The Hooker

She spends hours at the local boutique, getting herself fitted for some of the laciest, raciest nightwear I’ve ever seen. Her perfect hair is piled atop her head in an elegantly messy bun. Her eyes sparkle with life, and every time she smiles, the tiny mole just above her luscious upper lip moves closer to a dimple on her left cheek.

I watch from a distance, as she continues adding expensive lingerie to her shopping basket. And then she moves over to the perfume section. She knows what to buy. Her hand immediately finds a bright red bottle, with a scent inside that would allow her to decant any man’s love into her bank account, perhaps for more than just one night.

She is unashamed. Her thigh high stockings do little to protect her from the hot summer sun. But then it doesn’t matter. She wears her tan like a royal sash on her perfect, goddesslike form.

Some people call her shameless. But they envy the influence she wields on her own life and destiny.

Others pity her, for her charm could have taken her to the highest offices of the state. And here she is, wasting her seductive prowess to the primal itch even the simplest of men must attend to.

She is unafraid. She takes her purchases and walks out of the store, flashing her winsome smile to the housewives huddled over a pile of modest..and boring inner wear.

Her short skirt accentuates her curves and hugs her femininity like a flirtatious Aphrodite.

I watch her walk and fade away into the distance. My ordinary nightwear now seems too unserviceable for a night of passion that I have been yearning for. But I don’t have her courage. And I lack the confidence to walk to the lace aisle.

Inside, a pseudo-moral voice tells me that I am still superior, for she is a fallen woman.

I respond quietly, that at least she is happy.

 

One Comment Add yours

  1. Sunny Lanning says:

    And she has beautiful lingerie! It’s such a shame that people stop buying beautiful things because they no longer feel they need to impress their partner.

    Like

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