For the regular she has skirt and panties off when she opens the door.
New moons peek from under the decorous tails of her white tailored shirt.
And for one microsecond she fails, to conceal a shy sidelong glance from tbe uncertain little scared girl.
The little girl who took down her panties....
Gum is verboten; my father always discouraged his students from chewing it. Naomi turns her head aside, takes a stringy pale green wad from her mouth, wrapping it up in a tissue she plucked from her purse, placing it neatly on the bedside table.
Now she'll have to find another way to make saliva dependably, while killing the taste of the latex.
Our story takes place
The times: The Age of Brass, a time much like the present.
The place: Victoriaville.
V-Ville has five quarters. To the north, The spiral-staircased Mountain, where my apartment is, where French is spoken. The Victoria River runs down from the mountain, forking to run either side of English Centreville: department stores, the universities, the medical school, the student ghetto. South of downtown is The District: white marble ministries, architraved museums, bronze statues in green squares, white-mullioned red brick Federal-style row houses with plaques. The two branches of the Victoria meet below the District, flowing south to the sea. Over the river and east of downtown: Koreatown, Chinatown. Over the river and west of downtown: the Sprawl: desert, malls, gated communities. VAX, the airport, is west of the Sprawl, and west of VAX the desert proper begins.
The city plan is a grid, poked through by the Mountain, except for the Sprawl, where roads trail off into the desert. Highways have not, for the most part, penetrated the city core. Buses and the El are 24/7; taxis are clean and reliable. Ferries ply the west branch of the river. Brothels are scattered throughout, more thinly in the District.
Our story takes place in the apartments, hotels, rented rooms, massage parlors, and brothels of Victoriaville.
Here you will find this set down: This: episodes, stories, impressions from my secret life: tessarae turned over and over between finger and thumb: located, priced, indexed, polished, cut up, tilted this way and that: yet never inlaid:
wet stones in the running water trade's bed.
The tipping point: When I said "Fuck it!" and went to a massage place I found in the classifieds. Before I sleep, I keep a journal:
This journal. A ledger for transactions in the market at the heart of my secret life: The market where willing buyers and willing sellers become one flesh.
A service provider.
I knelt and leaned back, pushing my tip up and out in the air, and "Pammie" sat back on her heels.
She grabbed my dick with one hand and my balls with the other.
I said "Not so hard!" She let go.
She got on all fours, pushed her mouth over me.
I gazed down, a satisfied customer, saw her thin shoulder blades and her spine S-curve back to her pale small ass, felt her foreheard press against my belly.
I leaned forward, gripped her cheeks while she sucked me, then fingered down through her crinkle to the dry nubbly folds of her cunt.
Hands either side of her head, I pushed her back off me.
I said "Lick my balls" and she did.
I said "Lick up the shaft" and she did.
I put my hands on either side of her head and carefully fitted her mouth back over me. I felt her lips 0-ing as I slipped her head up and down my shaft.
I said "You can suck me" and she bobbed her head in and out.
I felt myself build and pulled out of her mouth: "I'm coming!" pumping: spurting: arcing my come in the air.
Her unlined lime green down-market "Dress for Success" polyester pant suit slung over the back of my chair.
When Sue made her first injection at nursing school she must have thought she deserved to be fucked and I was, after all, her boyfriend, so there we were. I could hear the TV playing outside the door, even some of the dialogue, and kept wondering who else in the household was still out there.
All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."