She stood there, on the street corner, those ridiculous platform heels that she’d spent all week even being able to walk nicely in. She hated them. She loved them.
She couldn’t believe she was here. Her heart was in her mouth as every man looked at her, slowing a little. This was supposed to be a fantasy, not reality.
She looked like a whore, she felt like a whore. God, how long would he make her wait there, before he came, and picked her up, and paid her, and made her his whore?