Dichotocatocutomies

Once, I met a man.

Doesn't that sound like the beginning of some pornographic fairy tale?

Anyhow. Once, I met a man. A traveler. He had me meet him at a hotel. He was waiting in the lobby. He said he would know me when I entered. I stifled, but will I know you? Of course, I didn't. I looked around...lost, nervous. There, him. Studying me. It must be.

I was all smiles and gangly knees and elbows. How can I be soft and warm and plump and still gangly? It is possible, trust me.

He had me kneel. In the lobby. It felt so...uncomfortable. He was leaned back in his chair. I imagine he pictured me with his cock in his mouth.

That came later.

I had to purchase condoms at the front desk. Effortless casual chat, I'm good at it. I don't enjoy it. But I put it on, lest the clerk think I'm a whore. Inwardly enjoying that the clerk may, in fact, be wondering if I am. I was given money to buy the condoms. It felt hot in my hand, the money. The condoms felt hotter. I went to where he was waiting around the corner. I gave the change to him, and he took it even as he walked two paces ahead.

Near his room, he told me, finish the rest of the way on your knees. I smiled, uncomprehending. The blood in my head making it difficult to hear him well. On your knees. I smiled again, laughed. Really? On my knees? What is all this about? Remembering this is what I'm here for, on my knees, but laughing.

My purse, too long, dragging on the floor beside me. Laughing still.

His face, immobile. I choked it back, but the moment was lost.

Later, he slapped me. That knocked the smile off.

I wasn't ready. Am I now?