cmaxwell

I had lunch with a hooker.
I'd met her at the Dirty Show, where she was mostly naked, dressed as a nun, but with her boyfriend.
We met at a crowded Greek dive in a strip mall.
She wore a baggy sweatshirt and said she was afraid I was dangerous, based on my behavior at the show, where I had approached her a few times.
She also was nervous because she'd seen a couple of cops cars in the parking lot. I told her it wasn't illegal to have lunch with a guy. I couldn't imagine she was very happy about her profession if she was this paranoid.
My stomach was churning. I wasn't sure I wanted to have lunch with this person, but I'd arranged it. I was there because I am curious, fatally so. I'd never really talked with a real hooker.
We talked and gradually got more comfortable. Despite her nervousness about being found out, though, she talked way too loudly about sexual matters.
She also spoke a lot about her father.
She said she didn't like to watch porn videos because they reminded her of her father, who was handicapped and would have porn on all the time in the background while he read books.
She said she was hooking because there was no work in her field, that hooking was usually fun, and she was trying to earn money to go to grad school.
She told me she'd done some domming, and there was one guy whose only wish was to be kicked in the balls.
I was not attracted to her, couldn't imagine having sex with her, paid or otherwise, but felt we could possibly be friends. She was smart and gutsy.
After the lunch, I got really sick to my stomach--and I threw up for the first time this century.
Coincidence or fate?