Kink
I don’t slit Phil’s throat until he says, “I know you love me, too.”
Straddling him, I’m forced to admit, like all my clients, I have a fetish. Disfigurements, deformities more than anything else, make me hot—like the first night Phil drove for me.
He walked hunched-over and smiled crooked. I requested him regularly. After my appointments, we’d get a room and screw each other sore.
I knew better than to get attached. It’s okay, I told myself, as long as he doesn’t notice.
His last gasp echoes off the bathroom walls. So do my words, “Dumb fuck.”
Steven Said,
June 4, 2007 @ 1:38 am
Nasty…You know, in a good way.
BJ Bourg Said,
June 4, 2007 @ 9:07 am
Nicely done.
patti abbott Said,
June 4, 2007 @ 3:22 pm
And so it begins again. And well.