I do not remember their names. Their faces refuse to be familiar. Every time I believe myself to have successfully identified one of them he turns out to be someone else. They try to force the memories out of me. They show me their dicks, some with piercings, tattoos, or other interesting sizes and curvatures but they're all new to me. None of them stick out enough to make me remember being stuck inside of me. Eventually they give up. They tell me what they want. i tell them how much it will cost. If they tell me it's more than last time I charge them less, if they tell me it's less than last time I charge them more. I make what I can, I don't have a quota.
No matter how hard I try I can't remember them. I cannot remember what these men like, what they wanted me to do to them or how much it cost them before. There is no such thing as a regular customer for me.
I do not remember who likes to have his nipples bit, his balls sucked, or his ear licked. I do not know why they come back. I do not remember if these men are married, if they are depressed, or if they will need to shower after we have sex. I can not remember. I know what they tell me. If they lie, it becomes tonight's truth.
Tonight is Wednesday. Tonight I am with John. Tonight he has spent the last half hour trying to make me remember that we sleep together once a month. I do not charge by the hour. I charge by the act. If we do nothing, I get nothing. That doesn't happen often. John has a tattoo of an anchor on his shoulder. "it keeps me grounded." John used to be in the military but was dishonorably discharged for sleeping with girls that "looked a lot older" than they actually were. John already knows that I don't remember him but I can tell he wants me to . It doesn't matter if I remember, it won't make the sex any different. It won't make me his wife and it won't make him any less likely to call me in a month. He keeps telling em about the navy. I can tell that he misses it. He does not say much about his wife just that "she's nothing like you...she doesn't listen to anything I say." John likes to play a little rough. He pulls me by my hair and kisses me heavily breathing tobacco down my lungs. THe closer he gets to me the more I can tell that he's a devout smoker. The smell of tobacco has formed a coated layer of stench over his clothes. I want him to shower before we have sex."Why does it matter?" He asks, "I thought you were my dirty girl." I don't remember this role but obviously I've played it before. Aside from that he tells me that he doesn't have time to shower because if he comes home to late again his wife will "murder" him. He laughs, I smile and let him continue to assualt my mouth with his own.
I dont't know if they love me. I just hope tht they don't. I'm not sure what love is, not sure if I've experience it. All I have is slight rememberances of certain men whose names I can't recall who I hoped would stay inside of me slightly longer after they came.
The minute John touched me tonight I was sure that I did not love him. I was sure that I never could.
After we finish I wait quietly as John showers and when he exits the bathroom, fully naked, I can see even in the exceptionally dim room, that despite no longer being a memebr of the armed forces he has nto give up on exercise, and though his body is in amazing condition I want nothing more than to watch his backside walking out of the room. At this moment I do not think that I want to be with John again. I touch my neck and fell the tender spots where his fingers dug into me a little too hard and I fell the throbbing pain between my legs his unaplogetic thrusting created and I just want to stop, everything. I want him to leave, immediately. I don't want to be with John again but he tells me that he will be reserving our room again for a month from now. But next month I will know him as Johh. Until he gives me his name he will be just anothe stranger propositioning me in the middle of the park.
I hope that love is nothing like this. I hope that I will not wish for love to walk out of the door faster as he counts off two hundred dollars from a wad of cash. He sits the money on the nightstand. I don't touch it yet. His money isn't clean, but it help me get through another month.
No matter how hard I try I can't remember them. I cannot remember what these men like, what they wanted me to do to them or how much it cost them before. There is no such thing as a regular customer for me.
I do not remember who likes to have his nipples bit, his balls sucked, or his ear licked. I do not know why they come back. I do not remember if these men are married, if they are depressed, or if they will need to shower after we have sex. I can not remember. I know what they tell me. If they lie, it becomes tonight's truth.
Tonight is Wednesday. Tonight I am with John. Tonight he has spent the last half hour trying to make me remember that we sleep together once a month. I do not charge by the hour. I charge by the act. If we do nothing, I get nothing. That doesn't happen often. John has a tattoo of an anchor on his shoulder. "it keeps me grounded." John used to be in the military but was dishonorably discharged for sleeping with girls that "looked a lot older" than they actually were. John already knows that I don't remember him but I can tell he wants me to . It doesn't matter if I remember, it won't make the sex any different. It won't make me his wife and it won't make him any less likely to call me in a month. He keeps telling em about the navy. I can tell that he misses it. He does not say much about his wife just that "she's nothing like you...she doesn't listen to anything I say." John likes to play a little rough. He pulls me by my hair and kisses me heavily breathing tobacco down my lungs. THe closer he gets to me the more I can tell that he's a devout smoker. The smell of tobacco has formed a coated layer of stench over his clothes. I want him to shower before we have sex."Why does it matter?" He asks, "I thought you were my dirty girl." I don't remember this role but obviously I've played it before. Aside from that he tells me that he doesn't have time to shower because if he comes home to late again his wife will "murder" him. He laughs, I smile and let him continue to assualt my mouth with his own.
I dont't know if they love me. I just hope tht they don't. I'm not sure what love is, not sure if I've experience it. All I have is slight rememberances of certain men whose names I can't recall who I hoped would stay inside of me slightly longer after they came.
The minute John touched me tonight I was sure that I did not love him. I was sure that I never could.
After we finish I wait quietly as John showers and when he exits the bathroom, fully naked, I can see even in the exceptionally dim room, that despite no longer being a memebr of the armed forces he has nto give up on exercise, and though his body is in amazing condition I want nothing more than to watch his backside walking out of the room. At this moment I do not think that I want to be with John again. I touch my neck and fell the tender spots where his fingers dug into me a little too hard and I fell the throbbing pain between my legs his unaplogetic thrusting created and I just want to stop, everything. I want him to leave, immediately. I don't want to be with John again but he tells me that he will be reserving our room again for a month from now. But next month I will know him as Johh. Until he gives me his name he will be just anothe stranger propositioning me in the middle of the park.
I hope that love is nothing like this. I hope that I will not wish for love to walk out of the door faster as he counts off two hundred dollars from a wad of cash. He sits the money on the nightstand. I don't touch it yet. His money isn't clean, but it help me get through another month.
