Condolences

On call has turned out to be not called. At all. Which is problematic, as it's hard to be a hooker if you're not hooking. I'm willing to accept that Easter is not a busy time for whores of all varieties, but I mean, really. I've read four novels, one book of criticism, a comic book anthology, and still no escapades to speak of.

So I had to resort to the more usual sort, and set out on Friday to slake my bodies randy-tom feeling the old fashioned way, and pulled at the bar. He was smaller than me, and it'd been a while, so there was a certain amount of me tossing him about, pulling him up to my face, holding him there while I attacked him with my tongue; then twisting him round so I could fuck him. You know, recreation. I do think I was still drunk when I got up in the morning at his, because I made the careless, kind-hearted gesture of leaving him my phone number before he drove me home.

I've had five dead-click messages and several texts in less than two days. I miss you so much, was one of the last ones.

Funny how you can go from zero, to needy, to crazy in such a short period of time.

I'm going to sort out this Agency nonsense this afternoon. I mean, it's not like I'm not hot. I've been at the gym and everything, and this boy needs new shoes.