Body for hire

I had to believe that every thing would be fine. I had to trust that the end result would validate the turmoil, drudging through every days' existence that threatened my self worth. I had to justify the means by the ends, so they say. That was the only reason not to hang one's self. The only reason not to drag the needle across the skin, you see.

I had to have faith. It's a common word "faith", yet it does not even communicate the significance of the effort. The work it takes to survive the degrading day to day tasks. The humiliation of servitude that paid the bills and kept my belly full.

See, I am not so different than the whore; she whom sells her time, her body and her service. Service is what people were seeking, a place to come and be fussed over, to be smiled down upon, pleasured by vices. This is what they do. This is what we do.

A thing in which could be done for themselves yet it feels so much better when some one else does it. When I do it for them. To them. This is why they come. This is how they cum. I know. I can feel it in their plastic smiles when they look up at me and ask for things. Wanting from me, their mouths moving up and down, narrowing and thinning their lips.

Speaking their desires, I drug them for as long as they need. And when they are done, we are done. Monetary exchanges signal the end of a transaction, and one by one I watch them fade into the sweet, forgiving morning sunshine.