Kitty Dwyer rode the dick and sucked the cock. The dick and cock, being one and the same member, belonged to Reginald Arnold, an elderly man in the neighborhood. She had taken the job, more of a gig really, as it included no benefits other than expensive red wine (Reginald was a collector), because according to her values, which she’d done her best to cultivate during her turbulent 20s, expensive red wine was right on point.

It was one of the reasons why she liked Reginald, whom she called Reggie, or more often Reg, now that she had been seeing him for a few months: their values aligned. Red wine and prime time TV followed by a quick fuck, that was her pace nowadays. And she got paid for it. Unequivocally better than the fuckboys she used to fuck, for pleasure (allegedly) back in her early 20s, when she was still dating; when she still believed in the theory of it, of eating dinner or drinking drinks with people in a glorified interview, waiting to see if this, maybe this person was worthy of whatever future you were headed toward, or crash-landing, based on what Kitty had observed in her peers. 

For Kitty, though she sold her body for sex, did not contain any of the scruples that she observed in her peers, the women who had crash-landed, wedding ring on hand, into guys named Chuck or Grayson or Tyler, guys who bullied them into becoming versions of their moms they hadn’t known existed. 

Kitty, for all her faults (and she had many of them) was, at least, free. 

To be continued!!!

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