Tetchy the whole weekend. Trying to work it off with a five mile run. Brushing shoulders accidentally with someone. The incident escalating quickly into a shouting match, me being the last to back off. Vulgar and unpleasant. Do that again and who knows, it might be me on page seventeen of some newspaper, man stabbed in streetfight.
Meanwhile, a constant low-grade itch just beneath the skin. Masturbation unsatisfactory, a sour surface climax and the spring fully rewound fifteen minutes later.
This morning, the same unrelenting scratchiness. To hell with it, if I don’t do something about it I’ll land up making big mistakes, losing my family, getting fired.
Loading up the escort website, scanning my hot list. For some reason, knowing exactly who I want. Straight to Anna. All services, no extras, no bareback, sixty pounds for half an hour. A photo of a slim girl in black panties, one hand on hip.
Dialing her number. Answer in a low voice, hi. Hi, is that Anna? Yes it is. I was wondering, are you free today? What time darling? Say twelve o’clock? Twelve o’clock is good darling, do you want thirty minutes or an hour? Thirty minutes. Okay darling, I’ll text you my address. Okay, see you twelve o’ clock. Okay darling, bye.
Ten seconds later, beep-beep-beep. A message, bethune road n16, corner of sandf ct, ring me when you get here, i’ll give you apartment number.
Texting back, see you twelve o’clock.
Okay, Anna, that gives me two hours, at the end of which either I’ve changed my mind or you’ll have changed my life.
