While I touch up my lip-gloss and mascara, the slowness of my workday reminds me that today is Valentines Day. I've seen reminders throughout the day and evening as well. Most of the husbands and fathers have remembered to buy something nice for their wife, cook supper for her, or take her out on a date.
The early afternoon clientele are what girls on the stroll call "suits"; office workers who slip out from the office for a quick "handie" or a blowjob. When the grey minivan approaches the corner, I rest my arms on the passenger door and ask the usual, "Are you looking for a date, sweetie?" That's when I notice the child car seat in the back, with a flower arrangement sitting proudly in it.
My bent over position allows for a great peek down my low-neck blouse, at my still perky DDs. At 33, my body is still holding up, I think. But, fifteen years of working the streets probably hasn't helped much with that. It can be a rough life sometimes, but James and I do what we do to pay the rent, with enough left over for the drugs that keep us happy.
And while my john invites me in to make a deal on getting him off, I know that James is doing what he does best - fucking bored wives of executives while their husbands are out fucking as much young pussy as they can find. That is how the world works, I guess.
You see, James was gifted with great looks; six-foot-two and an athletic body, as well as a big fat cock that is to die for. He has been servicing older, married women since high school. Word traveled quickly at PTA meetings back then, and now the elegant wives at the country club share their boy toys as well.
So, the suit and I find a secluded parking lot where he unzips and pulls out his hard little dick. I'm happy that it is barely the size of a breakfast sausage. Lots of guys like to push your head onto their cock to hear you gag as you blow them. It is the power that comes with paying for sex. When that time comes, I'll have to fake the choking and gagging part, but those sounds usually do the trick. Time is money, and the sooner he cums, the sooner I find my next client.
I bob my head up and down in time with his firm hand pushing my head down, until my lips wrap around his stumpy root. Slurps and moans give him the sensation that I need his "big cock" as much as he needs to dump his load. In less than three minutes of sucking, the suit gives up the goods. He is a big shooter, but not much volume, so I earn my money pretty easily.
Later in the afternoon, it is more factory workers, wanting a quick blowjob or a fuck. I sometimes work from a shady, dark-lit bar, where they stop off to have a "few drinks with the boys". I will slip into the washroom with a client, if the right bartender is on. He will get his share at the end of the evening for looking the other way.
But that doesn't happen today, so I work the corner some more. A sedan pulls up, and I see the guy toss the wrapped chocolates on the back seat, before he unlocks the door for me to get in. It is Ray, and he is a regular, who prefers going to the park by the bay front to complete our transaction.
He's a bit kinky, though, always asking if I've been busy. He sometimes asks to go down on me before he fucks me in the back seat. I will say things like, "Yeah, clean me up and then you can cum in there too." Ray never fails to cum in the first few strokes. I charge a lot more for bareback, and only with regulars, but Ray has been a client for so long, I give him what we call "his dirty discount".
I meet up with a few more clients before calling it a night. It is late, and I usually eat something from the fridge when I get home. But my man James is waiting for me. He is at the stove when I get in, just turning on the heat to boil the water for pasta. The apartment smells of an Italian restaurant - I love a man who can fuck AND cook!
The kitchen table is set for two; a vase with red roses in it is the centerpiece. At my plate is a foil-wrapped heart-shaped box. I graze the foil with a finger as I pass by, slipping in behind my busy man. My hands glide between his muscular biceps and rib cage, and my body presses into him.
"They're beautiful, James," I announce, my right cheek pressed against the back of his neck.
James turns around, and hugs me tight. "No more than you, Chantelle." Our troubles slip away while each of us melts into the other. I look up for a kiss and his magical lips draw in my lower lip. I am wet already, as I inhale the fresh tomato and basil, as well as James' manly pheromones. Tongues dance, lips suckle, and moans reverberate between us.
Our hands caress the other's body until the sizzle of the overflowing water brings us back to the moment. James turns back and tends to the meal once more. I stir the bubbling meat sauce while James adds strands of spaghetti to the water.
