Friday, December 17, 2010


“i’m serving dinner for 9 to-night…” her favourite sesame street singalong plays on a loop inside her head as she readies herself, interrupted only occasionally by the mantra “all things are possible”.
“we’re going to dine by can-dle-light…” she hums+giggles through the hot wax then bites down on lyrics as she tears strips now forested with tiny hairs from her legs. real audio ends at her bikini line where true grit begins, happy little ditty reduced to wordless melody in her head. but the rewards will be handsome; she knows well this pain pays dividends. tonight brings no ghost of christmases past or future, just presents.
she inspects her work in the mirror, wishing again for better light, knowing she knows this routine intimately and leaves nothing ungroomed, unoiled, untended. she turns slowly, triple-checking.
“i hope that every-one brings their appetite…”
she briefly pouts over the dinner ruined, roasted beyond recognition while she fought with demetrius’ father on the phone when he tried to back out of keeping him, then shrugs it off. it won’t matter. hunger is tonight’s menu.
she blows a kiss over her shoulder at the self trapped on the closet door and smiles appreciatively at the sight of her ass, anticipating his spank of approval. she maintains herself well in spite of often rough use accepted as occupational hazard, prides herself on skin+physique that boast none of the marks of abuse so many others in the trade carry.
before donning panties she downs a miniature bottle of hennessy to warm her cockles, a silent toast to holiday-wish-fulfilment. silky black briefs with white lace trim whisper over thighs, then she dips a finger dipped in musk into her navel and is ready to host the nicest naughtiness of a working girl’s year.
tonight all things are possible. even love.


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