Monday, 7 April 2014

Monday, April 07, 2014 -


by John Benson
Published: Mar 07, 2014
Words: 23,920
Category: fantasy
Orientation: M/F
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Through the walls came the sound of rhythmic slapping and heartfelt little grunts. Candy touched a switch and drowned out the neighbors' horizontal bop with the raspy voice and liquid guitar work of Dirty Joe Fritz doing Motherfuckin' Blues: Mamma's in the kitchen/Papa's in the jail/ Sister's on the corner yellin' 'tail for sale', and then a long heart-wracking riff, like, does life really suck or what? Somebody knocked. Candy dialed her noise down several notches and fussed with the hem of her too-short skirt. Show time.

She opened the door and smiled. "Hi," she cooed. "I'm Candy."

The john's name was Tom and he came bearing gifts, a bottle and two glasses. He looked her up and down, they always do. "Um, hi," he said. Nervous. So maybe he's new to this. That's sweet.

"Hi," said Candy. "Come on in and we can get comfy."

He grinned. "Your bio says you're working your way through college," he said. "I'd love it if that's true, but if I had a buck for every Comfort Girl who says she's working her way through college, well, you know."

And Candy giggled. "Even a cliché gotta be true sometimes," she said. "I was working my way through law school. Just took the bar exam last week, so you're probably my last date."

"Cool," the john said. He touched her shyly. "How do we do this?"

She felt a little zing. Not as much as she used to. This is getting old, she thought. High time for moving on. "I'm naughty for not wearing any panties," she purred. "I should be punished, don't you think?"

"Oh, yeah," the john said.

She felt a real spark from him, alertness, real lust, a hint of danger. Oh yeah, she thought, a live one. This one's going to work. And Dirty Joe Fritz played funky, and naughty Candy smiled.


This wasn't a show office. It looked worked in, stacks of printout, a well worn data terminal, books laying open with pages marked with post-its. The Chief Judge rose as Candy entered. I wonder what this is all about, she thought.

"Candice Berman, sir," she said. "You wanted to see me?" I passed the bar, she thought. Being a Comfort Girl isn't against the law. There shouldn't be a problem. But maybe there is?

The Chief Judge smiled. "Please take a seat, Miss Berman," he said. "Now look this way for a second, please."

There was a little buzz. She shuddered. A mug shot? "Is there a problem, sir?" she asked. I sound too timid, she thought. I haven't done anything wrong. Just things that High Class folks don't like.

"You passed the bar with a 98," the Chief Judge said. "The next highest score was an 89. And your essay was so concise, so thoughtful it almost deserves publication. I thought I'd like to meet you."

"Okay," she said. Here it comes, she thought. "You're wondering at my choices," she said.

"I'm curious," the Chief Judge said.