18. Sasha

Dear Merve,

This is Sasha and this is my story. It's mine - not yours, not hers, and not the version you'd get from any of my clients. I'm a hooker living in Germany (I won't say exactly where, and please understand) and I'm not German and I like it all that way. It's helps me separate the past from the present and know that future is somewhere else, and that whenever hooking doesn't work for me any longer I can just go there, wherever. For now I'm happy, don't get me wrong. This life as an American ex-pat hooker isn't all it's cracked up to be and it sure is a lot of sweaty, dirty work, but it's good, and it's mine. And I like it.

And that ninny Sally (aka S., which is so stupid, by the way) wants to take it away from me. More about her later, unfortunately.

The name my parents gave me is Sasha and I want you to know the real story. My hooker name is Kirsche. I have a small round mouth with nice plump lips and when I lay on the lipstick, it's just all a little cherry in the middle of my face. Kirsche = cherry. Cute, isn't it? And it isn't hard to explain to the dumb ones. All clients get it and they think it's cute. Cute is the game I play. I play kitten and tiny and bubbly and you can pick me up and throw me around. All that stuff most men like. Most men who pay for sex anyway.

I specialize in fur. Anywhere. Just ask for it. Fur is my game. Meow!

So, about Sally. I mean, "S.," as she seems to need privacy these days. My god, the woman is so freaky and always has been. Remember when she stayed up all night long making finger puppets of the nativity scene? Baby Jesus had hair to her knuckles. Unnatural.

She's writing me. Like, constantly. I don't know how she found me but she's calling me Sasha so far and hasn't referred to my job. She hasn't even asked me about it. She probably thinks I'm a fucking foreign exchange student. I should tell her I give discounted blow jobs to the exchange students, see what she says about that. She'd freak out and you know it.

What the hell am I going to do about her? Help me! I'm afraid she's going to fly over here with her nasty little stinky mutt and track me down. I don't want to get the German police all in my business, so I have to avoid this happening. Help, please.

Sasha

p.s. I sure do miss you, baby.