I am not entirely sure what took place to get me to the next guy, but it ended up fucking awesome! What girl doesn’t want to go shopping with cold hard cash, and not have to do nothing more than smile and give a fuck you wink in return for it? I showed up at a coffee shop, ocean not to far away. Was told to wait for a red Ferrari. This was total bullshit, but I went with it. How could I possibly be in harms way sitting in public, at a coffee shop and simply waiting for car to pull up to the curb?
Unfortunately for the husband, he was just a job and I shut off like a light when the job was over. And, unfortunately for him, his wife made the rules, and she flicked the switch. He kept calling night after night, breathing heavily into my ear. He was craving to be inside me and for the words I love you. I had already turned cold and She, was already on the hunt for a new client. My final words to the husband, “I know who this is. Don’t ever fucking call me again.” And he didn’t. That was the end of the end of the Married Couple and the husband.
The truth is, on a sexy scale of 1-10, the husband was an 8. The wife was a 4. And that’s being nice. I never understood how the hottest guys always end up with ugly ass bitches. I had to close my eyes, trying hard not to cringe when she touched me. But with the husband, I got off on hearing him say I love you. I tried to make it appear to the wife like a fetish thing, essentially it was. For him, he was in love with me and hiding it from her, was only going to last so long. I had very little respect for the wife. She was harsh, bitchy, controlling and dumb as a fucking rock. Everyone knows if you don’t want to get burned, don’t play with fire.
He would have his ***in the book only details***. His large hands cradling my head with his warm, smooth, strong body shielding and protecting me. I would whisper ever so gently, “Tell me you love me.” He would first look at his wife for permission but neither of us needed it. It was all there in our bodies, our senses, our emotion, our gestures, and our breathing. His words, “I love you,” ***in the book only details*** was my heroin, and I was his.
When his chance came, he fucked me like I’m sure he hadn’t her in a long time, or, if ever. I could hear it in his breathing and I could feel it in his intensity. He wasn’t fucking me. He was making love to me. A man doesn’t cradle a woman’s head, caress her face, and stare her in the eyes; treating her body like a glass rose when he’s fucking her. I’ve been fucked, a lot, and that, was not fucking. Whenever he had the chance to kiss me, hold me or pull me close, he did. He would be smiling at me, while rolling his eyes at her.
Behind her back, he showed me the secret box in their closet where they hid their cash and promised, no matter what, I would be taken care of. I assume he made sure I still got my full pay when the wife decided she no longer wanted me. I can only imagine the ferocious bitch attack he got for that. It’s not that it wasn’t working for them; it wasn’t working for her. She was watching her husband make love to me, and neither of us was into her as much as we were into each other.
The phone rang with a private number. I answered. It was silent, other than heavy breathing, listening to me to say hello over and over again. Why the fuck do we do that? Clearly if someone doesn’t say anything it’s either a prank call, or they can’t hear, and they’ll call back. Instead we sit on the fucking phone, fishing for a voice of attention and intention to call us. It’s like a deep seeded need for validation and total denial someone could actually purposely prank call.
I hung up the phone after saying “Hello? Who is this? Can you hear me?” longer than I should have. The phone rang again. I answered, again. Heavy breathing, again. This time I said hello once and hung up. It rang again and that time I didn’t answer. A minute later a voice mail popped up. It was nothing but heavy breathing, this time more aggressive and progressive. It was the husband. Just like when he was fucking me, breathing in my ear like he couldn’t go deep enough or get enough. After you fuck someone, you don’t need information or a voice. Just like I didn’t need to know Craig to know him, I didn’t need the husbands voice to know it was his breath on the other end of the phone.
The husband was really good at playing to the wife I was all for her. He stayed in the room like a good boy the first night I came over, waiting for her to call him in. Whenever the wife was in the same room as us, he pretended to be more into watching her with me than he was into wanting me for himself. He waited patiently for his turn; for his wife to tell him, it’s OK to fuck me. Like she was giving him permission to play with his new toy.
I don’t remember anything after driving away that day until I was awakened by prank calls. Not sure what She was up to and for how long. It could have been that night, a day, maybe several. I was asleep on the pull out sofa bed in the living room. Apparently We stopped sleeping in the bedroom after an unexpected visit from Her dead dad. Not that the living room was off limits to angels or ghosts or spirits or what ever they are. That had to be mentally jarring cuz I remember that crazy ass shit too. I don’t believe in scary ghosts and all that haunting bullshit. Based on the religious nonsense She was into, I assume She doesn’t believe in scary ghosts either. But that scared the shit out of me.
I had never seen anything from what those fucking people, looking for deeper meaning, call the “spiritual realm,” and almost suffocated hiding under the blankets. My heart was pounding so loud and fast I thought for sure it was going to burst out of my fucking chest. It’s not every day I saw a faceless, floating, glowing image of Her dead dad, beer-belly and all. Who’s that guy that wrote those books about serving beer in hell? Well guess what ass hole… looks like they serve it in heaven too, and it’s still cold.
“truth is where the answers are. knowing the mindset & reality that reels women into the sex industry will help keep them out #TrueStory
her secret diary entries were left “for the whole damned world to read” exclaimed in her words. to help the next girl “not have to take the call”
respecting her final request : 15% of all sales will be given to a charity or organization fighting to stop sex trafficking and slavery.
accepting suggestions for notable organizations now.
It was never going to work with both She and I coming in and out. She had an inability to lie. MISS goody-fucking-two-shoes was messing with my head. The wife was too suspicious. As usual, the husband was more into Me than his own wife. Duh, what the fuck did the dumb bitch expect. She gave her husband a new pussy on a girl that has a gorgeous face to go with it. Merry fucking Christmas. He’s just a perverted man.