"So we have a couple of demo men coming in. I'd like you all to give them a great experience". Mrs. Cavnahaugh said before letting what could only be the most hairy and crotchety old men on the planet into the room. Yay massage therapy. Go college. Or not. I was so not looking forward to this shit.
"Ally, you're first. Get your oils," Mrs. Hagfromhades spat. She wasn't the nicest and quite frankly I hated her. I've been taking her class for about a year now and although I'm close to graduating, it can't come soon enough. Ugh. Regardless I go to my shelf and grab all of my oils and walk toward the 6 grey haired creepizoids {one for each of us in the class}.
"Who's first?" I ask, probably not too happily.
"You can rub me down anytime, Princess," the one standing to my right said. He definitely was one of the worst of them. Huge beer belly, hairy moles all over his face and arms, rotten teeth, and a lazy eye. Not to mention the most sketch jewelry covering his fingers and throat.
"Oh joy," I muttered and motioned him to my massage table. I'll probably have to burn it geezus.
YOU ARE READING
Life's a Struggle
Short StoryCollege: part of the plan. Apartment: part of the plan. Boys: of course. Prostitution Ring and surprisingly sexy and lethal cop: Negative. The cover came from Google Images
