Nov. 11, 1999

Thursday night, September 24

Morty popped over for a long lunch-hour appointment and Milt called at the very last minute to move his 5 o'clock date to tomorrow. What a stroke of luck! After seeing Morty, my intimate parts became hyper-sensitive -- that's the problem with having orgasms on the job. My nerve endings need time to gradually calm down and switch back to professional mode. After Morty, I took the day off and tried to cook up ways to retrain him so he won't expect me to come. I'll bet Jasmine never has this problem. As for Allison, well, who knows with her? I'd be afraid to ask ... At times like this, I simply wish I were frigid. My job would be much easier.

My body is more at ease with Milt than with other clients -- yet I've never had an orgasm with him. Despite the acrobatic nature of our sex, I feel comfortable in my skin. If Milt disappeared, I would miss him. Morty, who makes me come, would only be missed for financial reasons. And the strange thing is, Milt pays more money than Morty! What's it all about?

On Monday, my entire body pulled back, or wanted to, from Bert's demanding mouth. But I kept my cool, allowing him to think he had awaked my appetite for a good fuck. Anything to keep Bert's aggressive lips away from my tender nipples. I like to think I'm well-adjusted at this point, but some clients set my teeth on edge.

It's odd how a girl's body can instantly like or hate a particular man, as if her skin has a will of its own. I would rather not be aroused with Morty but I've come to terms with the fact that my body likes him. Then there are clients, like Bert, whom I try very hard to like -- but my body won't let me. (Bert can't tell -- he seems to think we get on quite well.)

So I look forward to seeing Milt, who has never made any demands on my nerve endings -- he's happy to lie back while I exert myself. And when he uses his tongue, the action is so diplomatic -- my body goes into an accepting, neutral gear that makes him one of my favorite clients. It's so much easier to deliver consistent sex to a guy who doesn't arouse you.

Friday, September 25

I spent the morning debating with myself, and concluded that, if I have to ask one of my johns for a serious favor, I'll ask the one who doesn't turn me on. Give my body one less thing to worry about.

I wasn't sure whether to spring my question on Milt before or after we got started. Then, I was on top, twisting and turning with so much alacrity that I forgot what I was worrying about. I can tell from the way Milt touches me that he has real sex with his wife -- under other circumstances, I could lie back and have that with him, too. But what he's paying for is very one-sided -- I do most of the work. After Milt came, I wrapped a hot, damp towel around his cock.

"We would have made such a great couple," he sighed. "In another life ..."

"Yes," I said, nudging him gently, "especially since you only want to have sex once a week. You'd be no trouble at all."

"Oh, come on, you like me, I can tell," he insisted. "But you're right about one thing. If we lived together, if you saw me every day, you wouldn't look at me the same way when I walk in the door. Still ... if we were a couple, think of the adventures we would have!"

I gave him a sideways look and thought, "I wish you wouldn't bring all this up now, when I'm about to ask you for financial help!" It makes me look like one hell of a tacky chick ... Besides, those three-way adventures we have with other girls are something I would never have in a normal relationship.

As Milt began to dress, I laid out my dilemma -- sort of.

"Remember that letter from the IRS? Well, it looks like I owe some extra taxes -- nothing catastrophic," I assured him, "but I've been advised to pay up before the end of the month." I didn't want to tell him about Tom Winters and the investigation. That might make him paranoid.

"Who's advising you?" he asked.

"Well -- don't laugh. Jasmine says --"

"Jasmine? That brunet who's always in a rush?" He looked bemused as he fiddled with his cufflinks. "What is she up to these days?"

"Helping me to straighten out this IRS mess, for one thing." I looked away and wondered if "mess" was too alarming. "I sort of ... goofed up one of my tax returns" -- forgot to file, actually! "So, I thought you might like to purchase a season ticket," I added mischievously. "I'll give you box seats."

Milt picked up my circular hairbrush from the dresser and straightened his bushy eyebrows while I made my case.

"Besides," I pointed out, "you're the one who told me not to involve my boyfriend in my problems."

"God, don't drag your boyfriend into this, whatever you do," Milt said. "We don't want him asking you all kinds of nosy questions."

I crossed my legs and pulled my silk robe closer together -- the very idea of Matt on one of his snoopy streaks made me want to cover up.

"A season ticket," Milt murmured. "What kind of a loan are we talking about? Have you got collateral?" he asked playfully.

"Only what you've sampled," I shot back. "And you wouldn't exactly want to hold that hostage."

"No," he agreed, "I doubt that I could, anyway."

Then he made a totally unexpected request -- and I wasn't sure what to say.