It appears to be any other typical Monday night for you. You have a regular client, one who is separated, you do know that because he’s a successful businessman in Boston. You also know that because, even when he’s with you twice a month, he continues to wear his wedding ring. It sort of bothers you, from a fundamental standpoint, that he has a standing appointment with you but you shrug it off because he can more than afford it and he treats you very well. He always makes sure that you are fine after your encounter with him and he’s very polite so you can’t complain. It’s a nice standing appointment, really.

Over the course of a few months you’ve gotten to know one another quite well. You know his kids names, which is strange and you know it’s strange but it is what it is. He knows that you’re a singer but that’s about the extent of it. You don’t go into a whole lot of detail about your life because you don’t want people to have pity on you or the situations you’ve been in. It’s all in the past, what’s done is done, and you can’t change any of it now. So maybe you haven’t really gotten to know one another quite well, you know him quite well. You know each other intimately, that’s really all you need to know.

It wasn’t always intimate, though. It started out as a girlfriend experience, a casual date here and there, which you always wore a blonde wig for. In fact, for a long time, he thought you were a blonde, which never fails to make you laugh. The blonde wig is a safe guard, especially when you go out in public with clients. It’s better that way, that way no one recognizes you. You have a ‘fake’ name for a reason, after all. Clients that you like get to see what you really look like, unless they specifically ask for a red head. That’s only because they are seemingly rarer than blondes or brunettes. But this guy knows what you look like now. He sometimes asks you to wear the blonde wig just for fun.

The evening was going well, like it normally did for you. You’re comfortable enough with him now that everything seems to be routine. It’s the one thing you don’t like about having standing appointments with clients. That comfortability scares you because you don’t want a relationship. You don’t want attachment on either side. This is just a job, a means to an end until you want to stop. Or when you can’t do it anymore. Either/or works.

As much as you love Faith and working for her, you could maybe be a bartender at the club instead of being one of the girls. There are options if you want to get out. It was good money when you were literally broke and had nothing. But now? Now you wonder if you are getting too old for such a life. But you’re never really sure what you want or when you’ll stop.

The sex starts and you shut off your mind because it is so much easier that way. When you get lost in your own head it makes the sex easier. It’s so odd but it works. And you begin to hum a tune, something soft and sweet and he likes it. It’s turning him on in a way that he’s never been before. And then he asks you to actually sing something. When you go to open your mouth you sing something familiar but you are sure you’re making it up. It’s just something to make this go by faster.

And it does. It doesn’t take long before he’s finished and you’re relieved. Sure, you like him but it’s not like that. He’s fine to be around, to talk to, but he’s not what you would ever look for in a sexual partner, despite how well you know one another intimately.

But this time it’s different. This time he is being super affectionate after sex. It freaks you out for a moment but you think it’s a fluke. Maybe he just had a rough day and he’s just trying to reach out for human contact. He pulls you close and whispers in your ear, “I love you”, and you freeze. This isn’t right. Fuck. No, this isn’t right.

You sort of laugh it off and tell him you need to go. He begs and pleads to have you stay the night and you make up an excuse for yourself. You have another client tonight, that’ll do. He’s visibly upset but pays you and sees you out. Before you leave he whispers those three words again and you want to slap him but you don’t. You just smile and walk away and hope that was just a one time thing. But he said it twice.

Fuck.