It's been a long, long time since I've posted one of my stories here. Maybe it's time to try doing that again. See what you folks make of this. 
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You might not turn to look when she passes by in the streets. You might see her ad and go cruising on by without a second thought. She's not tall and willowy. Cars don't crash into light poles when she walks by. No one will discover her in a soda fountain and offer her a part in a movie or a modelling contract.
But she really is pretty. She has these wonderfully expressive eyes that light up when she sees me. Her lips curl quickly into a pretty smile, she has an easy laugh. She has an inner glow that can be seen but can't be photographed. I marvel everytime when I see her, though I don't tell her often enough.
In this business, pretty is a commodity taken for granted. Still, that outer beauty isn't everything. I've been fooled by ladies with little more to offer than their looks. A pretty face and heavenly body had hidden a lack of enthusiasm, skill, sparkling wit. And I had my brief moment with those ladies before they had become a minor footnote in the book of my hobby life.
My lady greets me with a sincere smile. I know that she's genuinely excited to see me. She takes my coat, and then engages my imagination, intelligence and wit as we chat over a glass of wine. And when she takes me upstairs... oh my lord. She devours hungrily me like the hungry cougar she is, finally the little bird is trapped in her lair.
These are the things that make her heart-breakingly beautiful to me. But I know not everyone sees it that way. Her subtle beauty is often missed as clients speed on by, intent on their way toward their happy endings. And more bothersome to me, I've seen at times her heart was sick from this hard world we live in.
This is a shallow world, this hobby. Of insincere compliments lavished too easily, too cheaply. Of blistering crude and critical comments for every tiny imperfection. That is the nature of this shallow hobby, the cruel calculus of looks-attitude-service. I try to comfort her as she tells me about her latest brush with the freerange rude. My words are sincere, but I have to hold back. I toe the line, the line that divide us in this hobby. I want to say more, but I can't.
So I'll write these words. She'll smile as she reads them, and know that it's her I'm thinking of. These cold words on a computer screen will say what my warm lips cannot. I know that next time she'll ask me if I was writing about her.
And I'll just smile, and think about how beautiful she is.
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You might not turn to look when she passes by in the streets. You might see her ad and go cruising on by without a second thought. She's not tall and willowy. Cars don't crash into light poles when she walks by. No one will discover her in a soda fountain and offer her a part in a movie or a modelling contract.
But she really is pretty. She has these wonderfully expressive eyes that light up when she sees me. Her lips curl quickly into a pretty smile, she has an easy laugh. She has an inner glow that can be seen but can't be photographed. I marvel everytime when I see her, though I don't tell her often enough.
In this business, pretty is a commodity taken for granted. Still, that outer beauty isn't everything. I've been fooled by ladies with little more to offer than their looks. A pretty face and heavenly body had hidden a lack of enthusiasm, skill, sparkling wit. And I had my brief moment with those ladies before they had become a minor footnote in the book of my hobby life.
My lady greets me with a sincere smile. I know that she's genuinely excited to see me. She takes my coat, and then engages my imagination, intelligence and wit as we chat over a glass of wine. And when she takes me upstairs... oh my lord. She devours hungrily me like the hungry cougar she is, finally the little bird is trapped in her lair.
These are the things that make her heart-breakingly beautiful to me. But I know not everyone sees it that way. Her subtle beauty is often missed as clients speed on by, intent on their way toward their happy endings. And more bothersome to me, I've seen at times her heart was sick from this hard world we live in.
This is a shallow world, this hobby. Of insincere compliments lavished too easily, too cheaply. Of blistering crude and critical comments for every tiny imperfection. That is the nature of this shallow hobby, the cruel calculus of looks-attitude-service. I try to comfort her as she tells me about her latest brush with the freerange rude. My words are sincere, but I have to hold back. I toe the line, the line that divide us in this hobby. I want to say more, but I can't.
So I'll write these words. She'll smile as she reads them, and know that it's her I'm thinking of. These cold words on a computer screen will say what my warm lips cannot. I know that next time she'll ask me if I was writing about her.
And I'll just smile, and think about how beautiful she is.
