Humor · Marijuana · Sexuality

Hiding In Plain Sight


There are times in life where the most unlikely people cross your path. As a sex worker, I met several men who fit the bill. These guys led such disassociated lives from the the daytime to off time, even their closest friends wouldn’t recognise them. It was the secret parts of them who paid me for whatever they wanted, that they couldn’t get elsewhere.

One such man was Bob. In daylight, he was a vice president for a huge regional bank. Bob found my post online and emailed me, asking for “special” treatment. Warily, I said yes, because “special treatment” mainly means something weird. On the phone he sounded mild mannered and very calm.

When he arrived at the apartment, Bob unloaded three HUGE dildos with attached handles, one the size of a two liter bottle. Beside them he placed a quart size bottle of high end (:p) lube, a half pound of marijuana and $500 cash. He had one request: use all three dildos on him, and the pot and cash were mine. I smiled; I was used to providing crazier services.

The encounter went pretty well. He laid across the bed, spread out, and all I did was ream him with the dildos, ALL three. He said I took direction well, speeding up and going harder when asked. Bob took the toys like a champ, and came twice. Then we smoked two of the joints from the half pound of pot, and he left. I didn’t even have to get naked.

Bob became a regular weekly client for several months. The request and payment were usually the same, except for the occasional added blow job. It was the only time I was ever awash in pot. He never mentioned his other life much, but I’d see his name almost three times a week in the papers doing this or that in the community. Then a phone call came. Bob was calling it off after one last appointment. He was friendly about it, and nothing lasts forever. I had by that time enough pot stockpiled to go to jail for trafficking. He came over, we did our thing, we talked about my plans to try to show my art, then he was gone. He never gave an explanation, and it wasn’t my business to ask. He was a pleasant and good natured client, and I would miss him.

I saw less of his name in the papers in the following weeks, until an obituary popped up with his name. Bob had passed from quick onset Pancreatic Cancer. The community had a huge society funeral for him, and I smoked a joint in his honor quietly at home. It was the least I could do.


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