GEWICHT: 50 kg
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I woke up, still drunk, on a thrifted couch in a punk-house living room. Aaron and I shook off the sleep in the shower and when he touched me, I felt like vomiting.
He always wanted sex. I always had sex, but rarely wanted it. I submitted and fell to my knees, praying for him to finish before my jaw locked. It was a workday and, as usual, Aaron was robbing me of the sexual energy I was saving for my johns.
I finally swallowed and stood up, bruised from kneeling in the empty tub. He was something out of a fairytale — a radiant woodland creature whose innocence disturbed me. Aaron left the bathroom to fry thick-cut bacon for Leo. I locked the door and spit blood in the sink. My reflection disturbed me. There were silver-dollar pockets beneath my eyes and my cheeks had puffer-fished with beer bloat. Outside of the motel, Leo pointed to the pool and begged me to take him swimming.
I stumbled across the gravel walkway to the main office. There was an unspoken agreement between us. I turned on the lights and stripped down to my thrifted lingerie and heels. Professor Mike knocked at 1: Professor Mike was one of many johns with pedophilic tendencies. He loved that I was nineteen. He called himself a prostitute connoisseur — a title born from his inability to sleep with blonde college students — and prided himself on his knowledge of sex work etiquette.
He knew how to tip. He knew when to check the clock. He knew to set the money on the table. He knew how he wanted me to suck his cock. When he finally did, he spasmed like a water mammal. When our session ended, I returned the key to the front desk, the shame sitting on my tongue like morning breath.