Ale ... Oh, Ale was beautiful. Before her, I thought that prostitutes were lazy whores, taking money in essence for nothing. Bab, ready to do the same thing for free, only diligently and even dinner to feed as a bonus, herds in the open spaces of our Russian clubs, choose yes fucking. Personally, I used the services of night butterflies only for the company: you take the client to rest, you cannot get anywhere - the sauna and prostitutes officially go through the accounting department, “hospitality”. Well, since I ended up in a sauna with prostitutes, I had to stretch them and completely bleak, to pull on my dick, otherwise customers would not appreciate it. Sometimes one gets the impression that they are not going to buy real estate, but the producer stallion is chosen. It was even that he himself refused the deal after a sixty-four-year-old mudlon with a stupid habit of cringing at the end of each of his phrases, carefully watching my manipulations with the asshole of the chosen painted slut suddenly uttered:

- Not fancy you somehow fuck her, what kind of sales man are you? - and snapped as usual.

“Not fancy”, fucking ... I have any woman chosen for one evening and she begins to take in the throat of an elastic, uncooked ass that does not fit her ass, and here I am crying to some dumb aunt who even in my ass you can add a dozen more and it won't be crowded anyway, but he fucking “Uncanny” ... I just took the dick out of her ass, washed it with water from the pool, got dressed, put money on the table with booze and snacks and went out, never saying a word. The house that I picked up for him, he later, through my colleague, bought, after all, the offer was good. A colleague (a strange guy of about twenty-five, naked women who only saw videos downloaded from the Internet) then tried to make a joke, they say, I have a dick for my woman at half past five. I didn’t even beat him: I took the guy to a club not far from work, and when a cloud of girls formed around us (or rather me) from girls who didn’t shine for him, asked the boy if he would go to see what I had with the clockwork.

But Ale ... I spent more money on her than on any of my women, and I never regret. Elya was a professional. A rare combination of skill and love for the chosen profession. I even cited her as an example in disputes about why realtors are needed:

“Look,” I explained to another client who wanted to figure out what I was getting my profit for, “there are banal whores who get paid for sex, and Ale. After a whore, you kind of dropped steam, but you still want to fuck, like after an onanism - it’s not clear what you paid for. And after Eli from desires - to lie in a bed, to smoke, and so that the phone does not ring, because fuck everyone, you are happy without them. Also with a realtor: if, after a real estate transaction, you do not roll in this real estate, slowly chasing some chick, and instead announce it on BTI, tax and construction contractor, then you are a sucker, and your realtor is a banal whore.

She picked me up at the hotel bar in Tolyatti. I bought a cottage there on the banks of the Volga for one of my regular clients, a lover of fishing, and, having finished with my business, I came down from the room to drink a glass of whiskey, and if you are lucky with the shift, get acquainted with a pretty receptionist (slightly slanting eyes, full lips, so attractive during deep suction, and pitch black hair, collected in a thick braid, which, when walking, like a pendulum, moves from the left neat buttock to the right one). I was not lucky with the change: a woman-house sat behind the reception desk with a characteristic grimace, as if I owed her something already.

- What did you want? She asked in a bass voice.

“Worldwide, but then I was small and stupid,” I replied, and already turning around to go to the bar, I caught some side sight in this hundred and fifty kilo eerie parody of a woman with familiar features: slanting eyes, large lips, once black hair is what my receptionist will turn into in twenty years and three children from a loser-husband ... I was already shaken from such treachery by tidy buttocks, and in the bar instead of a cup I ordered two hundred whiskey and a lemon at once. Having spotted a wealthy person in my hotel (two hundred grams of Glenmorange, the dearest viskar, far from everyone can afford in the capital of our glorious car industry), several hotel whores have come to ask if a man is bored. This question has always quilted me: as a rule, it leads to the fact that you invite a prostitute at your table, treat you with alcohol, and after twenty minutes of small talk, if you agree on a price, take her to the room. But they don’t have topics for small talk: duty questions about the purpose of the trip, talk of clothes and gossip about the engineers sent here, who beat the unfortunate whores into their ragged assholes, absolutely okhuy from being able to fuck at least someone who’s mired in washing and cooking wife, because in the ass wife will never give. And I don’t want to remember about the sexual skills of whores from the periphery. That is, even if a man is bored, the alternative is still dubious, as for me ... To the first two I dryly answered "no," but I understood the third one that came to me: all five would suit me, and if anything, also all cooks, waitresses, housemaids and housewives, mothers of treacherous yadichek. Therefore, when another prostitute had just opened her mouth to the question, I broke this string:

- Madam, I will not fuck you even if you remain the last women in the world. Be so kind as to pass it on to your product and no longer spoil the taste of my whiskey by the hellish smell of what you call perfume. Yes, I am a boor and a bastard. I say goodbye to this.

Not less than ten seconds elapsed before my message was adapted by the brain of a chicken into an easily understandable form. All this time she stood in the pose “I am in akhue” and gazed at me with her painted eyes, for several more seconds, judging by the opened and closed mouth, she tried to find a suitable answer. But without finding it, she turned around and wobbled with a worn ass; she tried to move away with dignity. And then the voice to my right sounded:

- Yeah, gloom ... Do not you want to argue? Ten piles of tequila; Whoever drinks the second fucks one of these in front of the winner.

Turning around, I saw a slim, not tall, but not miniature woman of about thirty-five in a black knee-length dress framing a deep cleavage with a lace ribbon; Red high heels and a red clutch complete her look. The woman was not young; she rather looked mature, and her wide, gray or green eyes looked with a grin. Quite often, looking at women, I imagine what they are like in sex, but these ideas of mine are more like an assessment of the profitability of a deal: worth it, not worth it. And when I saw her, I fantasized. That is, I didn’t just draw a picture, as a woman wraps her lips around my dick to see if I like this function in her, but I wanted her sitting in front of me and just like now, looking into my eyes, around her tongue my lips, holding my penis at the base, bent over, I would feel her warm breath, and this moment, which was not since the eleventh grade of school, is the moment of waiting. It almost does not last in ordinary life, but when you sit with an erect member, and the woman you want (just her, and not just an abstract woman and fuck), is about to come, another millimeter, and will touch her lips your member - this is the moment I dreamed of going through, looking at her.

- And are you ready to sleep with one of them?

“Sleeping with you would be too trite, and I’m so bored,” she replied.

- Well, it goes, but note that I am an alcoholic with great experience, - I say, summoning a gesture of the bartender.

“I often get bored,” she laughs. - But there is a condition: the winner pays a prostitute ....