There is a Languor of the Life

"I have found a new whore/personal blog to adore. Maybe I'll read you a post some time. I feel myself wanting to morph...make my more sultry whore dreams a reality under your steam"

I am offhand about this in some ways. I am lacking the energy or desire to delve deeply into any more relationships, but lacking also any interest in dating when what I want to do is be fucked. I don't want to top from the bottom either, or I would have told the boy from last week he could have me. All he had to do was reach out and grab. He learned this in a small way when he pulled me tight for a giddy kiss. It was sweet and seemed to come from place of mannerisms that are alien to me now. "I'm gonna have to go out for ice cream with you more often!" he called over his shoulder, picking up his dropped bicycle. I wonder what his cock looks like, I thought, smiling and waving goodbye.

"What do you want to do with him?" Hadj inquires. "I think," I respond "the question is more, what do I want him to do with me?"




Yes, you can buy me dinner and yes I will suck your cock with vigor for dessert. Yes, I have been practicing at home.




I morph, taking shapes I perceive as desirable by others, easily. I lose myself in these projections and eventually self-destruct and flee. Hadj knows all this. He sees me there and monitors me closely to ensure I become no one else in our life together. The goal is for me to keep being me. What then, do we do with the resurgence of interest in whoring? I know he has always preferred the company of whores - befitting my fetish for him as a(n ex) Navy man. I know also that my interest in whores and whoring began to surface just about three years ago, and that my link to the profession is becoming more seasoned. But, I am ever an innocent, sometimes foolhardy. I walk these lines very slowly knowing that I am probably clueless.




It dawned on a me, a year later, that my neighbor propositioned me, didn't just "ask me to dinner", despite the fact that he prefaced his invitation to dine with, "Are you interested in...the entertainment industry...?" In my defense, the question was, mostly, in context. I lack the capability to see what others are thinking even when I know what they are feeling.

My interest in sex-work began at money. I am coming to see more clearly now the differences some women have in their reasons for turning to this profession. I read Hadj's reviews on the whore boards of his region and become ferociously aroused. I want to want the men, and I want to please them. The money seems to be shrinking into the background as part and parcel of the job's entirety. It used to be quick, big cash. Now it's personal. It's desire. It's the whore in me coming of age.