I was in Elko walking North on Third Street when God’s
voice spoke to me from above. I lifted my eyes to the heavens, where
two of his angels smiled down at me. One was golden blonde, the other
brunette. The angels were sunning themselves on the roof of
Mona’s Brothel, and wore nothing but thongs.
“Hello,” they called in their sweet voices, and invited me
inside. My first thought was that this must be a preview of heaven.
Immediately I felt a wave of remorse for my many sins. I was
particularly concerned about my latest sin, which had just occurred
next door at Sue’s Fantasy Club, and which had left me so drained
that right now I couldn’t get it up even for an angel.
But I had faith in my salvation, and the next evening I returned to Mona’s, where I met the blonde angel—Nina.
Nina is about 5’7”, with a slender figure, long smooth
legs, no tattoos, well proportioned natural breasts—and a
delicious light tan with no tan lines from her time hanging out nude on
the roof. She admits to being in her thirties. While she has the poise
of a woman that age, physically she looks like mid-twenties. She told
me that she’s done escort work, and is comfortable being whatever
the customer requests—intellectual companion or simply arm candy.
From my experience with her she’d be great at both.
During our extended pre-coital chat at the bar Nina confessed that
after several years as a working girl she is still embarrassed about
being naked in front of a stranger. After we adjourned to her
room—a chamber with delightfully girly décor—I
discovered this to be true. It wasn’t a giggling, affected
embarrassment, but rather a quiet shyness. After a comfortable
negotiation—Nina’s fee is competitive with the other girls
in the neighborhood—to my delight I found she wouldn’t look
at me while she undressed.
One would think such a shy angel would simply tolerate sex, but Nina
was a very participative partner—although to get her to tell me
what she wanted to me to do, I had to let her whisper the act in my
ear. During one intimate moment I asked her to look at me. She did,
even though it made her blush. But soon she’d returned to her
private rapture, body straining against me, blonde hair wildly thrown
back, eyes closed. That may be the closest I will ever get to
heaven—those moments when I served as an angel’s sex toy.
A cynic might point out that a good working girl picks up on what the
customer likes and feeds into it—but I would counter that this is
exactly what one pays for, so I’ll still treasure my experience
with my shy angel. And for those of you who have difficulty making it
to divine services on Sunday, I’d recommend a session with
Nina—it’s a service you won’t forget.