sunflowers on fishing line covering your ginormous tits will camouflage you in the middle of winter?” I glare at her from my post. “Don’t you dare. No way. I won’t be that girl. Come on, how attractive is it when one of our clients turns clingy? Takes things too far. Rick and I fucked. Onstage. For a ton of cash. And celebrated afterward in private. It might not have meant anything more to him.”
“And you?”
“It doesn’t matter if he never shows up at my window again. He’s allowed to change his mind.”
“Shit, and he was a loyal customer too. Maybe your best.”
“No kidding. I’ll miss…” I can’t bring myself to admit it. “The income.”
“Liar.”
“Bitch.” I smile as I deliver the lighthearted curse. “Pay attention. The younger, blond-haired guy approaching from the north looks interested. He’s done a not-so-subtle browse twice already, debating. Seems like he could be a fun one. Nice body under that soft gray fleece.”
“Damn, you’re right. I gotta go. I’ll check in later. Maybe we can grab some breakfast?”
“Sure.” If my appetite for nourishment in forms other than a hunky bouncer reappears anytime soon.
Why did Mari have to plant her wild ideas in my brain—in my heart? She couldn’t have known Rick’s boss Tommy had arranged to drop off my check from the Kinkmas pageant in less than a half an hour. How hard would it be to ask, casually, if Rick had made it home yet?
Damn it, no. If my costar—my client, my friend and the only true lover I’ve ever had—cares for me to know where the hell he’s vanished to, he’ll impart the news himself. Did my decision to walk away after a night of public thrills and private sharing kill any chance we had to sustain even our casual relationship? Had he realized dating a sex worker couldn’t lead to anything but disaster?
Truth is, I’m afraid to ask. I’ve nurtured the fuzzy tingles in my belly, hoping for another chance to stretch our boundaries or at least return to the intimate exchange of pleasure we’ve perfected over numerous sessions in my window.
The answer could fracture the delicate spark glowing in my core. It’s too new, too brilliant for me to take the chance.
So, I stand here, wearing the platform-heeled boots that make me the perfect height for Rick to fuck while I’m standing, bent over on my loft stairs. I wait—not so patiently. I dream—of what might have been with one special partner while hundreds of others consider purchasing the goods I would freely give my absent lover. A fraction of what I’d gift him with really since our trust ensures I’d journey deeper into kinky sexuality in his arms than I would with the average patron.
Our electrifying Christmas show had proved the extremes we were willing to indulge in onstage before the admiring gazes of a thousand or so strangers. Could Rick abandon what they’d all applauded, the chemistry arcing between us as bright as the sparks he’d harnessed to thrill me? My hand slips over my ribs to cup my breast, rubbing my straining nipple.
A man crashes into the bicycle rack in front of my window.
Not the first time that’s happened. Mari and I have joked about strapping a pillow to the weathered metal or covering the flaking paint with a coat of florescent orange to avoid a negligence lawsuit.
Even the unintended compliment can’t inspire my smile for long. I miss the radiance of Rick’s eyes, the imperfection of his twice-broken nose and the well-muscled frame he fills out so damn well. Almost as much as I mourn the loss of his open-minded acceptance, genuine attentiveness and the natural attraction that billows between us like a mushroom cloud whenever we enter the same space.
A gnawing ache twists my stomach. Hunger has built inside me since I rejected the feast Rick offered on Christmas day. Despite my ironclad belief it had been the right decision for Rick and his family, fifteen days have oozed by with the bizarre unnaturalness of
“And you?”
“It doesn’t matter if he never shows up at my window again. He’s allowed to change his mind.”
“Shit, and he was a loyal customer too. Maybe your best.”
“No kidding. I’ll miss…” I can’t bring myself to admit it. “The income.”
“Liar.”
“Bitch.” I smile as I deliver the lighthearted curse. “Pay attention. The younger, blond-haired guy approaching from the north looks interested. He’s done a not-so-subtle browse twice already, debating. Seems like he could be a fun one. Nice body under that soft gray fleece.”
“Damn, you’re right. I gotta go. I’ll check in later. Maybe we can grab some breakfast?”
“Sure.” If my appetite for nourishment in forms other than a hunky bouncer reappears anytime soon.
Why did Mari have to plant her wild ideas in my brain—in my heart? She couldn’t have known Rick’s boss Tommy had arranged to drop off my check from the Kinkmas pageant in less than a half an hour. How hard would it be to ask, casually, if Rick had made it home yet?
Damn it, no. If my costar—my client, my friend and the only true lover I’ve ever had—cares for me to know where the hell he’s vanished to, he’ll impart the news himself. Did my decision to walk away after a night of public thrills and private sharing kill any chance we had to sustain even our casual relationship? Had he realized dating a sex worker couldn’t lead to anything but disaster?
Truth is, I’m afraid to ask. I’ve nurtured the fuzzy tingles in my belly, hoping for another chance to stretch our boundaries or at least return to the intimate exchange of pleasure we’ve perfected over numerous sessions in my window.
The answer could fracture the delicate spark glowing in my core. It’s too new, too brilliant for me to take the chance.
So, I stand here, wearing the platform-heeled boots that make me the perfect height for Rick to fuck while I’m standing, bent over on my loft stairs. I wait—not so patiently. I dream—of what might have been with one special partner while hundreds of others consider purchasing the goods I would freely give my absent lover. A fraction of what I’d gift him with really since our trust ensures I’d journey deeper into kinky sexuality in his arms than I would with the average patron.
Our electrifying Christmas show had proved the extremes we were willing to indulge in onstage before the admiring gazes of a thousand or so strangers. Could Rick abandon what they’d all applauded, the chemistry arcing between us as bright as the sparks he’d harnessed to thrill me? My hand slips over my ribs to cup my breast, rubbing my straining nipple.
A man crashes into the bicycle rack in front of my window.
Not the first time that’s happened. Mari and I have joked about strapping a pillow to the weathered metal or covering the flaking paint with a coat of florescent orange to avoid a negligence lawsuit.
Even the unintended compliment can’t inspire my smile for long. I miss the radiance of Rick’s eyes, the imperfection of his twice-broken nose and the well-muscled frame he fills out so damn well. Almost as much as I mourn the loss of his open-minded acceptance, genuine attentiveness and the natural attraction that billows between us like a mushroom cloud whenever we enter the same space.
A gnawing ache twists my stomach. Hunger has built inside me since I rejected the feast Rick offered on Christmas day. Despite my ironclad belief it had been the right decision for Rick and his family, fifteen days have oozed by with the bizarre unnaturalness of
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