I used to fantasize a lot when I was a kid.  Up until Junior High School, I couldn’t wait to go to bed every night so I can let my mind wander.  Drift away.  I would sketch out the basic plot lines during the day — the location, the people, the catalyst.  The Sahara Desert was a frequent setting.  Jason Mullen was my favorite co-star.  And, trapped in this unforgivingly arid land, forsaken by humanity, with no food or water for sustenance, I was forced to french kiss Jason Mullen.  We had to swap saliva in order to survive.  I was sooo thirsty.

At night, the plot came alive with dialogue and the feel of his shaved whiskers against my smooth, silken Asian skin.  Since Jason never paid any attention to me at all in school, a lot of my fantasies had a somber, tragic underpinning: I had to die in a lot of them.  And then they were all sorry, most of all Jason.  But finally, on my deathbed, he would break down in tears and confess how much he loved me.  A tragic, yet poignant death.  Always.

My capacity for creating fantasies has been sorely tested by one of my clients, Mister Prada Loafers, who is always hounding me for my sexual fantasies. 

What’s your fantasy?  Can we role play, he would always ask.

We started with the naughty Catholic schoolgirl.  That one was easy, so cliched it was almost beneath me.  I went to Thrift Town in the Mission, bought a plaid skirt, and paired it with a beret and black riding boots.  I was a hot little parochial girl, if I do say so myself.  Prada Loafers bent me over his lap and spanked me.

And then I was the slutty secretary.  For that outfit, I got a pinstriped charcoal miniskirt from Crossroads Trading Company with a mauve top.  The kicker was a fishnet pantyhose with back seam.  What is it about fishnet pantyhose that just screams whore!  

But still he wanted more fantasies.

We went back and did a variation on the school girl theme.  This time I was a college student, he was the professor, and I was begging for a letter of recommendation for law school. 

The fantasy this last time was finally an original — it broke new ground.  I was the Asian masseuse at a brothel/spa in the Tenderloin, and he was an Immigration and Customs Enforcement Officer.

Officer, please, please don’t deport me.  I’ll do anything.  Anything…

If my narration of these encounters is rather flat and not at all scintillating, it’s because the sex itself was lackluster.  Mr. Prada Loafers is quick and to the point.  He comes in, takes off his shoes, engage in a few sentences of dialogue with me, we play for a minute or two, and then he shoots. 

There is such little joy.   

I remember the first time he came over, before he started with all the email requests for fantasies.   He seemed quite taken with me.  He pulled me in for shy, awkward kisses.  And for a moment there, he seemed to lose himself.  I heard him whisper under his breath, “Cassandra, I’m going to make you my girl.”

I know it’s not my business as a prostitute to go around analyzing my customers.  But you know what?  I do it anyways.  I suppose the fact that he has a lot of money to spend is a factor in my interest.  And that he comes to see me so often is another reason.  After someone comes to have sex with you, over and over again, and gives you lots and lots of money, but doesn’t seem to be having a good time, I can’t help but wonder: why does he keep coming to see me?

And you know what?  The last time he emailed me to book an appointment and ask for another fantasy, I confronted him.

My email reads: 

>>>  u don’t really reveal anything during sex, huh? 

>>>  that’s why i say you’re mysterious — hard to read. 

>>>  maybe u can moan if ur feeling good next time i give u head…   maybe it’d help to let me know what turns you on?

He emails me back to say,

sad

why not now……………..
 
I am a bit complicated

I want to tell him, maybe it’s time to stop with so many fantasies. 

Sex is more fun when you’re in the moment. 

But if you really want one more fantasy… 

This is my deepest, darkest, sickest fantasy.  I am so ashamed I even think these thoughts.  I am such a naughty, naughty, bad girl.  Yet just thinking about it gets my candy so hard it’s throbbing.  Are you ready?

How about you pay off all my credit card debts?  

And then we can both shoot our loads over the monthly statements. 

I’ll even lick it up. 

Does that sound hot?

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Tags: asian masseuse hooker, intro, naughty catholic school girl, prada loafers, slutty secretary, tranny blog