The Good Old Days

Sometimes I long for the good old days, when being a street hooker didn't mean hours and hours of pointless loitering. Oh boy, what am I telling myself? It has always been like this. Waiting for a lucky guy with some spare cash who wants to use me for his daily deposit of cum.

But then, what can I say? The feeling won't stay. After a while there's always a guy that bursts the bubble of pity. Someone nice, who bends me over his desk or facefucks me while his wife is taking the kids for a stroll in the park.

What can I say? I like all men, as long as they pay.