Kitty

For more than a year I was constantly in touch with Kitty. She was my go-to escort and I was her suki. When I need relief, I contact her. When she needs funds, she contacts me. It was a pact we had. And I even once tested that pact by contacting my handler to schedule a session with her, and my handler confirmed that she was already off the market, having already been “taken” by another customer.

I am not sure why I wanted her for myself. It was definitely not love. I know that because after one tryst, we spent a great deal of time talking about some young 20-year old she met in a club for a one-nighter and I was not jealous at all. When I am enamored with a woman, my thoughts are consumed by her. But with Kitty, I didn’t mind her seeing other men, but I just didn’t like other men paying for her services. I didn’t lavish her with gifts nor did I divulge any of my personal secrets. I know she lives somewhere in Quezon City but I have no idea exactly where. I know her birthday and I know her province. She knows practically nothing about me — not my job, not my home number, not my birthday, not my address, not even my real name. Our sex was always professional yet intimate, always at a girlfriend level, never pornstar level. We kiss deeply and fondle each other with teenager giddiness . She sucks me like a child does a popsicle and I lap her like a thirsty hound. But the sex always has a condom, no fetishes, always with dimmed lights, and always a single release. For two pops I will have to shell out twice her fee.

Kitty was seductive to behold. She has thick shoulder-length tresses, manga eyes with mascara-thickened lashes, an auburn complexion smoothed and dolled up with makeup, lips spotlit by gloss and color. As I am one to shun women with excessive makeup, hers was a frontispiece that both beguiled and irritated me. I once saw her sans the makeup and she looked like a different person. Gone where the almond eyes and the heavy eyelashes. Plump cheeks replaced her once chiseled jowl. But whenever we meet, she is always the temptress in her attire — sometimes with a loose long-sleeved shirt, sometimes with a spaghetti-strapped blouse draped over by a worn-out denim jacket, sometimes she wore sneakers and other times she word thick-heeled boots, but always with tattered faded Daisy Dukes that accentuated her long, sleek legs.

But like all professional relationships, there came the time to adjust the terms. Needs do change over time. I am always upfront to escorts and I rarely walk in eggshells with them. What feelings am I to hurt if there are no feelings involved in the first place? She did look disappointed when I told her that I could no longer see her that often. She did not ask for any explanation, and I would not have provided any. I was not obligated to. Besides, I myself could not elaborate. Maybe it was the routine nature of our relationship. Maybe things got predictable. Or maybe her constant requests for funds touched a nerve.

She texts from time to time. “How are you?” she asks. I reply that I am fine and return the question. She asks when can we meet. I often say I can’t.