"Mommy" For Hire

Charles' confusion was obvious. Smiling shyly, she continued, "I retired as well. Shortly after we said goodbye."

"Really?" Charles gasped. "What brought that on?" Then, quickly, he added, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"I don't mind," said Sanya. "The short answer is: I no longer needed to work. My daughter had graduated from college. I paid off her tuition. I paid off my house. I'd met quite a few smart businessmen in my line of work, including you. They taught me how to save, how to invest. I have more than enough now, just like you. I decided it was time."

Sanya laughed softly as she finished. "Besides. I'm getting older. And it got tougher every year to compete with the younger women. Figured I'd go out with my dignity and pride still intact."

"That's... wow. Good for you, Soph... um, Sanya. Sorry, that's gonna take some getting used to."

"I understand," Sanya laughed. "And it's okay. I still answer to 'Sophie,' too. After all, it's my middle name; well actually it's 'Sophia.' After my abuela. Sanya Sophia Torres. Nice to meet you."

"Wait, you used your grandmother's name for your professional name?" Charles asked.

"Sí, why not?" Sanya shrugged. "I come from a long, proud line of professional whores."

Charles' jaw dropped. "Really?"

"Sí, really. It's how my mother got us out of Mexico after my father died; how she supported us and later, how I supported her. And then my own daughter."

Sanya smiled proudly. "My daughter is the first in our family to go to college. To graduate. She will go on to have a great career, a great life."

Sanya took his hand. "That weekend I left you; her graduation party was the next day. All her friends, what's left of our family, were all coming to celebrate. It was an incredibly important day for me; a day to celebrate the fact that my daughter will have a normal life and never have to sell herself to someone to get ahead."

Charles bowed his head shamefully. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Sanya, I had no idea..."

"Of course you didn't. But don't beat yourself up over it. That's in the past. I just wanted you to understand why I got so upset.

"Weeks later, I started feeling bad about the way I'd left you, and worried about your mental state. But I'd already been putting my retirement plan into effect, and I figured I'd have to cut the cord with you eventually, so no sense in confusing you by reaching out again."

Charles nodded. "I understand that. But... what made you change your mind? Why are you here, now?"

Sanya looked thoughtful. "I figured enough time had gone by. Enough space between us. Enough to maybe move on from it."

Her hand gripped his a little tighter. "And I really, well... I just wanted a drink. With an old friend."

"Shit, where are my manners, anyway?" Charles grinned. "Hey, Lenny," he called, "get the lady here a drink, will ya please? A shot of Jamison, neat. Make that a double."

Turning to her, he smiled. "It is still Jamison, right?"

Sanya returned his smile, her dark eyes regarding him warmly. "It is. Thank you, Charles."

The bartender brought her drink. "Here ya go, miss. Another Jack for you, Charlie?"

"Yes, please; thank you, Lenny."

Sanya's lips twisted in a surprised grin. "Did he just call you 'Charlie'???"

"Yeah. My friends call me that now." His eyes met hers again. "And... if you don't mind... I'd really like it if you'd call me that as well."

Sanya's eyes twinkled merrily in the dim lit bar.

"Of course, Charlie. I'd be more than happy to."

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AUTHORS AFTERWARDS

I never much understood the whole "Mommy" fetish at first. Especially the more juvenile aspects that often go along with it.

But I do understand the desire sometimes to simply let go, to give up control, to put yourself in someone else's hands and let them take the reins. Not just in sex, but in life.

I also understand the desire to simply be nurtured and cared for.

Sometimes, we want a friend. Sometimes, a lover. Sometimes a whore.

And sometimes, well...

Sometimes, a boy just needs his mother.

Song credits: "More Than A Feeling," by Boston. Lyrics by Tom Scholz.