Patience

Read all the Wank Wednesday erotic stories for Patience on Ruby Kiddell’s blog 

Believe it or not, my line of work is not all fun and games.  When people ask what I do, and I respond model, I do get a share of giggles, as if that certainly couldn’t be my real job.  When I meet that with a stoic glare, and they press on, I reveal that I’m a nude model for art classes, and then everything seems to fall into place for them.  They have tons of questions, and I have a ton of answers, which I can rattle off usually before the questions are asked.  Yes, I don’t have a problem taking off my clothes for strangers, no, I’m not going to do it now.  Yes, the pay is ok, at least when the schools honor the contracts and pay me on time, no, I don’t have to deal with lecherous glares from horny old men all the time.  Most people are cool with what I do, and some are a bit judgmental, looking at me like a glorified stripper.

Just a Dollar, Part Two

Author's note: Read part one of "Just a Dollar" here.

I reread the text message about a thousand times before I could get a break from work to respond.  Finally, I found a minute, and walked into the alley behind the restaurant to give Alyssa a call.

“Hi, whore,” she replied.  “Have some questions?”

“Is it really a he?” I asked.  I had a million questions but that seemed most important.

Just a Dollar, Part One

I came home at around eight at night from the late afternoon and early dinner rush at the restaurant, exhausted from being on my feet all day and smiling, which are two of the most exhausting things you’ll ever do.  While my job is fun most times, my boss isn’t too horrible and I get along with the other girls, I’m always thankful when I can get home and finally kick off my shoes.

As I slipped off my white sneakers, I saw that Alyssa was at the kitchen table, as usual, with the computer open and typing away.  Also, as usual, she was naked except for a pair of white cotton panties.  I was thankful she had at least had the decency, this time, to close the windows of our first floor apartment.  Of course, she had nothing to be ashamed about, but as her girlfriend, I liked asserting my right of being the only one allowed to see her naked.

Normal

I arrived at Demona’s house a bit nervous.  We had only briefly spoken on the phone, and shared countless messages online, and she had always been a kind ear to lay my guts out to.  Although I’m a proud atheist, and she’s a self-proclaimed psychic, we became fast friends, and filled the hole that Kate had left in my life.  Kate had been perfect for me and now she was gone from my life, and I just didn’t know what was left.

Camp Shower

I got to the camp shower, that morning in my towel, carrying my waterproof bag of shower essentials.  Another woman was sitting on the bench already, waiting in her own towel for a stall to free up, and I took a seat next to her.  I pulled out an emery board, and idly started grinding away at my fingernails, not really doing anything substantial, but without a cellphone for anything else on me, I found myself without a thing to pass the time.

“I’m Stephanie,” she said, holding out a hand.  

Neighbors

I bought my house a year ago as a short sale. The previous owner was underwater and owed more than the house was ever going to be worth, and so I got a very good deal.  One thing I didn’t count on was the isolation that my new suburban home would provide me.  Yes, there were other homes, technically, all around me, but they all were marked with those familiar green and white signs from the local realtor, who was evidently making a very good living putting them up.  Of the sixteen homes that were in my area, thirteen were vacant, and the ones that were occupied were on the other end of the block, a good half-mile away.  O, the new American dream!

Over the Fence

I think every woman engaged in an extra-marital relationship says it started out innocent enough.  A random wink here, a flirtatious glance there, and before they knew it, they were in a hotel room at two in the morning three freeway exits away, thinking how they were going to get home in time for breakfast.  My own started a little less dignified, and did not afford me such claims of innocence corrupted.  I made several mistakes, pursued it, and landed right where I was supposed to be.

I had been chatting online for about a month, just browsing some recipe forum.  She first complimented me on my crème brûlée recipe, and thing escalated a bit from there.  She was the first to ask my age, if I was married, and for a picture, which I gave readily.  The shower of compliments flowed from there, she said she absolutely adored by brown curls, cutie pie face, and girl next-door charm, and soon our conversations were steered towards our mutual favorite topic--sex.  Before I knew it, I was giving her very explicit details about what went on in the bedroom with my husband of four years, even more details than probably he knows.