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What little lace she wore around her waist wasn't enough to keep his attention. A common story if he chose to share his day-to-day with the people he knew. It was protocol for the girls to continue with their business under any circumstance besides physical threat; undisturbed, automatic vessels. John still felt her eyes track him from his seat to the lightswitch with a deeply rooted curiosity. It was more likely that she shared the opinion that he was strange. But a man has to have a dream.
John flicked on the overhead light and pressed down the button for the DepSpase generator. The room ignited into a state of overexposure for a couple of seconds. He could barely make out the borderlines of black around her eyelids.
She sighed and patted the sides of her face with the fingertips of both hands. When the bloom withered into neutral fluorescence, she furrowed her penciled brow and casually approached him with her exposed breasts in the lead.
"This the end?"
"Yeah. Sorry about the trouble," he whispered, avoiding eye contact as the girl pressed closer to his body.
"John; you've gotta get some help."
She hoisted her chest up above the cups of the lingerie garb. John shamefully watched her press her nipples beneath the cover of the fabric out of his peripherals.
"Have you ever thought?"
For her area of work, she had a most sincere set of eyes. Most of them did, no matter where he went. When he had found a heartless brothel, it was always the upscale kind. Like in the rest of life, people with the least amount of money and respect treated you the nicest of anyone. It couldn't have hurt that they all knew him as a regular, but there was more concern on the table than a big tip could explain away.
"Yeah. I don't know what my problem is, though."
"They have tests for that kind of stuff. You don't have to know."
"I can't afford them."
"Are you scared, John?"
(To be continued. . .)
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