For Fuck's Sake

I would like to be a paid whore. I would like for that blankness you see on my face when you approach me to no longer be contrived. I would like to relax into indifference, not have the spawning of a thought or an expectation after that first fumbling fuck.

I would like to have money tossed on my breasts when you are done with me. Not because of the money. But to keep being done, done.

I would like to wear garish lipstick and leave traces of it on you and then forget that it was left there.

I would like to spread my legs and close my eyes and let you all take me one by one. I would like to feel that dirty and that simple.

I would like to turn my face away from your kisses. To not be held in an embrace. I would like to feel that tingling irritation of lips touching the side of my mouth, ticklish.

I would like to think of you as a number. Or an amount.

I cost you this much.

I would like that to be true. Once.