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The economy is down.
Perky little tits and thighs that can strangle a man don't go as far as they used to and if I have to go back to waiting tables I think I will stab myself in the eye.
National health care, who are we, Canada? How about working on creating and keeping jobs for the busy accountants in the city!

As cosmopolitan as this all seems I'm just a call girl and that guy in the picture was my John for the last four years. The head of the city's largest accounting firm who had me put up nicely in a penthouse suite.
All I had to do for this was put an adult diaper on him and tell him he was a bad, bad boy then spank him and suck him off once a week. For the rest of the week I had $750 to spend, an endless mini-bar and a busy pool area to reel in all the horny boys I wanted.

Now, I just sit and watch.

Anyway, here is my story...

In the house I grew up in, when you were old enough to get a job you went to work and helped pay bills. My very first menial labor job would be my last for a long while.

Jerry's diner had it's perks, I was never rushing to find a bite to eat and there was usually a boy from school somewhere around flirting with me to pass the time. With Jerry's being new in town and serving the best cup of coffee we were the latest new hangout.

Jerry, having his restaurant fail due to the economy two towns away, had toned down his business-like appearance wearing only a paper cook's hat and stain-covered white apron over a plain tee shirt and jeans most days. He always paid me on time which is all I cared about but truth be told I would have rather gone to bed with him than any of the drooling boys lingering around the diner on a daily basis.

February 14th, Valentine's day. That was the day I first met David Stone, the man in my famous picture. Stone was a good name for him as most of his features could have been chiseled out of rock. His face seemed to be grimacing even when he was not and the hardened muscles of his wiry build bulged through his fitted dress shirt.

As he strode in through the front door of the diner I smiled as he drifted into the table booth and gave me a short smile when I gave him my standard "Need a date for V-day?" comment.

"Actually," he said, "just a cup of coffee would be great."

Returning with his order, he asked "There is one more thing you can do for me, be my baby for the next hundred years?"

"Ahh so you are without love on V-day then?"

"I'm afraid so, there is a body at home I can have sex with if I dare beg for it but no love there for sure."

I sensed his need to chat for a moment and lighting down into the booth seat across from him I asked, "So how did it get so bad at home?"

"Well, we lost a child to a car accident and after the frantic first year or so of disbelief and pain, she sunk into a depression and somehow in her mind the accident became my fault. Suddenly I wasn't to touch her or hold her or even enter that magical three-foot shielded space that constantly surrounded her."

The pain in his eyes reached a depth I hadn't yet seen in a person in my mere sixteen years of life. Trying to muster a smile I rested my hand softly on his wrist and brushed my leg against his and just sat, staring with him.

The next three weeks were a blur for me, we traveled, shopped together and dined in exclusive restaurants. I was a princess and he was my prince in a love story that felt like it lasted life a lifetime.

Of course the first time I came back to our penthouse suite and caught him with a hooker and wearing a diaper, my fairy tale slammed to the ground with a loud bang. It wasn't long after that I was told everything we were, had been a lie. No depressed wife, three kids at home and no desire to leave her.

And then came the glorious offer to retire to my penthouse suite for as long as I liked. I would get a raise every three months, just like his best employees, if I performed my duties well. If I was there alone when he needed me to be, always had cherry lip balm in my possession and kept a fresh supply of Depends on hand. At least he didn't actually use the diapers. Ugh.

It was this or back to small-town-nowhere and Jerry's diner. At least here I could make contacts, try to get some real education and delve into some serious fashion.

Four years later I have another menial labor job, with much better pay I might add. I tend night school and spend most of my tips at the trendy boutiques I got so used to frequenting.
Sometimes I come here to bitch in my own way, quietly, about the current state of the economy. When I am tired of it all I come here to rest because I know he passes this way, him and his happy, clueless wife. They seem to be truly happy together and we all will survive these bad times I suppose.

But when I've had enough of seeing people not being able to afford a cup of coffee I come here to a place of such depth and beauty with a bittersweet essence to it to bitch, in my own way, quietly.
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