When it was all said and done, there were far worse ways to wake up than buck-ass naked with a used condom leaking down one cheek. Chris knew from experience that if she didn't end up having to get a haircut from the night's activities it was like water under the bridge. A nice wad of assorted bills stuffed into her sleeping hand meant she wouldn't even have to waste time extracting payment.
What had that guy's name been again? He'd looked confident enough, must have worked out, but he introduced himself with an obviously fake name right at the start. John?
Chris didn't care especially much, she had enough dates who didn't feel like giving her a name in the first place. That said, she would be adding to the bill next time for leaving the condom on her face if he wasn't too much of a coward to use her services again.
Her back hurt and her ass still burned from the pounding he'd given her, gone at it hard for the full hour and had to extend the date since he wasn't able to finish in time. Eventually, she'd taken something from an unmarked bottle and told him to leave the money when he was done. That she'd fallen asleep on the futon rather than in her real bed didn't help things.
John had been that guy, Corey, his friend, hadn't he? The web of contacts wasn't a physical list she could check but it did pay to know where her paychecks were coming from. Corey himself was a little creep, five feet of anger issues in a trenchcoat but he paid without complaint and sent roses besides, which immediately went into the trash.
In fact, on seeing his gifts in her kitchen trash, Chris was fairly sure the little dude popped a boner. Thinking about it, she thought she'd try shoving something up his ass next time he came around. Pegging wasn't her thing but it wasn't exhausting in the same way getting reamed herself was.
Wiping the crust from her eyes, Chris hauled her creaking self up to attention and finally discarded the condom into the pile of who gave a shit in the corner. It was a chilly morning leading into the spring as the goosebumps along her skin and glass-cutting nipples could attest. After making a deposit in her mouth, the landlord had promised to get the heat working in her shitshack; wouldn't his wife like to know how the rent on that unit was paid? Such things didn't happen immediately, she knew, but ground her teeth in frustration anyway.
Next time, maintenance first, blowjob after.
Breakfast, or brunch as it may have been since she realized she'd been asleep nearly until noon, consisted of a cold piece of pizza that would begin walking around in her fridge if she didn't get to it fast and a lemon soda for a hangover which oddly enough she wasn't having for once. Thus ended her non-alcoholic stores.
Did most other people fill out a fridge? She found it hard to find enough of what she liked to get it half full for a week. Other people must have simply been hungrier than her.
Shivering, she caught a whiff of herself. Sweat and cum, what she thought her nose would be numb to by that point, but still...
The boiler was in fact working and Chris was soon able to leave the chilly air behind for a skin-reddeningly hot shower. Soap took care of the crusted up cum on her skin and melted dried lube down the drain. She shoved a finger up her stinging asshole to rub out some of the last bits of lube and wished masturbation would do anything for her anymore as she waggled a finger against the walls of her ass. Nope, nothing good, it just ached all the way through her belly and against her bottom ribs.
Then and there, she decided that she wouldn't arrange any more dates for the day, take one off for a change to rest and recoup on some sleep. It did take a while to recall what day it actually was, but the lack of clomping around by her neighbors upstairs meant it had to at least be a weekday.
And those bastards had the nerve to complain about a rotating door of "boyfriends" going on downstairs? Did Chris go to their places of business and stomp around?
Well, once, but just to prove a point. A couple of creampies in the back of a car dealership later and her neighbor in the corner got awfully quiet until the husband was seen leaving with a suitcase full of his shit and a bruise in the shape of a frying pan.
Chris chuckled into the spray of hot water, good times.
She was loath to step out of the warm mist, but knew her cheapass landlord got the worst boiler on the market and she had to get out before it cut out completely and chilled her to the bone. So, wrapping her damp self in the fluffiest towel she owned, Chris got out and made a mad dash to the bedroom where she kept some actually warm clothes with proper coverage.
This room at least smelled reasonable. She closed the door against the wave of garbage and sour cumstains and breathed a sigh of relief in her little sanctuary. An automatic oil diffuser puffed from the wall socket as if in greeting its master, fighting the good fight against the pervasive odor that had claimed the rest of her apartment. Perhaps it was this burst of rose that kept her nose from adjusting to her lifestyle, but whatever.
Even if that was the case, her mild disgust, unspoken of and cowering in the corner, was one of the only things she could eke pleasure out from anymore. What was left after so many dates to look forward to? Nobody had come up with a new way of humping as far as she could tell, and she'd had the sampler platter.
Outside of mom's control, Chris draped a blanket over her shoulders which would serve well for cuddling and picked up woolen long johns which were not, as the woman would have said, dowdy and unappealing.
Chris slapped herself in the face to get rid of that mental image. Mother wasn't there anymore and there was no reason to keep picturing the bitch.
Returning to the living room to "rest" on the futon with daytime television, she saw that her phone, left in the one clean spot on the floor, was blinking with a text.
'Hello,' it said, 'I got this number in a bathroom, are you really a prostitute? Can I arrange for an appointment today between five and seven PM?'
Not one of her regulars, they were smart enough not to leave a paper trail. Probably not a cop either, they already knew all about her and either tacitly approved or didn't give a shit if she worked in their town.
"A virgin." Chris scoffed. How long had it been since she'd popped a cherry? It was always refreshing to see that look of gratitude on a man who didn't have any better options than her. "Guess he won't be brave enough to ask for anal..."
She typed back, 'We can hang out around then, sure. You know where?'
The response came so quickly that the virgin was sure to have been leaning over their phone since sending the first one. 'Yes, it was also on the wall where I saw your number. Sorry but I had to scrub all of it off the wall since we're preparing for the freshmen coming in this spring.'
'Sure, whatever. Bring a hundred and we'll hang out for an hour, cool?'
'Of course, would you like the money in small bills or would you take a check?'
Chris pinched her nose. 'I srsly don't care, just have it one you.'
'Yes, thank you for your time, ma'am.'
That was that, considerably more formal than most of her dates. Some goodie-two-shoes who would volunteer to clean dorm bathrooms at the local college it sounded like. These days, most of her dates were a single text saying they were going to be there soon or a knock on the door, and she'd resisted change despite the scheduling difficulties it presented. To wit, men arriving while she was with a previous date and being unwilling to wait his turn.
Chris found that such a situation resolved well enough with a coin flip to take dibs on holes. Sure, made it a bit more difficult to arrange a day off, but turning off the ringer and latching the door was good enough for that, if she did have to endure some frustrated knocking.
And she had planned on doing just that, becoming a vegetable in the living room, but fucking a virgin was already like taking a break. She would meet him half dressed at the door, strip on the way to the futon, and if he was lucky he'd get a few pumps in before busting his nut. Not many of them ended up using the full hour.
With five hours left before her date, Chris settled in front of the tv and let it drone on while she took a nap.
A phone alarm woke her at four and in her dozy state she went to get something to drink out of the fridge. As it turned out, the only thing left was a bottle of imported shit she'd been given and hadn't yet given out enough to get rid of it. She hated the idea of walking out to the corner shop for something palatable on her pseudo day off, but she would have to put on clothes at some point either way after all.
Daisy dukes were the choice she'd settled on for her date with the virgin, but there was no way she would be exposing her bare legs to the windchill when there were already goosebumps on her skin standing inside. Sweats it was and a sweatshirt for good measure.
On the very first step outside, she realized that running shoes weren't the best choice for the trip, but it was only five minutes both ways and sucked it up with chilled toes.
The neighbors knew damn well who she was and what she did, the novelty had worn off over the years so nobody craned their necks to get a look. It wasn't approval or acceptance, but once the cops have been called and done nothing a half dozen times already, they'd been faced with the choices of let it go or leave. For her part, Chris ignored the wives' heads shaking as she passed a couple on the stairs.
She resisted the urge to tell them if they'd spent half as much time working out as gossiping, they would still be attractive enough for their husbands that there wouldn't be any problem with wandering eyes. Chris' own twice weekly exercise along with plenty of "alternative activity" had done wonders for her waist. It was jealousy, plain and simply that they didn't cut the same stylish figure as the hooker next door even with that month's fad diet.
Rush hour had stopped traffic near the corner as Chris entered the shop. It was funny to her how these people would have thought their jobs were more important than hers but here they were stuck in bumper to bumper traffic just like every other weekday while that was her second clue that it was, in fact, a weekday. She might have blown a kiss or winked at the cars just to see what reaction she could get, but today a little, irritable bug was squatting in the corner of her head so she just headed inside.
"Hey Jimmy." she said, waving offhandedly to the cashier and catching the start of a blush while she crossed over to the booze. She'd seen him a few times a week since he started working there at a couple of years ago, gave him a free blowie in the back room as a birthday present when he turned eighteen. Sweet guy, too sweet to make use of her since then. She set a pack of bottles and a twelve-pack down for the guy to scan, not enough for a full weekend but she didn't feel like heavy lifting. "How's it going with Twiggy?" she asked.
