And Rain Will Make The Flowers Grow

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"Uhhhnn...ohhh...uhn..uhhnn...UHN!"

The large, heavy, curly-haired man collapses onto my small but sturdy frame, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Ewww, he's sweating all over me! No matter how many weeks of experiance I had, I'd never get used to this job.

That's right, just a job. Some people serve food for a living, some clothes, some...love. Not the mushy-gushy, kiss on the cheek and "Yes, dear." love. Just  pure, unbridled animal need. Not like this was my first choice anyways...

"Okay buddy, you had your fun. Pay up. 2 hours, 75$ per."

He looked at me perversely, hungrily.

"I said okay. Pay the hell up."

He threw two crumpled fifties at me, and threw his shirt over his sweat-streaked back. Grinning at me toothily, he left without paying the full price. Not like I could detain him. At 4'11 and 97lbs, I'm no bodybuilder. I slowly moved my aching legs and midsection off of the messy bed. Groaning as I bent to pick up my bra, I hobbled over to the mirror. How did I end up looking like this?

I looked in the mirror, half filled with curiosity, half filled with dread. Just one quick glance was more than enough to shock me, horrify me. The cracking, dimly lit mirror revealed sharp cheekbones, gaunt cheeks and hollowed, green eyes. A longer look showed thin, muscular arms and legs, but angular, sharp elbows and knees. I'm slightly pigeoned-toed, so my pelvis stuck out, further showing off my bony hips and ribs. A plus, I have pouty lips, and I'm actually a C cup... Maybe being model-thin isn't terrible.

I sighed loudly as I pulled my waist length red (not orange. RED.) wavy hair into a ponytail, and yank on a pair of faded cutoffs and a too-short, red Marylin Monroe shirt. Lacing up my old knock-off black Vans, I do mental math and calculate how much to give Mr. Wothor. 

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