Biography of a Whore

As I had always been fascinated by biographical theme of women in my stories, this short story came easy by observing the nature of social interactions through web.

 

I woke up and there was nothing new to ponder. There’s no news to bring about significant feelings. There was no food to tatter my teeth against, hence, my stomach started to grumble.

My hands are sweating at noon, reliving the spot it had been the night before. Even now, I feel the starry eyed faces cemented against the small screen, asphyxiated by their own breath. Few hours and 3 days waiting. That’s what it takes to live. I checked my account once again to make sure they paid what they owed my time for. My precious time is their precious time.

Being in this business for years, I have learned the dark endeavors of human pathetic life, not even a psychiatrist could have figured out. No one gets satisfaction from being superimposed. No one gets off from telling a life story. It only but reminds you of what is there not to live for.

To be the top in my league requires ingenious marketing strategy. Clients inquire for the value called “appealing.” Let me tell you that appealing could be vaguely subjective. The niche, flitted in various distinctions, specifies a physique and behavior supplemental to an effective masturbation. Oh I’m so glad they invented the net. My subtle rakish pursuit is definitely less competitive than the warriors of street business.

Unlike any other money-making scheme, clients in this business are quiet easy to bait without the fuss on key marketing words, except for an occasional tone of reinforcements the dictionary didn’t have to know. Hot, wild, pussy, BJ, MILF, chat, show for pay, etc. Opening clauses and acronyms are usual, preferable than a statement with subject and predicate. There are explicit sites open for an easy-done-deal transactions and negotiations while there are some that opens an opportunity for obligated sponsorship. I could definitely stand an old man, contracted with muscular spasms and aging blotted skin than younger or middle aged-men, mostly chaffing for a discount.

It is essential to update snapshots of the merchandise every time. I prefer to work alone in that area. With a pimp, exposure and fashion paraphernalia can be bagged for free but that would take out 70% of your actual earnings—if you get lucky. Then there’s the waiting time. You eliminate the free loaders and chatters from “serious takers” as they put it. There are newcomers and not-so-sure-about-this-shit-but-I-intend-to-try mediocre that need some guiding sometimes. Special holidays slow the pace of usual business hours because men, no matter how uncontrollably cavernous prick they are, have little veneration for family ties. Yep, most of them have families too. Kids who use their parent’s credit cards, husbands who have to turn over pay checks to nagging wives, and the antisocial nerds who disproportionately spend their entire addictive life online (but the biggest spenders, I have to commend)–all have lapsing moments, not good for my business.

It’s a skill to make both my client’s and mine’s time lucrative for progressive negotiation. Dress up for the night and say the right words. Establish an atmosphere mutually stimulating by creating a pleasing image.

“Wana have fun tonight baby?” He’d grin and challenge you back.

“What do you have in mind?” he says.

“How about I show my kind of fun?” my fingers slowly skinning the bare garment.

“I would love to watch you babe.” his hands travel down the unseen place, boisterous and palpitating.

Now I’m ready for a bit of theatrical coquetry. Eyes frown bidding with slight tears. “I know you think I’m just a whore.” My voice innocently reverberates like a breastfeeding woman. “But I touch myself to forget about my worries. I like to go back to school when I made enough money from this and support my younger sisters.” I have to warn you to never over-fuckin’ do it. Too much sentiments could squash down the blood in his groin. If the conflation of human elements were expressed right, you could get paid in an instant. A sadist favors the role of abusing an oppressed woman. A regular guy would love to think he’s helping out while helping himself.

Like I said, most women prefer an old man. They are often repeating customers with an eye for attachment. They often hand you a ticket to an early retirement in return for elephantine attention and adoration. They suck young blood for eternal youth while their wives found a menopausal grand place in a wheelchair knitting shirts for their grandkids.

You think I enjoy doing this? I consume insurmountable ATP of energy every time, extracting a squirt out of my aging body. If efforts are hopeless, I fuckin’ pee. That’s right guys. Women pee when desperate measures call. Nympho who claims she squirts all the time is an absurd analogy for pallid business management. They want attention more than anything else. It’s like using the merchandise for own use, instead of profiting by selling it. If you haven’t figured out, to live is extenuated by making money, rather than making money to live.

As long as I live, I cannot be loved without the chains of my past. Not by a patriarchal decent man in every girl’s dream. MY men dogged at seeing the opportunity in my skills. As I age, there’s little bask of freedom left, only resentment and isolation. Although I have gone used to posing as a haughty whore , gaiety and in control, there’s a sheepish little soul wanting to take it back. Oh well, we are all but stuck in this mud hole called world.

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