Fisherman
A young fisherman from a poor rural fishing village visits the local whorehouse for the first time, and finds himself living the classic fantasy; the madam of the house decides that he's going to be her special customer for the night. He'll discover that there's a reason why she chose him.
A smile spread on she beautiful brown face, like when you draw your finger through molasses on a plate.
"Sit down nuh, doux-doux, you in your nice clean press white shirt? I glad you dress up to come and see me."
"All right."
I siddown on the very edge of the chair with my hands in my lap, not holding the chair arms. I frighten for leave even a sniff of fish on the expensive tapestry. Everything in this cathouse worth more than me. I frighten for touch anything, least of all the glorious woman standing in front of me now, bubbies and hips pushing out of she dress, forcing the fabric to shape like the roundness of she. The women where I living all look like what them does do: market woman, shave ice seller, baby mother. But she look like a picture in a magazine. Is silk that she wearing? How I to know, I who only make for wear crocus bag shirt and Daddy old dungarees?
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