About the color of salt water taffy. Not bad, actually, since it went quite nicely with my eyes, hazel, kind of brown with a reddish-yellow tinge. Nice but dull, the whole effect, hardly spectacular enough for a girl in my position. Except that my lips must have compensated for all that, at least in the opinion of the boss, my lover-man. And who else mattered? He was paying the rent now and keeping the liquor cabinet stocked – sometimes even the refrigerator – a good provider, certainly. I was beginning to save a little money, feathering my nest for some future rainy day. If and when he got bored with me, I'd have something to fall hack on.

That was bound to happen, I figured. A guy like that had too many other opportunities, too many willing bed-partners within easy range. Pretty ones, prettier than me. Time would tell. Although he showed no signs of it as yet, no hint of any inclination to forgo ray loving lips and perhaps trade me in for a newer and more fully equipped model. Quite the contrary! More and more, he seemed eager for that peculiar kiss of mine, evidently satisfied with his choice of a mistress, his thick-lipped little cocksucker, an unseasoned but already prodigious freak. Oh, I was good, all right. Maybe even too good, in view of my own gradually changing attitude.

Uh-huh. The anticipated boredom cropped up, sure enough, only in reverse. I wasn't even aware of it at first, just vaguely irritated for no reason at all. The routine, perhaps? A very definite routine – the same nights each week, the same allotted time, the same preliminary drink and chat before getting down to the nitty-gritty; all so predictable! Did we have to stick to a schedule. Couldn't he switch nights unexpectedly and try to screw me up just once, catch me with my pants down maybe, act like a jealous lover?

No, not my Simon, he wasn't the type for jealousy. Too sure of himself. Too sure of me! Enough to take me for granted – which grated on my nerves, naturally, but only in passing.