[Fiction] Friday Challenge for May 22, 2009: A high-priced prostitute suspects that one of her best customers is falling in love with her.
She looked at Daddy across the table and suppressed a smile. He had fallen for her, hook, line and sinker, she was almost sure. Why else the expensive restaurant, the champagne, the personal limo instead of the one usually provided by her escort firm? Why else was he looking at her with moony eyes, a silly grin on his face?
Arthur, who wanted to be called Daddy when she was with him, was the big fish she’d worked hard to land, and the work wasn’t over. She nearly grimaced thinking of the night ahead but, in the end, who cared? She’d better buck up because she’d have to live with it -with him-every night if her plan worked.
Oh, there he was, taking her hand, making his moony eyes at her again. She suppressed a shudder when he wet his thick, red lips, leaving a film of saliva that reminded her of the slime of a snail. He sniffled, a nervous tic that always made her want to give him a tissue. His hand was pudgy and its skin flaky from eczema, the nails bitten to the quick. It didn’t matter. The man was filthy rich, and that was all that mattered.
Sex was a great lure, an addiction she was able to feed. Nothing was taboo for her, although her ability to shut down her brain came handy most of the time. She’d had to do a brain dump often with Daddy Arthur. Now she would get the reward she deserved for all those nights… well. She’d rather not think about them.
Daddy leaned toward her across the table. She did the same. He whispered in her ear. Startled, she leaned back. Felt herself blanch. Oh, God, how could she have been so wrong?