Passions: Interlude– Just Another Day at the Office

Previously on Passions:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Interlude 1

William Z. “Billy” Krojcek of Sherman Oaks needed you to laugh at his small cock while he peed in a diaper.  On his back with garbage bags spread over the bed.  He would greet you at the door in his adult baby getup.  Go to the bedroom, open the diaper, he pees, and you laugh at his tiny little willie.  Maybe blow on it soothingly.  While he’s pissing he gets hard; hopefully the piss all comes out before this happens but more often, not.  The fundamental flaw in piss fetishes is, it’s hard to piss with a boner.  Piss would go all over the place, then he’d jerk himself off while you cooed at him and pop in two seconds.  The rest of the hour they’d talk.  Billy was a teacher; he gave good advice regarding her son’s education.  Don’t let them push him out of the honors math class.  Have him retake the test in the school library without other students and distractions, say it’s his right as a student with a learning disability.  Sometimes he would feel it coming on again at the end, put down fresh bags, don a fresh diaper, start anew.  Her cooing and giggling and saying “it’s SO SMALL!!!!  No woman is even gonna be able to feel that when you grow up!  I’m gonna tickle those tiny little pink balls!”  Not in a mean way.  In a motherly way.  He would cum again, sometimes so fast his boner was half strangled and cocked to the side, barely hard before puking up thick gouts of smelly jizz.  Thank you so much, you’re really wonderful.  I’ll call you again next week.

Raymond R. “Ray” Jimenez Jr. of Los Angeles needed her to pantomime shrinking him with a shrink ray.  Then she would talk like he was six inches tall and crawling all over her body, into various crevices.  Talk like she couldn’t see where he was and might step on him, squash him.  Then he got a blowjob.  She didn’t understand how this didn’t crush his suspension of disbelief, but, she was just the help.  He would be so hard from the oh no I’m gonna squish you talk that he too would cum in seconds.  Her blowjobs were also, as you would expect, excellent.  Imagine if they hadn’t been.  A life wasted.  The aptly named Ray was less talkative.  Or maybe the roleplay was so talky that he was just talked out.  Why, she wondered, didn’t he buy a toy gun to stand in as the shrink ray.  Sucking dick isn’t a big deal but standing there with a straight face holding an invisible gun and saying “ohmigod you’re getting SOOO SMMMALLLL–” she earned her check.  I’ll call you next week.

Tonight she was seeing Stephen Charles “Steve” Greenberg.  Steve was two hours, four hundred dollars.  He had a cute house in Altadena.  The reason it was two hours was that Steve was a three act event.  Act One (and please read this in the voice of Ira Glass), Astrid would prepare a giant pot of stew.  Beans and cabbage and ham.  Big yellow onions.  He would eat.  They would talk normally.  Act Two she would rub his back a little, stroke his hair.  Forty five minutes of that.  So far, so good.

Act Three the cabbage and beans kicked in and Steve would begin to fart.  Long wet sloppy ones that started like a kazoo and ended like a big block V8 starting up, having a hard time turning over in the cold.  Astrid’s job was to gag, maybe even puke.  To recoil with a look of horror as though she were seeing a kitten flayed alive.  To tell him “ohmigod, WHAT is WRONG with you? You are DISGUSTING.  You are a LITTLE PIG!  I CAN’T HAVE A LITTLE PIG IN THIS HOUSE!”  Whack him with a wooden spoon.  Steve would jerk off while being berated and farting.  When he came, on her face, the spurts of his cum and the sounds of his farts would be synchronized as his taint muscle pulsed.  His mother had abused him over his flatulence.

Steve was a really nice guy.  They were all really nice guys.  Maybe she should have sexually abused her son in some weird way so he’d grow up to be a respectful human being.

Her craigslist ad didn’t even say she would do this kind of shit.  She wondered if every hooker got these kinds of proposals.  If there was a huge closet of male sexuality where they pretended to want to fuck hot whores but it was all macho posturing.  Really they all want to piss in a diaper while someone laughs at their small penis.  But no; it hadn’t been this way with the Russians. When she started out she answered an ad and got hooked up with a guy named Yuri who had her photos taken professionally in lingerie with an arched back; they sent her around with a crabby middle aged school marm for a driver and took most of the money.  Those clients were what you think of when you think of johns– weird, surly, furtive; gray and gross and awkward.  They always asked how old she was; she’d been told to say twenty three.  She was thirty and had mileage like a service vehicle.  She had been drinking and fucking and smoking for as long as she told them she’d been alive. But they never turned her back.  Pussy shows up, you have to fuck it.

But when she struck out on her own and put her normal picture up, every call was about shrinking them, smelling their farts, laughing at their small pissing dicks.  Maybe I have a kind face, she thought.  Maybe there’s just something about me.

Tags: ira glass, prostitutes