I saw him leaving my room, smiling, perhaps feeling joy or contentment. He rushed out, although he was not in a hurry. In a blink of an eye, he was gone. I half-ran towards my room, and as I saw my reflection on the mirror, I can still smell his hair down there. It reminds me of what we have done, and how he looked like moaning in passion. I closed my eyes, remembering every detail of our passionate encounter that day, and I will continue to daydream the same memory, ’til I got over that. I wondered if he really liked it, or maybe he was faking. I am always ready to give it up to him, although I know it is hard to invest feelings towards somebody. Then, I started wondering if he is feeling the way I felt. Or maybe he just wanted to get laid? But why would he have to come to me to share his sensuality? With all those cold nights, why would he come to me? I can feel him, we are melting together in heat, our breath shared in the same kiss, and our bodies intertwine. His skin pressed against mine and I am licking his lips and I don’t mind. Now, do not say he doesn’t feel the same as I do. Because that could burn my heart.
With my feelings heightening and my heart pumping out of my chest, I started to talk to myself in the mirror.
“Yes, I am a whore, who is in love with the same man for years now. He is my only client.”