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Show 121 shivered. I felt as sexy as an oyster. I gave my partial another lap around the track. Time went by. She came in quickly, glanced at me as she locked the door, said OK, finish undressing (time is money), and walked over to the corner sink to fill a basin with water. This was_ it. I took off my socks, my pants, grasped my shorts and looked at her. She was ignoring me. She didn't look much like a whore, she looked more like a thirty-year-old housewife in a cotten house-dress who is worried about her kids and husband and paying bills. She looked harrassed. Then she bent over to grasp the hem of her dress, lifted it up and over her head so that, except for her shoes, black pumps, she was naked. Now I suppose she looked like a whore, but a harrassed one. She pressed one hand to her forehead: "Boy, have I got a headache. That last guy took forever." Ross? I mumbled sympathetically and, unable to stall longer, took off my shorts. If only I didn't have to be so naked. She brought the basin to me, held my parts in her hand to inspect them, then washed me. I hadn't expected that and I was shocked. I didn't think it would be this intimate. She dumped the water, closed her eyes a moment. "This damned headache." "Did you take an aspirin?" "Two. I guess they ain't working yet." "Busy night, huh?" "Ever'body comes on Saturday night. Why don't they spread it out through the week more?" "I'm sorry." "What's wrong with a piece on Monday night?" "I can come back." This didn't have to be it. "We're started, honey, might as well go through with it." "Monday'd be a great night." |
