Fucker showed up!

What the other girl in my fucking head did during my off hours to get me into these kinds of situations I don’t have a clue but this one was going to be the easiest pay day for me if this dude actually showed up. And you know what? The fucker did! A red Ferrari pulled up in front of the coffee shop. Walking towards it I thought how funny this will this be if it’s a complete coincidence. But it wasn’t. I walked right up to the car and the guy inside didn’t even want to talk or get out. He handed me $300 cash and said to have a good day and sped off down the street in his red Ferrari! God fucking bless America.

What did I do? I had a great fucking day! I went shopping…

CONFESSION #3 – DUDE IN THE RED FERRARI

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?

THE END OF THE MARRIED COUPLE

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.

PLAYING WITH FIRE

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.

MAKING LOVE

 

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 HUSBAND

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.

BEERS IN HEAVEN

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.

***accepting now***

“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.

FLIPPING, FLOPPING FUCKED UP PANCAKE

The day at the swap meet was complete failure. There wasn’t enough alcohol. They wanted to walk around, hold hands, be this “hot” threesome in a crowd; and She was too present. She stayed behind. She was quiet. She was polite. She was everything I fucking wasn’t. Like I said, total opposites. I kept trying to push Her down and be that confident, sexy, out spoken, get what I want when I want and don’t give a fuck, alluring mysterious bitch I am. She made me look like a flipping, flopping fucked up pancake. At the end of the day, back at their apartment, the wife didn’t want Me go back up with them.

This was when I realized I didn’t only need alcohol to send Her back into the deep abyss of Our subconscious; I only needed to get really angry. That was a new dimension I would work with moving forward.

The wife confirmed what I already knew from the moment her fucked up face opened the door. She said, “Something is weird and not working for us with you.” No shit, shit for brains-face. You’re ugly, weird and disgusting. You tracked down my car like a fucking stalker.

Trying to force myself to block your face out of my head while… ***GRAPHIC-X-RATED-BOOK DETAILS*** …makes Nightmare on Elm Street seem like watching Elmo on Sesame Street.

It’s not working for you? hahaha It was never working for me! I just wanted my fucking money. And then she pulled out an envelope. Inside was my full pay. My anger turned instant relief. She wished me well. I drove away from the Bleached-White-Insane-Asylum and that was the last time I saw her ugly face. But it wouldn’t be the last time I heard from the husband. He was like a kid that got his new Christmas toy taken away…

MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS

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.