The screen remains stubbornly blank today. I’m not sure what to do to get the juices flowing. Aside from a repeat of my performance in the shower an hour ago. But it’s early yet and I never masturbate more than three times a day. More than that smacks of self indulgence. Anyway, I’m not sure the two juice flows are synchronised.
I consider changing my writing name and type a few ideas as they come to me.
CandyCake, CandySimples, CandySamples.
That last one has a ring to it. I congratulate myself but consult with Dr Google just to be sure.
It looks like some honey has beaten me to the punch. I hate her. She is welcome to the name. But nobody should have tits that big.
It’s Tuesday, so Agnes is here. Blonde, slim, tight bum, looks twenty-five. I say ‘looks’ because I know she has a daughter of eighteen. She cleans four houses a day and pays all her taxes. She is from Poland.
Last week my husband had to let her in. I got home from a hard day racking up bills on American Express to find him mooning over her as she cleaned the oven.
“Twoj kutas jest ogromny.”
I say that sometimes as I toss him off in the dark.
Kutas is Polish for dick. You can guess the rest.
I don’t have the heart to tell him that these days she prefers girls. Or how I know for that matter.
It’s nearly eleven. Coffee time. Agnes sets the mug on a coaster to the right of my screen. Strong and black, the way I prefer it. But a girl can’t always have everything.
She sits in my leather tub chair and sips fizzy water from a bottle. She looks so cute in her skinny jeans and tight top. Her nipples resemble puppies’ noses.
When I spin round on my desk chair to chat she sees that I’m not wearing a bra either.
I ask about her holiday in Turkey. It’s what any good employer would do.
She tells me about getting stranded at Antalya Airport following the collapse of her travel company.
“I have to stay extra night. The arrangements were good though. A lovely air-conditioned coach to take us to emergency hotel.”
I cross my legs giving her a flash of black stocking top. I think about asking her to change the sheets in the guest bedroom.
“But when we get to hotel there is problem. Not enough rooms.”
“Quite a ‘ogromny’ problem,” I suggest.
“Ah, yes too right! You know Polish word for it.”
She is so sweet I could eat her. Again.
“So I have to share room with lady I meet on coach.”
The guest room will have to wait until next week. Duty calls.
Agnes goes off to clean the shower.
I start to type.
Antalya Airport was hotter than hell. Agnes stared in dismay at the departures board…
