The Pig Farm

Jasmine, that's her stage name anyway, is hot, and she is well aware of it. She's older than the other bargirls, but knows how to use her assets better than any of the fresh faces right off the farm.

I was drawn to her. Not because of how beautiful she is, but because I recognized a kindred spirit. In different ways, we had both taken our bruises in the game of love and stopped playing for good. Love was off the menu.

It was just never going to happen for me. If there had been a demand for barguys, I'd probably be swinging around a pole myself. Why not? Might as well get paid to fuck if you can. I had no more delusions of morality.

We chatted over a few drinks the first night I met her. Lucky it was low season, otherwise I would have never gotten a turn with her.

"I paid your bar fine, but I only want one thing." I told her without even negotiating her fee.

"What's that stud?" she purred at me, trying to improve her bargaining position.

"When we get out of here, drop the act. Let me meet the real Jasmine, or what ever your name really is." I requested.

She looked at me, right in the eyes for what felt like an eternity.

"Why do you think this isn't the real me?" she smiled. Her curiosity was up.

"Come on Jasmine. Look at me. Really look at me. I've been lied to by the best. I've fallen for the fake dreams and empty promises one too many times. Like you, the veil has been lifted from my eyes. I know better now. I know you now. We suffer the same fate, even though we are on opposite sides of this table." I made my speech.

"Why is that so important to you? To meet the real me?" she asked. She is as smart as I thought she was.

"I'm at a point of my life where I've done most everything. I've been the good guy. I've been the hero and I've been the knight. It's boring me to tears. I'm done trying to be good. I want interesting. I want exciting. I want fun, even if it's bad for me. Out of all these brainless twats in here, you are the only interesting one. Probably the only interesting thing in this whole city. I just want to see what makes the real you tick. What keeps you getting out of bed every day. That's all." I explained.

There was a long silence between us. I had no idea what was going on in her head. She had no idea how to respond.

"Jane." She said. My real name is Jane Castillo."

She must have figured out I was not a threat, and that's true. I couldn't think of a single thing worth getting upset over anymore. Maybe I'm a sociopath, and I don't feel empathy.

Would I push a child out from in front of a speeding truck? Yes. Probably. Would I care if it hit me in the process? No. Not a bit.

Not sure what kind of mental illness that is, but it's where I'm at. Getting hit by the truck isn't worth worrying about. The next day the sun will rise all the same, so what's the point of getting mad about it? Such is life. Sometimes you are the windshield, sometimes you are the bug.

I was in her city for as long as I wanted to be. I had left the rat race for good. Defeated in love, but not in business. I had made enough to last.

I usually picked Jane up three nights a week. I left Friday and Saturday nights for the other punters. There was plenty of business then. I was not going anywhere. I could wait for the slower days. The days she was happy to see me.

We didn't even have sex until the second week I started seeing her. Mostly because we ran out of stuff to talk about and got bored. Yeah, we both got off, but it was more like mutual masturbation using each other's bodies. I was getting my release, and she was getting hers. That's all.

We are both pretty good at it though, and sometimes we put some effort into it and it was very good. Sometimes we didn't and it was just adequate. Just get our release and get some sleep. Almost like an understanding between two professionals.

Jane did show me her real self. Not often at first, but it was like at times the effort to put on the act was too much, and her real personality came out. She seemed to care less and less about putting on the act with me the longer we hung out together.

Now, if you think the real Jane was a good person, you'd be wrong. Jane could be nice. Jane could be pleasant, but Jane was not good. Jane is a whore, and I'm OK with that.

She is the first woman I'd ever met that's actually as perverted as I am. She told me stories. Like how she liked to fuck with the newbies. She got off on making them fall in love with her. She would take all their money then crumple them up and throw them away.

"It's my job to ask. It's their job to say no. It's not my fault if the are bad at their job." She once told me.

She liked customers who are good at sex. The more kinky, the better. She was down for anything exciting. She told me about a customer who paid her just so he could eat her ass for hours. Not my thing, but he paid well so she let him. She doesn't judge.

The only big problem she had was a guy into rough sex who got carried away. She has a detached retina from that experience. She let him slap her around in a good, angry fuck that got out of control rather suddenly.

"My favorite customers are the Africans." She explained. "First, most girls are turned off by the dark brown skin. I find it erotic. Second, some of them are really hung. I've had a couple that really made me scream. I enjoyed that a lot." She didn't have any shame in being who she was, and that is what I liked about her.

I admit, I've fucked a few black girls in my time. Pain in the ass to deal with, but damn good fun in bed. They just never get enough. I've done my share of freaks too.

I think Jane was trying to scare me off with the truth about her depravity. It didn't work. I actually liked her more after she told me. We just happened to be both fucked up in the same way.

Jane admitted that she knew her expiration date was coming soon. At 36 years old, she would eventually lose the battle with father time. I asked her what she would do with her life after that.

"Move back to the province." She told me. "I own a big pig farm there. My brothers run it for me. I wasn't blowing all that money I made. I have enough to last. Now I work for the fun of it. Once you get used to the lifestyle, it's hard to walk away."

"Got a boyfriend back there?" I teased her.

"Many." She fired right back. "I won't give up sex, just getting paid for it."

A year or so later, she told me she wanted to slow down a little. The excessive drinking and all night fuck-fests were starting to wear her down. She wasn't ready to walk away, but she had been contemplating a job change. Something that gave her a night off when she wanted it.

It was just a couple of weeks later when she told me she was going to pull the trigger. She had accepted a job in one of the blow-job bars during the day, and would free-lance at nights when she felt like it.

Then she brought up the difficult topic.

"Since I live at the bar right now, I'd need to find a place to stay." She hinted to me not so subtly.

"Two conditions." I replied, knowing where she was going with it. "First, I don't pay for your time anymore. Second, don't bring any customers back to my place."

"What about friends?" she countered.

"Only if I'm involved. Sorry, but that's my requirement. If you want to fuck a friend without me, do it at his place."

"What if it's another woman?" she asked.

"Fine, but I'm sleeping in my bed." I stated. "You both can either join me or take the couch."

"That's fair. I like you. We have fun together. I think you will be happy with some company. We both will." She seemed pleased.

"Sounds more like a partner in crime, which is fine with me." I smiled. I doubt it would ever be boring with Jane.

It wasn't perfect, especially in the beginning. We had our things to work out. For example, I had a clothes washing machine in my apartment, and I learned not to touch her dirty clothes. No idea what that "wet" stuff was I touched, and I don't want to know. I left her laundry alone after that. We had to have a chat about body fluids. I don't do sloppy seconds. Just a few boundaries that needed to be established.

But Jane also did things I liked. She would work days at the BJ bar, and come home super horny. We fucked better than ever on those days.

She didn't just dress sexy, she dressed slutty. She asked what I liked and bought lots of those clothes. We did go out together sometimes, and it fed my ego to be with the hottest woman wherever we went. She at least made an effort to make me happy too.

Then there was the wild nights. She would bring a friend or two home for some fun. Jane is bisexual and liked eating pussy as much as dick. I hadn't realized that the bargirls liked getting each other off when they didn't have customers. It was hot playing with her and a girlfriend or two.

Yeah, sometimes she brought a guy for a threesome. I'm not gay, so there was always some "Jane" between me and the other guy, but it was still fun. I don't need to feed some fake male ego thing anymore. I had no problem fucking her with another guy as long as she was between us.

There was pretty much nothing off limits. What ever perverted thought I had, she was fine with fulfilling. She let me fuck her ass. Not many Filipinas are into that, but she did for me. I did the same for her. When she wanted to try three guys, I was right there letting what ever hole I had get the best pounding I could deliver to fulfill her fantasy.

There were nights she free-lanced, or fucked at someone else's place. I don't know which. I didn't ask, but I had no problem renting myself a warm body to fuck for the night. Sometimes she'd come in early and get into bed with us. There was never any problems with that. We had no jealousy because we weren't in love, and never would be. Neither of us were capable of loving anyone again.

Maybe there wasn't love, but we had developed a good friendship. A respect between actual honest people. We weren't fake with each other. We didn't get on each other's nerves and we didn't need to pretend around each other. It was just comfortable. We could be who we are.

We did what ever we wanted. In the mood for a blowout party? I'll get the liquor. Want an orgy? Jane will fill the bedroom with friends. We lived for the moment and nothing else.

It went on for a surprisingly long time. We had a massive party when Jane turned 40. So bad I had to pay the police three different times not to interfere. Two years later. I turned 45 with the most freaky orgy I'd ever witnessed. I never saw so many people screwing in one apartment before. I don't think Jane wore clothes for 3 days straight.

And one day, just like that, it was over. I came back from a trip to the big city and Jane had all her shit packed up. She was waiting for a truck to pick her up.

I sat beside her for a few minutes as we reminisced about the fun times we shared. All the wild shit we did together. Finally, I brought the subject back to the present moment.

"Going to the farm?" I asked.

"Yes. It's time." She replied kind of sad. "It was a great run though, right?"

"Yeah. It was epic." I agreed.

The truck pulled up and we loaded all the boxes and suitcases. Jane turned to me, and I kissed her. Something I don't normally do.

She separated from me and looked at the truck. Without turning around she said, "Well hurry up. It's a long drive."

Confused, I turned her back around.

She smiled at me and said, "I'm going to need help on the farm. You're coming, aren't you?"