This is the fifth part of my adventure with Yaz, my utterly fabulous Asian personal whore. Having spent our first night without firstly settling a financial transaction, our relationship has arrived at its first crossroads. How will I feel if she continues to earn her living using her incomparable body, and what will she do if she doesn't? Questions, questions ...
However, we have a date ... at the Jazz Club.
Do enjoy, and don't forget to vote and comment (if you do!).
-- -- -- --
Clearing up, reflecting, taste of cum lingering.
You showering.
Duke Ellington on the radio, Take the A train, prophetic.
Booked the tickets, to be sure, 9pm.
Table for two.
Conscious this is different, is it for you?
Utterly besotted.
Now, from before, one thing different.
Paying for it, exciting, taboo, a secret.
Going home, reliving in mind's eye, in bed, tissue.
Everything simple, but now?
Shaking head, I can say nothing.
-- -- -- --
Under the warm water, revelling, cleansing.
One thought, incessant, tormenting.
Dilemma, respectability versus income.
Simple correlation, with or without you.
How long has it been?
Three weekends, two tricks, a strip-show and last night.
Yes, last night, he likes to watch.
Interesting, think more about that.
What next, who knows?
Towelling, finding t-shirt and shorts, big, yours.
Reflection, not exactly sexy!
Even to you.
-- -- -- --
Lazy afternoon, chatting, anything and everything.
Excepting one thing.
Old film on TV, head on my knee, stroking your hair.
Peaceful, reflective, can't take my eyes off you.
Wondering what the film was about.
Afternoon tea, the Cornish method, cream over jam.
Clock chiming in the hall, six o'clock, time to go.
Sitting on train, coat embracing you.
Drum solo, 'Sing, Sing, Sing' in head, tapping fingers.
Simple plan, stroll to your apartment.
Kiss on the doorstep, you enter, I leave.
Back to the bar return, maybe the denim jeans.
You arrive, a drink, another stroll.
'Absolution', the jazz club, for nine.
With you.
-- -- -- --
An advantage, you're dressed already, not bad.
Pretty respectable, like the club, apparently.
Texted a friend, advice.
Is he cute?
Yes, LBD, hold-ups and heels, silver jewellery.
No, dump him.
Can't go wrong.
Arriving at the station, hand-in-hand, thoughts to ourselves.
Reaching my place, resisting your entreaties to enter.
Laughing, a hand on your shoulder.
"Go!"
-- -- -- --
In the street, peering up, a face, a wave.
Content, ambling, no rush, an hour at least.
'The Bell', becoming my 'local', the return vacant.
No sign of the denim-clad arse, a wry smile.
Not a patch on yours.
Grandfather clock ticking, no music, only in my mind.
The girl from Ipanema, Getz and Gilberto, priceless.
In another world.
-- -- -- --
That'll have to do.
Reflections, a turn, reverse, a smile.
A spray, done, hope he likes it.
Evening set fair, a jacket, clutch bag, time to go.
-- -- -- --
Door opening, closing eyes, it has to be a dream.
No-one can look so good.
Approaching, your smile, simply lost for words.
Wrap-around little black dress, split thigh, nude stockings, heels.
Silver accessories, an 'F' pendant, surely not.
She knows, a giggle, slipping an arm inside mine.
Face approaching, fragrance from heaven, whispering.
"Aren't you going to get your personal whore a drink?"
-- -- -- --
