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My name is Daisy. It’s my professional name. I’m not going to tell my real name because I go to school part-time. In two years, I’ll have my degree in teaching. Won’t those school districts be surprised if they do a deep dive into my background?

I work in Manhattan where I have a small rent controlled studio. My personal home is in Park Slope, Brooklyn, a very nice neighborhood. I know my neighbors gossip. They wonder how a young, single woman, with no visible means of support can afford to live there.

I’ll tell you how: I’m a prostitute with a high end clientele. The concierges at the top hotels in the city have my phone number on speed dial, and they’re all on my Christmas card list. Those cards all have cash in them; some concierges get cash and more if you know what I mean.

Half my clients are guys in New York on business, vacation or at a convention. The rest are local guys, and that’s who I wanted to write about. Not the local guys; their wives.

Ladies, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Why do your husbands come running to me? Like you, I have two tits, a pussy and a mouth, and yet your husbands can’t stay away from me.

Yes, I’m a good fuck; no, a fabulous fuck and give a great blowjob, but so could you. I’m also a good listener; like a psychologist.

Take Harry from Valley Stream on Long Island. He’s a once a month visitor and has been for about five years. He’s a nice enough guy but his wife doesn’t give him what he wants or needs.

“Daisy, when we first got married, she didn’t know anything, but she’d get on her back and move her ass a little; that was okay and it was enough. Twelve years of marriage and she still gets on her back, moves her ass a little, not nearly as frequently as she did when we were first married and now it’s not enough. I can’t remember the last time I got a blowjob.”

“So, you need more?”

“Yeah and a blowjob. I mean it’s the same old, same old. She’s not interested in trying anything new. I’d like her to get on top. She has great tits that I’d love to play with when she’s on top. No interest. Harry, she says, I’m not a gymnast.”

Shortly after I started doing this, I found a book like the Kama Sutra. It had only about 15 different positions, but it was enough for most guys. It sits on my nightstand. Harry picks out a different one every time. I’m never on my back; sometimes on my knees. That’s all Harry needs. Hey, I’m looking at you, Mrs. Harry Belson of Valley Stream, Long island, NY. You have a great husband; you need to take care of him.

Then there’s Jim from Scarsdale. “Daisy, I knew the honeymoon was over the first time Barb wore curlers to bed?

“WHAT?”

“It was about a year after we were first married. Before that, she’d come to bed naked. Her hair combed and she’d snuggle against me. More nights than not, one of us would start. My hand on her tits or her hand on my cock.”

“Jim, that doesn’t happen anymore?”

“Nah, it’s like this. Jim, I started reading this mystery novel. I just can’t put it down.”

“And then there were the curlers?” I asked.

Now ladies, don’t think that you have to be all dolled up, but curlers and a book? You’re making my job too easy.

When I have an appointment with a client, I am in fact all dolled up, but I’m a professional. You’re his wife, bring a little excitement to bed. I’m not just made-up; I’m wearing a subtle cologne and my lips are always painted a bright red. A red that screams, your cock is invited. Ladies, I shouldn’t have to tell you this: your husband likes blowjobs. Why are you surprised to hear this, Mrs. Jim Thompson from Scarsdale?

Oh, you don’t like sucking cock? So, what.

My clients have no idea if I like sucking cock or not. I should be on Broadway. When those guys leave my bed, they think that they have the best cock for sucking in the Western Hemisphere. If they don’t, I’ve failed. I don’t fail very often. Jim from Scarsdale keeps coming back.

TO BE CONTINUED

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