The Wind Playing With Our Pubes

Hi Sweetlips,

I've just checked into the hotel. You had your voicemail turned on, so I decided to give the hotel stationery a try.

I miss you so very much. It's really bad this time. I've already been missing you ever since the moment we said goodbye at the airport. I've still got a clear picture in my mind of you standing on the roof terrace, waving at me as I walked over to the plane. Your blonde hair was waving in the wind. Your white skirt was waving in the wind as well; it looked as if your pussy was reaching out to wave goodbye to me.

I was so jealous of that breeze. I imagined how it must have been tugging at the little, curly hairs of your blonde bush, making your pubes rock back and forth. I imagined it streaking past your pussy lips, tasting you and tasting the dried up cum of the quicky we'd had before we'd left for the airport. What I would have given if I could have sailed over on the wind to dive in between those white stockings and taste your exquisite cunt right there on the roof terrace.

I'm glad you stayed to see me off. Unfortunately I couldn't see you anymore after I'd boarded the plane.

I don't know how I'm going to survive another four days away from you. Yes, I've been thinking on the plane about what you said. I know I should probably have been more understanding. But you can't imagine my surprise when you told me you'd started to feel jealous of my clients. I thought you were cool with it. I've been doing it for so many years. Hell, you know what it's like. You used to do it as well, before I got you out of that brothel three years ago. You know that you're not really having sex with a client when you're having sex with a client. Okay, that came out wrong. I mean: you know we always imagine ourselves to be somewhere else and with someone else. At least I know I do.

It's not so bad as what you had to go through. Unlike you in that third-rate brothel, I'm not being forced to fuck any client that wants a piece of my ass. I'm being paid for the company. Sex is just extra money. It's my choice if I go down on my client. I was thinking on the plane that maybe that's what makes it harder for you: the fact that it's my choice. You do know that I'm only doing it for the money, don't you, Sweetlips? I'm always doing it for you, to give you the life you deserve. Think of that when things get difficult, will you?

I should probably have said this before, but the work has been getting more difficult for me lately. It's not like back when I was twenty. Back then I just had to close my eyes and imagine I was getting a really hot babe off. After I'd met you, I had your picture in my mind every time I had to go down on one of these ladies. I'm sure tonight I'll think of you up on that roof terrace, your pubes waving in the wind, your white skirt gently rubbing against your thighs... If I close my eyes, I can almost smell your pussy, like its aroma was carried across the ocean on a gust of wind. It's getting me hard as I sit here behind the desk in my hotel room. But when I open my eyes, all I can see is the skyscraper across the street and a wave of depression rolls over me. These days I have to keep my eyes shut if I'm doing a client. I can't stand to look at their flesh. I never used to have that problem.

I can't stop worrying what would happen if I would stop. You know that it's the only thing I can do, don't you? Pleasing ladies is the only thing I've ever done in my life. It's the only thing I'm good at. I mean: can you picture me working behind a desk? Sure, I can read and write, but: I don't understand how it can be somebody's job to shove papers around. How does that work?

Or could you see me as a salesman? Hocking TVs and washing machines to housewives? Maybe I could be a car salesman. I wish you could get a load of the car the agency has got me. A dark green Aston Martin. Yeah, really. It was waiting for me at the airport over here. Clearly this client is a top-of-the-range spender. After I'd pulled up at the hotel and the desk clerk asked me for my name, I'd almost said 'Bond, James Bond'. I look a bit like him, don't I? Not that blond guy, of course. But the old one. What was his name again? Pierre Brostan or something? Yeah, selling overpriced sports cars and SUV's to bored, old millionaire's wives and daughters: maybe that's not so different from being a gigolo?

I don't know. How much would a car salesman make? You know how much we still need the money. How am I going to pay off the mortgage on our beach house if I quit my job with the agency? What if I can't find a regular job? Or if I can't make enough on a regular job? And don't start again about you getting a job. I just won't have it. You knew what you were getting into when you married an Italian. It's my job to provide and your job to look beautiful and give me lots of babies in a few years time.

I just checked out the client's file. She's not too bad looking, considering she's fifty-two. It says here she's a businesswoman, runs her own company. Maybe she would have a good job for me in her company? I've often had to pass for upper management. I've got that look down. Anyway, she needs professional company for a few banquets and meetings with bankers from the Middle East. Apparently she thinks they wouldn't take her seriously if they thought she was single. Seems like all business. So maybe she won't want sex afterwards. No, hold on... It says her she likes Robbie Williams and Greek food. Well, like I said: I'll be thinking of you when I go down on her.

Okay, I've got to go now. I have to take a shower before I go to pick her up at the Hilton. I can't go to a client with the smell of your pussy still clinging to my cock. We'll talk about the job and our future when I get back, okay? If you should need to get in touch with me, don't use the cell. My room number is 2031. Just leave a message if I'm not here. Yeah, that's on the twentieth floor. I've got a nice view over the city... not! It's all skyscrapers I'm looking at. Only if I look to the left I can see a little blue sliver of the ocean water in the harbour. If I put my nose up against the window, I can just see the wind playing with the little waves on the water's surface. I can picture the wind causing ripples like that through your pubes. Tell you what: when I'm back, we'll take the dune buggy out and find a nice, secluded place in the dunes where nobody can see us. We'll get naked and lie there all day in the sun, you and me, the wind playing with our pubes, my dick playing with your pussy.

Love,

Sal