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*This is a story I began and never finished…”

I’m really not as appalled as you would think I should be. Truthfully I am very flattered. Echella is a breathtakingly beautiful woman. All long legs and slender arms. Curves placed in all the right areas. When she walks she looks as if she is gliding along. Her facial features implore your attention. Her eyes are a seductive concoction of deep brown with flecks of honey. Her lips a heart shaped pout. At times when we are talking I force myself to look away. Never do I want to be caught staring.

Me…I’m beautiful in that sickly sweet way. I have a beautiful smile and expressive dark brown eyes that are so dark to gaze into them is to fall head first in a black hole.
I’ve been called ‘Brownies’ and ‘BP- black pearls’ because of their rich, deep color.
If Echella had flecks of honey I had ribbons of fudge.
My body is a valley of curves. From breast to hips to thighs to ass to calves, nothing is a straight line. To caress my body is akin to playing airplane with your hand.
Echella has straight to mid back hair, almost the same color as her eyes. A chestnut brown with highlights of honey. Never before have I seen a woman growing out highlights and have it not matter. The dark roots somehow complimented her honey strands.
Me…my hair is black down to the scalp. I wear my hair shaved off because doing hair has never been my thing. If I let my hair do its own thing my hair, like Echella’s, it would match the color of my eyes.
Within my eye sockets I can appreciate the dark color. On my head the color blends too much with my skin- a clear caramel- and gives me license to fade in the background.
But let me clear up something…even if I wanted the background I wouldn’t be able to last there long.
From the innocence of childhood I have wanted all eyes on me. The 3rd child of 5 girls it is very easy to get pushed, placed…or wander into the background. But I learned that if you weren’t up front and center you lost your voice, your say, your choice, your control.

I love the spotlight almost as much as I love control.
And…I’m getting ahead of myself…
I wasn’t upset nor shocked. I’d thought about it, numerous times. Life has a way of showing that no one is above anything. If you are at the bottom of a well you will do whatever it takes to claw yourself back up to the top.
I saw my decision as a way to claw back up…I never intended to hurt anyone…but they kind of threw themselves into my path…they made the choice and in the end they got what they deserved.
And I’m getting ahead of myself.

Echella had been shopping in the store for a few weeks, maybe a month when she offered to take me out after my shift.
Whenever she came into the store we would chat it up like we were old friends.
“Do you notice how men stare at you?”
Echella had a lovely French accent that only enhanced the allure of her. Any word that came out of her mouth sounded seductive and sensual.
I regarded her with a look of pure skepticism. Standing on my own- yeah sure – men stared. I was a black woman with a shaved head. Occasionally that brought a few glances. BUT standing next to Echella…no one paid attention to me.
Working in NYC you encounter Fashionistas all over the place. I tried not to think much about my style or lack thereof. I tried to do the best I could with what I had.
Echella was a Fashionista. She wore the latest trends in clothing, handbags and jewelry. Her outfits looked as if they were plucked from the pages of a fashion magazine. Where I worked- a pricey lingerie shop- we had been featured in a few magazines. Even with an employee discount I wasn’t able to afford anything in there.
Paired with her, in my Old Navy trousers and Old Navy cardigan with my statement bracelet I knew I looked stylish…but I also knew I didn’t look like a Fashionista.
I’ll admit that I was a bit jealous when I first saw her. I figured she lived at home, didn’t have bills and was able to spend whatever she wanted on her closet. With Mommy and Daddy backing what she couldn’t.
Rarely do I make assumptions…but fuck she looked the part.
I answered her question with a scoff.
She said in her delicate French accent, “Ooh no. Men watch you. I have seen it. Their eyes light up with you approach them. When you smile they smile.”
I had no clue where she was going with this.
“So. I’ve seen men break their necks to get a look at you.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Men are visual creatures, Echella. You’re beautiful.”
“Yes, I am.” She said point blank.
“Ooookkkkaaayyy…no need to hide the conceit.” I said smiling a little. I couldn’t argue. She really was.
“Should I hide away? Or ignore what everyone else wants to focus on? Or should I use it?”
I looked her over, carefully and slowly. From her Stuart Weitzman shoes, to her Tory Burch sheath dress, to her Michael Kors handbag and sunglasses and then to her face. Her youthful, fresh out of college face.
“Do you live at home with your parents?” I asked, nibbling on a piece of lettuce from my Cobb salad.
“No. I have a roommate, but after this week I will be living alone.”
“Manhattan, Chelsea.”
I allowed those words to sink in.
Echella allowed those words to sink in.
2012 + Manhattan = Way overpriced rent. Living with a roommate was tough…going at it alone…at 27…
“Not to be rude but do your parents help with the rent?”
Echella tossed back her chestnut, honey highlighted mane and smiled. A set of straight, bright white teeth flashed before my eyes.
“No. My parents live in Brooklyn on a fixed income. I help them out with their rent.”
“Ok, Echella, what does that have to do with whether or not men find me attract-“
Like a ball to a bat the answer came soaring at me.
“You have a Sugar Daddy.” I said nonchalantly.
Echella, seductively licked her lips and leaned over the table.
She was going to tell me a secret.
“I do…the kind that I control.”
My turn to smile and for good measure I added a laugh.
“Control…you sound like you pick when you see him? Nice set up.”
Echella narrowed her eyes at me and leaned back into her chair.
“I do pick and choose when I see…them.”
How many did a girl need?
“I’m a Call Girl, Desiree.”

*Was it interesting? Should I write more, finish?”

Until next time,