As I walked toward a coffee shop, I noticed a beautiful young woman – in her early 30s, I’d guess – in black spandex leggings and a black tank top. She was walking a little quicker than I, but toward the same destination. I admired her ass – full, round, not small at all. Her hair was shiny, jet black, shoulder length. She wore artificial eyebrows, giving a cheap taint to her otherwise spectacular presentation.
On line, waiting to order, our eyes met. She looked familiar. Her eyes lingered on mine just a little too long. Was she flirting?
Suddenly, I realized.
She wasn’t flirting. She was having the same memory I was having, just a second or two earlier.
“A lifetime ago,” as she put it, we had known one another. We had “met” twice, actually – first, in a massage parlor I once frequented. And then, surprisingly, coincidentally, she answered an ad I placed on CraigsList. I was seeking a submissive partner in crime. I was paying, of course. When she walked up to me on the street all those years ago (and it was a long time ago), we recognized one another. We both professed relief, and even excitement.
For a few months, I paid her to dress as I asked, to suck my cock, to let me lick her pussy. She was the second woman I paid to fuck, the last woman I paid to fuck, before my world came crashing down, before I began the process of ending that chapter of my life.
Occasionally, I’ve wondered what became of her. “You’re a trainer, now?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. She asked about me, where I live, what I’m doing. We had some small talk. We smiled, and said good-bye.
It was a lifetime ago.