“Hello, Dane. What can I do for you?” We negotiate before I allow him to enter, as is customary. Not because I don’t trust him or wish to haggle, but because I’ve found it enhances his excitement to engage in the ritual despite our mutual understanding of exactly what he requires. “A half-hour session, missionary, with you fully naked. I want to suck on your tits—” I tune out his requests, which we both know I won’t deny. “Star?” Dane, one of my more mature, less-aggressive customers, shifts from scuffed shoe to scuffed shoe, tossing uneasy glances over his shoulder. “Is…is that okay?” “I’m sorry for your wait.” I reach out and enfold his chilled hand in mine. “That’s fine. Come inside so I can warm you up.” “Never a problem there.” He pats my fingers as he slips through my window. I lock the door behind him and slide the curtain across the pane, obscuring us from the world outside, blocking the teeming reality beyond my sanctuary. Inside, there’s only us and the encounter we build together.
