Less than a year after starting sex work in NYC, I moved to the West Village. My apartment was so small that my entryway, kitchen, and bathroom were all the same thing. I loved it. It was so small that if my dog & I farted at the same, we had to evacuate. But I could walk to Louboutin.
Construction started on 7th Ave one summer & I returned from a month in Bali to find out I had mice. It looked like a toddler had been running around with a bucket of chocolate sprinkles. I had the mice the rest of the time I lived in NYC. None of them made dresses. And my dog didn’t care at all about the mice. One would go scuttling by & he’d get his British accent on & go, “Gross. Would you buy me a toy that squeaks just like that, please?”
My apartment was so small that my dog was always right there when I was fucking. Where was he gonna go? He got into a habit of sitting on my cuck chair. I barely noticed until one day, this very nice gentleman was licking my butthole, and my dog…straight winked at me.
It’s like he was saying, “That is also something I enjoy!”
