Sneak Peek of

Cindy and the Awkwardly Ever After

It's crazy to me that so few people have a running monologue going in their heads. Like, how do these people read? Do the words just connect to meaning and skip the actual sound part of their brain? How do they process what's going on around them? I mean, I know it has to be possible—babies and animals process thoughts all the time without language. Though, if I had to guess, smarter animals like our pig here on the mine, Porshetta, incorporate language or sound in there somewhere.

"Cindy?" says a voice.

"Mmmhmm?" Maybe they have some type of image or even an emotional association they create instead...

"Cindy?" the guy, currently pounding away on top of me, says again, finally breaking into my thoughts. I can't for the life of me remember his name—Arnold?

"Yes?" I look up from the spot on his bare chest I had been focused on and meet his eyes.

"Can we, uh, move to the edge of the bed? I'd like to try this from behind," he asks nervously.

"Sorry, I don't do anal."

Arthur, or whatever his name is, turns bright red. "No, I just mean from behind. I—I—I—" he begins to stutter and I wish for the life of me I could remember his name so I could reassure him it's fine. Instead, I just nod. "Bruh, no problem."

He pulls away from me and the slick of the lube I doused him in earlier makes an obscene noise. We do some awkward shuffling to get off the bed, then I douse him in more lube and lean over the bed, giving him the easiest access. He rests warm hands on my hips, lines himself up, and starts to pound away again.

Artie and I are almost the same height, so the most comfortable way to give him access is to keep my feet spread wide on the floor while resting most of my torso on the bed. I lay my head on my arms, which means the only thing I can see is the pink sheets on my work bed... which reminds me, I need to get Porshetta's piglet, Frigg, to the vet for a checkup. Ares or maybe it's Archer, digs his fingers into my hips as if I'm going to slip away and resumes his jack hammering as my mind drifts away again.

He or she's already a month old. Maybe I should go over to Jacqueline's and see if she knows what kinds of vaccines a piglet needs. Porshetta used to be hers, and she still has tons of animals. Maybe she can even recommend a good vet. But how am I going to get there? I'm sure Geir would take me if I asked, but a baby pig in a car sounds like a bad idea. It's already snowed a few times in the last few weeks. I can't use the golf carts, but maybe I can make a carrier for Frigg. Could I strap him or her to my chest the way Jacqueline does with baby Wendy? Would he or she fit in a baby carrier if I bought one, or should I get one of those long cloth wrap things? What do I do if he or she poops?

A low moan interrupts the nonstop barrage of thoughts in my head. This position is definitely doing it for him. For once, the slap of his flesh against mine pulls me out of my thoughts as he sucks in a breath, cries out softly, then jerks, and rests his weight on me for a moment. When I first started working at the Gold Mine, I thought that getting started would be the most awkward part of having sex with strangers, but honestly, it's the ending.

The end is where the awkwardness really is. The end is the messy part. The end is where the feelings are that aren't real feelings because this person isn't a person you care about. The end is when you want someone to hold you close, to laugh about the mess you've made, to talk about stupid things with you, to scratch your back. But here in the Gold Mine, the end is replaced by the $1041.67 I made from these four hours of being a willing receptacle of Dvergar sperm. Not that I feel that way tonight.

Tonight, he sighs and I squeeze his hand kindly, reminding him I'm still here underneath him.

"Oh, sorry," he mutters. The Dvergar aren't tall people, but they take their workouts seriously and tend to be built. Like most Dvergar he's far more dense than he looks. He stands up and gently pulls me up with him. His cock comes loose, draining our mixed fluids in a mass gush down the inside of my leg. He steadies me with his hands on my hips and I reach for the towel I left on the chair just for this.

"Are you going to be ready for round three soon?" I ask cheerfully, hoping the answer is no. Thankfully, he's not in "season," so I may get lucky tonight. Dvergar in season seems to need no recharge time at all. Those nights, I earn every penny of that 1k.

Arly chuckles nervously and I toss him a clean cloth to wipe off with. "I-I'm really wiped out after all that—is it okay? I mean, am I allowed to leave earlier? I don't want to get you in trouble... "

Relief washes over me. "Not at all. You're the client and this is your session. If you want to shower before you head out, clean towels are in there."

He looks uncertain.

"But some guys just shower at home, so, if you want to just do that... "

He nods. "I-I-I think I'll do that."

I hit the button on the inside of my bracelet once. Originally, the buttons were there to alert Honey, our boss, if we had any trouble, but now we use them to let her know we're done early so she can close up and head home. Honey knocks just as Aron pulls his shirt over his head. She's already in a hat and gloves and boots, meaning my neighbor, Nita, must have beat me to the finish.

Honey smiles. "Have a good night, Arne," she says as my client passes her.

Arne! That's his name.

"Everything go okay?" Honey asks.

I nod. "It's a nice break having them out of season."

Honey nods, "Too bad it won't last long. Guiscard says that the group of younger guys we've got are probably about to go into their most fertile time."

"Most fertile time?"

The horror I feel must show on my face, because Honey chuckles, "Yes. He says that after men have their first few seasons, they'll go into this super season phase for a few years in their mid-twenties and have like five seasons a year. We've got ten guys potentially in that spot, with the new guys they're bringing in, not even counting Geir and Ingvar..."

Geir? In a super season? I'd known my best friend here on the mine for a good five months and in all that time, as stupid as it sounds, the topic of his own seasons had really never come up. I'd heard about his previous seasons from other people. They all sounded like a disaster—he'd destroyed cars, and managed to get snot all over Honey when it was her job to help these men through their seasons. We'd just gone through one, so he must have been assigned to one of the other girls, but no one had ever said a word, at least not to me. Maybe he was just too embarrassed. But we were friends. I needed to look out for him and keep an eye out for signs, if that was the case. He shouldn't go through this alone.

"Cindy? Earth to Cindy?" Honey laughs and I realize I'm doing it again.

"Sorry. Have a good night, Honey."

She smiles and closes the door to the Cinderella room. "You, too."