It all started out so innocently. He & I meant very little to each other, outside of being occasional lovers. He was nearly twelve years my junior, & hadn't yet had his eyes opened to the ways of the world. I have lived a lifetime away. The question of him being a serious contender in my life was laughable. I merely enjoyed his charisma, his big wogboy eyes, his shy smile & his considerable carnal talents.

 

He epitomised everything I love about the young pup - a willingness to explore, expand their sexual boundaries & eagerly fuck me stupid whenever the mood took me (which is often). It was this enthusiasm & stamina that first ensured this boy would remain a fixture in my bed. However, our enjoyment of each other was initially kept only to each other.

 

He came late at night, like a ninja. He would passionately own me throughout the night, waking upon a tide of fatigue only to enjoy each other again before he left in the wee hours. My children would never see him, his presence only a ghost in my bedroom for me to revel in before rising. His gentle, kind eyes would stay in my mind throughout the day. They were a buffer against the rude reality of my working existence.

 

Don't like my ass? I knew someone who does. Think I'm too old? He didn't care. Think I'm too smart/brunette/middle class to be of any use to you? Lucky for me, I had someone who thought I was just fine, thankyou.

 

But then it changed. It insidiously evolved from being a friendship into... something more. I would fret about him on the nights he wasn't with me. Has he found someone his own age? Is he getting drunk & into trouble? Does he think about me when I'm gone? Is he looking for someone else? Am I holding him back from being happy?

 

Then the tears & tantrums over my occupation emerged. Was I happy being used? Did it hurt me to know that it hurt him? I would explain that I could not stop working based on his whim - I had been held prey to that flight of fancy before by another, & it had bitten me hard. I had children to support, other lives to maintain. Little people depend on me, & I take that responsibility seriously.

 

He became lost to his jealousy, enacting out his revenge upon other hapless victims smitten by his puppy eyes & shy smile. Little do they know they were used as fodder to hurt me, in his attempt to justify his sexuality against my formidable experience. How hurtful he could be in his attempts to hurt me!

 

It didn't matter to him that I had forsaken all others to be solely with him after hours. All he knew was that others enjoyed me, & he felt compelled to imitate my life. Then, he was struck by confusion & regret. He was unable to emotionally detach from his dalliances, like I do with my clients. He was left uncertain, not knowing if his emotions were real or just biology.

 

He pushed me away, not knowing if my love was true or just a lie, a whore's ruse to bleed more currency from her trick. Yet I was always there for him. I deleted his number, yet my heart jumped when I recognized his texts. I promised myself I wouldn't take his calls, yet I would pick up on the first ring. He had my heart, & because of this I regarded him with some degree of fear.

 

Will he destroy me again? Will he use me again? Will he hurt me again, & leave me to dust? Could I cope with that, should it happen? What would I do?

 

Would not working as a prostitute make him less insecure, & make us both happy?

 

The sad thing is - for all my bitching & whingeing - I enjoy working. I imagine many people would enjoy the privilege of being paid to have sex all day, & I'm one of them. My promiscuous nature has ended every single significant relationship I've had prior to working. Sad, but true. Subconsciously, I think my working had ensured my faithfulness.

 

I would be deluding myself if I said I could be happy being faithful to just one man. Deep down, my young pup knew it too. However, he was in denial & refused to acknowledge of his fear. Instead, he obliterated it with alcohol. This resulted in arguments, tantrums, & public scenes reminiscent of Jerry Springer.

 

His genuine tears disturbed me. Once, I fed on the blood of his adoration. Suddenly, I didn't enjoy my power anymore. In his eyes, I was both madonna & whore. I also had the burden of knowing that whatever happens, this relationship will be one of the most memorable of his life. That's not being egotistical. It was a simple reality.

 

We had a strange, beautiful & very sad relationship. My love for this silly boy enveloped me like a mist. I never doubted the velocity of his adoration for me (unlike others I've encountered). But the odds against us were many, & my profession & our age difference only compounded it all.

 

Awhile ago, I briefly cut him out of my life. I was determined to move on, to live a life where his face didn't dominate my thoughts & dreams. The weight of failing to live up to his expectations was crushing me. Yet, there he was at the airport when I returned back to town, waiting for me. It stopped my breath to see him at the bottom of the escalator, & from that moment he became a stain across my heart.

 

No one will ever have the power to make me smile like he did.. or to make me cry.

 

I loved the way he owns me when we have sex. He was the best lover I have ever had. He was the first to totally dominate me, & hus was custom-made physically to fit me. I wold rise to his challenge with total abandon. He knew just the right moment to take my face in his hands & whisper "I love you", before all rose & fell in the beauty of him & I, together.

 

Yet, doubts persisted...

 

What would his family really think of me... especially if they knew the whole truth? Were my nearest & dearest correct when they say this love would bring me nothing but grief? Had I become a parody of myself? A caricature of every lurid urban cougar tale I'd ever heard? Had I become the ultimate joke?

 

But if we really loved each other...

 

Did any of that matter???