sasha the escort

my friend nancy
decides after years and years
of online dating
to become an escort
for an escort service.
she calls herself sasha
now, when she's working,
and has learned to speak
with a Russian accent.
lots of lipstick and rouge
and slinky
dresses.
i'm fed up with men. why
not. why not make some
money off of these
dopey desperate men,
she told me.
all i'm getting now
is dinner
and drunken slobber
all over me
in the parking lot.
not to mention having to listen
to them whine about
their wives and children.
I have a bite mark on my neck
from the last guy.
he was a mild mannered
accountant until he had
three martinis
then he attacked me like
frank Sinatra in a saloon.
I've given up on the soul
mate thing.
the love thing. to hell
with that notion.
i'd like to retire some
day, and it would be
nice to have some extra
cash on hand.
you're crazy, I tell her.
what about disease,
what about violence
and trouble, and what
if they fall in love with
you and stalk you?
always a Debbie downer,
aren't you, my cynical
friend. and here I've
already bought my
pepper spray and whips.
i'll be selective, choosey
with my clients.
and i'll set my own rates,
if they mention one time
their ex wife the price is
doubled.
great idea, I tell her.
great idea.