Life is good.  Fucking fabulous.  It really is. 

So.  Fucking.  Fabulous.

This afternoon I went over to Larry’s to get a blowjob.  My biggest challenge of the day was to let Larry blow me for an hour without cumming.  See, Larry pays generously, but he expects the full hour, and maybe a little bit more. So if either he or I came early, he expects me to stay around and talk until the full hour is up.  If I started to gather my stuff right after the orgasm he’d say, what, are you in a hurry to go to another customer? 

Didn’t I satisfy you, baby, he would pout.

It’s always better to just get blown for the full hour, don’t you think?  Larry is quite good at giving head – not the best, but my candy isn’t complaining.  He doesn’t have so much technique as he does intensity.  Larry is in his late sixties, and when he gets really excited and into it he starts breathing in spasms; his entire body shudders when he tries to deep throat me.  It’s a bit nerve wracking.  We usually smoke a joint before the session starts, and at times I find myself paranoid at his overly physical and animated excitement. 

He could have a cardiac arrest.

He could go into a seizure. 

He could clench his jaws shut and bite off my candy off. 

Thoughts like these keep me from getting too much into the pleasure – being a prostitute is all about these little mental tricks that keeps me from cumming before I’m ready.  Sometimes the weed is super strong and I almost hallucinate.  I have this one image of Larry with a heart attack and his jaws are clenched shut around my candy.  And I’m dragging this corpse that’s attached to my crotch as I make my way to open the door to let the ambulance people in.

I know, I know.  I was an only child.  I have an overactive imagination. 

 

Life is good.

Three Benjamins later, I decide to treat my roommate Reuben out to dinner.  We hit our favorite Chinese restaurant, San Tung.  The wait, which usually runs 30 – 45 minutes, was only ten minutes.  The economy is starting to hurt everyone.  I’m glad I have guys like 3-Benjamins-Larry in my panties.

Reuben and I gorge.  It’s atrocious how much we order and finish.  A dried fried fish fillet, a smoked duck, cabbage and pork potstickers, shrimp and chive dumplings, hot and sour soup with shrimp, and TWO orders of their famous dried fried chicken wings.  And four bottles of Tsing-Tao between us.

It was pure bliss, pure heaven, as I inhaled the food.  Right then and there, I said it out loud, said it to Reuben, to bear my testimony: that I know my life is true and that my life is good.  My only job right now is to have sex and eat great food.   Life really is so beautiful.

Afterwards Reuben and I stagger to my car.  This part of the night is where I really regret eating so much.  My belly hurts.  It hurts to move.  It hurts to talk. Breathing hurts.  It hurts just sitting still.  I look like a starving African child with the bloated tummy.

But, yes, life is good. 

 Print This Post

Tags: Blowjob, Eating too much, food, Pot Fantasies, San Tung