MoM

By David Quinn

"Get undressed," the hooker ordered. "This ain't the best job in life," she continued, planning purposely to violate all the rules of English 101, "but I do it real good. One-hundred percent satisfaction or your money back." She paused a moment letting her promise sink in. And then to the punch line: "With me you’ll get to do what all men wanna do but can’t manage on their own."

"What I don't do," she continued, exhaling deeply. "What I don’t do at all are johns with half their clothes on. With me it's all the way or nothing."

They'd been kissing and her mouth tasted like a ball of cotton saturated in beer and cigarette butts. And that, too, was something that comes with the territory. The good thing, though, is how short the labors of love usually take.

Showing the way, she pulled her blouse over her high-cheeked head and reached behind to unfasten the black bra. "Will you help?" she asked as the seaman’s eyes hungrily took in the sight of her cleavage. Even if these johns are a little on the cautious side, once you get their blood concentrated away from their heads and south of their belts, you can do anything you want.

Working full-time hours and trying to finish a book she’s been writing two years. What’s important? Keeping up with her kid: Read to him; help him with homework; tell him you love him everyday.

The out-of-shape mate spun around his whore as her bra fell to the floor and his alcohol-inflamed lips ignited and seared one of her nipples. And then quickly the other.

"Hurry," she whispered, pushing herself out of his grasp. "Get your pants and socks off. Everything."

Again setting the example, her skirt dropped to the floor, and then she started a 3-D performance so the john could optically devour all of her in the prolonged act of stepping out of bikini underpants. Sex and seeing, for men, are like throwing gasoline on a fire.

A moment after she slid onto the unmade bed next to the Old Salt, he turned into a surfacing whale about to blow its top. There wouldn't be any foreplay here, she knew, but that was something she'd long before stopped expecting from anyone. And she was right. Crusty entered her like a wrecking ball knocking down a wall and she arched her body to make it good for him: to hear him moan and groan with pleasure.

"Ooooh!" she faked as convincingly as possible. "Tell me when," she blew in his ear like the venting of a volcano. "I wanna do it with you. Tell me when."

"Now! Now! Now!" the jaded and forever jilted Odysseus bellowed as his semen sack burst its binding.

And that's precisely when this world-weary’s Penelope fulfilled her promise: Sexual climax and the Last Voyage at the same time. "I always save the best for last," she gloated. As his body went limp on top of her, she rolled him over and in a moment completed her mission, finishing up by giving Old Crusty the best of what she had promised.

And with that simultaneous satisfaction, it was all over.

                                    **********

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