The Last Time?

She only wished that it could really wash it all away, like it seems to on TV.

Adjusting the water while holding the curtain to the side, she wonders how those women on TV just seem to step in to the water and it’s the perfect temperature immediately…no initial moment of scalding or freezing like in real life…just perfect.
Just like everyone else’s life seemed to be…like she is sure hers seems to be to everyone else.
No one at work would ever suspect what she did in this hotel room every Friday night…and she wouldn’t want them to.

This really is the best part, though…this wonderful shower…perfect pressure, nice and hot, no fluctuations in temperature to make her jump, and the luxury towels and robe they provide are just exquisite…just relax and forget what just happened.

Why does she do this? It’s not like she needs the money…
Outloud, she says “Just stop it! You have this conversation with yourself every week, and you never come up with an answer, so why do you keep doing this to yourself? Well, I guess I could answer that by saying with a resounding ‘because’.”

It’s really not so bad, though, she thinks, as she looks down to make sure she got all that glittery stuff off her thighs.
If it wasn’t everyone else being so dead-set against it, and making her feel like a piece of crap, maybe she wouldn’t hate herself so much for it.

She feels fairly confident that Oprah isn’t talking directly to her, but it sure seems that way sometimes.

It does have its good points, after all…like the sex itself is usually pretty good. She knows her own body well enough after all this time, that she can usually get off even if the John isn’t any good…because it’s not like any of them care if she orgasms or not. This, for them, is the ultimate self-indulgence, and she makes sure that they get their money’s worth.

Oh, God, this is the most wonderful feeling…just letting the water run down her naked body, using the most wonderful smelling soaps and shampoos. A girl has to treat herself right, you know…have some respect for herself.

As she towels herself off and pulls on the plush white robe, she is sure that she maybe probably might be done now, and this is the last time. She will have to call Miss Vanessa tomorrow and tell her that under no circumstances is she to book her again. Well, she’ll try, anyway. Although, maybe just one more wouldn’t hurt, and she could pay her credit cards down just a bit more and still afford to pay for the car. Well, we’ll see. The Senator says he misses her all week…she hates to disappoint. He’s such an important man.