Panties for Sale Read Online Free PDF Page B

Christ.
    Angela took another sip of
her wine.   She looked down at what she
had wrote and then flipped to the next two empty pages. Not sure what to write
next, she looked around her sunroom.   She
liked this room.   Liked the furniture she
had chosen.   Soft white leather. Crisp.
Clean.   She smiled at the small blooms of
exotic orchids that grew in large china pots along the windows.   Purple. White.   With a faint trim of pink.   So beautiful. So delicate.
    Leaning back, Angela brushed
her hair against a branch of the large fig tree that hung over her chair and
looked out at the night sky through the sun window.   It had just started to rain.   As she watched, a tiny drop hit the window
pane and then slowly began to trickle its way down the slanted glass.    Another rain drop splashed in its path, and
joined in.   Then another.   And another. Soon, the rain drops fused
together to create tiny streams, picking up speed as they descended connecting
with other streams until they became a rushing torrent racing over the edge of
the window, plummeting off the side of the house. “Oh yeah,” Angela grabbed her
pen.
    My
new girls.   Jesus Christ.   Two new girls stuck in the headlights.   Maybe I shouldn’t hire them?   Maybe they don’t need to get into this.   Ha!   Bloody hell.   If not me, someone
else will.   At least I can keep them
safe.
    I
don’t know about girl number 1.   What an
airhead!    Ok, maybe not.   I told her my story.   Tried to get a response. You know, gauge if
she’d be OK or be a runner.   Nothing.   She just listened.   Didn’t rattle her at all.   Girls these days.   In-fucking-vincible.   Think it’s not going to happen to them.   Bloody naïve rich bitch.   She seems nice enough.   Pretty too.   Sexy as hell.   Great body but she
doesn’t think so.   Insecure as fuck.   Perfect for this kind of job.   Men will love that because she won’t be too
proud.   And she’ll do anything to
please.   You can just tell.   And those tits.   And hair. I’ll make some money off of
her.   Wonder if she’s got what it takes
though?  
    She
seemed cool enough today, but I wonder if I’ll hear from her again.   Sometimes they just disappear.   Don’t call or anything.   Yeah, she could be a runner.   I got the feeling that she is doing this on
the spur of the moment.   Like it almost
sounds exciting for her.   Or turns her
on.   I can see her doing the quick in and out appointments, and she’ll
take the gifts, but I don’t know if she’ll want to comfort them, you know.   The old guys might freak her out.  
    How
much do our parents fuck us up when were kids eh?   So much that I have lists of men that will
pay hundreds of dollars to some chick who doesn’t give a damn about them, just
to let them suck her tits like a baby while they talk about their problems.
What the fuck, eh?   Yeah, I think she’s
expecting some scene from a movie. I don’t know what she’ll do.   My clients usually aren’t George
Clooneys.   These are the, well, the ones
that no one else takes the time of day to even notice.   The fat boys.   The skinny man-boys.   The fucking
nut jobs that were beaten too much as a kid or were abused by their father’s
friends.   The perverts.   The gays who don’t want to face it.   I don’t know.  
    It’s
funny really.   Men are supposed to be
these big, strong, powerful business guys who run the world, but really inside
they are just like little boys.   Its
goddamned bizarre is what it is. Sometimes, when I’m with a client, and they are
all nice and relaxed, I can actually see the little boy they used to be. So
cute!   Just a cute little boy looking for
love.   I don’t know if Barbie doll can do
that, though.   I don’t know if she’ll
have the patience to hug one of those creepy old greasy haired men while they
cry.   But damn it, if she could learn how
to do that, see the little boy in her clients, hot damn,