He was a late afternoon client with a pace maker, and it occurred to me that I've never been quite so close to one before; and up to that point had been completely unaware that you can hear them, patiently keeping time, ticking in the ticker, right through the chest.
Tick, tick, tick.
This is a real grandfather clock, I thought, and I'm fucking it. I'm fucking time.
It also caused me a bit of worry, as I was a little unsure of how careful I should be. How strenuous is too strenuous for a gentleman done up with clockwork? And do you get much warning if he overdoes it? So many questions, which then got me to imagining scenarios featuring heart attacks, and elderly death during hooker-sex, with consequent police interviews and coroner reports.
It's not a pace maker, it's a bomb.
All together, this annihilated my hard-on.
My client was predictably disappointed.
You are such the EA Poe of the gay hooker community. I love you!
Posted by: Gay Escort | October 09, 2006 at 03:17