Sitting alone in the dark has always been my normal way to pass time. Most women would look at me and think I must spend countless hours in front of the mirror, plucking my brows, teasing my hair, or glossing my lips. But then most women are mothers, wives, or some lucky guy’s girlfriend, and to be told they are beautiful is an unaccustomed delight to their ears. I envy them.

I glance at the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock. It is both my master and my tormentor. I didn’t buy the infernal thing. It was a gift from the agency, or an investment, if we're being honest .

It’s ten minutes to nine. He is always on time, just like that damn clock. He is a picture of perfect precision, a fine upstanding pillar of the community, a lawmaker, and a complete hypocrite. Of course, I cannot say any of those things out loud or write them down in a diary. Those are forbidden by the agency. Naturally, cameras and video equipment are also on the no-go list. Even my cell is a ten-year-old camera-less phone. When one gets to this level, discretion is not only an asset, it is non-negotiable.

The devil clock shows one minute to show time. I rise out of my chair and turn on the lights. I don’t bother closing the blinds, they are never open. The windows face the empty lakefront, but in this business one can’t be too careful. I slip on my heels and discard my robe. I’m wearing a skimpy negligee that will stop a run-away car or give a dead, gay guy a hard-on.  I remember my first time shopping in Victoria’s Secret.
****
“I don’t know. Should I buy the red strapless one or the black set with the crotchless panties?” I asked the saleswoman.

She allowed her green eyes to caress my body for a few moments, and then she looked around.

“Honey, let’s be honest; when it comes right down to it, it's not the wrappings. It’s what’s underneath that counts. And you could get laid wearing a paper bag.  But, you didn’t hear that from me, darling.”
****
She was right, and the funny thing is, once a client actually had me wear a paper bag, without the eye-holes. I think he had a hard time seeing his sin reflected in my eyes. Come to think of it, most clients prefer it doggy style. At first, I thought it was because of my nice ass, but now I know better, and I’ve come to prefer it too, for the same sad reason.

A life of shadows, a career in secret and shame, that’s how I live. For someone who brings more joy than Santa, it is sad that I would be shunned and arrested if I came out. Others can live freely as they are now. Some have parades in the middle of major cities, flaunting their publicly accepted life-choices. They even have protection against the selfish morals of bigots and intolerant fools, but not me, not us.

The clock strikes nine and I stroll to the door. Tonight is the night everything changes.  Tonight, I strike more than a pose. I strike a blow, no pun intended, for freedom. There’s a knock on the door. Like an academy award winning actress, I slip into character as I open it.

“Hello, Councilman, I’ve been waiting for you.”  My voice drips with seduction and my eyes are heavy with smoldering desire. I look at the handsome, middle-aged man standing before me and I see even more desire behind his baby blues.

“Good evening, Sylvia.” He takes a deep breath and lets his gaze begin the feast. “One of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack opening the door dressed like that.”

John is a sweet man with a kind heart. I actually like him. He isn’t married, mean, selfish, or too perverted, and sees me only because he doesn’t have time for a committed relationship.

I grab him by his silk tie and pull his lips to mine. Our kiss is deep and passionate. His hands tremble as they encircle my hips and glide over my ass.  People think there is no kissing, no intimacy between server and client, but they are wrong. Oh, at first, there isn’t much, but we are all human, and bonds develop with time and closeness. And it doesn’t get any closer than having someone penetrate you everywhere possible.

He pulls back and gazes into my eyes. “Is there something on your mind?” He knows me so well. Almost like a husband who can see beyond his wife’s mask.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” I answer and lead him inside. “After we take care of our mutual need, we can discuss… other things.”

“Are you sure? I have…”

My hands rests on his belt and zipper stopping any further debate.  It is a rare thing to have a client you really enjoy. The poor girls trapped on the streets cannot do this but at my level, I can.  Slowly, I let my guard down, along with his zipper. He is already hard. Stroking his warm shaft in hands I can't help but relish in the knowledge that this… burning flesh, this aching hunger, this bundle of energy, is all for me.  This handsome, powerful man is giving all this, and even risking so much more, to be with me, inside of me, consuming me.

I can't wait any longer.

It takes seconds to strip him, and even less time to shed the next to nothing I have on. Like Adam and Eve we make our way to the shower hand-n-hand.  Neither of us needs it, but there are few things more erotic than being naked under a cascade of hot water with your lover.

If there is one lesson, I would stress to the millions of wives out there, it would be never miss the opportunity to bath with your husband. Doing something so basic, so private, and so vulnerable together with the person you love or at least really like, is the true definition of being naked.  If you don’t have several inches of hard meat sliding inside you within minutes, then it’s time to seek counselling. If you’re thinking that’s easy to say when you’re shaped like a teenager's wet dream, you’re wrong. Passion and lust, like love, has not shape or form, it is in all of us and the only thing holding it back is our fear of letting go.

Speaking of lust, I take my time washing John’s cock, letting our passions build. Moving slowly, alternating my gaze from his hardness to his eyes, I take care to stroke him to the rhythm of his breathing. I should explain something. Men and women are different when it comes to sex. When I’m with my female clients, I never take my eyes from hers when I'm massaging her entire body. A woman’s lust and passion are not centralized to one body part, and until just before the moment of orgasm, she isn’t necessarily thinking about her engorged clit. Now, a man on the other hand, lives within his cock. It is not enough to adore him. You must make him believe you love his cock as if it were a separate person. He has no problem being viewed as a sex object. He actually prefers it. A penis is unlike any other part of a man’s body. It is soft and hard, strong, yet weak too. It has a direct link to not just his mind, but also his heart and soul. It is often a man’s master and comes with its own timing and needs.

“Sy… Sylvia, you’re going to make… make me…”  He’s close; even without his stuttering attempt to warn me, I can tell by the quiver in his balls and swelling of his mushroom like head. His skin is so tight; I can feel the blood pumping within the veins of his cock.

Looking into his eyes, I can see the battle for control rage within. His cock wants to let go and burst onto me, but it’s too soon for John. There is still half an hour left, and he hasn’t tasted me or been inside my pussy yet. I feel him try to pull away from my expert hands. I can’t help but smile as I squeeze tighter. It feels good to be so bad.

“Oh God!” he cries and tilts his head back.

Should I do it? Should release him from his torment? “Wait… not yet.” I am cruel.

I take my hands away and turn off the water. I plan to give him a few seconds to calm down. My alert eyes catch a thin, clear, stream of pre-cum oozing from the tip of his purple cock.

An impulse of naughtiness grabs me and I drop to my knees. Before John can move away, my hot tongue darts forward and licks up the salty fluid.

“No!” he cries as his cock begins to twitch.

I’ve misjudged his passion, and I must be punished. I open my mouth and cover five of his six inches, just as he loses the battle.
I grab hold of his clenching buttocks and let him drive his cock deep into my throat. John is a gentleman; he does not slam away at my face, like his instincts demand. With great control he holds still while his cum shoots into me.

Many women say that cum has a nasty, almost disgusting taste, and they are right. It is one of the reasons they shun letting their man cum in their mouths. Fools, nothing gives a man a greater sense of acceptance than taking all he has with enthusiasm. The trick is to not let his cum make contact with your tongue and taste buds. So, I take John’s cock as deeply as I can, swallowing as fast as I can.

It doesn’t take long. In seconds, I feel his balls drop and his cock relax. Slowly, I pull away and lightly kiss the head of his rapidly shrinking penis.  With his cock still touching my lips, I look up, into his eyes and smile, so that he knows I am happy and satisfied. He smiles back and exhales. In that moment, I know whatever stress he had inside of him is safely deposited in my belly and all that remains in him is peace. Now, it’s time.

“I need your help, John?” I ask, never taking my eyes off his.

“Anything… anything you want. Just ask.” He means it. I could ask for a new car and have it by morning.

“I want to speak before the county board on Monday. It’s time, I… we come out and be legal, just like everyone else. I want to give my argument to legalize adult prostitution in our county. Will you help me?” My heart pounds in my chest like I’m the one getting BJ.

I watch the haze of lust fade from John’s eyes as his mind clears with the implications of my request, and my heart sinks. I know the political risk I am asking of him. As the Chairman, he sets the Council’s agenda. To even be able to speak about legalizing adult prostitution, it must first be presented by a council member. I don’t ask that, because we both know who I want to do that too.

He takes a deep breath and looks away.  I am still holding his wet cock in my small hands; the hands that brought him to the heights of pleasure moments ago. I don’t stoke it or caress it. I just hold it close to me, so that the heat of my breath flows over it.

His gaze falls back to me. I want to yell out, ‘I’m sorry. Never mind, it was a stupid request. Just forget it,’ but for once in my life, I am speechless. More than my fear of rejection, I want to be free. I want to live in the open, and not to be legally judged by the outdate morals and silly fears of mostly wives, who have grown lazy and believe they alone should have a monopoly over a man’s sex life.

“John, I…”

“Okay, Sylvia, but you had better have a good speech prepared,” he says, cutting me off. “You have my vote, but Councilwoman Stevens and her caucus won’t be easily swayed.”

“You…you’re going to sponsor me?” I ask not believing his words.

“Yes, I agree with you. If two men or two women can get married, a man can cut off his penis and pretend to be a woman, and they all are praised by the President of the United States, then how can we tell anyone for what reason they can have sex?”

I am on my feet in seconds. I jump into his arms and press my wet body into his. Tears of joy run down my face as our hearts pound furiously against each other.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, John, and you don’t have to pay me for tonight. It’s on the house.”

“Oh no, I’ll still pay. You’re going to need the money to hire someone to properly edit the speech I know you’ve written. You’d be surprised how one misplaced comma can alter the meaning of what you want to say. This is important. There can be no mistakes.”

The more he talks the tighter I press my breasts into him. The air in the shower is now cool and our skin is drying, but I feel new heat and moisture building in my pussy. I reach down between us and rub his soft cock against my growing clit. If he’s still paying then I intend on giving him his money’s worth like never before.

I know the road ahead is long and likely to fail at first, but tonight I am happy. I feel accepted for who and what I am. Tonight, we celebrate with the lights on, the clock off, and the windows open to the world.