only seems to you. No, I am alone, don’t make
things up. Yes, I'm telling you – a normal tone. Yeah, kisses...Bye.
The process smoothly entered the horizontal phase. At this time, the phone–
leash was lying beside us.
Then again, these actions didn’t gather momentum as Honey showed up again
in a minute.
–Yes, honey, – he grabbed the phone. –No, it only seemed to you. You know,
I love only you. No, I won’t be long. I am coming. It’s a normal tone…
I was pensively relaxing under there, sensing a light stir within me.
 He was falling! We were losing him.
–Damn, what a bad timing! – He hissed when Honey finished. –Controls my
every step, bitch!
–Yes, honey? – The phone rang in exactly 2 minutes. –No, honey, I am on my
way! No, it only seemed to you, everything’s fine! Yes, I’ll be on time. Want me
to buy anything? Yeah, ok bye, I’ll bring it from the store.
–Look, can we do this really fast, huh?
Well, I don’t mind a quickie at all.
–Baby – I made a sensible proposal on the fourth ring, when it became clear to
me that a quickie was impossible because Honey simply wouldn’t let us, – why
don’t you turn off your phone?
–What? – He squeaked at one thought of it. –Are you in your mind? She will
perform hara–kiri on me, without hesitation. A jealous wife is a complete mess.
I’m fed up!
–Why don’t you divorce? – I asked accurately.
This broke him into pieces:
–And what then? The apartment is hers, the car is hers, and what will I be left
with? A bare ass?
It seems like they are worthy of each other.
For those exact one and a half minutes that she was not on the air, he
succeeded to finish with a superhuman effort. And he did this so quickly and
fearfully, that it was obvious he was imagining his wife sitting in an ambush
even under my bed.
And the second act of the Merlaison ballet started.
He thrashed around my apartment, grabbing his shoes, wore them on the go
and vaguely resembled a cartoon character that moves, leaving traces in the air.
For Honey was in such hysteria on the phone that even I could hear her.
He rushed out swiftly, calming this scandalous woman on the move and
covering the phone with one hand, he gave me a frightening look–to keep me
silent.
Looks like they are living a fun life.
I regretted not stocking up on popcorn.
By the way, paranoia is a contagious thing, for I was still slightly tense during
the next half an hour after his departure.
What if Honey was lurking behind the door?


 Womanizer


Expectations sometimes don’t match the reality, it happens.
Of course, it happens!
Well, for example, you are looking and can clearly see something sticking out
from his pants and near his knee and you are thinking–oho! And it’s not any
"oho", it’s an under the breath, feminine "ohhhoooo!"
And he undresses, and there…
And there is not the "oho" you expected, there is a "hehe".
And what seemed like an "oho", was only a phone in the pocket.
Or you suddenly agree to anal, at no additional charge, because the bastard
bargained mercilessly and since you have been out of business for the fourth
consecutive day, you say – what the hell. And while he is on his way, you are
doing your makeup and hoping for a "hehe".
He arrives and unluckily there is not even a "oho", there’s a "oho–ho"! Or
even "oho–ho–ho–ho!" And he seemed to take his time as if he was thinking of
his homeland during the process…
And you are there, with your face in the pillow and thinking to yourself: what
an asshole…
Anyway, I got carried away.
It’s just that I’m thinking how to get to the main point.
Okay.
An excellent exhibit appeared once. I was even surprised – did he not get
enough from the chicks? Men like him should have no problem picking up
chicks. He was tall, prominent, thought–provoking and with a gorgeous, manly
face: the stubble, those cheekbones, that nose, those big eyes.
Well, whatever, maybe he is only after variety.
I take the money and tell him to take off his clothes and hop into the shower, I
hand him a clean towel and slippers …
And so, he undresses. In a very calm manner.
Pants off.
And underneath those pants, on his muscular strong ass, he was wearing a pair
of very pretty lace shorties, in pink.
Well, yeah, female panties. So what?
And no need to laugh–what, none of you men ever wore pink female panties,
ever?
Those came with fluffy male legs and white socks.
 And I was thinking – why not stockings? And a belt?
And most importantly, he undressed in such a business–like manner, as if
nothing special had happened. What’s wrong with lace on a muscular ass? Try
undressing any first one you meet on the street, you will see pink lace – what?
His balls are clearly uncomfortable there.
The panties are not fit for the balls.
And besides, he undressed so peacefully that I had no choice of reaction to it.
If he is not in shock, why should I be?
I only said:
–Mmmm, beautiful…
Here, he completely relaxed and went into the shower.
He came out, still wearing them! Looks like he wore them on purpose.
I ask him neatly:
–Are you going to keep those on?
Him:
–Yeah, let’s do it like this.
So he fucked me with those panties on: he just moved the lace away a bit. And
most importantly, I could not understand what it was: I hinted on a strap–on and
he refused (maybe didn’t want to spend money), he didn’t like being called
names as well and nothing special happened–he came in panties and he left in
panties.
Whatever, that’s not what I’m saying.
The main point is…
I had some blue panties drying in the bathroom and I had forgotten to take
them out.
I couldn’t find the blue ones after he left…

 The Shy One


I have a client, who visits me from time to time.
The impressive thing is that with him it’s always like the first time.
Maybe he is shy to come here and that’s why each time he pretends to have
been here for the first time.
Obviously, he is quite serious about it and thinks that I won’t recognize him.
He probably thinks that he will come, do his thing and bam, blackout: and I
won’t remember anything.
Until the next time. Can’t this happen?
He thinks it can.
Besides, I can recognize his voice on the phone. He has those special tunes in
his voice that are very typical to him.
And it starts:
–Hello, I found you on this website…
Every time he elicits carefully how to reach me (although, in my opinion, he
can find me with his eyes closed), and every time I carefully retell him what he
has long known.
And every time, coming into my place, he says: "It’s cozy here. Where’s the
bathroom?"
I show him.
Every time, trying not to look me in the eye, he looks around and diligently
pretends to be here for the first time.
And I strongly support this illusion of his.
So, then what?
And then, a long halting speech follows about the fact that he never actually
visits prostitutes, but decided to try it, just this once, so ... Of course, it's not very
good, but, probably, it should be experienced at least once in a life time…
At this moment it’s very important to make a poker–face.
This, of course, is not very easy for me as I know exactly where the commas
are placed in this speech.
He fucks me silently, focused and, I would even say, nobly.
Just like in the anecdote about a young wife, who makes an announcement,
standing on the chair: "Marital duty. Will be performed for the first time".
He only whimpers.
Finishing, he hurriedly pulls up his underwear and runs to the bathroom.
Coming out, he starts dressing hysterically while avoiding my gaze and as a
goodbye, says something quite timidly:
"You know what, Emily, you are great, but I will probably never come back.
This is not good…I had never ever…like this...to girls…and besides I don’t
approve of this, but wanted to give it a try once…and I, you know, probably
won’t do this ever again".
–Yes–yes, of course, – I say, –I’m very sorry, goodbye.
And he leaves, dumbly looking around the yard.
And in about three months, I hear the voice with special tones:
"Hi, I found you on this website…"

 The Scariest client


And now, I will tell you about the scariest clients.
Are you thinking of perverts with strap–on?
No.
Wild skinheads?
No.
Alcoholics?
No.
The stoned?
Hell no!
The biggest nightmare of a prostitute is a client who sincerely wishes for her
to reach an orgasm! And it’s not wishful thinking: he does everything to make
sure the prostitute cums.
Someone once told them that prostitutes don’t cum and the realization of that
has turned their understanding of the world, and especially sex, upside down.
And now they are fucking every woman they meet to a freaking orgasm,
because, their self–esteem probably craves for a prostitute to cum or else they
can’t sleep peacefully.
Yes.
One such client just left my place. And I am sitting there, cross–eyes, legs
spread, trying to overcome stress.
Nothing, as the saying goes, gave a sign of trouble. A very ordinary man
visited – one of those that don’t make you turn back twice after a slight glance
on the street; he undressed, took a shower, and came to bed...
We put the condom on and started fucking. He fucked me for about ten
minutes and I thought, that’s it, he is ready to cum. And so he stops, looks me in
the eye very thoroughly and gave out a sacred phrase: "I want you to cum…"
Damn, it’s starting.
In three minutes I faked an orgasm for him.
He beamed and purred something like "that’s it, so good" – and went on
fucking me, stopping every other minute to refrain from cumming. (Ugh, how I
hate that!)
In after 5 minutes, I realized it’s time to fake the second one or else he
wouldn’t calm down and pulled an orgasmic spasm.
The guy lit up, but, apparently, had no intention of cumming. More precisely,
he was definitely not going to cum. He stopped every minute, and I could see a
strong urge to refrain from cumming.
That’s it, at least I should have fun.
I started to think that I had run out of cucumbers and tomatoes and there was
nothing left to make a salad for dinner and I should go to the store...
I faked the third one.
My third orgasm usually makes anyone cum.
Just not this terrorist.
He fucked me in every position.
He fucked me on all fours, sideways and on top, he pulled my breast
(obviously, this depicted refined affection) and asked every half minute: "Do you
like this?" – And said: "Come on, girl, yes, yes, cum! Come on!"
I pretended to be having an incredible time.
Half an hour later, I hinted to him that I had already cum three times and that
if all of this is happiness for me, it is no longer necessary and it's a good time for
him to cum himself and smoke.
And he told me: "That’s still three! One of your colleagues came 6 times with
me recently! I know you want it so much…"
Colleague! You are a bitch if you are reading this.
Why, why did you not fake only 2 for him?
Why six?!
His outlook was torn to shreds! He will now fuck everyone to their death!
The bottom line is he didn’t get off of me until I gave him six orgasms.
After the seventh one, a bonus, he allowed himself to cum and kept asking:
"So, did you like it? See, you are probably not fucked this good as often! I think
of the woman’s needs first".
What a humanitarian, damn it.
I closed the door after him with a huge sense of relief. Somewhere deep in my
mind I had an idea that a wooden stake pierced into his back would serve him as
a great goodbye.
He left satisfied, like an elephant, and promised to come again.
I know for sure – I will not be home for him.


 Opera singer


It started without any prelude:
–Do you know what kind of a person has visited you, Emily?
And looked at me proudly, demonstrating his face and then his profile.
I watched: his face did not look familiar to me.
Fairly chubby, forty–five, eerie looking, with red hair, perfectly white skin
and similarly white eyebrows and eyelashes, like an albino, and most
importantly – with a wall–eye. I thought to myself that Azazello had nothing on
him and that if not for the money, I would have done nothing, but out loud, of
course, I said something quite different.
I leaned against the doorpost, portrayed a real interest and asked without any
sign of absurdity:
–And what kind of a person are you?
–Notorious, – he said, in a significant way. And once again he demonstrated
his profile to me.
I stood and smiled in silence and I should have probably said something, but
honestly I could not figure out what to say.
He was obviously waiting for my reaction. The silence was quite long. To be
honest, I struggled to remember where I could have seen him – what if he is a
well–known MP or, say, an actor? But, alas! He was definitely a stranger to me.
–No, – I said, –I don’t know you.
He was upset for a second, pretended to be offended, but quickly pulled
himself together. Apparently, his own greatness did not allow him to take
offense from a nonentity like me for too long.
– I, – he said, as if talking to a silly schoolgirl, then he paused, clearly letting
me feel my own insignificance, – and so, I am a ... Great. Opera. Singer.
I can’t tell the degree of his notoriety, as I had never been to opera before. At
the time, the Philharmonic and Ballet were enough for me.
I do not understand opera – for me this is utter boredom. Whether I have no
hearing or brains I have not figured out yet.
And as I was getting out a clean towel, all the while reflecting on my
significance, he began to sing.
His howl made my jump. It was quite unexpected.
I froze with towels in my hands, and it occurred to me suddenly that the
neighbors must have already called the police.
– Shhh! – I waved my hands and shoved the opera singer into the shower.
 He was there for a long time, and wasn’t just showering, he was singing.
Apparently, he had decided to attach me to the opera from inside the bathroom.
Five minutes later, I knocked on the door. There is especially good audibility
in my bathroom and giving the neighbors an excellent show after eleven at night
didn’t seem to me like a good idea.
He came out ten minutes later and was completely naked. Hmmm…on his
erect penis dangled the towel, which he carefully kept in his hands to prevent
from slipping.
"Maniac schizophrenic", I sadly thought.
I knew what would happen next. I have experience. Normally, he should have
thrown away his towel and proudly shown me his rather short dignity. The fact
that it wouldn’t be long, I never for a moment doubted. Men with such physique
almost never have good ones.
I guessed on all counts. Like a circus magician would pull of a multicolor
scarf from the hat with rabbits, he pulled off his towel and revealed, indeed,
quite a small dignity.
Well, then, I listened to a long and plaintive monologue about the proud but
lonely snake, who craves a woman's affection and yet in the end of the tirade I
barely restrained so as not to neigh out loud when he, highlighting each word,
told me that his snake was good for everyone, but, unfortunately, fate had
deprived him of its size.
Next, it was a real horror. He stomped on me for forty minutes. Ten minutes
after he started, I realized: he purposely does not cum, the bastard. In those
moments when the final was close, he stopped and started to retell me different
libretto in a didactic tone without bothering to get off of me.
Sweat was dripping off of him, yet, he remained undaunted.
And just realizing that the hour comes to an end and I was close to going
crazy, he stopped to think about the eternal, for some reason, jumped out of me,
rolled on his side, abruptly pulled a condom ... and powerfully smeared my
breast.
I went mad. He was singing.

 The Old Man

I have one permanent client – Grandpa Arnold. He is one of the few, who visit
me being in such a respectable age. Usually, he rings the doorbell in three short
calls and one long call. He came up with such a cunning method himself. And he
is incredibly proud of it.
Also, Grandpa Arnold never comes empty handed. There is always a
chocolate and a clove in his hands.
Grandpa Arnold is over seventy years old. More precisely, I would even say
he is close to eighty. And he has been impotent for quite a long time now. He
methodically, over and over again, tries to set up his tool on a combat footing.
Needless to say, it's useless.
Anyway, his arrival…
He always comes in with a sly smile. Unlacing his leather shoes (he wears
them any time of the year), he raises his head at me and pulls out a small piece
of chocolate out of his pocket, which, somehow, always turns out to be expired.
It remains a mystery, where he finds those. But something tells me that he has a
box full of these goodies lying somewhere in his home.
Grandpa Arnold undresses and lies down on the bed. I’d like to note that in his
eighties he looked like a hundred–year–old man: short, decaying, with thick
white hair and face–linking wrinkles.
He lies on the bed, legs wide apart for some reason and invitingly looks at me.
What he invites me to, I, of course, already know. Grandpa Arnold wants me to
take his shriveled pod in my mouth and suck it while giving him a languid look.
Every time I take in my mouth Grandpa Arnold’s dick, I feel as if I stuffed my
mouth with dried apricots with hopes that it will turn into an apricot by the beck
of the magic stick.
It does not.
The second stage of our meeting is usually sixty–nine: a pose that has become
so popular during the recent years. I continue to suck dried apricots, and in the
meantime he watches a very interesting sight, periodically delving in there with
his fingers.
And besides, he has a cute habit (which, however, terribly irritates me). After
Grandpa Arnold once again realizes that our lovemaking won’t be a success and
to fill up the remaining time with something, he puts me on my back, and poking
around the depths of the place where he, alas, won’t get into, asks, gently
lisping: "Who lives there?"
It would be funny if an echo answered him once from the depths: "Who else?
Your youth!"
Grandpa Arnold hangs out at my place for a few hours, and on these days I
usually stop receiving any more clients. This guy sucks all the energy out of me.
It’s like banging your head against a concrete wall – you can’t break through it
and will still earn a lump.
I wonder sometimes that at such a respectable age it’s time to stop being a
lustful male and do other things – write memoirs, educate grandchildren. But no!
He still continues! There is no fool like an old fool.

 The Player

There is this client…
Hm...No, not like this…
I have many clients, but there is one, a bit differing from others.
A player, in short. An experienced one. Excitement rushing from all the
cracks.
The guy is under fifty. A solid kind of person. Actually, many solid men come
across to me. Undignified ones happen less often.
So…what was I saying?
Oh yes! So solid! In a grey suit and carries a briefcase. He carries all kinds of
papers. Important ones. His visits are usually quite long. He books me for half a
day, for sure. And pays for it accordingly.
There’s a wonderful pendant hanging around his neck. Golden and with
colorful pebbles–with a beastie. Huge! I have never seen such jewelry on men.
Before him.
So, he definitely didn’t come here to play dominos. And he didn’t bring a
slingshot with him.
His set is very cute. Suitcase, I would say. Medical. White.
The guy likes to play doctor. Apparently, he didn’t have enough play time in
his childhood.
He comes, undresses and hops in the shower – a standard program.
And then it begins. My favorite of his attributes – bathrobe, always new,
starched. And medical gloves.
He takes off the towel and puts on his robe directly on the naked body. Then
the gloves and we are ready.
He asks me to remain in my skirt, he doesn’t need me naked, you see. No
indecency. Where have you seen a client remove all her clothes during a doctor’s
visit? No! In no case! Only cowards!
Then he pushes me out in the hall, closes the door, and after 2–3 minutes I
knock.
– Come, – he says condescendingly.
– Hello, doctor – I plaintively moan –can I come in?
He raises his glasses (which, incidentally, are only attributes) and smiles with
a predatory smile of a tiger.
First, he pretends to be a mammologist. The doctor apparently loves the
system of "three–in–one." Shampoo–conditioner–shower gel. Mammologist–
gynecologist–proctologist.
 First, this cute executor begins to knead my breast, feeling and squeezing it in
all possible and impossible ways. He makes it seem like he sees them for the
first time and sometimes it even feels pleasant.
Then he gets bored with the appetizer and we get to snacks.
I sit on the improvised armchair, shyly raise my skirt and the circus begins.
He begins to mutter something unintelligible under his breath, then interrupts
himself with a completely distinct phrase: "So, what have we got?"
In these moments it becomes interesting even for me to see what curious thing
he has found. Every time is like the first time, I swear!
He gently rubs my clit with his fingers (not quite gynecological thing to do, I
think), then sneaks deeper ... and here comes the time for the suitcase. A medical
dilator comes out of it.
He puts it inside me and continuing to mutter, curiously examines the hidden
treasures of my vagina.
During these moments I want to fall asleep as the examination takes quite a
long time, as if he is trying to remember every piece of my entrails so than he
can portray it on a canvas with photographic precision.
Having seen enough, he gets up and starts pacing back and forth, his dick
swelling from under the white starched material, trying to break out.
In the end, that’s what happens. Ejaculation starts without him touching
himself with his hands.
Well and in conclusion the most exciting moment for me starts.
The guy changes the gloves, puts me on all fours and starts doing various
manipulations with my most erogenous zone: my ass.
In the first minutes of his movements I usually cum and I don’t give a fuck for
everything that happens next.
He leaves satisfied, with a big smile on his face: just like a student with good
grades.
Only after him the floor needs cleaning, as he spills everything that is possible
or impossible.
Oh, did I forget? He cums in almost every phase of our fun game: when he
watches something inside me or when he runs his fingers across my ass…
Such a good guy. Soulful. Not angry, not a sadist.


 Do you know business?


–Do you know how business is done, Emily? – Alex asked.
It was Alex’s first time at my place. He sat on the couch in insanely expensive
jeans and one sock.
He was drunk. Well, clear–headed, of course but he had had couple of shots
before coming to my place.
And after we finished and he relaxed, Alex pulled up the jeans, then one sock,
and then remembered that he had paid for the night and sat back down on the
sofa.
In his hands was a bottle of black rum from my personal stocks, and he asked
again:
–So, do you know how business is done?
I was observing my very new client.
He was not old, but it was difficult to identify his true age.
Perhaps thirty, perhaps forty. He had an impressive muscle mass, which had
densely overgrown into fat a long time ago. I mean, he was not just fat, no. He
was a former athlete who had gained a lot of weight, one of those, who have
strong, sturdy hands and a huge snug belly. One could imagine that in years gone
Alex had had a perfect body according to male standards, and there must have
been a pack of women hanging around him back then.
–Nope, I don’t know, – I answered phlegmatically.
– Business is difficult to do. Competition is huge, kickbacks, bribes, it won’t
work easily. You need to have good brains and good looks...
Alex thought he was good looking. Yeah, maybe, he once was.
–I will now tell you, – he took another gulp of rum from the bottle, he clearly
needed to talk, –ten years ago, when I was quite young, I understood that
ruthless competition would harm our small advertising agency. And then I
understood a very simple thing: who manages budgets in the majority of
companies? That’s right, chicks! And these chicks decide where to spend two,
ten or thirty millions. And being young, I then decided that these budgets should
be heading into my pocket. You get it, right?
I could not understand, yet.
–I thought so, you don’t catch up, – he smiled and looked at me overly
attentively, –so, about chicks…It’s all a matter of technics. You offer your
services, arrive for meetings in expensive suits and if the chick is not quite old
and not too ugly, you flirt with her. And chicks are stupid, Emily. They don’t
care what prices I offer or they start to ignore our rating. The chick wants to see
me one more time and she is looking for a reason. And what better reasons could
there be, than cooperation? And I start fucking the chick. She becomes soft and
pliable, I put the prices at oho–ho, impose new services – she agrees to
everything. And a smitten chick is a sly chick – she knows how to make pressure
on the director of the Company and how to explain those prices. And, that’s it. I
buy myself a new car, my fetish–sports BMW, and the chick goes to hell. Then,
a new order, new chick and everything goes around the circle. You understand
how to do business?
I don’t know why he told me the whole thing. I am far from business and
millions, but it’s obvious that in that moment he felt like a soul ruler, ideal
cinematic villain and wanted to yet again experience this feeling inside–his own
significance.
I felt uncomfortable, I shivered. Then I got up and opened the window. He
had such a vile energy that I needed air.
–I even had to marry one of those, – he continued, obviously noticing my
situation and deciding to impose. –The order was huge, I had no intention of
losing it, and so I had no other choice. Of course, the bitch wouldn’t give me
divorce for a long time…And once I found a beautiful chick, it was clear that I
wouldn’t need Viagra to fuck her good. And, as always, I brought her flowers,
took her to restaurants, she tried to introduce me to her parents. The fuck do I
need her parents?
He spaced out and smoked.
–You girls are stupid, you don’t understand simple things, – he let out a
smoke, –I went on a vacation with her, spent all my money, of course… it was
all worth it, so much money was spinning then…And then, when nothing was
left to milk out of her, I went back. And the bitch got pregnant. Got knocked up,
you imagine? On purpose, probably. Well, I lingered a bit, served her carrot
juice, bought her all kinds of things for pregnant women, but could not do it any
longer. Why would I need her with a belly? Well, then I decided it was time to
get out. She called me, wrote, looked for me – the bitch wouldn’t let me live in
peace. As a result, I had to lucidly explain to her that love is gone and she can
keep the baby. Now I sent her tips every month.
That’s what he said–«tips». And laughed at his own wit.
Then he reached out to me, threw himself on the bed and asked:
–Why are you looking at me like that? You are not one of them, are you? You
too, don’t give a fuck about humans, do you? All you need is money, money,
money…What will you say? – He squeezed my breast in a hurtful way.
I wanted to say no, it’s not that way, but was it really worth it to say anything
to him?
And I remained silent. He looked me in the eyes and nodded satisfied.
I couldn’t wait for the morning to come and asked him to leave around nine.
He called me in two weeks. I told him I was busy.

 How Bill looked for a wife

Billy was a skinny man with habits of a mature cat.
He is an old client and there are two reasons for this.
One is that I give it to him quite inexpensively – he once bargained at the time
of my lack of money, and it has since become a tradition, and the second – he
has clearly found free ears on my face.
Or, maybe he just likes me.
Billy is slightly over fifty: menopause at its highest level. He sees men too.
And he has a fixed idea. He sincerely wants to get married.
To a young female under twenty–five.
And for three years he has been asking me to find him a wife.
Once he even showed me a passport with a stamp of a divorce, so that I had
something to handle when advertising the girls of such an enviable groom.
Billy’s story is quite simple.
The guy got married, had two children. Children grew up, his wife wasn’t
becoming any younger and a demon settled in the man, suggesting that life is
short: what to do with instincts?
And Billy got a lover – a lady slightly over forty.
This lady worked in the same department and apparently craved female
happiness and agreed to be with Billy, at least.
However, she did not find happiness in his face, for soon her niece, the
loveliest nymph with a vocabulary of thirty words and plump legs, came from a
godforsaken village in the city to be admitted to college.
The nymph was not admitted to the college and on this occasion, her aunt got
her settled in the same factory.
And Billy started to act.
The siege did not last long. I don’t even know of what mind or insanity, or of
pride that an adult man looked and a girl gave in.
He fucked the young body for three complete times.
Describing those happy moments, Billy made wonderful movements in the
air, showing her tits–like this, those legs–like this, and her ass–yeaah!
Then the young woman came to her senses, and decided that she did not need
Billy and rushed over to a younger man.
And Billy, naturally, went crazy. Well, he, of course, doesn’t feel it. But I can
sense it.
And Billy began to suffer. He had tasted the delights of rural young nymph
and he couldn’t live like he did before.
 The affair with the lady had resolved itself, and then he realized that his wife
is not too sweet. So Billy was left without women.
Billy decided to get married again – to a young woman.
He mastered internet – the young women smiled on photos, invitingly exposed
their delights but marriage was not something they sought after. What’s in a
marriage? And dates too!
Billy lost heart and went on the terms of the young, but not the free fairies.
And then he found me. Not that I am young, he just got hooked.
It’s quite easy with Billy. The main thing was to not disturb him while he
admired me.
–Mimimi, my titties! – He smacked, grasping my breast with his paws,
catching the slippery nipple with his lips.
–Om–nom–nom–nom–nom, my buns!–he hums, kissing my ass.
–Uhhhh! – switching to falsetto, he moans, rolling his eyes.
– Ahhhhaaaaaaa! – He shouts firing and rolling away to the side.
Then he complains to me about life.
That the young don’t want him, and he has no luck with them, that one was
looking at him, but how could he marry her – she is forty three! With
grandchildren; and there was this other one – awful! awful! Forty seven, he
couldn’t do it.
– Emily, – he told me later –well, maybe you have a friend under twenty five;
maybe, she came from somewhere and has no place to live, I would shelter her, I
have an apartment and I would feed her and would marry her. Recommend me
to someone, okay? Only someone with tits. – And Billy poses his paw in a
handful and demonstrates a tit.
I solemnly swear that as soon as a young and consonant nymph appears in my
circle – she will immediately become his.
–Oh, Emily, – he says next time, –maybe you have a girl that works as well,
but she is fed up and wants to quit, you know, I have an apartment, I will shelter
her…and tell her, that I won’t remind her of her past.
I just want her to be young and without saggy tits, let them even be small, but
tight and that her ass be…like… –and there are now two paws in the air.
Once Billy asked:
–Emily, you have been working for a long time, right?
–Right, – I nodded.
He touched my tit vaguely and said:
–Honey, are you fed up with work? Maybe, you’d like to quit? You know, I
have an apartment and I would marry you…

 The Terrorist

–Uuuh, how I will fuck you! How I will fuck you! You will be crawling!–he
threatened me on the phone.
–Come here, baby, I want it so much, –I coos, squeezing the phone in my
shoulder and mixing the boiling milk porridge.
–You’ll like it! I know how to fuck – you will be running after me!
–Come on, baby, I am waiting for you.
And I put the phone down.
Clients like him usually never come.
Doorbell. I am surprised, I go out to meet him, and there he is – proudly
looking down on me.
–Baby, I'll now show you how a woman should be fucked.
He grabs my ass with delight with all of his fingers and I jump in surprise.
–You want me! You want me, I can see it, ahh, my sweetie! I will fuck you
now in such a way that you will be begging for me to stop. Are you wet? – He
passionately whispers in my ear.
–Mmmm,–I purr, –sure, baby!
He hands me the money in the hallway and before he could remove his coat,
he playfully pushes me onto the wall.
–Can you feel me? Can you feel how big it is? Uhh, I will now fuck you like
you have never been fucked before!
Something clearly moves in his pants. Not like it’s too big.
–Baby, – I playfully moan, –go take a shower; I will be waiting for you on the
bed.
–Are you ready? – He yelled, coming out of the bathroom, –You will now
know what a good fuck is!
He walked into the room naked and with his sword ready.
–Mmm, so handsome…–languidly I say, taking him in my hand, and…
Damn, I had just cleaned up my rug. What kind of people are these!
The hero lover is standing there looking at me like the cat from Shrek, looks at
me, at the rug, at me again and says:
–Oh…
Ooops! He spilled it and didn’t make it.
–That’s ok, baby,–I purr. –It happens.
(Don’t laugh, don’t laugh–"I will fuck you, fuck you!")
–You know, I...um…it…well...so…well…–he is embarrassed.
–Everything is alright, baby,–I calm him, –it happens to everyone. Want some
coffee?
He grabs the coffee as if it’s a straw and sniffs it with grim concentration,
burying himself into the cup.
In about ten minutes the hero obviously comes alive, forgets about the
bitterness of the failure and plunges ahead.
–So, baby, are you ready? – He asks in the tone of a sophisticated macho–
man, having fucked twenty women for the past week.
–Come here, I will now show you what real sex is!–I heard it somewhere
already, and he, probably forgot. –You will now beg me to stop! – He announces
decisively and takes his sword.
I mow under the faithful squire and get myself ready to hold the weapon.
–No, baby,–he dismisses me. –Lie down and show me how you caress
yourself.
That’s easy! I lie down and according to the bought tickets show my audience
what it wants.
– Come on! – He jumps a minute later, continuing to distort the shutter.
– I will fuck you so good now! – He growls as I put on the rubber friend.
–Yes, yes, on all fours, I will now show you! Ahh, bitch, no one has fucked
you like this before! – He yells, taking on the city…takes half a step into the
gate…and…
Ladies, fireworks in your honor!
The business takes one second.
(Emily, Emily, keep yourself together, stop laughing in the pillow!)
–Well…I will...leave, probably…–my hero lover says in a minute, stubbornly
looking at the spoiled carpet.
–Alright, honey, come back again,–I coos and think whether I should tell him:
"Oh, my macho, you were wonderful; no one fucked me like that before…"
I am silent out of my love for humanity.

 Autopilot

The holidays do wash people out.
And often in the truest sense of the word.
Everything started in an ordinary way.
I had just returned. I celebrated New Year at my Mom’s.
He called in such a joyous tone, wished me a happy new year and happiness–
health–money.
So, he introduced himself, as Benjamin and for some reason he told me that he
is an intelligent man and likes everything at its highest level.
I voiced the prices for different categories, he said: "Yes, no question,
beautiful, let’s do it! I’ll be in an hour. You do not have to meet me, I know the
address! "
And states my address.
Well, so, no need to meet, great.
I immediately took a shower, washed my hair, threw my unsorted bag into the
closet, sat and waited.
The doorbell rang.
I peaked, he looked like a normal man and with roses, I have no idea why.
I opened.
And he said: "Ooooh!!!"–and he fell.
Just like that, he staggered on me.
So that’s what they mean, when they say deadly beauty…
Honestly, I froze. So many thoughts at once – I think, that’s it, he is dead. And
in my head: "So, "Ambulance"..."Ambulance"..."Ambulance"... oh God, how
awful"
And then the body hollered.
And I realized.
Well, no, I had heard the tipsy voice, and even guessed that he would come to
me drunk.
But even on the phone, he was quite sane! And even talked normally. And
how… how can one get drunk during some hours to the point of coming and
falling – this is a fucking mystery.
And there he is, this loser in my hallway, his nose in my shoe, he grunts, and
roses are sticking out from under his body.
I’m lucky he came without a Christmas tree…
I pulled myself together, tugged his leg, pulled him and shut the door.
–Heey!–I say. –Get up! No need to lie here!
 Grunts, but at least moves.
–Well, –I say,–dear friend, can you at least stand?
Grunted, thought, somehow rolled–over, crawled, leaned on the wall and is
looking through me.
I am asking him:
–Honey, do you remember where you are?
And that, damn, is autopilot!
In short, this body gets with one hand into its pockets, takes out a pile of
crumpled bills, throws a bunch of them on the floor, and the second hand – that
I'm not kidding! – Extends to unbutton his pants.
Unbuttons and moos: "I…caaame…com oon..here..."
The man can’t even talk, but when it comes to fucking–no problem!
–Ohhh,–I say,–honey, let’s do it next time, alright?
(Money for money, but I know, if I start, it will take forever till he cums).
He is sitting, eyes don’t focus and he grabs my legs.
"I am an intelligent man"
Intelligent men, they are now like this, yes?
Clear, I think, I should get him out.
But how? I can’t pull him out of the apartment myself. He is heavy.
Well…I called my taxi driver. I told him to come and help me transport the
body, money is not a problem. While I was calling, he, the intelligent one, was
snoring by the wall.
The driver came in about twenty minutes, we grabbed the friend by his arms
and dragged him out with his fly unbuttoned.
We pushed him in the car, he mumbled an address and I paid off (with the
money that he threw at me, of course)


 The Vet

People can be magically strange.
Sometimes I think that I have seen it all.
Then someone comes, says something and I realize: no, not everything.
You are probably thinking that military jokes are created in vain? Not in vain.
I do not know about the rest of the military men, but the one who recently
came to me – he is a joke. Believe me. Here are some jokes about him.
It began with Alex calling me – my rare, but a long–standing customer. He
asked whether prices had risen, and said that he would give my number to an old
friend. But just so I was not surprised, he warned me that the friend was strange.
For he had served in the army for half of his life, and it had left an imprint. But
the guy seemed normal, just not a smiling face. "Treat him well Emily, I am
recommending you to him."
In about an hour this Soldier called.
He greeted, told me that Alex had recommended me and asked when I would
be ready to meet him.
I was ready.
He came.
Tall, straight (do they swallow a straightedge or what?), lean, stern. Over fifty.
I couldn’t match up to his energy. I just couldn’t.
He paid the money that he had separately prepared in his pocket and came into
the room.
He saw the laptop and asked:
–What’s that for?
–Internet,–I said.
–It’s all stupid. Waste of time,–he concluded.
I didn’t know what to answer. I wondered how I was wasting it. Thank God, I
got lots of time.
Everything was distinct. He took off his shirt, folded and placed. Took off his
trousers, folded and placed. Took off his underwear, folded…well, you get it
right?
I swear he was moving from the bathroom to the bed at an almost measured
pace.
–Lie down, –he ordered me.
I was even scared a bit. But the drill was not handed over and that was fine.
He obviously had no need of sentiments.
People do smile sometimes.
 The lips of this one did not move at least a millimeter. Not once during the
whole hour. Not at all.
He was austere, dry, firm and collected. In everything. Totally in everything.
All my attempts to somehow make jokes stumbled on his obstinately
compressed lips and dry puzzled look.
Obviously, they hand over their sense of humor when they join the army.
It’s not returned to them till the end. When the service is over, they end up not
needing it.
But to be honest, it was pretty simple. I worked as needed.
He got up and started to gather. The soldier had already pulled his shirt when
the cat walked in the room.
– Yours? – The soldier asked me and nodded at the cat.
– Yes– I replied.
– Sit! – He ordered the cat.
"Damn, what’s wrong?!" – Clearly, the cat answered and looked at me
surprised.
"I'm sorry, he will leave soon" – I shrugged my shoulders and answered the
cat with a look.
Cat sighed.
Everything is just beginning.
–Good beast, – said the soldier. – And what, it doesn’t understand the
instructions?
– Honey, it's a cat, not a dog – I tactfully hinted.
– Anyway, – he snapped dryly. – The animal must be tamed.
"And be able to walk parade ..." – I finished myself.
– Why is he so skinny? – Suddenly he frowned. – Don’t you feed it?
– I do, – I said stolidly. – It mates with surrounding cats.
– It is not castrated? – The soldier was surprised.
–Well, I don’t have time…I’m all in work,–I quipped.
The soldier thought for a moment, floated and suddenly started to take off his
shirt.
–I need hot water, a piece of cloth and thread. The knife should be boiled. Can
you give a saucepan? – He asked briskly.
– I don’t understand, why?! – I was terribly blunt.
Who wouldn’t go blunt?
–I will castrate him – he said in a business tone, as if nothing had happened.
–You will hold him and I'll do it.
I can’t say how my eyes crawled on my forehead, no, it’s not that comparison.
I didn’t have any forehead left, just eyes.
 – What do you mean, castrate?! – I swallowed. – The cat? Here? – I did not
believe my ears.
–Don’t be afraid, it’s easy. I saw how it’s done,–he said, as if nothing was
happening.
–No need to castrate anyone!–I yelled. –Don’t touch my cat!
I went crazy. The cat hid under the bed.
Yes, I had hysteria. I was scared.
He left and I got out the whiskey.
The cat didn’t come out till late at night.

 Lickerman

Lickers are special people, and, by the way, there is too many of them. They
all have something in common. Lickers are inspired. Well, how can you not be
inspired in life if you are a gourmand by nature?
They are dessert lovers, often a little confused at first, but in their eyes one
can always read an impatience to get to…
Lickers are harmless. All they need is a good view before their eyes to make
them forget everything.
They don’t even need women.
A short, bald little man, about forty–five, smiling, shy, paid off, looked around
and dived in. "Gourmet" – for some reason I suddenly intuitively defined.
–Coffee?–I asked kindly.
–Aha,–he replied, uncomfortably sitting in my armchair.
In about five minutes we were chatting cutely and little by little his stiffness
was gone.
– Oh, – he started fussily in five minutes, –I want to say…it…I love it when,
well oral…um. Do you have condoms for that? I could do without them with my
wife, but here…you get it…
–Honey, oral is oral, of course,–I did not get his point instantly, –and I have
all kinds of condoms. Even fruity! Well, for me they are fruity, but for you it
wouldn’t matter.
– No, you do not understand...it is not for you – he said, terribly embarrassed
–well, I meant that I would lick you and not vice versa. I want to give you
pleasure. I need a special condom for this matter.
– In what sense? – I stared.
– Well, I love to do it with my tongue, but...well, you know very well, I can’t
do it just like that, I do not know you, and...well, I need this, special condom...
for all of this. Well, so I could give you pleasure – he was lost and mumbled.
–Oh, speciaaal! And what will you wear it on?–I decided to get to the point
from afar.
–Well, on the tongue, what else…–he concluded uncertainly.
–A hard tongue?–I clarified with innocent eyes.
– How so? – disappointed, he asked five minutes later, when I had almost
reported to him the absurdity of such a strange device. – I've heard that there are
such condoms and I thought girls should definitely have it. It’s just that this is
my first time, I wasn’t aware…
– Baby – I patiently clarified – have you seen them yourself, at least once?
Maybe you held it in your hands?
–Well no, – he reluctantly agreed and continued perplexedly –and how will I
do it then? I can’t do it like that, well, uh ... that absolutely without it ...I want
to...
– Well, I'm sorry – I interrupted him – I don’t have it. I can give an ordinary
one, if you want. Only, I fear, you will be uncomfortable to clamp with your
teeth... so we will have to do something else.
And I smiled as seductively, as I could.
Apparently, he imagined the process and somehow instantly wilted.
In about ten minutes, after the shower, he sat on the bed. I was waiting for him
half reclined on the bed, leaning on my elbow, one leg bent at the knee and
demonstrating my new transparent underwear.
–Well, let me at least look at you…–he neatly took off my panties, pulled the
pillow, placed it under my butt, spread my legs, placed himself between them
and watched my depths.
– Mmm ... – he drawled with a strong regret, looking at it as if it were a
candy, which is not allowed, but is sooo desired.
– Are you healthy? – He suddenly asked. Desires were clearly struggling in
him.
–Nothing hurts,–I quipped.
– I'm not talking about that, – he turned serious –everything is alright in there?
– Normal, – I nodded.
–Do you have a reference? – He clarified.
–Honey – I resisted with a slight sarcasm –I'm sorry, honey, I visit the doctor
for my own good, and somehow never take references…
–Well, how come? – Sadly he drawled, –You need to consider such things. I
would have now made sure that everything is alright and would do you good…
– Listen, dear, – let ME give you pleasure, okay? No references are needed
and there are condoms of all kinds.
And I started to crawl out from under him.
– Wait, – he stopped me, grabbing my leg, as if holding onto the last chance to
lick, –maybe we could come up with something? Well, you are experienced, you
must know of some methods, so it could be safe…
Apparently, he had an unhuman desire to lick. But the realization of me not
belonging to only him kept him from taking such a reckless step.
–Well, if it is so important to be safe – somehow I suddenly blurted out
hysterically, because he got me eventually, –maybe I should give you a plastic
wrap?
I was joking, I swear, I was joking.
 Looks like it was only me joking in this house.
–Do you have any? – He was suddenly on fire with this idea.
I do, – I seriously confirmed, trying to keep a serious face.
–Will you give me some? – He looked at me with hope.
–Wait, I will go look in the kitchen, – I answered completely smoothly.
In the kitchen, I squashed into the trash, and, in the search for a cling film,
rattled doors of cabinets in hopes that he did not hear my barely suppressed
laughter.
Apparently, I had been gone for too long, because he suddenly called out to
me:
–Did you find it?
–Here, baby!–I gathered my will in arms. –I have a plastic bag. Will it do?
I was afraid to offer foil.
And that was not the matter. I just suddenly realized that if I offered it to him
out loud, the hysteria that would have happened to me would be unlikely to
muffle with cabinet doors.
But when a question flew from the room in a doubtful tone:
–Is the bag big?
I had tears running down the face.
I returned to the room in after two minutes with the strongly flushed face.
In my hands I was holding a roll of cling film.
His face beamed in delight.
– Well, lie down, as you were – he pulled the roll from my hands, and, while I
took the pose, he settled somewhere in between my legs.
–Put the pillow under your butt, – he delicately ordered, trying to find the
edge of the cling film.
I lay and spread out my legs, trying to watch.
The film categorically refused to unroll. It got stuck and tangled. The licker–
inventor sweated and focused.
–Let me help,–I tensed and reached to him.
I took the roll, carefully teased the edge with my nail and carefully rewind the
flip.
He watched the cellophane in lust.
– Rrrrr – he suddenly reached for the roll in my hands, and tore the film with
his teeth with a distinct sound, looking at me with eyes of a snake–seducer.
Obviously, this "rrrr" was to symbolize gusts that swept him in passion.
– Ooooh! – I gasped in delight, trying not to look at the transparent flap,
adhering to its teeth and dangling from his lips. – Ooooh!
It was beyond my strength, and I sat back, carefully masking hysteria under
groans of sudden surging passion.
I will not tell how he taped the film with shaking hands in anticipation. I
assure you, it was mentally difficult for me. Never have I ever been such an
actress.
He closed me up in it, entirely from the lower abdomen and almost to the
tailbone. He carefully stretched it on the inner parts of the thighs and smoothed
all the bumps within with his hands.
At the thought of "I am like a sandwich" I barely restrained my laugh.
He was quivering with impatience, gently licked the cellophane one or two
times, again and again, oddly grunted and went into a rage.
Oh, how I diligently groaned!
He was holding the film by my hips and constantly pulled up the open edges
to my stomach and licked, licked, licked me like a lollipop in a wrapper.
Seven minutes later I released and earnestly portrayed him a peak of
convulsive passion. He watched my body admiringly, and I knew he was pleased
with himself.
It was time for me to take the rein in my own hands.
I pulled away from the wrap, threw the pillow on the floor, busily took off the
adhering wet film from me, put the man on his back and did what I had been
doing for a long time.
He was quiet and content. Upon departure, he looked at me tenderly, stroked
my breast in the hallway, nearly turned around at the door and proudly and
indulgently said:
–See, if there’s a wish…
In about five minutes I called my friend. I think I made her night then.

 Gary and happiness

Gary was a bit silly creature, but somehow childishly harmless.
No, strictly speaking, he was probably not stupid, otherwise, he would not
have had an apartment in the center, quite an expensive car, and shoes, at a price
comparable with the budget of a small African country.
However, for me, it still remained a mystery what he was engaged in life.
Slightly detached view and wandering half–smile gave this modestly overweight
man the look of a typical nerd. And nerds can do anything.
He appeared at my place once in every two months, always for the night and
always with packages stuffed with something tasty and terribly expensive. And
he began a celebration of life.
Purring, I cut and arranged the snacks, poured expensive booze, and we sat
down to have a talk about anything.
I honestly treated Gary well. He did not bother me and somehow I was always
glad to see him.
And it's not even about the money, which he generously left with tips that I
didn’t deserve, and not in the refrigerator, which was full of food for three more
days after his departure, it was just very easy with Gary.
However, to be fair, for some reason I always had a feeling that he treated me
more like a sexless creature or a girlfriend. Even my delights did not seem much
of a lure to him and sex was always so quick and so boring, that there is nothing
to tell. It was always a one–time thing: he performed his duty with slight
boredom, then he relaxed and pleasantly drank in my cozy company. This
happened all the time.
He always drank to the state of absolute prostration, and then, standing up in
the morning, clutched his head, asked for water, coffee, lemon and a taxi. His car
was parked under my window until the evening.
I remember when he left in the morning after our third meeting; I was left in
the strongest wondering: why does he come to me, if I obviously don’t turn him
on that much?
Then I got used to it. Everyone can be strange.
And I was not even surprised for some reason that after coming in with
packages of food and booze, he managed to get drunk so quickly that I did not
even have time to realize what was going on and then he literally fell on my bed
and said: "Just don’t touch me, ok?", and in the morning he left, leaving me tips
without even asking for a blowjob.
One thing I know for sure: Gary was in strong disagreement with his wife.
Somehow, in a completely drunken state, he confessed to me that she did not
turn him on, and she had never turned him on, for that matter. And he married
her just because she was knocked up after their second meeting, and he, as an
honest man ... besides, it was time to get married. Parents had long wanted
grandchildren.
The only person that Gary seemed to genuinely love was his ten–year–old
daughter from that marriage. He spoke about her for hours.
One day, when we had completely let loose, I took heart and asked why he
always visited me for the night, if he did not need much from me. That way I
learned that he was never really interested in sex and it was just nice to drink and
talk with me.
"Whatever",–I decided and closed this topic.
The last time he was at my place was a little over a year ago. He complained
that life had become unbearable, that his wife drove him to half–death with her
constant desire for sex, and he was absolutely ready to get a divorce, but his
daughter...
And then he was gone for quite a while.
And appeared recently.
–Haven’t you gotten married?–A familiar voice asked cheerfully on the
phone, and I was delighted.
–Gary, I haven’t seen you since forever!
–You will soon,–he said cheerfully,–you will find some free time for me,
right?
–Of course,–I laughed,–I’ll chase away the entire crowd for you!
–Excellent,–the voice suddenly got serious,–only, Emily, I won’t be alone,
ok? I will be with my friend. I’ll explain to you everything when we get there.
Don’t be scared, everything will be fine…
Me? Afraid of two?
And they came in the evening.
–You are still the same beauty!–gracefully complimented Gary as soon as I
closed the door.
And shyly added:
–Emily, this is Nicolas.
Nicolas was short, strong–looking middle–aged man, slightly bald, with light
gray hair, in a trendy T–shirt and stylish jeans. He was quite a bit embarrassed,
smiled at me and strangely, I would even say–lovingly, looked at Gary.
I chuckled inwardly with surprise, and decided that it had only seemed to me
and led them into the room.
Then I laid the snacks, got the glasses out, chirped and radiated hospitality.
 I was surprised at the metamorphosis that had occurred with Gary this year.
He had somehow completely changed.
The weird look and wandering smile had gone, he lost weight, was clearly
confident, differently trimmed, even dressed up differently, still expensive, but
more stylish, and if you can apply this word to a man, then I will say that Gary
had blossomed.
–Emily, – Gary said, when we had just drank our first glasses, and I had
managed to notice the slight movement of Nicolas’s palm that rested on his
knee, – we didn’t come here for no reason. Well, it will probably seem strange to
you, but...
Again he poured drinks for all of us, we clinked glasses, and he drained it,
obviously for bravery:
– Well, I'll tell you... And, perhaps, you have seen more... I did not
immediately warn you by phone, it is not a phone conversation.
And then I could only give silly smiles, get surprised and smile again.
Gary was frankly miserable all eleven years of marriage. The fact that they did
not get along became clear in the early months. His wife was a home mini–
typhoon, she quickly established orders in their house, Gary quietly made money
for the family and was completely sure that there is no happiness in life.
He could, of course, have picked up a peaceful and appeasable mistress and
satisfy with her if not his body, then at least his soul, but ... he had long noticed:
he didn’t much like women for some reason. Not that he didn’t like them at all –
he was simply indifferent towards them. Even in sexual sense. He knew that he
had to, as a man, but did so without a soul and more for a tick in front of himself.
He still had one constant lover. Tired of the violent nature of his wife, he left
for the quiet divorcee after five years of their marriage, but quickly realized that
it’s not where he belonged and he had better live with his temperamental wife,
but with own child rather than to bring up someone else’s child together with a
strange woman.
There were occasional prostitutes as if he was missing something and what
that something was, he could not understand. However, they were not much of
happiness for him. And then he became attached to me, because (oh God!) he
felt a familiar spirit in me.
The last time he visited me, the situation in his personal life had got worse. He
even grew tired of fighting with his wife, but he was missing some kind of a jolt
to file for a divorce. It’s hard to change life just like that.
And one very wonderful evening, about two weeks after our last meeting, he
went to the night club literally out of grief– whether to release some despair or to
simply unwind.
 And right there, in the club, he met lonely and bored Nicolas by the bar. Well,
and there, word after word, shot after shot, taxi, next club, then again, again and
even incomprehensibly for Gary himself–they were at Nicolas’s place.
Alcohol removes the brakes, and the stars aligned so strangely that in the
morning they woke up together.
The next day Gary moved to Nicolas’s place.
Moreover, he so abruptly flew off of these brakes that he did not even bother
to hide from his wife where he was moving. Of course, there was a wild scandal
and then a quick divorce.
Nicolas was not a beginner in this business, but again, found his happiness
with Gary.
They live together.
And Gary confessed that he was wildly happy and wouldn’t have wasted so
many years on his boring life, if he had realized earlier what he really needed.
He had thought of it earlier, of course, but each time drove away these thoughts
out of fright and if not for the club, the alcohol and gentle, persistent Nicolas…
But why did they come to me? Well, that’s simple. To diversify, so to speak.
Gary wanted someone to watch and Nicolas wanted women from time to time...
Then we drank, talked and my boys looked at each other completely lovingly.
And half an hour later I was lounging in a chair with a glass and watching
their mating.
And I must say, that sluggish and one–time lover who came over to me a year
ago was completely unrecognizable in Gary – for he fucked Nicolas with such
an excellent hard–on and passion in his eyes that I swear to God, I was even
surprised.
Oh, and then there was a slight sandwich filled with a totally happy Nicolas,
and in the morning I thought that I had never seen Garry with so much strength
and temperament.
In the morning, we told our goodbyes laughingly, accompanied with dirty
jokes. Nicolas kissed my hand, and happily, they left.
…And I was left with a stocked up refrigerator. As always.

 The visiting dumpling

Sitting in the kitchen in the morning, drinking coffee, not touching anyone, I
am eating up oatmeal cookies.
Doorbell. I am thinking– who is here in such an early hour?
I go as I am, unwashed, unkempt. Sleepy–headed, I did not even look through
the peephole.
I open the door, and there is this baby, 2 meters tall with round head, pointed
ears, rosy cheeks, big smile and a huge bag.
–Are you Emily?–he asks.
–Yes,–I answer helplessly.
–Oh, thank God, I found you! – Says the lad, and pushing me in, comes into
the apartment.
With not even a drop of shyness and not bothering to take off his shoes, he
goes straightly into the kitchen. I stand at the doorway with an open mouth.
– Why are you standing by the door wide open? – He asked.
I automatically close the door, go into the kitchen, lean on the door and look
at him in awe.
–Ah, how happy I am to find you! – He sings to me. –I rang the doorbells of
the apartments, already! I rushed to you right from the airport.
And confidently sat by the table.
–And who are you?–I clarify.
–What do you mean, who? – Asked the lad in surprise. –Didn’t Kevin warn
you? He told me he would make arrangements with you. Oh, he probably never
found his phone! I am Mike, Kevin told me, that I could stay at your place. You
would shelter me and keep me "warm". But he didn’t remember the apartment
number clearly, so I had to disturb the neighbors a bit…
And he is sitting, smiling.
I flipped out a bit.
Warming, yes, but giving a shelter? This is not a hostel, damn it.
While I was thinking how to get him out, this Mikey opened the bag and
started getting out food.
–Well, put the kettle on, hostess!
Here I rebelled:
–Wait with the kettle, why have you come here?!
–Well, what do you mean…Kevin said that you provide services, those…
well…and I could stay the night, I am not here forever, only three days.
–What, motherfucking, Kevin?–I almost yell.
 –Kevin! The redhead, thin, small.
Now, I could put together the pieces from the puzzle. I remembered that
redhead clown. He comes to my place, sometimes, a rare prankster. Very fun
guy, but always mocks everyone; it happens, we start talking with him after sex,
and he spills it all about one, or another. And laughs like a fool.
Well, in short, it later became clear that this dumpling had come to visit our
city, so he called Kevin, and he told him there was no need of a hotel, there is
this Emily, go to her place, she will shelter you and give you the rest.
What a joker!
And this dumpling took the joke word for word and came to live with me.
Well honestly, if I had Kevin’s address I would have killed him for such
jokes.
And most importantly, he was so terribly upset, that he had been played, that I
couldn’t not to treat him to a cup of tea. Well, we ate, drunk and sat in silence.
And here he told me suddenly, that maybe…we could…do…that?
Well, that, we could do.
I told him the prices and he was of course in shock. Kevin, the bastard, had, of
course told him that it would have been inexpensive.
–Your Kevin quite played you.
And he says:
– How would I know how much all of this cost? I never went anywhere. I just
separated with my wife, and except for her, and there has been no one. Hey,
maybe we could agree for a little less? That is too much for me, I still need to
find some hotel, and look around a bit. I can’t go to Kevin’s place, there is a wife
and mother–in–law, what will I be doing there...
In short, we bargained a bit. I lowered the price a little. He was already in
there, so what the hell.
His dick was so big. Well yeah, Mike was big and his dick was not small–
barely got it in. What a goodie this guy carries in his pants, oh yes!
And for sex, well, just a dumpling, huge paws, modest and humble and all so
soft.
I hadn’t met guys like him for a long time. He didn’t even ask for a blow job
and came fast.
He stood up, went into the shower, then came out into the kitchen, looked
around and said:
–It’s apparent that you don’t have a man living in the house, Emily.
–Well yeah,–I laugh,–I don’t even have men coming to my place.
– The shelf in the bathroom is barely holding, the table is reeling… let me see
what's in there?
 And he crawled under the table:
–Do you have a screwdriver?
I stand, looking at the happening.
–No,–I say,–Why would I have one here?
He asked for a knife. I handed it to him. Then he turned the table upside
down, got me out of the kitchen. What could I say – if he wants to fix it, let him
do so.
In the end, he stayed at my place for half a day.
He fixed the table, adjusted the shelf, checked cabinet hinges,–in short, fixed
everything he could find. Even placed back the outlet that had come out of its
place, sat there and cleaned something for quite a long time.
Damn, what a golden man!
Well, and I didn’t remain in debt, called my friends and we quickly found him
a very cheap apartment for rent.
Although with such a dignity and golden hands, it would have been possible
to place him in one of the girls’ places.
He would have left with great success.

 The best one

–Emily, I have arrived, how do I go next?–A pleasant voice asked me on the
phone.
This client was a newcomer.
–One second, honey,–I said as playfully as I could,–I will now meet you.
Two minutes later I was making eyes to a man in his forties, who hesitantly
shifted from one foot to another, standing at my doorway. By the way, he was
quite handsome, and I had already concluded for myself that the next hour that
he had booked me for, promised to be if not too pleasant, then at least not
annoying.
Client’s name was Steve.
Upon arrival, he immediately took off his shirt and oddly swept his shoulders,
demonstrating me his body; he asked me to make him coffee and meanwhile,
showered me with some graceful compliments. It was something about my eyes,
my breasts, legs and that he had practically fallen in love with me at first sight.
I smiled seductively and decided that I would try to perform an especially
great blowjob for him.
Then I sent him into the shower and while he was there, quickly changed my
panties to something a little more transparent – designed for most pleasant
guests.
He came out of the shower wrapped in a towel around his waist, lay down on
the bed and putting his hands behind his head, he said:
–Come on, come here, –and for some reason he added,–baby.
And I went. Like a languid cat I lay beside him, licked my lips (an effective
gesture), with my fingertips picked up a knot on the towel, and…
– It’s beautiful, right? – Suddenly Steve asked me.
Before me, he opened a view of a male penis of quite ordinary size and
ordinary form. In general, there was nothing really outstanding. And nothing
special, too.
–Indeed, honey – I purred, pulling a condom on it, –it’s gorgeous.
And I got ready to begin with all my soul an activity so ordinary for me.
Actually, I was already just two centimeters away from the...
Suddenly, he firmly dismissed my head:
–No, you tell me, it’s cool, right?
–Cool!–I smiled, trying to sound as confident and credible, as possible. And I
reached to it with my lips.
–No, wait,–he said in an offended tone.
 I raised my head, looked at him and noticed that he had been offended and
pouted, just like a girl.
I admit: at that moment for some reason I was confused. Fortunately, he
helped me:
–Tell me, how beautiful is it?
Of course, enlightening is my thing. I neatly held his dignity with my fingers,
pretended to be watching enthusiastically and said:
–Well, it’s so big…
–More! – Demandingly told me the voice.
–And beautiful! – Somehow I repeated his own words.
–More! – He repeated, startled.
I honestly didn’t know what to say, a regular body part, standard size, but he
needed me tell him something.
–It’s so hard!
Well yeah, that was true.
At this point, Steve so abruptly jumped up and sat on the bed, that I was even
a little scared.
–Oh, come on! – He said in a tone of a naughty child. –You are not telling it
right!
And right there, without waiting for my answer, he continued:
–Once I visited your colleague and it’s a pity she moved away, she could do
it!
–And how? – I asked.
–Well, she caressed him and said that he is the best out of all that she had
seen…
It wasn’t difficult for me to say it and maybe I would have even praised him
twice as much had he not jumped out of bed so abruptly.
A now wasn’t the right moment. It would have looked like a very rough
praise.
Obviously, he didn’t think so.
–Well, tell me that it’s the best! – He asked immediately.
–The best one!–I suddenly picked up. It was unexpected to me. –It’s
wonderful, really! I rarely see such beautiful ones!
–Really? – There was hope in his tone.
–Yes!–inspiringly, I lied.–You do understand that I have seen many, but yours
is just perfect. Big, smooth…
For a better effect, I lightly caressed his dignity with my fingers.
He beamed and leaned back on the pillow.
I decided to not lose any time and almost began the process, when…I was
again interrupted.
–Wait a second,–he said, –you are saying that you rarely see...it means that
you still see similar ones?
"Damn…"–I thought to myself.
Out loud I said:
–Well very rarely!
I sensed that he was obviously unsatisfied and quickly corrected:
–But yours is the most beautiful of them all!
He delved into thoughts. Then he said what I expected to listen the least:
–I think it’s a bit crooked…
I sensed doubt in his voice.
–No, of course not!–I tried to convince him the opposite, immediately.
My intuition hinted that it should be done quickly, otherwise my brain simply
would not sustain the heater...
–Well, look,–he interrupted me again, took his penis in his hands and started
to watch from different angles.
I surreptitiously looked at my watch. I would have to bear this for a long time.
About half an hour.
I knew, they would turn into eternity.
–Really, look for yourself, – he directed my attention to himself, –look, from
here you can see that it’s twisted to the left, a bit.
I am not completely blind, but I couldn’t see anything, of which I let him
know.
–Why are you lying? – Reproachfully he said and looked at me.
I wanted him to leave immediately. That he would get up right now, dressed
and left. Because this was taking quite a long time, and my nerves were not
made of iron. Aloud, I said something quite different, of course.
Jumping ahead, I will say that the remaining half an hour passed by as
follows: the first twenty minutes I was coming up with incredible reasons, I
urged him that he not only did not have a crooked penis, but the best of those
that I had ever seen; three minutes we had sluggish sex, which he did not even
finish, literally removing me from himself and said "You know, it’s not the
matter," and the remaining seven – he dressed and warmly thanked me for a
great evening spent and promised to come again.
Sometimes I think, that instead of the bed in my apartment, there should be a
couch of a psychoanalyst. That would be ideal.

 The Whiner

A normal guy visited. Actually, he only seemed normal.
Under thirty and looked good.
Didn’t ride me for too long, didn’t cum in 10 seconds.
Didn’t moan too loudly and wasn’t silent like a partisan.
Folded pants neatly, went into the shower immediately, came out wrapped in a
towel.
He was even handsome. Everywhere.
Booked me for two hours. The two times he succeeded. About forty minutes.
And then…
I realized: he came here to whine.
The salary was big, but wasn’t enough.
His Mom interfered with his personal life, bringing a girl home was
impossible.
He can’t rent a separate apartment – how could he live on the remaining
money?
For the second year, his former love turned up her nose from his cloves.
The current lover wants to get married, but he doesn’t love her.
His best friend is not even a friend to him.
And the weather is horrible.
He can’t choose shoes for himself: he doesn’t like anything or his size is
missing in the store.
The day sucked and the whole week, as well.
The saleswomen are rude in the store, he missed the last bus yesterday…
He talked, talked, then blew up, went into the kitchen. As if he was in his own
home.
I thought he had gone to drink water, I was lying down and heard the
refrigerator open. I am thinking maybe he is looking for cold water (he didn’t
ask, didn’t utter a word). I yell to him:
–There is coke in there!
He replies:
–Yes,yes, here!
He was missing for too long. I was thinking to get up and go see what had
happened. He came back. With a sandwich!
Only one. No, it’s okay if he opened my refrigerator without asking, but
making a sandwich for himself only…that’s too much!
He sits and eats my sandwich and bu–bu–bu, and bu–bu–bu…
 The car rode by him and splashed water on him out of a puddle.
The Government is corrupt.
Global warming.
I can feel my head burning from his crap. I say: "Wait…"
I went into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. Sitting in front of him, I
am chewing in deep thoughts.
A pimple appeared right on his forehead and hurt.
Mom baked a cake with cranberries, and he loved it with raspberries.
Favorite pants had ripped between the legs – and where would he now find
similar ones..?
And bu–bu–bu, and bu–bu–bu…
He left, and left all this junk to me.
And I went around with a hardened head and thought: daaamn…daaaamnnn!
But most importantly, I understood why the ex–girlfriend didn’t need the
cloves.
Because, cloves and a bored dummy made up a great set. Better without
cloves, than with a guy like him.
You think, he left and that was it? Fuck that!
He called in 15 minutes and started to whine that he had missed the subway,
and he didn’t have money left for the taxi, spent all his money on me…
He hinted, very lightly, that he sheltered me till morning, otherwise, the poor
one would be sitting all night on the street and freeze his ass. Sit and freeze…sit
and freeze…
"Aaaa! Kill yourself on the wall!"
I did not pity.
I got up and baked a cake with cranberries.
Yes, I baked it late at night.
I had bought the cranberry three months ago and they were sitting in the
freezer up to now.
I love it with cranberries.

 Discount on a tombstone

It was not funny when some dude visited me one day.
He came in, took off his clothes, admired himself in the mirror, sleeked his
hair back, and got the money out of his pocket, in small values. While I stood
and counted the money, he handed me over his visit card.
Glossy, black, with red–gold curls.
The services were definitely not of the glamour category.
Ritual agency.
General Director.
Scary, no need to say anything.
I took a breath, poked myself cautiously – I seemed to be alive.
While I was thinking, he put on the slippers, went into the room, and…he was
apparently tense at work. One wouldn’t offer such a thing at a normal mindset.
In short, he offered a barter.
Like, I offer him a 50% discount or return the remaining half, or I let him stay
for the second hour for free, and then he will offer me a discount, if needed.
I looked at him skeptically, slowly came to my senses and told him that if I
needed anything, then I wouldn’t be able to turn to him, anyway.
He froze immediately, shook his head as if I had not understood him correctly.
He wished me well and long life; but, maybe, one of my relatives or friends
would need it?
How cool, I think–suck the CEO of the ritual agency, bury your friend on
sale!
–No–no,–I say, –I don’t need discounts, I might not have the chance to use it
later…Let’s do without discounts.
And we agreed.
Well, sex was sex. I’m glad he didn’t force me to lie down motionless like a
corpse.
We finished, he collapsed notably, looked – there was still time left.
–Let me do some consultation for you,–he says, –I have a nerve wracking job,
I won’t be able to finish so quickly the second time anyway. (Damn, I think, no
need to!)
Okay, I am thinking a negative experience is still an experience.
Let him consult and I will think about my job.
And how he started, how he started!
He jumped up, got the catalog, opened on the bed...and started to show me the
coffins and the trim panel display.
 To be honest, I thought he would understand everything from one look at my
face.
He did not.
I interrupted, –maybe we could discuss something else or could lie down in
silence, huh?
He kind of came alive, started to apologize that business is in his head and that
I interrupted him, if needed.
He sat in silence and caressed my knee.
And of course, when else would I have a bouquet of flowers sitting on the
table, if not now!
He jumped with an idea.
– Oh Emily, – he said – you cannot imagine what wreaths we have! Made of
fresh flowers. My florist is such a candy! She had an internship in the
Netherlands, and you know they grow beautiful flowers in Holland. Anyway, if
you need, we will make one in the best possible way.
I was quietly going crazy:
–What will you make?
He answered without a sign of embarrassment:
–A wreath.
I reached for a cigarette, took a smoke, listed the catalogue, jabbed with my
fingers and asked:
–Do you have this one?
He said in surprise:
–We can make one, if needed. Why?
–Well,–I said,–maybe you’ll make one and hang in the home? It’s beautiful, a
wreath with fresh flowers.
Yet again he was surprised:
–But all of my family members are alive!
–Still alive,–lingering, I let out a smoke.–What if they are about to die?
–Oh stop it. What do you mean? No one is going to die! – He said,
confidently.
–Well, you can’t be sure, you never know what happens. Which coffin would
you choose?–I said philosophically, deeply thinking.
And I am reaching for the catalogue.
Apparently, this was getting through to him. He jumped up, pulled on his
pants and swept out at the speed of light. Only, he called me an idiot.
Who’s the fool here?
Anyway, that was it. He didn’t appear again, didn’t pop catalogs and didn’t
ask for discounts. I had forgotten about him for a long time.
 So, why did I remember?
At the bus stop today, I am standing with a bouquet, by the way, and I am
looking and there he is. He is standing with some dude and I can see him talking,
talking…
And so he is spinning the button on his coat repeatedly, and his eyes are
confidently peeking; and this poor dude is neatly taking half a step back, back
and the other one is pressing, pressing…
Looks like he is offering him a coupon, on discount.
30% off of graves…

Dog is a man’s friend

I am sitting and reading porn stories on the Internet. Well, clearly, there are
different categories. One is writing about group–sex, another one writes about
anal–orals in details, and so on.
I look over and see a category–«zoophiles».
WTF, I think to myself…what entertainers! "I flew away to warmer climes,
and when I got back–I don’t know. Your roof".
Well, the funny part aside, I once had the chance to observe such a thing in
my life.
Anyway, once a guy came to me. Thin, but with a belly, torn pants, sparse
hair, noticeably bald and in general an ordinary middle–aged loser.
He sits down in the chair, very confidently. He throws me a bundle of money
on the table. The pack is a bit worn out and it’s obvious that he didn’t get the
money in a pack, but collected and saved it. Maybe, he saved on his pants.
Well, I’m thinking, now the whims will begin, this is the next typical
"Slumdog millionaire".
Lick here gentler, suck here longer and during the orgasm smack directly on
the center of the forehead. Because that’s the only way he can cum. (By the way,
I had one like that. He, for example, needed a smack for full release, and not
otherwise!)
So, the guy introduced himself –Felix. And so, Felix told me in a thin falsetto
about his nonstandard request.
I sat comfortably, put my hands on my knees, like a good girl in first grade
and delved. And Felix jumped, ran somewhere into the hallway, opened the
door…
And Felix brings in a small doggie. And do you know what he tells me? He
tells me this is Felix junior.
I choked:
–And so?–I ask, completely in shock.
–So there’s this thing,–interprets Felix senior, –in connection with given
circumstances…My dog is old enough, and he hasn’t had a bitch, ever. Well, he
doesn’t get turned on by bitches of his breed. It doesn’t. When we walk on the
street, he reacts mainly towards small mongrels, those chkhu..chikhi…khao…
– Chihuahua – I specify as if under hypnosis.
–Exactly! – He answers. –And young women.
–And?–I’m gradually moving out of the chair.
–What and? –Outrages, he starts to move like a second grader, who did not
learn the lesson, but is confident in his knowledge of natural history. –I can’t let
my handsome one fuck some mongrels!
At this point, I finally moved out of the chair and the dog barked in
satisfaction.
–And what do you want from me?–I ask.
–What do you mean what? – Asked the man, as if I am from a different planet
and don’t understand simple things. –I am saying, he gets turned on at the sight
of women. You will fuck him well, and that’s it. It’s possible; I have read that
you are anatomically compatible with him.
I am anatomically compatible with a dog. Damn, at least not horses. What?
Not a bad idea.
No, I get it, cockroaches are dancing and making fireworks in his head.
And I get it, it’s spring, I get it.
But I shouted! I shouted so loud!
The man was sent to hell far and long.

 Crocodile tears

There’s a myth that crocodiles tear up after eating their victim.
Choosing to believe these kinds of nature jokes is a secondary question, but
Wikipedia insists that this is a fact.
So: clients sometimes happen to be crying crocodiles.
And immediately, there’s a wish to make a bag or shoes out of them.
A client comes by – thin, tall, broad–shouldered. Nothing spectacular. Only
too miserable–looking. Alert eyes, sympathetic, always tries to stroke the arm.
He doesn’t start immediately. He needs to be won over and inquired about
life.
He looks sad and unfortunate, penetrates into the soul, and nods his head.
Money matters are done in the hallway, he books a standard package. Oral
and classics, to be noted.
Next, he puts the clothes on the chair, showers, puts on slippers, wraps a
towel.
And he is sitting naked on my bed and is in no hurry to begin.
–Well, tell me. – He says. And looks sad.
–What about, honey?–I ask.
What can a naked man ask to tell him about, sitting on my bed? Let me guess.
Whisper about group sex? Stories about how I caress myself? What position I
like best?
I don’t care. I’ll talk about anything.
–How you reached such a life…–he clarifies.
And watches intently.
Daaamn! How I hate that! Stupid question asked by stupid people!
I walked, walked and reached!
I smile:
–Honey, it isn’t interesting at all. You better tell me how you like it, alright?
And neatly I hold his dick.
He takes away my hand:
–No, wait. Not so fast. Tell me, do you like your job?
And immediately, not waiting for my response:
Just don’t tell me that you like it. It’s terrible, right? Just like that, with
anyone…terrible, right?
And watches terribly sadly.
I reboot. What kind of an answer was this naked man waiting for, the one who
gave me money fifteen minutes ago and stomped into the shower?
 If I tell him, it’s terrible, will he get up and leave, throwing me money?
–Work is like work,–I say,–it can be worse. We better do something.
He immediately realized that I wasn’t going to complain and started a
monologue:
–Oh, poor girl, I understand, you can’t tell me the truth. But you must know
how sorry I am for all of you…When I look at it all–young girls, how sorry I am
for all of you, that your life developed this way. I understand everything, that in
fact it’s very hard. But it’s ok, everything will be fine…
At that moment I’m in shock to see him caress my hand:
–Come here, my girl – he pulls me towards him and for some reason starts to
caress my head, –I will be very gentle with you, not like everyone else…poor
girl.
I was touched.
He got a hard-on.
Ahh, we have seen you all, perverts.
And I pull on a condom, sink my head into the pillow.
–My poor girl, my poor girl…–he whispers, caressing my head, and…
–Ouch!–I jump right then. Clearly, he didn’t aim in the right direction. To be
specific, he did aim right, but not the place he paid for.
–Oh–oh, I’m sorry,–he said apologetically,–it was an accident.
And gives me such a devoted look.
–Be careful, dear. It can happen to anyone.
–Awww!–I jump the second time. This time, he went through the wrong hole!
–Oh–oh! Sorry, did I am wrong again? – He was utterly confused.
–No,–I frowned,–let me be at the bottom. It will be easier for you to go down.
–Umm…–he says, insulted,–I don’t want you to be at the bottom. I will be
careful, I’m sorry.
–Alright.
I take the doggie position again.
He places it where needed, two to three frictions, and…
–Motherfucker!–I shout.
The third time I understand, that actually, he aims very well. And where he
wants.
I turn around, sit down:
–Honey, if you want to fuck where you aim for, you need to pay, get a
lubricant and do it.
–Oh, sorry–sorry!–he chatters.–It was really by accident. Sorry, you are so
sweet, that it’s hard to control myself.
–Okay,–I say, –let me control everything, then.
 And I lie down on my back. He is slightly insulted, but does not object. He
thrusts from above and the process goes on.
–Relax, – he whispers, –you are so tense. Relax, trust me, everything will be
alright, my poor little girl…
His hands slide and slide and slide…where are they sliding to?!
I catch his finger on air. Right by the unpaid services.
Bastard!
–Oh, come on! – He suddenly said to me in anger. –Just once!
–No,–I answer equally angrily, –we didn’t agree on anal.
–Why are you behaving like a virgin? – He explodes. –Does it really matter to
you?
–Yes, it does,–I answered calmly,–pay and you will have it.
–Ok, no is no,–he says in a strangely calm tone, –then let’s go for a blowjob.
–Okay, honey,–I grin, changing the condom, I sit back, bend over…
And I realized that tearing was his thing. First, my ass, then my hair.
He clearly needed my scalp, entirely.
–Baby,–I note,–couldn’t you be a bit careful? Relax, I’ll do it all.
–Yes, yes, good, ohhh, soo good,–he relaxed,–come on, my girl, come on…
And–hop!
Eyes bulging, I yell.
No, I can take it deep. But not so suddenly! I wasn’t ready. And I care for my
hair!
He loosens his grip, and I bounce off scalded.
–…!...!...!–I give in gently, hoarse and grab some air.
–It hurts? – He asks guilty. –Sorry, I didn’t mean to.
And so five times.
– Oh! – Every time he says sympathetically.
"Bitch ..." – I think to myself.
He takes his time to dress, wheezes, has been sitting on the bed for the last
five minutes, looking sad and half–asks, half–confirms:
–Well, I will come again?
And continues:
–You know, I always understand girls, I feel so sorry for you…


 Scrooge

To be honest, I was a gift to him.
He would have never agreed on such an expense in his life.
Well, I wasn’t exactly a gift…it was a bet.
One of my fans called me, a very good and pleasant man. I thought he called
for himself, but no.
He told me he had made a bet with friend on a girl. What the point of the bet
was not important – just an agreement: the one who lost the bet would pay for
the other’s visit to a girl. So, my fan had lost.
"Could you visit him for the night, Emily? If you are free–they will come after
you around eight, I will be there untill night and will pay for it."
Emily is always glad for work. I got up, dressed up and looked damn well.
Half past eight the door rang–"Come out lady, we are waiting for you".
A car had parked at my door. I got in. Two men were in the car.
I did not expect a dirty trick (my fan wouldn’t do it to me), and therefore I was
not strained. There was no trick, actually.
The younger man, the one in the driver’s seat–was the driver (personal, as I
learned later). And to his right sat a classical chubby man.
The Chubby turned around, contently chuckled and told me:
–Richard.
And turned to the driver:
–Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and stop by the store.
We drove not too long, talked about nothing, the Chubby seemed pleased.
Either with my or his, pretty strange, wit.
And we stopped by the store.
–Do you drink anything, gorgeous? What shall we take? – He asked me.
And somewhat strangely, as if fearing that I would go with him, he said:
–You sit here, I’ll go alone.
–Baby, take a champagne,–I said playfully,–or whiskey. Alright?
And he left. The driver and I sat in silence. Five minutes literally passed by.
The Chubby came out with a small package, sticking the money in his wallet,
opened the door, leaned in and…
The coins scattered all over place in the car.
–Turn on the light,–Richard ordered, came out and started to look around on
the floor.
He found two, immediately. The third one, apparently, left for the country of
lost things.
 –Come here, make some light with the lighter,–he called the poor driver
again, and he went around the car hopelessly.
Richard looked around, the driver made the light, the coin could be found
nowhere.
I sat in the back and silently went crazy. Such a fuss for the coins!
–What’s going on,–the Chubby muttered,–where did they go? Can you move
my seat? Maybe, it’s somewhere over there.
It needed to be seen. Richard kneeled down, crouched and crawled and
fumbled on the floor with his palm. The volume of his ass stuck out of the door
to the outer side. The driver made a face, as if he wasn’t with us and, judging
from his face, prayed to not be forced to pull up the passenger seat…
The coin didn’t have a chance; it was caught, wiped and sent back to the
wallet. The driver adjusted the seat, and the Chubby had almost got in, when…
–Oh, I forgot cigarettes, will be right back…
And went out of the car.
–Did you see it? – Asked the driver, when Richard closed the door.
–He didn’t book you at his own expense, did he? He would have definitely
gone crazy…
–Scrooge?–I wondered in one word
–Worse. Why do you think he didn’t take you to the store with him? He is
afraid, that, God forbid, he would spend too much! – Grimly quipped the driver.
–I have no energy left.
And coming live, he continued:
–That’s okay, this is the last week I’ll be working for him, I’ve already found
a place to go…
The Chubby got in and we rode on.
The house was huge and beautiful, but kind of too empty. From the outside it
was clear: most of the windows didn’t even have curtains.
Actually, only the large living–room–studio on the ground floor was occupied.
There was stuff scattered around everywhere. There was a bottle of expensive
whiskey on the table and a glass.
–Well, go take a shower for now, – Richard told me and started quickly
placing the bottle into the bar. And I realized: we will definitely not be having
the expensive stuff today.
How close it was to reality, I understood only after coming out of the shower.
There was no whiskey on the table anymore, and in its place alone stood a bottle
of cheap liquor. The landscape was accompanied with twice as cheap whitened
chocolate, broken into pieces.
Apparently, I could not always hide my emotions, and the look on my face
clearly oozed of surprise. Huge house, expensive furniture and a personal driver
did not quite tally with that.
–Oh, you don’t know–catching my eye, Richard got worried and started to
carry nonsense,–I first thought of taking something different, but the section
with more expensive drinks was closed, so I decided to not wait for the seller…I
was so anxious to get to you…
And he reached to me with his paws.
An early start meant an early end.
Actually, he wasn’t strained. He slightly moved, squeaked, calmed down and
rolled over.
–Should I pour you some?–suddenly asked Richard.
I wasn’t offered anything but cheap champagne, but somehow I needed to
drink.
And he poured the booze into our glasses. I took a sip, he took a sip... winced,
slapped my ass and said:
–Well, let’s get you in the shower, ladies first.
–Aha,–I murmured and marched
This time, I took quite a short shower. Less that he counted on. Because, when
I unexpectedly appeared at the doors of the room, I came across a view of
Richard quickly hiding the bottle of whiskey into the bar with one hand, and
with the other he shoved the glass in there. Judging from his bulging eyes and
jerking throat he had just managed to wet his throat. Without me, of course.
I pretended to not have noticed it. For some reason, I turned cheerful.
On this, the fun moved into the second round.
–Should I stay or go?–I neatly asked after the second time, when it was clear
that Richard needed to sleep. –I can call a taxi.
–No, no,–offended, he said, –you were booked till morning, so stay. No need
for taxi. The driver will take you back in the morning, it’s his job.
Apparently, the idea that I would ask for cab money gave him mental agony.
Although, I would not do so.
Then, we lay down, he put my hand on his thing and momentarily fell asleep.

*
The driver picked me up after ten.
Richard was sluggish, indifferent and visibly pleased with the blowjob that he
had demanded in the morning. Well what–all inclusive and paid for.
We kindly said goodbye (with obvious mutual relief), and I got into the car.
–Did he torture you? – The driver asked when we drove away.
–Oh no,–I almost started, but couldn’t resist, –listen, what a fucking scrooge!
Does he even pay you well?
And I told him about the liquor and the whiskey.
Laughing, the driver handed me a lighter and said:
–Believe me, every time I snatch my salary from him for two weeks, he
constantly moans, that he has got no money. He does grocery shopping himself –
he is afraid to lose a coin…And he is such a smug! He always gets the best for
himself, but for others…look at that house and what? Who’s all that for?
But that’s nothing! He once decided to get married, looked for girls on Tinder,
and there are a lot of girls…I remember, he once called one out on a date,
perfumed, got dressed, we were on our way and I’m telling him:
–Maybe you’ll get her flowers? It’s a date, after all.
And here’s what he said: "You think so? This won’t do? Stop by the flower
shop, I’ll buy something…"
I was blown away. We stopped by the flower shop, he went and I’m sitting,
waiting.
And I’m thinking, now will be the event of the century– the scrooge will
splurge on roses.
He was there for quite a long time, and I thought he had a collapse at the
thought of paying money…
He comes out with a clove in his hand. One. In a cellophane.

 Stoner

He came, took off his shoes, paid the money and laughed!
He was obviously high!
–Ooooh,–I say, –honey, you seem happy!
–Well yeah, – he says, – I ooze of happiness…
And gives me a big smile.
He went into the bathroom. He took a long shower, he was probably stoned
from the warm water. And I am sitting and thinking what to do with him.
The answer came by itself.
He came out, took off the towel, stood there and chatted. And I’m smiling at
him.
He asked me if I had something to eat. The standard thing – came here to
munch.
Of course, I got him everything from the fridge. What else could I do with
him?
He sat in the kitchen, eats.
–Can we watch a movie? – He asks.
And I’m telling him, what movie, your time is ticking, you paid the money
already and I kind of, never return them.
"Fuck the money, let’s watch a movie!" – He tells me.
I played "Alice in wonderland". First thing that came to my mind. He sat and
evoked.
Then he got a rolled paper out of his pocket.
–Want some?
What the hell…sure! I hadn’t had fun in a long time.
Well, we got high! I forgot about the time. He even went to the store, bought
so much food, that it lasted for the next two weeks.
And this after our non–stop smoking session!
We talked about life. And when you are high, it feels cool to talk about life. I
realized he had a lot of money. Only I didn’t quite catch where he got it all from.
He came here to relax. He didn’t care about sex. He needed company.
He stayed for another five hours. We didn’t even hug. Nothing happened.
Seriously, such a fun guy!
Anyway, good days happen, I’m so humanly grateful to him.
I had a great rest.
Only, I lost my appetite for quite some time…

 Two for one

Jane lives not far away from me and is bored to death in a small but decent
apartment.
Jane and the apartment were supported by a married and rich Fat Cat, who
Jane calls Sweetie.
The Fat Cat literally inherited Jane. As at the beginning, his friend used the
apartment together with Jane, then this friend had some problems with business
and despite these problems, he still found a place for Jane, recommending her to
Sweetie.
Together with the apartment.
The Sweetie suffers from shortness of breath and sometimes impotence, is
rarely visited by her, usually for a short time and mainly to have a chat. He needs
Jane in the role of a mistress as a mere status because he seems to genuinely
believe that men of his circle simply need to keep mistresses.
The Sweetie has a terrible flaw. He is not very much generous. Well, he
supports Jane in the matter of the apartment and the flat, but she clearly is not
provided enough for clothes. And she has a passion for dresses.
That’s why Jane cheats on Sweetie as much as she can, in his absence.
No, she doesn’t work as I do, but she never minds to earn some money.
Sweetie has one undeniable privilege. He has absolutely no illusions, and as
Jane thinks, he has no problem guessing where she gets new clothes, for which
his money would never be enough for.
Somehow, it seems to me that he even perceives this circumstance with some
relief.
Anyway, I got carried away.
I always call Jane, if someone ever wants a lesbian act. Or group sex, which
happens quite often.
She is good looking, well taken care of and very pleasant.

*
An old man called me one day. By the way, he called me during an entire
week, and the next day he got interested, asked for a girlfriend, promised that he
will soon come, and left me thinking that this is another «chatter».
And can you believe it, he did come.
And asked for sex with a girlfriend. Payment for two, plus lesbian act. Well
we don’t just put on a show for nothing.
He slightly bargained. Discounts for wholesale services.
 Jane arrived ten minutes after him. The Uncle cheered up quite immediately.
He seemed to like us.
The Uncle observed us with oily eyes, generously spit out dirty jokes, inquired
for a long time whether we really liked each other, asked us to kiss each other,
we enthusiastically lied and just as enthusiastically kissed. He told us to be ready
as soon as he gets out of the shower, meaning he wanted us to be undressed and
took the positions.
–So girls, let’s start! – He said, coming out of the shower with a big hard–on
visible underneath the towel. –Show me how you make love to each other. Do a
69.
And he sat down in my chair.
We made a show…
Jane’s long hair is a beautiful thing.
He enthusiastically masturbated; Jane as enthusiastically licked my thigh near
that place, which, in his view, she must have licked.
I was underneath and somewhere far from his eyes, and I had nothing to
worry about. But Jane needed to worry – she is scared of being tickled,
especially at the inner part of her thigh.
–Girls you seem to be swindling…–thoughtfully said the Uncle in after a few
minutes, despite our artistically mutual moaning.
–Let’s do this, you’ll be lying down (he pointed to Jane) here, legs on the
floor, and you will be right here. I want to see it all.
What a director!
Then I faked as was needed, the Uncle furiously fought for an orgasm and
moaned in duet with Jane and directed the process.
–Honey, maybe you’d like to join?–Jane playfully threw the bait.
And so he joined.
He continued to direct the process. Jane positioned herself over him, I took a
place on top as well, but higher, on his face (damn, why don’t they shave?)
He came very fast, somehow instantly blew away, lost interest to us and
started to gather his thing. Although, he could have stayed with us for a second
run. Time allowed.
And then…
And then we had a small scandal. The Uncle wanted a part of his money back.
The logic was simple.
Well, he was ready to pay for the lesbian act, but only Jane worked, so,
consecutively, I needed to return the money for my part.
And what was I doing, just getting pleasure, even he did some of the work.
–Aha, in your dreams! – We told him almost in unison and explained to him
for a long time that he was wrong.
Fifteen minutes later, he finally realized that it wouldn’t work out and told us
that he wouldn’t visit us ever again and that we were bitches.
What can I say?

 Businessman


The apartment was miserable. The wallpaper clearly had not been changed in
thirty years, the painted floorboards were creaky, the furniture was broken down,
and the carpet was bedraggled. Initially, I had doubted that the man, who had
introduced himself as Edward, had the means to buy pleasure from me. However
he paid Sam, my cab driver and bodyguard, I felt assured.
Sam left and we entered the room.
If I had not seen the apartment number on the door, I might have mistaken the
room for a warehouse. There were bags placed along the walls of the hideous
little room. They took so much space that left little space for living.
The only furniture in the room was an old sideboard and a two–seater sofa, so
rickety that it looked unsafe for seating.
A laptop and a worn suit, perhaps the only valuable items in the apartment –
hung on the door of the sideboard.
–Have a seat,–said Edward with a big smile, gesturing to the sofa.
–Cute, – I had nothing more to say.
–Do not pay attention, – he said in a fuss and suddenly said with pride,
pointing to the bags, – that’s my merchandise!
–Ahh! – I reached out and began to pull off my jacket. I decided to not take a
shower, as I feared the state of the bathroom.
Sex with him was quite standard, just like any one of my other sex
experiences. He slowly caressed my breast, slapped my ass, which, obviously,
should have turned me on, then he fussily got on top, squeaked, relaxed and
rolled over.
I could sense that he didn’t need more.
We lay side by side and I sluggishly noted that I had to either leave now or lie
with him for the rest of the hour.
–I wanna get married! – He announced, in a slightly hysterical tone.
–Then do,–I answered calmly and reached for a cigarette and an ashtray,
simultaneously considering him as someone’s husband.
He looked at me reproachfully, as if I was not in my own senses.
–What do you mean? Who is she and who am I?
He was right. Judging from the state of the apartment, a wedding seemed
terribly far away.
–What? She doesn’t want to get married?
–No,–he said sadly, –but she will change her mind!
 He continued, with a dreamy look in his eyes:
–Do you know what she looks like? Beautiful! She is a professor and teaches
German…
–You speak German too? – I asked politely, just to fill in the gaps of the
conversation.
No, of course, not, – he admitted, –I don’t even know my language
perfectly…She even lives in a big apartment, can you imagine?
He took a drag of his cigarette and mused –It’s okay! I will be promoted! I
have a talent, you know!
–What do you do?–I asked with interest. I couldn’t quite link his home with
his talents.
–Business! – He declared proudly, pointing to the bags.
–What’s in them?
–Bags! – He jumped off the bed and pulled items out of the bags. –Look!
It was some kind of trash. Pink «Dolce&Gabanas» with threads sticking out
from the lines, smelling like musty leatherette, red and yellow «Chanel» bags
with tacky golden chains and absolutely insane «LouisVuittions» with small
glass like figures, which Edward proudly called «Warovksi rhinestones».
–Listen! – He spoke, with the tone of a person who obviously just had an idea.
–You probably have so many girlfriends, can you help me sell these?–You’ll get
a commission from me, five dollars each…
–I am afraid I’ll sell them all off,–I chuckled sarcastically. I would cease all
relationships with someone the moment I saw them carrying a bag like that.
He didn’t notice the sarcasm, and for the next twenty minutes I got to know
the marvelous story of Edward and his big business world.
To be very brief, shortly after moving from another city he met some Chinese
men, who sold him a collection of these bags for cheap, fifteen dollars apiece.
Edward had used the money sent by his mother.
The plan was simple: Edward would take in the bags at wholesale prices and
sell them into the small markets.
However, there was one juicy detail lacking: the goods were not
authenticated, and the Chinese man had vanished and as it later turned out, it was
proving impossible to sell these beauties without authentication documents (The
question still remained – Who would purchase these bags anyway, with or
without authentication?).
Edward had then decided to sell these off through Facebook. He heard
somewhere that it could be done. He created a group, spammed everyone he
knew with the links, but surprisingly it had not worked out. Fashionistas did not
want any leatherette Chanels, nor D&Gs with tacky lines.
 During the course of three months, Edward sold a grand total of eight bags.
The money sent by his mom was quickly drained. After six months, Edward was
in debt.
–So, will you help me sell these? I’ll share the income, – Edward said
confidently, as if we were talking about profits in the margins of crude oil
millions.
–Sorry, I can’t–I shrugged, –I have no talent…
Edward seemed suddenly wilted. It seemed that the bright future he had
envisioned with his lover was becoming more and more inaccessible.
In that moment, I felt sorry for him. He was a fool, but still an honest fool
–Look,–I caressed his shoulder in a friendly manner, –what if you tried
modeling! You have the looks for it, and you will have girls falling over
themselves for you.
It was true that Edward had a nice look. He had a very thin body. Green eyes
that every girl dreams of and ideal lips. Such a beautiful man. It was a pity that
he was deprived of brains, despite such an excellent appearance.
–No…I have already made up my mind about doing this business. I will tell
you a secret. I also have a new business. I even took some money out on credit. –
He said conspiratorially
I suddenly realized how he obtained the money for my services, but aloud, I
said something else.
–What business?–I asked.
His eyes brightened up.
–Sale of designer trinkets!
At this moment, I choked on my cigarette smoke and coughed.
He waited until my coughing stopped, and continued:
–Well yeah, trinkets! With engravings!
–And who are going to be your buyers?–I chuckled skeptically. –And where
will you get them? And who will engrave them? – A mass of logical questions
arose in my head.
–I already have them! – He said in that confident tone I already knew, as I
recalled the crude oil million.
–I will buy them and offer them to online dealers, and I’ll also be selling them
through Facebook myself…
–What’s engraved on them?–I asked, with no hint of mockery in my voice.
–Car logos! Look!
His eyes took on a brighter shine.
He took the laptop, got on the Internet and tapped his finger on the screen:
–Like these…
 –Buddy, do you want a piece of advice?–I said seriously.
–Don’t go into this, break it off. You chose a very bad business.
–Why?
–Because your business won’t be a success. Because no one fucking needs
any trinkets!
–Enough being clever, – He suddenly got angry, –others sell these! Can’t you
say anything normal?
–Here’s what’s normal: no one needs trinkets. Especially these trinkets, with
engravings of car logos. If someone has a BMW, then he definitely has a BMW
trinket. If not, then he definitely doesn’t need the trinket.
–Yes they do! – He yelled.
I took that as my cue to leave. I stood up and began to get dressed.
–Listen, dear, you have no business talent, no understanding and no plan. You
are just buying trash and trying to sell it off somewhere else. So, I’m sorry, but
you won’t be able to do it. Don’t go into this business any further, or else you’ll
get into more debt and no good will come out of it all.
He did not take my advice well.
–People will find where to sell them and how profitably to dispose them! – He
yelled.–Not you! Because you are a whore!
–Okay, I have to go. – I said calmly.
–Yes! Get out!–he hissed.
He continued in a high–pitched voice, seemingly speaking to himself, – I will
be rich! And she will love me! And I will get married! You are stupid!

 Lickers

Another licker came by.
They can be very fun!
They will suck, kiss, rumble – and no way can you pull them by the ears.
Fucking is a secondary issue, to them, it’s more important to taste.
I wonder why they aren’t scared.
All in all, my profession can be very unsafe. But they still lick.
Every other one will definitely lick!
Every third one will definitely be impossible to pull away.
Gourmands, I call them.
Many men like to lick. And they don’t just lick, they make love.
They bury themselves so deep between my legs, that the only thing I can see
are their eyebrows. They work so selflessly too as if they are digging a trench.
The most important thing, by the way, is for them to not raise their heads and
try to look you in the eye (which they often do).
Then they have a look of a soldier in the trenches, and I end up finding myself
trying not to laugh.
Instead of laughter, I fake passion wheezes. Sometimes, he turns into orgasm.
Most of them don’t even know how to lick well. They only think they know.
Sometimes, one of those so–called specialists will start licking me and I have
to stop myself from howling in protest. They are supposed to be very neat and
gentle there and not just get in position and start absorbing. It almost makes me
want to wish them «Bon appetit!» and offer them some cutlery and napkins.
But then there are also the exceptions.
This one licked me good, I even found myself liking it. I felt like an ice–
cream.
He kissed, rumbled, moaned, caressed my legs, and even asked if it felt good
– all around, a very sensual guy.
In the end, of course, he was on a high, and was ready in a minute.
He didn’t go for a second round.
Thank God.
It lasted forty minutes.
He told me I was tasty.

 The Brave

Oh, how they fucked me, those brave men!
One came early in the morning.
He undressed, washed and lay down.
He then offered me to do it without a condom.
– Sorry, I don’t fuck without a condom. – I replied.
He started to whine:
– Come on, I am clean, no disease…
He even gave me puppy–dog eyes.
I was adamant about it.
– I don’t care whether you are clean or not. We won’t do anything without a
condom.
He continued to whine.
– But why? Are you scared? I am very clean.
(How that word gets on my nerves–«clean»!)
– Listen, is the word «clean» written on your forehead? No? That’s that, then!
He continues to do nothing but whine.
– Come on, I am clean, I have a wife. I am clean, don’t you believe me?
I felt sorry for the wife.
I got fed up and told him I believe him.
– You don’t have anything, but maybe I do. You didn’t think of that, did you?
He thought for a moment before answering.
– You are lying, you are clean, it’s obvious.
What does he mean, how the fuck could it be obvious?! How? I am so fed up.
How can people be so stupid! He forgot where he is? Does he think he is
immortal?
He thought for another moment and came up with a reason that he probably
believed would convince me.
–I don’t achieve good hard–on in a condom. I once went to a girl; she always
let me go without a condom.
He is such an idiot. He obviously did not understand that the girl, who agreed
to go without a condom with him, could have easily gone bear with someone
else as well! And he had probably gone on to his wife with a bouquet with
sexually transmitted diseases and who knows what else. In any case, good for
him and maybe he’ll find a cure for all his diseases.
I started to get angry.
– Either we do with a condom, or let’s say our goodbyes.
 He did not look pleased but agreed anyway. We pulled it on.
He put it in me, while I was on my back. I was not a fool. Even with my legs
wide apart, I looked back to see what he was doing.
The bastard was pulling off the condom.
He apparently thought he could do it without me noticing a thing.
I quickly got up and told him:
–That’s it, go to hell, to your girl, or boy, whoever you want! I don’t need this
circus!
He stood up and smiled like the fool he was. I handed him his belongings and
saw him off.
He made me morally exhausted. Such encounters happened on a surprisingly
regular basis. One out of ten will ask for sex without a condom. They all
probably think they are immortal. I began to shake in anger, as I recalled his «I
am cleaaan» whining.
I had done my makeup this morning in vain.

 Yeti

Do you know what a yeti is? A yeti is a snowman.
Have you ever seen this wonderful creature alive and in the flesh? I have!
People say these snowmen can be seen high up in the mountains and in
forested regions. Well, I had the chance to see one in the city.
It was an unusual case as I rarely visited customers. He had called and asked
me out and so I went.
I stepped out of the car and looked up at the house. It was an old and beautiful
stucco home. I raised my head and started counting the floors.
I stood at the door and hesitated like a schoolgirl. I hadn’t made such a visit
for a long time. I was slightly afraid as I usually entered these houses
accompanied by my regular taxi driver. However, since he was, unfortunately,
unavailable, I had to go with someone else.
The client was a mature man obviously over fifty. He was definitely shorter
than me. Even though I was wearing pumps, he barely reached my shoulder.
Well, you know how there are hairy men? The ones with their hands, legs and
ass covered in hair?
And then there are the ones who are overly hairy. Not only hair–covered
hands, legs and ass; even the trail on their bellies harmoniously tracks up to a
dense forest on the chest and continues as stubble on their faces.
Then there’s the main element – their backs. In such cases, the Creator does
not shy away from the back. Covered with hair like a moss moorland with no
clearing in sight. It happens. Whether it is hormones or just Mother Nature’s
protection from the cold.
Still, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Some ladies like brutal and hairy men.
But let’s get back to our client.
He introduced himself. Let’s call him Arthur. I cannot reveal his real name for
obvious reasons, but it sounded like something like that.
Our handsome, in addition to everything else, was long–haired and – pay
attention – gray–haired! Snowman, 100%.
Those men from the «Hochland» advertisements had nothing on him! As I
later discovered, his entire body, except for his forehead, palms and heels, was
covered in white fur. If only I could make coat out of that. Why torture so many
poor minks?
Arthur importantly smoked a pipe with some sweet tobacco and showed me
around the house. Oh, he was a man who knew exactly what he wanted. At each
step of the tour, he made note of the part of the house where his tummy should
be caressed, and over there where he needed a light blowjob, but on the stool in
the bedroom, he wanted me to lean on my back.
An excellent tour awaited me.
The marathon could have been a success, if not for one «but». With age, the
Feng–shui of the body becomes greatly disturbed, and his dick refused to get
hard, and so our marathon turned into a struggle for survival for our furry friend.
But of course, I'm exaggerating; the friend was not hairy at all! He was simply
lying in the middle of a snow–covered forest and obviously wanted to sleep.
More than that, I think he was just dying and dreamt of being left alone.
Ah, those old men!
They know it, they are aware that it is time to rest, and yet they keep forcing
it. I somehow remembered Grandpa Arnold with his dried apricot. With the
snowman, we went through the thorns to the stars. We managed it, but it was
difficult.
As we said our goodbyes, he asked how old I thought he was. I answered
honestly that I did not know, thinking aloud that he was too far from his fifties,
probably sixty five years old?
–I turned 86, the other day, my sweet lady. – Arthur said, the pride shining
through his voice.
Grandpa Arnold! Come again, we will fight for your dried fruit.
Nothing is lost yet, as it turns out.

 The wonderer

He seemed shy when he arrived. So shy that I even thought that this might be
his first time. Men were usually relaxed around me, not shy. Although, he did
not look like a virgin, it is unlikely that a man in his forties would be un–fucked.
I sent him into the shower. He came out in a towel.
I got on all fours and started to perform a standard blowjob on him, but he
dismissed me.
He told me he doesn’t need sex, he has sex at home.
Damn, I thought to myself, he will probably ask for something special. I don’t
like «specials», no one knows what to expect when it comes to specials.
Instead he said, "Can we not have sex? I will just watch how you touch
yourself".
Easy!
I lay down, spread my legs, like in porn, and started to finger myself here and
there. With my other hand, I squeezed my tit. I had it down pat – I knew the
moves to do, and how to make the voyeur like it.
When you are doing it for your own pleasure, it’s not a spectacular sight and
you don’t need it to be. What’s there to watch? Legs stretched out, lying down
quietly, no moaning, no yelling, focused, very lightly moving your finger in one
place – two minutes, and you cum.
But men don’t want that.
They watch porn and they are used to that version – where you need to rub
your clitoris till you get calluses, stick your middle finger or two (who even does
that?) in your vagina and moan loudly.
I remember, a long time ago, I got carried away with one of my clients. I was
drunk, and in the process I moaned, "Oooo! Yaaa!" like a German.
I thought he would realize that I was joking. No, he didn’t get it at all! He
thought it was how it should always be done.
Let’s get back to this one.
I sat there, spread out my legs, moaned, "Aaa–ooo", rubbed out calluses and
made an orgasmic face.
He sat in front of me, watched, masturbated and came.
That was it.
He got dressed, I got dressed. He asked me for coffee, and I made him some.
While he drank, we talked a little. It turned out he didn’t fuck me as he didn’t
want to cheat on his wife. Everything was great with his wife – they fuck, she
sucks, everything’s normal. But she refuses to masturbate in front of him – she is
shy. He had seen something like this only in porn, and he wanted to see it in real
life.
So I showed him and let him think that this is how women masturbate.
Only I couldn’t understand why he took a shower since he wasn’t going to
fuck me anyway!
He was here for less than an hour.

 The Actor

He is an actor.
He sometimes plays secondary roles in Third World television shows.
His theater had long failed, and yet he stayed.
He is dramatic in every gesture, but I can see that he is observing the reaction
of the audience with one eye.
The audience, on my behalf, applauds and hopes for this performance to end.
It’s always the same performance.
He undresses, goes into the room and immediately falls on the bed.
He says:
–Oh, come to me, my dear!
The «dear», as in me, answers that he should take a shower.
–Oh, how you torture me! – He exclaims tragically. But still he rushes into the
bathroom. He comes out, pulling on his fat, which in his deep conviction, are
well–pumped muscles.
He looks at me invitingly, with pride.
I think, "Don’t neigh!"
He throws himself on the bed and says:
–Look! He is handsome, right?
From stunted bushes peeps a thin and small, but insurgent one–eyed snake.
As a child, I was told that lying was not good. Well, childhood has since
ended.
I roll my eyes and say:
–Mmm! Just handsome!
–Oooo!– He thrives on this stage. –Oooo, come to me!
And the second act starts.
Somehow he loves to be on his side.
He lies down, twitching with no rhythm, and hammers me, all the while
whispering in my ear:
–What babe? Huh? Huh? What? No one fucked you like this before, right?
Tell me honestly! No one! Aaah! Yeah! You will remember me! Yees!
After sex, he likes to talk about the eternal.
I don’t understand why he doesn’t leave immediately.
He truly believes that when we do no fuck, we need to talk.
And as fucking takes only fifteen minutes, the remaining forty–five make my
brain suffer.
 He jumps onto the chair, takes his head in his hands, closes his eyes, rubs his
temples and tells me what an artistic person he is, and yet he is not understood
by those gray, gray, gray people…
How tired, oh, how tired he is of this pointless life!
And he comes to me, because he is fed up. His wife is so compelling that it
makes him sick, his mistress is so depraved that it makes him tired, he wants a
normal fucking on the side from a woman who will treat him as a mere man, and
not see him like a God.
I don’t dare to remind him of his discrepancies – he is not understood, but yet
he is a God.
At the end of this dramatic monologue, he tells me:
–Ah, what do you know! Whaat?
I sit there, silent in the audience.
He rapes my brain.
I hinted him once, that sex is my job, and that he should leave my brains
alone.
But he is so passionate about himself that he does not notice.
This is his fourth visit to me.
After the third visit, I had renamed him in my contacts to «Moron».



Call–center

As it happens I get calls from very strange men.
I sometimes feel like a call–center operator who provides emergency sexual
assistance and miscellaneous help to surrounding masturbators and other talkers.
Let’s classify them into the following groups:
Talker Vulgaris
Masturbator Vulgaris
 Talker Vulgaris

–Hello. I found you on ***. Are those your photos there? You are Emily,
right? Right? You are beautiful!
And then he hangs up.
It still is a question why he called.
He probably had no one to share his impressions with.
But thanks for the compliments.

*

–Hi. I found your profile. Those are your photos, right? Mmmm, so gorgeous.
And your tits, are they bouncy? And what’s your size? Oh, so good. I wanted
one like you. Okay, I’ll come by one day.
By the way, there are lots of wonderers.
They call, clarify, ask about details…and that’s it.
They want to fuck, but they have no money.
So they just call to talk.


*

–Hi, is your name Emily? Emily, I’ve got a question: do you shave your legs?
Aha…aha…and your pussy? How long ago was it? What does it look like now?
Is there anything left?
(The upset reaction)
–Nooo? Can you tell me who has any hair left? I need her to be unshaved.
No? What, don’t you have any girlfriends? You must know someone! Or maybe
any familiar girls? I’ll pay good money.
(the indignant reaction)
– No? What fashion is that? Everyone’s bare.
Got it, the guy wants a bear.
Unfortunately, we don’t have any left in our zoo.

*

–Hi. What’s in the standard package? Aha, aha…and what about anal? Why is
it separate? What if I want it all together?! Why do I need to pay an additional
fee for that? What’s the difference to you? What, you think you are that tight, to
ask for additional pay?
 I say goodbye. I tell him I’m busy. You can’t expect anything good from the
ones who bargain on the phone and pressure you.

*

–Hey baby. What’s up? How much will be oral, separately? Why so
expensive? I called one lady, she also offers separate oral and for much less.
I tell him, that yes, the cheaper option is a bargain, and he should go to her.
–Nooo, I want you, I like you!

*

–Hi? Do you have a friend? I want lesbians.
–There is a «friend»; if you need, I’ll call her and she will be soon here.
–What’s she like? Good looking? What about her breasts? Do you love each
other?
(Well, yeah, damn, we do love each other, the wedding is tomorrow.)
Honey, we love each other so much! Come by, and we’ll love you too.
–Will you be kissing? Is everything going to be real? Okay. I’ll come.
And then he hangs up without asking for the address.
Honey! What happened to you! We can’t sleep at night, we’re waiting for
you! Come here. We will soon have our first night.

 Masturbator vulgaris

–Hi. Describe yourself. No, I can see the photos. I want details. Can you take
a picture of yourself with spread out legs and send it on my phone? Just me, it
won’t go anywhere from here.
Why can’t you? I should be able to see what I’m booking. No? You will lose
all of your good clients that way.
He hangs up.
I won’t lose the good ones, the masturbators, definitely.

*

One calls especially often. I have gotten used to him.
I nicknamed him «the Narcissist».
–Hi. Is this Emily? Emily, have you ever been fucked with a huge dick? Have
you seen big dicks, for real? I will come here, and will show you what a big
dick…oooo…aaa…ouuuu…
The entire conversation lasted half a minute. He hangs up at the last lingering
«ouuu».
I don’t even manage to answer.
But I get it, he masturbates to himself, and I’m here just for decoration.



*

In place of greetings:
–I want to get into your pussy. Your pussy is sweet, ah, how I would lick it!
I get it. He is jacking off shamelessly. I tell him that my cat doesn’t like to be
licked and hang up.

*

–Hello, beautiful. Are you alone now? Describe yourself. What are you
wearing now? Do you have panties on?
(I can hear sniffing, obviously there is a process going on.)
I chuckle. And tell him to come with money and look for himself.
–Yes, yes! – He sniffs. I’ll soon be there. And do you…
I hang up. He doesn’t ask for the address. Why would he, if he can do it
himself.
 In about ten seconds the phone rings again:
–Oh, something went wrong. You have big tits! Can you reach your nipple
with your tongue?
I hang up.
A call immediately afterwards. I grab the phone without looking and explode:
–Go to hell!
Pause, silence.
A completely difference voice speaks cautiously:
–Oooh…where did I call?
I laugh and explain that he called the right number. And this one comes for a
visit. And he laughs when we meet.
I bear with everyone who calls, the assholes and the sweethearts.
What else can I do?


What women want?

I have a very nice, permanent client – Roy. He is a serious businessman,
smart, pleasant and a very good looking man. Tall, slightly plump, bald and with
a groomed and slightly gray beard.
He does not visit often, only during bouts of serious drinking, which happen a
couple of times a year, either when his beloved woman leaves him for another or
when an important contract doesn’t work out.
–Emily, I need you today, – Roy said on the phone, and I get ready.
Roy pays well, very well.
More often than not, he picks me up and takes me to his place. Once in a
while, he stays at my place.
It’s not a problem for him to pay me twice as much as he would if we stayed
at my place and it’s not a problem for him to buy me something gold, if, on our
way to his place, we come across a jewelry store. He probably wants to make me
feel good.
I love him, very honestly and humanly. And it’s not just because of the gold.
Roy is just very smart. He knows four languages and all manners of etiquette.
And yet Roy is very sad. He is especially so to me, as I only see him during
difficult times of his life.
Roy comes to me in his big car and says:
–Let’s go, I’ll show you my new house.
–Wow, you’ve got a new house? – I ask with amazement.
–Yeah, Roy says without a drop of pride or happiness.
–I bought it recently.
On the way, Roy stops and takes me to the store.
We get a duck with apples, horribly expensive chocolates, salmon and other
stuff that Roy grabs from the shelves.
Roy doesn’t get any booze. He always has some.
We race through the night, leaving the city.
Roy is silent, but then with a slick magician’s motion, he pulls out a bottle of
Hennessy XO and takes two large mouthfuls.
I know that it’s bad to drink while driving and don’t approve of it myself. But
Roy drinks.
I sip from the bottle as well and hold it in my hands for a long time, ready to
give it to Roy as soon as he asks for it.


*

We never fuck.
Roy likes to speak.
Over and over again, he tells me about the woman he lives with. And over and
over again he tells me how much he loves her and each time his stories end in
the same way: that she left again.
She left, because he was too busy for her.
She left, because he had promised to go on a vacation with her, but he had a
contract. And so she went alone to the Dominican Republic
She left because he rarely has sex with her – he’s either too busy or thinking
of business and doesn’t get a hard–on.
And so she becomes hysterical, yelling that she feels unwanted, that he has
someone else, that he doesn’t need her, and so very often, she gathers her things
and leaves.
Every time I hear the story, I know how it ends: she comes back, of course.
But he still suffers every time.
–Emily, – he asks –Emily, what do girls need? They say money, but everyone
knows that. And all those money, this car, this house, summer house in France,
all those beauties – they don’t get here themselves…
– Emily, you know, when I first started, I had nothing, nothing. I had no
fucking thing, do you understand? And my wife left me, with our child, my
daughter, for a rich man! That one had his own apartment and Mercedes. You
know, he was considered rich…She left me because of that, you know?
Here, Roy takes a pause to think and continues:
–And do you know that she later left him,–he chuckles, –to another man with
a bigger apartment and a newer car.
– And I worked my way up! I promised myself that I could. I would. Emily, I
have everything! I have a business! Money! These houses, apartments,
everything. But with this,–he gestures downwards, –I have problem, you know?
He talks about it in a completely nonchalant tone, without shying away, as if
he is telling me he didn’t have breakfast. I keep quiet and don’t know what to
say.
I once advised him to visit a doctor. It was one of the most uncomfortable
things I could have ever told him. He had looked at me indulgently and said he
had already been to more than one, and the doctors had told him that everything
was fine, he just needed to take care of himself and rest more, but could he really
afford to relax and not think of anything? You cannot relax and not expect to get
taken down by business rivals – the times are like that.
Roy talks, talks, talks.
He knows that I’m listening to him with interest.
From time to time he cuts a piece of duck and asks me why I don’t eat
I don’t like duck.
I like Roy, I love smart men.
Despite his age, he is very handsome, charming and generous.
When he gets drunk, he doesn’t fall asleep, but tries to have some kind of sex
with me. Perhaps it is an act of distress.
I have to put all of my efforts to make it go hard.
Roy cums fast. After that, he always suggests for me to stay.
I usually call a cab instead. Somehow I sense that he needs to be alone.
Roy comes outside with me and continues to talk. He talks for a very long
time.
The driver starts to get angry.
Roy opens the cab door and gives money to the driver, enough so that he can
stand there for a few more hours. The driver shuts up.
And so Roy talks, talks, talks.
And then he hugs me and helps me get into the car.
And I leave.
And Roy stays.
Alone in his big house.
He then drinks for a few more days, I know that.
Sometimes he calls, wasted. But this time, he didn’t call me again.
And after a few days he sends me a bouquet of flowers.
With a note that reads, «Thank you for everything».
Every time.
This means that his woman had returned again.


 The Cheap Fairy

Foolish girls with clumsy hands and thick ankles, who had beautiful lives and
fell into our business, begin to behave if not like princesses, then definitely like
ladies of demimonde.
They try to choose beautiful names for themselves with hopes that it will
make them look better. These freshly minted Esmeraldas in cheap laces with
regrown roots and wild makeup and legs spread in their websites, showing red
knees, cellulite asses and saggy tits. They lay unnaturally on their hands with
elbows up, suck their fingers and look appealingly, as if to say "Honey, I’m
yours."
They are in demand as they are not too expensive.
Men go after cheap ones. They have to, if they don’t have enough money, but
still need to slip one in.
A client was complaining about my colleagues today. He was fed up.
It’s always fun to hear about colleagues, it’s interesting to me.
He was sitting one day, jerking off on those sites, and he had chosen a young
cheap girl. Payday was still far away, money was tight but he needed adventures
like crazy.
There was a hell of a collection of girls, one more beautiful than others.
He knew that good ones weren’t cheap, but he still bought into it. Actually, he
bought it. He found a Suzanne.
A rude female voice called him to say that she would be waiting.
Instead, something thin, shaggy and not even remotely close to the photo met
him at home.
He did not even have time to be properly amazed, when Thin and Shaggy
introduced herself as Milena and coquettishly said that Suzanne was waiting for
him at home. Milena even added that she was a friend, and if he ever wanted to
fuck both of them, then he needed to add a little more (discount for wholesale).
He wisely refused from group sex. Milena was terribly scary and thin.
They went upstairs.
–Anna! Did you bring him? – That recognizable, rude female voice yelled
from the bathroom.
At that moment, he felt like a sheep.
Anna–Milena shouted in response:
–Don’t shout! I brought him!
 –Come in, I’ll come out now! – The cheap fairy yelled.
He took off his shoes and went in.
Anna–Milena stomped into the room after him and demanded money in
advance. He was so confused with the situation that he paid without seeing at
what he would be fucking.
As she left, Anna–Milena grabbed his balls over the pants and languorously
whispered in her tobacco breath:
–Honey…maybe, you’d still like, two?
He didn’t want two. He would endure one.
Anna–Milena stomped out the door. Suzanne floated into the room.
She had a worn–out bra and a towel around her hips.
The live version differed from the photo just as a first grader’s drawing would
differ from Raphael’s masterpieces. Meaning, too different.
He had seen photos of a cute girl with neat tits, porcelain skin and sexy
tousled blond strands that covered her face, with a note stating «100% my
photos!».
He now stood in front of something completely different and unexpected and
suddenly realized that he was in a messy situation.
The tits sagged. It was clear that even if they had been elastic at some point, it
was a very long time ago; the porcelain skin was marred by stretch marks below
her tits. The waistline was nowhere to be seen, and looking at the exhausted
tummy, he silently concluded that the woman had given birth and more than
once.
The hydrogen peroxide on the head turned out to be really unkempt – it
looked as if she had not washed her hair in ages.
He was taken aback and was about to leave when the fairy dropped her towel,
and the hunger immediately caused him a raging hard-on.
Whatever, he decided. Cheap, but she’ll at least suck.
The fairy obviously didn’t understand what the word «suck» meant and how it
normally worked. She understood sucking as biting and saliva. At some point he
felt scared – her teeth were significantly involved in the process.
He did not endure the sucking torture for long as a thought quickly unveiled in
his head: if she doesn’t stop – I’ll bring home only a piece.
In five minutes he couldn’t resist and bent the fairy down – seeing her face
threatened him with psychological impotency.
–Au!–said the fairy, when he slipped in.
–Oooh!–she continued after a few thrusts.
It didn’t resemble anything like passion moans.
–What’s wrong? – He stopped.
 –Nothing,–she said angrily,–I have inflammation, I sat on something cold…
He pulled out. His friend fainted, but then pleaded the owner to take him into
reanimation.
–Listen, maybe I should rip out your ass? – He asked the shabby girl in
sarcasm.
–No, I don’t take in the ass! – She said, immediately turned around and sat on
her ass.
He thought gloomily to himself – she was probably afraid to be taken
forcefully and he had no desire to take her forcefully.
The girl sniffed and said hesitatingly:
–Milena takes in the ass, but you’ll need to pay her…
Looking at his face and not seeing any positive signs, she clarified:
–Do you want me to call her?
–Bitches…–he said as he got up, – go to hell bitches with your service!
He pulled on his pants.
Suzanne sat on the bed, looked at him sullenly and had the audacity to say:
–I don’t give money back!
–Leave it to yourself, get a boob job, damn! – He replied and swept out the
door.

*

He let off some steam, I laughed, sympathized and served him.
As good as he deserved, and not in any additional manner.

 Naturalness


A call:
–Hi, I found you on a website.
–Hello.
–You work, right?
–You could say so.
–What do you do?
–Um, whatever you ask for, honey.
Pause. Long pause. He gets it.
–Do you do blow job?
– Yes, of course.
–And for how long can I book you?
–As long as you want.
–Tell me, there’s a price here – is this for one hour?
–For an hour.
I’m patiently waiting for what’s to come. It takes him a very long time, very
long.
–Aaaa…Hmm…and for example…tell me, what if it’s not for an hour?
–It could be not an hour, it could be two, three, for a night, as you wish.
–No, no…that’s not what I’m talking about…what if it’s less than an hour?
I get blocked. I reboot.
–Well, an hour is the minimum.
–Oh, you know, I don’t have a lot of money…but I won’t take a lot of your
time. Could you lower it down a little bit and I’ll come. Let’s do it that way,
alright?
–I don’t lower my prices. If you don’t have enough, there are girls at lower
prices. You could find twice as cheap.
–Oh, I liked you a lot…I’ll be quick, honestly!
Just like a schoolboy.
–Can I book you for half an hour? I just need a blow job…I won’t even sleep
with you, just a blow job. A quick one!
Alright, alright, hell with him. I am free, not doing anything, let him come.
Just a blowjob. And in half an hour, for God’s sake, I’ll get him out. Even if he
doesn’t cum. This is not a giveaway.
I push further:
–How much do you have?
 And he says:
–Oh, you know, there’s this…um...with money…the money, I don’t have
much of it. But I have meat! Fresh veal, I got it from the village! It’s about seven
pounds…it’s expensive…I just need a blowjob, for half an hour…
During the first few seconds, I was getting it. And when he finished, I sat and
neighed. Into the phone! I laughed so hard! He, of course, hung up.
No, it happens, that they just want me but money is an issue and it happens
that they bargain…
But this – a blowjob for seven pounds of veal «fresh from the village», it was
just the end.
I wonder which of the girls made a fortune with the meat chops.



 Daddy


One guy called me with а clear accent but I couldn’t catch where the accent
came from.
He told me he got my number from N. N, by the way, is a permanent client.
Very decent guy, a little over forty. Always gentle, comes with flowers and pays
well. He told me he doesn’t get turned on by his wife.
So this guy told me that he’d pay a lot of money, but it was a serious matter.
He demanded thousands of references. And not just references, no, he wanted to
take me to a doctor, his doctor.
And if I was clean, he said, he would give me a task.
Honestly, I would have told him to go to hell, but he was offering me so much
money that it was impossible to refuse, so I agreed.
He called at the agreed time and picked me up. I got into the Maybach, if you
are interested. He asked to see my breasts and told me that it was important that
the breasts were beautiful. He needed a specific form of nipples. And I had them,
my nipples didn’t let me down. They are not overly large and have a well–
defined shape.
He looked but did not touch, and we rode off.
I worried that he might take me to the forest. Instead, he brought me to the
hospital, a good one.
He told me to spread my legs and to keep quiet and not breathe a word about
my identity. I couldn’t care less!
After the hospital, he brought me home and told me he would call the day
after tomorrow, once he received the results. He made it clear that I was not to
fuck anyone, or he would bury me. That was his exact word, «bury». Oh God,
what did I get into? It was too late to back away from the deal. And he was
paying a lot of money. He gave me half the amount in advance.
He called the next day, to say he was arriving in half an hour. I tried to object,
saying that I wasn’t ready, but he countered that he isn’t coming to fuck, just to
talk. He arrived and placed the second half of the promised money on my table.
He then asked when my period was and told me to be shaved and showered the
next day. He was going to bring his son.
His son! The boy was eighteen and he was a virgin. He was going to college
next year and he needed experience. And I should, no, I must make him like me
and teach him to fuck right. I am now a teacher!
At the appointed time he brought his son and informed that he’d pick him up
the next morning. He left quickly, leaving me with the boy. The boy adjusted his
glasses and looked at me with his big eyes. I observed him. Tan, smooth skin,
beautiful facial features and those clearly defined lips!
–Well,–I tell him,–what do you want? Where should we start?
He takes off his glasses. Throwing them on the chair, he says:
–Tits, – he said, –show me.
I lift up my blouse. I look for his reaction. He walks up to me and runs his
hand across my nipples.
–Turn around, – he said, –with your back to me!
I turn around.
He lifts up my skirt, runs his hand over the elastic of my stockings and with
the words, "Mmm ... stockings", tears my panties off with one motion. He
watches underneath for a very long time.
–Spread out your legs, – he says, –wider!
I feel as if I’m at a medical examination. I spread them out.
And the boy gets beneath me and starts caressing me with his tongue. O–la–la.
I even got turned on. I was wet, I could feel it. He glided his finger in and neatly
caressed me.
–Wow, what a kid, – I gasp out.
–Oh, don’t listen to him, – he laughed.
–Let me, maybe, put it in your ass?
–What, so abruptly? – I asked, amazed.
–Yeah, just suck me a little. I love a soft tongue…
Here I opened my mouth out of surprise, understanding that I had been rudely
fu...fooled. And into that open mouth he slipped in his treasure. Which, by the
way, turned out quite alright, above average.
The boy didn’t take too long. He took the lubricant, neatly prepped it and did
his dirty job. Over and over again.
We lay on the bed afterwards, smoking some weed he had brought and
drinking whiskey right out of the bottle, and he told me about his decent and rich
family how keeping up was a necessity.
Some young physics teacher had taken his virginity a year ago and they had
fucked in her closet for an entire year. But she hadn’t taken it in the ass…

 The Aesthete and the Ass

I was once sitting with my friend and we started to chat about excess weight.
As always, the topics were clothes, men, and excess weight.
She complained that she had gained weight.
Well, it was true. Not too much, but it was noticeable. Her dress was slightly
tight on her, but if she wore a dress of the correct size, she would look very
appetizing.
All this brought to mind a previous encounter.
I am not thin, at all. I have plenty to offer, tits, ass, legs, all that is needed.
To be honest, a few years ago I was slightly …umm…bigger than I am now. I
am talking about my size. I wouldn’t say that it had spoiled my appearance as
the weight went to my ass, and not to my tummy, as it usually happens. My tits
were so beautiful – they are beautiful now too.
From my photos on the website, it was clear that even if I wasn’t quite fat, the
wind still would not be able to blow me away. Okay, I was also missing several
pounds, thanks to a Photoshop job by a kind man. I was such an attractive cutie.
Men are like that. They wouldn’t even notice until you shoved those extra
pounds under their nose. They usually see the image as a whole, despite what
they may say.
And I always had an image.
So I decided that these photos would do the job perfectly, and they always did
– until the day this man appeared at the doors of my apartment.
He turned out to be in possession of a built–in weight scanner in his eyes and
brain. He walked in, examining me, and frowned slightly contemptuously and
said:
–Oh, and you look bigger than your photo.
I had no way of covering up the Photoshop, and in fact I was actually a little
bigger than in the photos.
He gave a lengthy monologue about how "you just want a normal one but
around you there are only piglets". I listened in silence and in anger and thought
he would probably leave after he was done talking.
He didn’t leave.
He counted out the money and with the words "Whatever, I’m here now."
slipped them into my hands.
What happened next was a tragicomedy. As I undressed, he opened his mouth
and never shut up.
The ass was big, there was fat on the sides…it never ended.
 There’s a joke about "he fucked and cried". So this one fucked and whined.
I had two options:
1. Tell him to go to hell
2. Disconnect from the situation and think of pleasant things.
I really needed the money, so I chose the second option.
When he finished and left, I was honestly happy and went to scrub off my
self–esteem from the plinth.
When he appeared again in two weeks, I was in shock.
He began sarcastically:
–I can see, you are the same bun.
He quickly realized from my facial expression that I was ready to tell him to
go to hell, so he quickly counted out the money and shoved them at me.
Did I mention that I really needed the money?
The tragicomedy continued.
He fucked me and whined that the ass was big, and etc.
This time, I didn’t have to scrub my self–esteem.
The ass may be big, but it didn’t stop him from returning.
When he called soon afterwards, I was no longer surprised.
I had managed to learn his monologue. I didn’t care anymore.
He returned for a fourth time as well.
But then all of a sudden, he didn’t come back. And to be honest, I missed him.
About half a year went by.
During this time, I got myself together and lost about ten pounds.
When the name "Ass" appeared on my phone, I even had to think for a while
to remember who it was.
"We’ll see what you’ll have to say this time!"–I thought devilishly as I opened
the door.
He came in, looked at me for a long time, then frowned and asked:
–You lost weight?
–Yes, as you can see! – I answered triumphantly.
–No, what’s this! – He said in surprise.
–Why did I come here? There are no normal girls left! Couldn’t you say on
the phone that you had lost weight? I wouldn’t lose time!
He continued in this tone for ten minutes. He scolded me like a little girl. I
couldn’t pick up my jaw from the floor and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Imagine my shock, when he stopped, turned around and left. I stood in the
hallway for a long time and tried to understand what had just happened.
Since then, he never returned.
But the story doesn’t end there.
 A couple of weeks later I was sitting with a friend who, let’s be direct – was
very large, twice as big as me. We peacefully chatted about life. We talked about
her figure, and I told her that you couldn’t understand the way men thought
about these matters, as I had one that one client.
–Wait, – she said, –He sounds just like…
And she described him to me.
I laughed and said:
–What, he was your client too?
–Was? He is my permanent client. Twice a month! And every time right from
the doorway: what a big ass, and everywhere fatty…

 In the armpit

Where do men usually try to fuck?
The place, we all came out from?
Yes!
In the ass?
Aha.
In the mouth?
Aha!
Where else?
Between the tits!
Not a problem for me, honey. My girls allow for a titty fuck.
If I ask you again – where else? –a part of you will fall into deep thoughts and
another will go into the deep mental peak.
Here’s a hint, there is one more place!
It’s called "the armpit"
A man comes to me.
He always fucks me in the armpit.
This is how armpit fucking goes: the guy licks this coveted part of me while
moaning and then I tightly press my hands and it begins. He starts to neatly slip
into my armpit with two fingers. Then three. I can guess what’s on his mind.
He closes his eyes and throws his head back, obviously relishing the process.
It’s always a mystery to me why he would prefer my armpits over my other
cozy places.
But that’s what he wants.
Still with his fingers in my armpits, he takes his time to position and
accommodate himself. This is quite natural, considering the fact that his dick is
short and he has never completely entered the armpit.
The area between the tits is hindering him.
Finally, he is in position.
With one hand, he holds my shoulder and with the other, one of my tits.
I fuck back with my armpit: he thrusts terribly, grunts slightly and finally,
cums with a low moan.
–Well, baby, I should go. He tells me as he kisses my cheek and leaves.
He will be back.
What would he do without my armpits?

 The Villain

I didn’t like him the minute I saw him.
Middle aged, amazing body, very handsome, blonde, brown eyes, thin lips,
and well–defined face features and yet it happens: you look at the person and
catch yourself on the fact that it’s impossible to get rid of the strange, almost
visceral, disaffection.
At that point, he hadn’t done anything to make me reject him as a client. I
blamed my nerves for this feeling.
His gaze slid over me in satisfaction. He gave me a smile of an experienced
seducer and gave a totally indifferent look at the taxi driver standing behind me.
It seemed like he was used to these kinds of things.
–Bodyguard? – He asked me, smiling. Are you afraid?
–That’s life,–I chuckled. –Baby, pay the boy, he’ll leave and I’ll stay.
I confess, very often, but not always, I ask Sam to come up with me when I go
to the client’s place. Sam, my taxi driver, is a big man, a trained person and for a
small appreciation, he will act as an escort of a call girl. It's safer.
He will bring me the money later or in the morning, if I’m booked for the
night.
Clients are sometimes scared of such an attachment, but I don’t like visits and
life makes us all take risks.
This one paid immediately, without additional questions. Sam took the money
and under the indifferent gaze of the landlord, he took a look into the room,
bathroom, kitchen and left.
–Well, come in, Emilyy. – Brown Eyes told me, slightly stretching the sounds
in my name. He introduced himself.
–Nick. Don’t take off your shoes, I like legs on pumps.
He walked me into the room.
We had two hours. I sat on the bed.
–You know exactly where to sit, – he chuckled and for some reason, I felt
uncomfortable.
–Do you drink?
Without waiting for the answer, he opened a champagne bottle from the bar
and poured the glasses.
–To you, wonderful…girls…–He gave me an examining look, and we clinked
our glasses.
–Do you like this place? – He asked abruptly, looking around the room.
–It’s interesting, – I paltered.
 The room was dark (blue, gray, and black wallpapers with vertical stripes),
high–tech wall with plasma on one side, a bed with wrought–iron headboard,
and on the other side there were a table and a couple of armchairs and poufs.
There was a complete absence of curtains on huge, full–length windows.
It was a very manly room.
The room was somehow quite cold and abandoned.
–I like it, – he said abruptly in an indifferent tone and poured again.
–I did it the way I wanted to do. (He placed an emphasis on the "I")
He thought for a second, slid his gaze over my legs and said in a completely
flat tone:
–Take off your panties.
I stood up, slid my hands on the side of my hips, lifting my skirt, smoothly
picked up the thin thong with my fingers and pulled my panties down.
–Wait, – he said sharply, –slowly. Do it slow.
I obeyed and felt a shiver down my spine.
–Look me in the eye, – he continued as flatly, coldly staring at me.
He was sitting in the armchair in front of me, with a glass in his hand. I was
looking in his eyes and very slowly pulled off my black thong.
–Sit down, – he smiled and poured fresh glasses of champagne.
–Beautiful – he said as he drank.
–I do not even know why I called you, – he said suddenly, more to himself
than to me –I have no problem with finding women.
This was the moment I got scared. I can’t explain that feeling. I barely
managed to squeeze out a smile. I stayed silent and didn’t know what to say.
He began:
–You know, I don’t bring ordinary women here, – he drank and continued, –
but you, you can be easily led into all sorts of rubbish.
I suddenly realized that he wasn’t talking about the ones like me, but of all
women, in general.
–You are a woman too, and you hope that some client will do a marriage
proposal to you, right, Eemilyy? – He asked suddenly, stretching out my name
again.
He chuckled:
–Why are you silent? Talk to me.
–I don’t hope so – I said.
My answer seemed to be the one he was waiting for.
–Right, – he approved coldly, –and they, normal ones, they hope that I will be
with them. Forever. Idiots!
–Who are they? – I didn’t want to answer him, but needed to continue the
conversation.
He did not seem to notice the question.
–You know, Emily, how easy it is to make a woman fall in love? Very easy.
You can be taken anywhere and in any way. You, women think that you are
bitches, but you can be taken. Why don’t you drink?
I suddenly had the feeling that he had forgotten about me momentarily and
now he remembered me.
–I do.
–Take off your blouse and bra. Slowly.
I thought it was too late to leave. I couldn’t just get up and call Sam, so he
would bring the money back and wait for him in the apartment. I was sure he
wouldn’t let me do that.
I took them off.
–It’s good, – he said indulgently, –do you know how many times they call me
afterwards? And I just don’t pick up the phone. And when I’m fed up, I block
her. That’s it, she will never find me. You idiots think that I need you. And I just
fuck you. Do you know how gorgeous the last one was? She fell in love on the
second date, I immediately know when they have fallen in love. And I fucked
her at the fifth date only, I delayed and watched. Do you know how interesting it
is to watch as a woman turns into a rag? She looks at me with enamored eyes
and thinks I’m with her for good…I was very gentle with her, can you imagine?
– He grinned.
He started speaking in a strange, mocking tone.
–Flowers, hotel room, very romantic, I kissed her in the morning, dropped her
off and that was it…and Nick was gone. He spoke about himself in the third
person.
("Please, let this end soon ..." – I prayed, not clear to whom.)
–Take off your skirt as well. Leave the shoes on, – he said abruptly.
He continued in his monologue again, forgetting about my existence.
–And before here, there was a… model. Those ones think they can get anyone
with a beautiful face. That one I fucked twice. Once wasn’t enough for her. She
called too. All of them call me later…I fuck them in batches. All of them fall for
romance, all of them. And they all call later…they need Nick. I don’t ne–e–ed
you! – He rapped darkly.
–Come here.
He pointed to the floor.
I was scared. I sat in front of the chair, and started with a hand job. I then
reached for my bag and took out a condom.
– What for? – He began irritably, then suddenly, he said –Whatever, it's your
business.
He said it so indifferently as if he absolutely didn’t care.
The blowjob wasn’t long. At some point, I raised my head and saw him
calmly studying me, before he grabbed my hair and said:
–Let’s go to the bed.
I was too scared to say anything. He leaned onto me, made a couple of
motions, grabbed my wrists and fixed them above my head. His grip was so
strong that I saw spots in my vision.
It was an emotional hell.
He ran his fingers over my cheek and said suddenly:
–Tell me: "Nick, please, don’t hit me". Look me in the eyes! Tell me: "Nick,
don’t hit me!" Say it!
I was paralyzed. I looked at him and realized that I couldn’t do anything with
my face. I realized that it’s useless to imitate passion.
No one needs that passion here.
–Well? – He thrusted slower than it was normally done, –Well? Say it!
"That’s it",–I thought resignedly for some half a second.
– Nick, please ... – I croaked a strange whisper.
–Louder!–he ordered, not leaving my hands.
–Nick, please, don’t hit me.
–In the eyes. Look me in the eyes. More. Say it again, bitch!
At some point, I figured I wasn’t going to come out alive from all of this. And
the strangest thing was that I realized I couldn’t run anywhere.
Fear manifests in different ways. I had overcome many kinds of fear. There is
a fear that forces you to defend yourself. There is a fear that makes you want to
persuade. There is a fear that makes you do something, at least.
This was quite a different fear. Strange, limp fear and for some reason, I
couldn’t even think.
I suddenly understood why sometimes victims do not resist.
–Nick, please. Please, don’t hit me…–it was another voice and another me.
–Okay, Mom, – looking at me in the eyes, he smiled at me and lowered his
hand,–okay, Mom, I won’t beat you. I wooon’t. Beat. You. Do you like this,
Mom?
I looked at him and didn’t say anything.
–Mom, do you like it? – He asked alarmingly.
–Yes, Nick,–I whispered.
I had to accept this game that wasn’t a game at all. He held my wrists and
looked into my eyes.
–Now, I’m stronger, Mom…I am stronger!
 It lasted very long. Or so it seemed to me.
I can’t remember how he finished.
–You are a good person, – he said after a few seconds and swung his hand
towards my face (I closed my eyes on reflex and felt the beating air) and patted
me on the cheek.
I opened my eyes.
–You are a good person. – He repeated.
He rolled off me and said in an equally flat tone:
–Get out of here.
He didn’t have to ask me twice.
I got up as quickly as I could manage, pulled on my blouse and skirt, quickly
shoved my underwear into the bag and rushed for the door.
He lay on the bed, face down.
–Close the door! – He yelled in a muffled voice. He didn’t get up.
My legs were shaking as I went out.

 The neat one

No, I’m not talking about deviations.
What’s there to say? Yes, they like spooning and cowgirl, and they like a
finger in hard–to–reach places, it’s no big deal.
Those are the small things, I swear.
There are normal instances and then there are the instances that would fuck
others’ brains.
This client spent a long time on the phone verifying whether I have hot water
and how clean my towels were.
I was doing my eye makeup at the same time and lazily replied that everything
is fine with the water and towels are not a problem. I could even give him a new
one.
Of course, I don’t have any new towels. If I did have any, I would have used it
myself (new ones are so nice to the touch!).
And I didn’t even think that he would come.
He did.
He entered my hallway and started to take off his shoes. As he stood and tried
to take off his shoe with the help of his toes, he lost his balance. What does a
person do when they are losing their balance? They grab the nearest wall. He
made a move to grab the wall but only touched it with his fingers momentarily.
I notice this and realize that something is wrong. Why would he rub his own
fingers in panic for half a minute on his own pants, if he had not even touched
the wall?
Yet there he was, standing and rubbing his fingers. Panic in his eyes.
Of course, he didn’t wear the slippers, although the slippers for clients are
practically sterile at my place. They are made of rubber, like the ones in saunas. I
even wash them each time to prevent the slightest smell.
–Will you take a shower? – He asked as soon as we entered the room.
–Honey,–I said,–I just came out of the shower five minutes ago.
It was the pure truth. I shower before each client, and afterwards, I double
shower!
He looked at me in disbelief.
–Look,–I exhaled,–it’s not difficult for me, but I just came out of there. Here,
look, the ends of my hair are still slightly damp, I didn’t manage to dry them
completely.
Apparently, my honest eyes seemed to convince him, even if my hair was
completely dry.
 –Go take one yourself,–I said and gave him a clean towel.
–How do you clean them? Do you boil them? – He asked suddenly.
I gasped in shock and gave him a questioning look.
–No, really, what do you do with them? Are they really clean?
– Honey, – I spoke softly, –I have a washing machine there, go look, I wash
them after each client. I’ll wash it after you leave.
–Do you iron?–he snorted.
– Of course! – I cheerfully reported. –Look, there’s an iron.
(No way I’m ironing towels!)
Luckily, this calmed him down and he went to take a shower. Still, halfway to
the bathroom he turned around and asked me to go with him.
–Babe, we better do it on the bed.
–No, that’s not what I mean, – he snorted, –Rinse the bath for me.
I conclude that he was a psycho but humbly went after him. In the bathroom, I
had to take the sponge and wipe clean the bathtub and faucets.
Only after that did he get into the tub on his feet and rinsed in the shower.
I waited for him in the room.
–You need to change the bedding, – he said upon entering the room.
–It’s clean. I just laid it out.
(No, really! My service includes clean bedding. It needs to be fresh for each
client.)
–Please, change it in front of me, – he said firmly.
I fumed silently, but changed the clean bedding to another clean one.
Only after that he lay down. It would be stupid to think that he wouldn’t put
on a show in bed. And he did.
First of all, he opened and pulled on the condom by himself.
Secondly, and this was clear – he tried to keep our touching to a minimum.
Thirdly, I had never been fucked with such a disgusted, wrinkly face.
He came fast.
Apparently, the fear for his own health made him want to run as fast as
possible. He even had hallucinations of scary germs.
How he even had courage to visit a prostitute with such fears remains a
mystery to me.
Here's the surprise – as soon as he finished, he relaxed slightly. He even
allowed himself to lie down on the pillow, but not for long. His nature soon took
its toll, as he jumped up and quickly began to gather his clothes.
–Duuust…–he said, pulling on his pants.
–What? – I didn’t understand and put on my bathrobe.
–I am saying, you are a slob! – He said haughtily. –There is dust over there.
Don’t you ever clean up? There, look in the corner, – he poked a finger.
On the freshly washed floors, in a corner, underneath the plinth…was a tiny
lump of dust.
In five minutes he was almost dressed and stomped to the hallway. He would
have left, if not for the cat. It meowed and approached him, before lightly rubbed
itself on his leg. The client took a step back and looked at me in shock.
–You have animaaals in your home?! – He almost yelled.
Yes, that’s what he said and how he said it: "Animaaals?!"
–Yeah, a cat, – I replied.
–Why didn’t you tell me earlier?–he asked in surprise.
–About what?–I said, perplexed.
–That you keep animals here! They may have fleas, worms and all sorts of
parasites!
–No, he doesn’t have any fleas or worms, – I retorted, –it’s a normal, healthy
cat.
–You should have warned me earlier! – He barked, either at me or at the cat, I
was not entirely sure.
– These kinds of places should have no animals!
–Listen, your time’s up! – I blew up.
–I wouldn’t have come here, had I known…–he mumbled, putting on his
shoes.
I opened the door for him.
Obviously, he was scared to hold the handle himself.

 The vampire

I have this one client – Ted.
He is a very pleasant man. An office employee. As far as I understood, he
holds a low leadership position. Head of department or something like that.
He dresses very well. Expensive shoes. Leather portfolio, and perfectly
matched tie.
By the way, the tie is tied so perfectly by his wife, because he can’t do it
himself.
Whenever he leaves, we are always tormented with it, as I’m not specialized
in ties and he always unties it completely, out of habit.
I don’t really have a thing for ties/shirts/trousers.
I’m also not on friendly terms with my iron. I prefer to buy crease–resistant
clothes. Although, who knows, if I had a husband, maybe I would have tied
nautical–standard knots out of these ties.
Yeah, so, Ted. I wouldn’t say he is especially handsome, no. Ted is an
ordinary man, with right facial features and thin lips. If I was a mother looking
to marry off her daughter, I would say that Ted was an ideal man. Clever, well
brought up, decent. A gem, in one word.
It is unlikely that he is able to make a different impression on others.
Not on me.
People come to me with cockroaches in their heads, and they bring top
secrets. And even I, with such experience, can’t always tell what baggage each
person comes with.
Over the years I have noticed one thing. The more decent a man looks, the
more deranged of a maniac he is on the inside.
(Since the moment I realized this, I began to like assholes. They are much
more normal that the intelligent people with right manners, because they are
predictable, and you know what to expect.)
Ted visits me once a month. Every month during the course of six months.
Ted comes from work wearing a suit, Ted comes in sportswear after his
evening football, Ted can come in tennis clothes after a weekend spent with
kids, but he will always be at my place on a fixed day.
And why?
Because Ted likes to get dirty in blood.
No, he doesn’t beat me and doesn’t cut me with a knife.
Ted comes to me specially, on the second day of my period. It is the day when
the blood flow is at its height. He likes the smell, the sex…
 He is also a lover of licking, and he practically sucks off all of that blood till
the last drop.
He cums viciously each time and I get to observe his bloody face with its
satisfied smile of a village cat who just got the cream.
The answer to this mystery is outrageously simple.
His wife won’t let him do it on her period. She says it’s very harmful for the
man and the woman. She shies away from blood and says that the view is bad,
the smell is bad and she is uncomfortable.
Women, remember! Men come to us not out of sex hunger. They can
masturbate on their own, it’s not a problem. The reason they visit us is because
they have unsatisfied fantasies. So if your husband asks for something, either
give it to him or don’t cry into your pillow wailing "That bastard booked a
whore, what’s he missing at home?"
He might be longing for such strange things.


 The inventor

I thought to share something refreshing.
When I first started work and had no special experience, I had a standard
program: the classic and a blow job. That was it, despite being constantly asked
for anal. They ask for it now, too.
Before, they lived their lives and didn’t think that they could stick it in there
too.
Now, every other one asks for it. They give and take with pleasure, why not?
Whatever, I got carried away.
Of course, I understood, that if there was a demand, there needed to be an
offer. For this reason, some didn’t even get to my place. Well yeah, there a lot of
girls around ready to give. For additional payment, of course.
And here I am with my classics.
So here it happened, a client knocked on the door, he was a permanent one.
Almost like an office romance. Not a bad man, not greedy, medium size.
He knew I didn’t offer anal but had no qualms about convincing me to do it.
Apparently, he very badly wanted to be my first one.
I think that was the main reason of his visits, every time: "Let’s try, I’ll be
soft", and all that.
He always offered an additional fee, of course. I laughed it off every time.
He came at night, with buckets of booze and snacks of all kinds. And again,
he tried his luck: "Emily, let’s try, you’ll like it…"
I took courage.
Let’s do it, I said.
I’ll skip the details of how I got ready. I went to the bathroom, found a
syringe, you get the idea.
I took some time in the bathroom, out of fear. He was almost yelling: "Emily,
get out!"
I finally came out. He came up, started hugging and relaxing me.
I told him, "Wait, let’s drink more."
I drank more.
And more.
In short, during ten minutes I managed to get wasted to the bones.
What? You don’t lose your virginity every day in such unintended places.
When he realized I wasn’t looking, he dragged me to the balcony. It was cold
outside and I was standing there like a fool, in stockings and a clean ass.
Anyway, he didn’t touch my unconscious carcass. He only laid me to sleep.
 In the morning, we laughed it off. He said it was okay, the next time, it would
definitely happen.
He called after three days. I had morally tuned in. He came; with just a bottle
of wine this time – he know I shouldn’t have more.
We drank a little and he told me to lie down.
He was talking to me and doing something with his fingers there. I am lying
there, listening to him. It seemed like I had relaxed.
He pulled up the condom, poured half a bottle of lubricant…
And all of a sudden, he is on the bed, shock on his face, his arms extended, as
if to say "heeey…where are you going?!", and I am jumping around the room,
holding my knees, holding my ass and wailing: "Oh, God, oh, God...aaaah…oh,
God…"
I don’t even know how I flew out from under him.
He had just started and I flew out. Even though he was soft, it still hurt that
the first time.
He said to me pensively: "Yeah, Emily. The armor is strong."
We worked on it untill morning. I couldn’t get through it, for the life of me.
He sticks it in and I scream. But then, somehow, little by little, step by step and
he went through.
For an entire week, I pooped and cried.
Then, we tried it with him again and again.
Then, it wasn’t just him.
Now, I like it and I have a taste for it.
Unfortunately, that client has since met a girl and stopped visiting me. What a
pity, he was a good man.
And not greedy.

 The sound operator

As the hero of one movie once said: "Sometimes people don’t know what to
wish for."
It was easy for him, he was a magician and knew exactly what he needed. I
am far from being a magician and I’m definitely not a psychic.
The gentleman was short, neat, thin, and decent looking, if I may say so.
When I met him at the door, he kissed my hand and told me I smelled great, and
we went upstairs.
He neatly put his shoes in a corner and asked where he could hang his coat,
paid and slightly shying away, instantly went into the bathroom.
I sat on the bed in one of my seductive poses and waited for him.
He came back quickly, completely nude and holding his folded clothes in his
hands. He seemed slightly embarrassed, and so I almost immediately tried to
start. I asked him to lie down and relax, I would do the rest.
In the ensuing five minutes, he was ready to go out on the battlefield and
conquer my fortress.
I arched my back, like a cat, craving for attention and buried my face in the
pillow.
–Listen, why are you moaning? – He asked unexpectedly after five minutes.
–What? – I turned to him at once out of surprise, forgetting about my strongly
portrayed ecstasy for him during the last ten seconds.
–I am saying, what’s the point of moaning?
–What do you mean? – I asked again.
He was still inside me at this moment.
–Oh, what’s the point of pretending, I know that you don’t get pleasure out of
all this.
–We do! – I tried to escape the unpleasant conversation, even though I knew
exactly what he meant. –Do you think I’m not a woman?
–That’s not what I mean, – he said in a serious tone, grabbing my hips tightly,
–you think I don’t understand that you are just playing? Because you are getting
paid for it.
–Honey,–I purred, – getting paid is one thing, but I do really feel good with
you…
–Let’s do it this way, – he continued, not having heard me, –I understand that
you don’t like this…You lie down and I’ll do everything myself, I don’t need
this show…
I was offended and buried my face in the pillow.
 In the next few minutes everything was quite silent, not considering the music
from the laptop and his focused sniff.
And in the moment I thought he was close to cumming, he stopped and tapped
me on the shoulder.
I turned around, trying to portray at least some kind of pleasure.
–Why are you silent all the time? – He asked –Are you not getting any
pleasure from me?
–No, it’s pleasant for me, – of course, I was still lying, –but you told me to be
quiet, so I am.
–Noo, wait, – he sniffed offended and pulled back slightly, –I didn’t mean to
be completely quiet. Show me how pleasant it is for you, or I can’t…
–Okay, honey, besides it really is pleasant for me, – I quickly clarified and
buried my face in the pillow once again.
He continued and I was either squeaking or grunting. All in all, I was trying to
make sounds similar to pleasure, if not passion.
After two minutes he stopped:
–What are you doing right now? – He asked.
In my mind, I sent him to hell a thousand times, before turning my head to
him.
–Honey, – I said gently, my face expressed utmost courtesy, –Honey, you
don’t want me to be completely silent, do you?
He pulled away from me, then sat beside me on the bed. I was in the same
position and waited for his answer.
–Weeelll, – he stretched the sounds and slightly got mad, –all of you are lying
to me! You want to finish quickly so bad!
–Honey, – I touched his shoulder, trying to distract him, –maybe we could
change the position?
I didn’t want to enter into long, psychological talks.
–Alright,–he suddenly woke up, –lie down on your back.
I did and he positioned himself on top.
–Only don’t put a show for me, alright? Just lie down, I get it all…I know
what you are really thinking!
I lay down, with my eyes closed and tried to work harder with my hips.
–Look, are you alive at all? – He said exactly after one minute.
–I am! – I got mad. –What?
–Why are you so dead silent?
–Listen,–I said, –try to decide for yourself, whether you want me to be quiet
or not? I am kind of lost here.
–Well, no, don’t be completely silent, I can’t go on like that, but can you just
moan in such a way that I wouldn’t think it’s for the money.
(Fucking millionaire, it’s not even a lot of money…)
–Okay, honey, I’ll try. – And I sat on top of him.
It was like a one–man show for the next ten minutes. I carefully calibrated the
pauses, squeaked on the third exhalation, and he was obviously carried away not
with his own feelings, but the counting of my squeaks and the moment he felt I
was going too fast, he made an unsatisfied face…
I don’t know how, but we managed to do it. He lay down beside me, quite
satisfied and when I was taking off the condom, he suddenly said:
–You know, I think you did really enjoy yourself. Right?

 Love is blind

There’s a quite interesting contingent and I wouldn’t say I come across them
often, but it happens sometimes. They call, come or invite. More often, they
invite.
These are the couples who are in love but need to spice up their relationships.
And not just a little pinch of spice, a whole pound of it.
As I found out with time, in 90% of cases the men are the ones to initiate and
the women often tolerate it. They get jealous, angry, but they tolerate it.
There are some couples in the minority, where both of the partners are in full
agreement and come to enjoy themselves and are ready to try anything.
However, a majority of these couples are the ones where the man has convinced
the woman to try it, but she doesn’t enjoy herself, as she attentively observes me
every second, as if I swallowed an extra inch of her beloved husband’s dick.
I fear the latter the most. You never know what’s in her head.
There were some who could not stand the stressful view and tried to grab my
throat, but were fortunately quickly stopped by their beloved husbands and in the
worst case – got beaten. Well, yes, I saw it.
Couples are different.
The women in these couples can also verify for about hundred times that I
didn’t kiss the lips of their man, no matter happens.
(But where have you seen, dear guests, that a prostitute took in her mouth the
slobbering tongue of a client? Are you crazy or what? I'm a proper girl ...)
And in most cases, these family people come to me drunk. It seems that when
they are sober, their conscience does not allow them to put their partner under a
stranger.
They often try to get me drunk as well. It seems like they care about my
conscience as well.
As for me, I don’t care! Any whim for your money.
Do you think I often have threesomes?
Certainly not! Threesomes happen of course, but they are such rarities!
It seems to me every time, when these couple approach me, they want to have
sex themselves and have me watching on the side.
It’s a pleasure to watch badly hidden female jealousy. Sometimes I even pity
these women.
Is it really that scary to lose a man? So terrifying that you are ready to tolerate
anything? Torment yourself, but tolerate?
I have a couple who have been visiting me for three years. They visit once in
six months when they don’t have enough novelty.
They come, get themselves comfortable, laugh out loud (the female laughs in
a hysterical tone), and we drink whiskey.
We sit, talk, they ask me to dim the lights, and we get undressed little by little.
She just pulls off her shirt and remains in her pants. She is not wearing a bra.
Maybe she does wear one, but to me she comes without them. It’s a standard.
The man just nods to me to take mine away as well. I take it off. Serge sits on
the bed and draws us to himself. He starts to caress our breasts with both hands
and even occasionally bites...then he unzips the pants of his beloved wife and
neatly, gently pulls them off. I can see he loves her.
I am wearing a skirt and stockings, as usual. It’s more comfortable and men
like it. He takes it off.
He quickly turns me around, puts me on the bed on my knees and lifts my
skirt.
I can feel the wife starting to get mental on the movements of the husband, but
does nothing. She is silent, but I can feel the energy.
If not for her fear of losing her man, she would have gotten up and left.
Serge probably feels it too, that’s why he quickly places her in the same
position as me.
And here we are, she completely naked, me with my skirt up and panties off,
like two smiles on the sun.
He doesn’t pause for long, and gets his two hands and shoves his fingers into
us.
His fingers are beautiful–long, smooth, and with well-groomed nails
She starts to moan, apparently she likes to be fingered. He fucks us like this a
little and moves to my ass.
Only mine–his wife doesn’t take in the ass.
He fucks me with his fingers and gets off. Here, I start to moan.
The wife is jealous again. She stops to moan, turns around and takes the dick
of her husband and starts to suck frantically. I think to myself, that it’s time for
my break. After this move, I’m usually forgotten for some time.
Actually, I know that the husband remembers me. My ass gives him no rest
but his woman was nervous, so I’m paid less and less attention.
The rest of the night, I watch these two fuck. So viciously, so violently. I am
sure they do it more modestly and gently at home.
All in all, they are satisfied.
And me? Nothing! I am sitting and doing nothing.
This couple was at my place not a very long time ago. I like them, after all.
They love each other. If not for his desires involve a third party, everything
would probably be fine with them
A few days after their visit, he drops by my place to have some tea. My ass
won’t leave him alone.
He pays, fucks, and leaves, satisfied.
He told me they’d come again. As always.

 Babies

A normal guy came by, he was big. (Not fat, just big)
We sat, drank, talked, he took a shower and we got to the bodies.
And here I am on him, depicting a wild passion, he also squirms something at
the bottom, and as I ride, I wonder – if I fake orgasms in vain?
Maybe, he had lost the boner for quite some time now?
Such a misfortune. I can’t feel it at all.
It would be very funny.
I have seen small dicks.
Many small ones.
And how they brag about it!
Go ask any guy – he will answer that his dick is perfect!
He will look at you with such honest eyes. And without blinking, he
confidently believes in himself. He has measured himself from the beginning…
of the navel.
There are not many really big dicks.
The smallest dick that I’ve ever seen – it may be hard to believe, and if I had
not seen it myself I would have thought it doesn’t exist– was the size of a match
stick.
It didn’t belong to a client. Two years ago I met a boy. I can’t remember
where, but he was definitely not the client. He asked me out on a date and we
went out to for coffee.
He dropped me off at my place, and we were sitting in the car, talking.
I don’t ask him to come up. Why?
Because I know myself, any conversation will sooner or later lead to sex.
He made a move, I was drunk and he started to persuade me.
He sits there, unzipping his pants and says "Here, look at this soldier".
I had a reaction almost like in the movie "Interstate 60" – when the girl
unzipped his pants and realized there was no dick. The girl in the movie had
yelled, but all I could do was to give a low squeak.
I continue to sit and look at it.
It was dark in the car, plus he was ungroomed and it seemed to me that there
was nothing.
And then I saw it, when he fished it out of the forest.
It was a shock, of course. It was so small, not longer than a matchstick. A
micropenis. Completely invisible in those hairs.
I was in complete shock.
 The most interesting part was that it was of the same width as a normal one.
Well, nothing happened at least.
I didn’t want to put this candy in my mouth. What if it got lost?
I pulled up his zipper neatly and off he went.
He called me two more times.
Asked me out again. He was probably not shy.


 The illusionist

A thirty–something guy came by recently. He was an interesting type, tall,
lean, and very pleasant. He comes in and it somehow feels very easy, without the
slightest tension. Like old friends. It happens.
We sat, drank a little bit, talked and it came down to fucking.
He was "easy" in the bed, too. I wasn’t tense in the slightest manner.
But that’s not relevant.
Anyway, we are in a missionary pose – he is on top of me. I’m feeling good
and enjoying myself. That sometimes happens too.
And he looks at me and says:
–Talk to me.
At first, I didn’t even realize what he wanted. And I start telling him what all
women usually say in such moments, – I tell him sweet nothings.
And he stops me, and in whisper:
–Not like that…
And what would you come up with? If not gentle, then the opposite, as if,
"Yes! Fuck me", and all that.
And again he says:
–Not like that…
And here, I got confused. He doesn’t need gentle or rough. What does he
need?
He looks at me, and I realize he wants to tell me something, but he either can’t
put it into right words, or he is self–conscious.
And I tell him:
–How? Tell, me, how do you want it?
He shied away some more and said: "Tell me…a story".
I knew what he wanted. I had a similar client a long time ago, who liked to be
told stories during the process.
In this instance, it’s important to be the initiator. Give it a whirl. And then
he’ll take the lead and will come up with something to tell.
I started the story and then he came up with the plot, asking questions, and
adding some more details.
I can’t tell everything here since it’s not the right moment or place, but it
basically turned into a porn story. It was quite a rough story about me being
fucked, and he was either the voyeur or the participant.
Like this:
–You get fucked by three, right?
 –Yes! Three guys fuck me, at the same time…
–And I’m sitting and watching, then reach up to you, put you on all fours
and…
He, of course, got very turned on, and came hard. I, too, got very turned on
while telling the story.
He was a good boy, interesting and chilled–out. Despite that quirk of his.
He needs a little bit of porn story to orgasm, so what?

 Chinese guests

What a visit I had recently!
A girl gave me a call and asked me in a serious–business tone whether I work
with foreigners. I answer her in an equally serious tone that I absolutely do,
know several phrases and if the point of their visit is sex, but not discussions
about Goethe, there will be no language barrier.
The girl asked me a few more important questions about HIV, condoms and
all kinds of skin rashes.
–You are a great fit for us, – she said in a business tone.
I had a strong feeling that I was being hired by a prestigious foreign company
and that I needed to show up the next day in a designer suit exactly at ten.
As it turned out later, I wasn’t too far from the reality.
I was supposed to show up today, not tomorrow. And at eight in the evening
(not ten) at the doors of one of the most prestigious houses.
The dress code was a business suit. Maybe the foreigners had an unsuccessful
negotiation with some businesswoman and they had decided to take revenge.
I tried to argue that I wouldn’t make a good office employee, but whatever.
In a few hours, I was at my friend’s place asking her for an office suit.
–Not enough tits, – she observed my new look thoughtfully.
I looked like an exact copy of a porn star. The last thing I needed were
glasses, a dick in my mouth and a seductive look to the cameraman.
–Maybe I should pop up one more button?
–Exactly! – My friend laughed. –You are not going for an interview.
I put on my pumps, kissed my friend on the cheek and left.
I was met by a girl at the doorway: she was the translator.
She told me to not put too much effort in. They were serious people and they
just needed to diffuse some tension before getting into battle again, to make
some money.
She paid me in advance, wished me luck, and opened the door.
I enter, and there they are.
Three Chinese sitting on the rug in the middle of the living room, eating
something crunchy.
One of them jumps up and comes to me. He takes my handbag and nods. I’m
sure if I were in a coat, he would have kindly taken it off and stood there at the
entrance.
And he is soooo small!
All of them are smiling.
 I have the impression they had been waiting for me for a while. They are
happy now, smiling and talking in their own language.
I tell them, boys, time’s running.
I start to undress.
Once they saw my naked breasts, all of them took off their underwear in one
stroke.
Wow, what an experience!
What can I say, it was a waste to bring condoms of classic size with me.
That night, I realized that classic was for giants. And there were no giants
there.
One of them, the bravest one, came closer, put his hand on my tit in a
business–like manner, touched it and cheerfully yelled something in his
language.
Then the other two approached and started to touch me.
I even teared up at the amount of happiness my tits were causing.
I started to feel something warm pouring on me. Someone had come.
And I was right, one of them had just came. We didn’t even have chance to
pull up a condom on him.
He stood there in a blissful smile, not letting go of my tit and dripping all on
the floor.
"Minus one", I thought. "That’s good, the other two will be even quicker."
The second one came, when I put his goodies in my mouth.
I had to make the third one last, it was a matter of honor.
This one was resilient. He resisted for half a minute, then squeaked and went
limp.
I fell onto the rug, and lay there, thinking about life, the Chinese and that the
apartment was awfully beautiful.
They stood cheerfully, whispering to each other. I couldn’t figure out what
they were whispering about.
All three of them came up to me. I tried to figure out what they wanted. Do
they want to go for the second round?
Ah, no. They came to shake my hand. They said something to me and patted
my shoulder.
And that was it!
Fifteen minutes.
We said goodbye like relatives.
Only, I couldn’t understand why they had booked just me.
The money could be enough for three, anyway.

 Arabic love

He was an Arab. I wasn’t completely sure of his nationality.
He came, paid without bargaining, generously showered me in compliments,
looked at me in desire and slightly squeezed my breasts.
It started quite unoriginally. We undressed, took a shower and got into bed.
I sat beside him and caressed his fury dark chest.
–You be my girl? I be lover, – he said suddenly.
Just like that. With an accent.
–We’ll see, honey,–I laughed and went down on him.
–Whaat? Why? – He stopped my hand with the rubber friend, –I beliv you and
you must beliv me.
–Oh come on, honey,–I giggled informally, –can anyone be completely
trusted in this world?
And I eloquently put the cap on.
–You can beliv me, – he announced. –I am serious person, you get what you
want. Speak: "do this"–I do, you can beliv me…
–You byutiful, you good,–he mumbled, while I was working down there, –
come here.
Then he moaned, grilled me, caressed my breasts and went on: "I like you, be
my girl".
I laughed. I was slightly ticklish.
He had thirty minutes left.
Before he left, he hugged me for a long time and said, more to himself:
–You now my girl, I love you, wait me, don’t be with anyone…
I made eyes and smiled:
–Honey, come again.

One more satisfied customer.
Hot blood whispers that to get pleasure, you must play either love or harem.
I closed the door with relief after he left and went to air out the room.
Why do they wear so much perfume?

*

He appeared, when more than one month had passed. He called and said:
–Hello, Emily, this is ***. Do you wait for me?
–Come, honey.–I smiled in the phone.
It’s good to have permanent clients.
 He gives me a big smile and presses me to the wall:
–Do you wait for me?
–Yes, yes, I did, – I crawled from under the black hands and asked:
–Honey, for how long will you be here?
–As long as you wish, you my girl, you be good, I love you, come to me,–he
mumbles, trying to catch and hug me.
I dodge.
–Honey,–This is a very, very universal term. I can’t remember what to call
him.
–Love is great, but I’m not free of charge. How long will you be here? An
hour, two? For the night?
–Yes, the night, – he smiles contently. –What you say, – he starts to wave his
hands irritably,–it will be, later. I love you.
–Alright…first pay me and then you’ll have everything and you’ll love me as
much as you want. But no need to love me without paying.
I am gradually becoming annoyed.
–What you say! You my girl, what money. We go restaurant, stores, I buy you
boots tomorrow? You have everything beautiful, you be mine, everything will
be, beautiful, – he says, not listening to me.
Obviously, this man seriously thinks that from his "I love you" I must be very
happy, tear up, fall down and suck for free.
Oh yes, I now have a boyfriend!
I jump to the door, open it and say:
–Okay, get out!
–What you doing! – He is trying to close the door.
–Get out, right now! – I get mad and get him out.
–Whore! – He curses, backing down –I don’t need you! Whore!
–Get out of here…found himself a girl!
He thinks he found someone to take advantage of! Sure!

 Lipstick

The client made an appointment for "just sex" with broken English. Nothing
fancy, or spicy.
I washed, scrubbed my waxed body parts, straightened my hair with an iron. I
even tied a ribbon on my cat for some reason. I could feel the party.
I wait and wait and there’s no sign of him. Half an hour passed.
A call.
He is lost.
–Hey, buddy, give the phone to the driver, I’ll explain, – I said.
–I am walking, – I heard the answer.
–Where are you?–I’m asking hopelessly.
–On the street, – he says and our conversation gets interrupted.
Okay, I’m glad he’s not in the forest.
Phone again:
–Which street, honey? – I ask.
–I don’t know, – he answers in a horrible accent, –there is a mall here.
–Excellent! – I say. –Which one?
–I don’t understand. – He says
–Okaay,–I start to boil, as I have plans for the evening and this one will get to
my place right then, –honey, get a car. And tell them the address.
–Expensive, – he says calmly.
–Honey,–I say on the phone, –I won’t be waiting for you very long. I have
plans, do you understand? So, either get here quick or walk around some more,
there are lots of sights to see. Just without me. – I wasn’t sure whether he
understood everything that I told him, but the tone of my voice he definitely
caught.
–Repeat the address, – he said.
I told him.
–I’ll be there soon,–he said and hang up
In only 2 minutes, I heard the doorbell.
I went down and brought him up.
There’s a turban on his head and something sticking out of it. Did he roll it up
wrong?
–Honey, what’s that sticking out of your turban? – I asked out of curiosity.
It turns out that Indians roll up their turbans evenly when they are married,
and that the thing that stuck out is like a special sign for females, like a
peacock’s tail, as if to say "Dig in, I’m single!".
It’s cool to put signs on people so that it’s immediately obvious whether the
man is married or single.
He was kind of down.
I offered him tea, he didn’t refuse.
I suggested to take a shower – he took a towel and went.
I asked him to relax – he did.
I told him to take off his underwear – he did.
He sat on the bed, looked at me with big eyes and kind of tense.
–Relax, honey,–I say, and come up closer.
The money is received, time is ticking, it’s time to move.
And yet this poor one is so tense and has started to crawl to the side of the
bed.
Is he afraid? I had an idea.
I reached to him again, he pulled away more.
He asked:–Do you have a lipstick?
–Yes,–I was taken aback, –why?
– Give me, huh? – He asked plaintively.
Well, a client’s word is to be followed.
I got up and brought him a beige lipstick.
–What’s this? – He asked.
–Lipstick. – I replied
–Do you have a red one?
–Yes,–I was confused and got up again.
–Give, – said the Indian and reached his paws to me.
I gave him the lipstick, mentally saying goodbye to it and convincing myself
that it’s the cost of the profession and that I was fed up with that lipstick and
needed a new one anyway, why would I need two red lipsticks?
I didn’t finish my thoughts, as he got up, rolled out the lipstick and jabbed it
onto my forehead, in one swift motion. Right between my eyes.
–Hey, what are you doing? What’s that for? – I turned back to the mirror,
looked at the red point on my forehead and caught myself realizing that I’m dark
haired and look very much like an Indian girl.
He leaned into me and I realized that he was in full combat readiness.
My Indian guest skillfully knocked me down on the bed and, staring at the red
dot which he had marked on my forehead, pulled up the condom.
Everything else was quite quick and boring. He was in me for about a minute.
The entire time, he did not take his eyes off me. The red dot must have been an
aphrodisiac for him, if not a lighthouse. Then he quietly finished and collapsed
on the bed.

 Little whore

Even girls of my profession sometimes need a man. Even I do.

No, not those that come for an hour and leave money, that’s different. That’s
work.
Sometimes, we need men for the soul. He would seduce first, then fluids,
pheromones, desire, and then he would hold us tightly and say "I’m the one"–
and make us feel good.
I was especially lucky that week.
He picked me up from the gym. You know, how are you, what’s your name, a
few sweet words, would you like coffee, maybe tomorrow, and all that…
We met.
He was brutal. The night got interesting right at the beginning when this tall,
strong and handsome man, sitting beside me, put his hand on my knee and
looked me in the eyes in such a way that I melted and sweated.
"An alpha–male", my knee concluded for me and it was clear: I’ll give it to
him. No doubts.
Ah, girls, you needed to hear that: deep, hoarse voice with hints of real, rough
sex.
I don’t know why, whether it’s karma or fluids, but men don’t shy away from
me. He, too, was liberated, and in the next hour, his strong and powerful hands,
too transparent hints and dark deep eyes made me realize – the man was cool
and he knew how.
We talked about sex and it was clear – this one is dominant. He would
squeeze, force and make me submit to him. He didn’t hide it.
I had missed strong men so much!
I don’t know what remains of my brains stopped me from submitting to him
immediately, that night.
Probably, the game was too fun and I wanted it to continue.
I flew to the second date. An hour later, when he told me in his deep voice:
"Let’s go bitch, I’ll fuck you", I was in such a languid state that almost forgot
my coat.
Oh, it was passion!
We kissed in the cab on the way to his place. He was so wonderfully rough.
We were at his place in half an hour.
There was an erotic dim light in his room, my hero sat in front of me in jeans
and a shirt.
 I lay down on the bed in front of the coffee table, dangling my foot on the
floor and drank wine; I was almost naked and compliant; I could almost feel him
roughly grabbing me with those strong hands, knocking me down and doing
whatever he wanted…I was so wet.
He sat in front of me, looked at me in a very serious manner and at that
moment, when it became clear I was dripping wet, he grabbed the glass,
nervously took a sip and…
…fell to his knees. Yes, he was on the floor, crawled and grabbed my big toe
with his lips.
I screamed and flipped.
He let go of my toe, looked at me sheepishly and whispered loudly:
–Do you want me to be your whore?
–Aaaa…what? – I asked and thought that my jaw should be caught
somewhere around the floor.
–Do what you wish to do to me, my lady. I will do what you order. I am your
little whore…
–Ummmm…don’t you want to fuck me? – Like a fool, I still had hopes that
the brutal alpha–male who sat next to me about two hours ago, would awake
inside him.
He was on his knees and kept quiet.
–Umm, maybe you’ll get up? – I was getting slightly tense.
He shook his head and dimly asked:
–You don’t like me?
I had gotten myself into trouble this time! I love strong, dominant, rough men.
I love to be roughly…
But he was on his knees. My inner voice had whispered to me: "This, Emily,
is a macho…" My inner voice, the bastard, was now hiding itself in the corner:
"I’m sorry, I messed up…"
The situation was comical. I sat in my panties and in shock, and my kneeling
macho did not bother to get up.
–Well, I do, but…I kind of hoped for something else.
–You can’t be a lady?–he asked hopelessly.
–No, I can be all,–I exclaimed,–but you should have warned me earlier, that…
–I’m sorry, – he whispered and reached to kiss my foot, –excuse your little
whore…
He undid his belt and started to pull out his jeans. He was without underwear.
–Will you punish me?–he asked with hope in his voice.
–With the belt? – I asked, cheering.
–With the belt, if you want, – he whispered, –or if you want…
 He rushed into another room and came back with handcuffs, a rather large
dildo and a tube of cheap hand cream.
–You should have gotten a lubricant, – I snorted skeptically.
–Sorry, – he mumbled, –I will get one next time.
He took off his jeans, got on all fours and buried himself into the floor…
And in the next hour, I got to work and cursed my stupid luck, to manage to
meet in a big city – a whore, crawling on his knees, looking at the floor and
squealing in delight with large objects in ambiguous places.
–Listen, – I said, washing my hands,–what was that circus for, in the café?
Couldn’t you say immediately that you were like that?
I came out of the bathroom and started to get dressed.
–Noo, – he muttered, still lying down on the floor, covered in that white
cream, –I do like it rough, it’s true…
–Aha, – I quipped, –you just needed to clarify, who would be in the "rough"
role. Macho, damn it!
I called a cab home.
Karma, yeah?

 Peacocks

I have rarely met women of age, not looking like much, but considering
themselves sex queens.
But I meet such men regularly. Old peacocks with feathers flaunted by life,
who honestly consider themselves the top of desires of any young female.
The faucet in my bathroom was broken. I had to call a plumber urgently.
In a few hours, a man arrived with a backpack. He was a typical, wrinkly man,
fifty–something, short, bald, with a paunch hanging over his belt and hairy
armpits. All in all, to be passionate for someone like him, you would have had to
live on a desert island for ten years without any men.
He dug around my faucet, poked around, and looked at me severely.
And then his phone rang. The speaker had quite a high–pitched voice and I
heard bits and pieces of the conversation. A female voice was telling him
something for quite a long time and ended the conversation with: "That’s it,
goodbye, daddy!" – before hanging up.
–Is that your daughter?–I asked.
The guy hovered for a moment, I could see the struggle in his facial
expressions between wanting to tell the truth and wanting to brag.
The latter won. He gave a very unexpected answer:
–No, not my daughter. I choose a wife for myself on a competitive basis,
that’s why they ring up and try to make an impression. They are all young! – He
said this all with a look of pride.
If this was an advertisement, I was probably to respond with a scream,
"Wooow, what a man", and bang him right there.
I couldn’t wipe the sarcasm off of my face.
However, he looked too proud of himself to notice my expression.
I was still curious, so I asked:
–Young? How old are your young girls?
–From eighteen to twenty five! – He answered proudly.
I couldn’t do anything with my face. Who are you kidding, old man? Take a
look at yourself! Girls! From 18 to 25! How the hell did you get young girls with
such a shabby, unpresentable look?
I am thirty, and I wouldn’t dream in my worst nightmares that I would
voluntarily go for someone like him.
And the funny thing is that he is not the only one like that.
I often meet such arrogant peacocks. They are all similar: big paunch, wrinkly
face and fat arms.
 They see themselves as macho men, boasting around me with their snotty
fellows and asking with such pride: "How do you like this?"
I always respond: "Mmm, how handsome!" What else can I say?
I think, deep in their souls they have an idea that I might be feeling so good
with them, that I will return the money in the end!
I tell them: "Honey, you were wonderful!"
Yet, I am so fed up with them morally. They bother me with their ridiculous
bragging of how "he fucked three young females", they bother me with their
stories about mythical young lovers who love them deeply…
These arrogant peacocks have no idea how pitiful and funny they seem, as
they put on their shows and shabby tales.
Whenever I talk to them, I am reminded of a joke:
An old man boasts in the company of friends.
–I’m old, but married a young woman and satisfy her so, that she is always
pleased!
A young man tells him:
–You know, I am walking in the forest and look to see a bear, about to attack
me. And I have a stick with me. So I raised my stick, pointed at the bear and said
"Boom!" and the bear dropped down dead.
The old man said smugly:
–And that, my dear, proves that a stick can sometimes shoot.
The young man replied:
–No, there was a bodyguard behind me with an actual gun.
 Was there a normal one?

I am sometimes asked, whether I ever have normal clients.
Yes, they exist and there are plenty of them.
But there’s nothing to write about them.
There is one who made an impression.
He visited me almost every day.
He always paid for the night. He came at night and stayed till dawn.
Sometimes he didn’t come, he was probably sleeping or aggressively making
more money to see me.
I don’t know what he does exactly. I don’t know who he lives with. But for
three weeks, I saw him constantly.
He kept a toothbrush at my bathroom and left a spare suit in my closet.
Once in a cleaning frenzy, I ironed his shirts in the morning.
I could not have charged him any money, but I was scared. I was scared that
he would stay forever and then he would leave. And while he paid, he was a
client, otherwise, it was just nerve–racking to think about. And there was no
reason to do so.
Everything was quite unoriginal.
He called and I answered.
He had a pleasant, calm voice.
He asked whether I did anal or a deep blowjob.
Everything was standard, really.
He came that same night, for two hours.
He was very courteous and handsome. You know, a strong, red–blooded male
glory.
Dark eyebrows, a two–day stubble, big straight nose.
He wouldn’t be photographed in sweet magazines, he was too rugged for it.
Not too tall, five foot seven. Beautiful hands, tan skin, slightly slouchy.
He asked for tea. We talk.
He didn’t inquire like the others about who I was, why and how I got into a
life like this.
We just talked about movies, books.
It turned out he watched and read exactly the same things as I did.
I don’t know, maybe he lied.
He came back after two days. This time, he booked me for the night.
He brought Chinese leaf tea, and told me he didn’t like teabags.
The third time, he stopped by for a moment, said he was too tired, and asked
for a blowjob. He fell asleep very quickly. I didn’t kick him out, for some
reason. And we woke up like that.
After that, he was gone for a week. I was starting to think that’s it. A client is
a client. But he appeared again, this time with flowers and candy. Belgian
seashells made of white and dark chocolate. I like those.
He asked to take a bath with me. I never took a bath with any of my clients. I
would have rejected any other client. But I didn’t reject him.
He laughed and attacked me with bubbles. I felt good with him.
It was like in a beautiful movie. He carried me out of the bathroom in his
arms. He put me on the bed, caressed my body, kissed it. He took out a condom
from under the pillow – he had remembered.
He came again the next day, and invited me to a restaurant. I went.
And so he started to come every day. One morning, he kissed my lips.
I was so scared of it. These kisses scared me. Sex is sex, I could have talks
with anyone. But this...
He didn’t treat me like a whore. He tried to romanticize our sex. He probably
didn’t want to think he was paying for the sex. These are the romantics. It’s not
uncommon.
I had even gotten used to him. One night, he came very late, around three in
the morning, with no warning, and completely wasted.
He said he had been offered a very good job in London.
He asked me to go with him.
He was leaving in the morning.
He kissed my forehead, and told me he would come later in the evening and
we would decide everything.
That was two years ago, in autumn.
I never saw him again.

 Some words from Emily

The point of my narrative is not to tell about my unhappy life or how I got to a
life like this.
You can say whatever you want, that it’s "her choice", or "she is to blame". It
probably is…but don’t say it’s easy.
It’s not easy at all.
They’ll attack me now, I know. They’ll ask, what is stopping you from
quitting and living a normal life?
And I’ll answer, I don’t know. Actually, no, I do know. It’s probably the same
reason that keeps many people stuck in offices, doing jobs that they hate and
never finding something true to their souls. The same reason that prevents many
from living with people they don’t love. The same reason that prevents many
from starting a business and doing what they love. Most of us live a depressed
life and go with the flow.
I think about it often. I don’t know what it’s like to live a normal life. What
will I do? What can I do? Get up for work and do what? If I change my
profession, where’s the guarantee that I’ll suddenly become happy?

Too bad that in life, the plot of the movie "Pretty Woman" has a one in a
million chance of actually happening. And I doubt that it will happen in mine…

 Author’s conclusion

Dear reader, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading this book, as for me
that is the main and only goal. Perhaps it cheered you up or maybe it gave you
some food for thought.
This is the first book, that I’m publishing on Amazon, and if you liked it, I
would really appreciate your opinion.
Thank you for your time and attention!

 Table of Contents
Foreword
Porn acrobat
James
Honey
Womanizer
The Shy One
The Scariest client
Opera singer
The Old Man
The Player
Do you know business?
How Bill looked for a wife
The Terrorist
Autopilot
The Vet
Lickerman
Gary and happiness
The visiting dumpling
The best one
The Whiner
Discount on a tombstone
Dog is a man’s friend
Crocodile tears
Scrooge
Stoner
Two for one
Businessman
Lickers
The Brave
Yeti
The wonderer
The Actor
Call–center
Talker Vulgaris
Masturbator vulgaris
What women want?
The Cheap Fairy
Naturalness
Daddy
The Aesthete and the Ass
In the armpit
The Villain
The neat one
The vampire
The inventor
The sound operator
Love is blind
Babies
The illusionist
Chinese guests
Arabic love
Lipstick
Little whore
Peacocks
Was there a normal one?
Some words from Emily
Author’s conclusion