The black lace stockings caressed my skin, gingerly, almost like a feather. The black stilettos, bold and daring and very unlike me. I stared back at the woman in the mirror, not recognizing her. Who was this seductress staring back? I had prepared all day for this, from the heavier make-up, to the tousled hair, to the black, satin, cleavage down to there, bra, Panties were not necessary. Per his request. I looked back to the bed, where he was laying. Spent. Exhausted. Satisfied.
No one knew I was doing this for money. No one knew this side of me. I didn't even know it myself, until tonight.
Grinning, I made my way back to him, kissed his forehead, gathered my things and left.
As I drove home, I glanced at the wad of money in my purse. Not bad for a forty-five year old wife, mother of two and president of the PTA. Not bad at all.
From Write on Edge: This week we asked you to use this photograph to inspire your post in whichever direction your mind should wander. You had only your imagination (for fiction writers) and your experiences (for memoir writers) to limit where you took this piece...oh and 450 words.
(Image courtesy of Sebastian Dooris (via Flickr Creative Commons)