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…

– 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?

– 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!