Sunday, June 21, 2009

Over time I’ve collected bits of possible posts, mostly erotic, but for various reasons they’ve never made it into the blog. Usually I found something else to write about or was never in the mood to finish them. I’ve decided to complete some of them and post them as an off and on series. They’ll be divorced of context, time and place, and may be from past professional engagements or my sexual wanderings.

The toilet flushed and then a few seconds later the shower started. As usual he was taking his post coital shower as if washing away my scent would wash away the shame he felt about being with a whore. I knew that about him because he told me and once, when he thought I was sleeping, I heard him praying aloud and asking god to stop tempting him.

In retrospect, I should have been terrified of him, for behind a seemingly normal, involved and well regarded man, was a tormented deviant of the masochistic kind; unstable and liable to explode at any time. But I was still naïve and accepted that since he’d been an odd, but safe client, he would always be.

When he came out I was putting on my stockings having slipped into the bathroom before him and douched, at home I’d draw a bath, and decompress; putting away Kimberly the courtesan and bringing out Kim, the pretty juene fille who shared a small apartment above a pharmacy in the 19th. As usual he was dressed when he came out of the bathroom and he slumped into the armchair and watched me as I finished dressing.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I looked at him and waited for him to speak. I wasn’t worried about the time, when we finished I’d call the girl and she’d charge his card, my tip already tucked into the bottom of my purse. He sat there, elbow on the arm, his head tilted to the right and resting on his fist.

Finally he spoke, “Why do you do this?” “For the money,” I replied, “and I like it.” He went on some more, it was becoming tiresome; what I wanted to ask him is why does he buy whores and then run to the confessional. “I wish you’d let me support you. We’d have an apartment in the Marais, you’d have an allowance,” he said, stridency slipping into his voice. I hoped that I hadn’t visibly shuddered, though I’ve considered seeking an arrangement, not with him, never with him, for he was too intense, too needy and being with him for a few hours exhausted me.

Finally I was excused, and I stepped out into the mild air of the Paris night. There was a full moon, I looked up at it and inhaled deeply, pleasantly surprised by the faint scent of lilac. To my left the street was dark and quiet, to my right a few blocks up there was the light of traffic as I grew closer a growing cacophony of vehicles voices and music pouring from the clubs.

As I walked past one I was tempted to go in and seek a warm strong body to sate my own sexual demons, but I resisted and flagged a taxi. The door open, poised to go in I looked over my shoulder at the club, my demon was not to be denied.



Anonymous Anonymous said...

KIM, I know you have stories of you and Christine.....remember the most 'erotic' about the first time you two made love.


7:22 AM  
Blogger Kim said...

bb, I seldom write erotically about Chris as she prefers privacy with regard to such matters. If the focus is me, that's OK, but if it is on us or her, she's not comfortable.

8:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...


8:52 PM  

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