Escorted Away

I once fell in love with my escort. 
She was everything I could ever want in a woman.
She was elegant, sophisticated, and enthusiastic.
She was seductive, provocative, and passionate.
She connected with me physically, mentally, and emotionally.
She allowed me to roam my hands all over her flawlessly toned body.
She allowed my tongue to explore every inch of her, both on the inside and the out, and I greedily accepted.
She was a willing participant in my most carnal desires and she fulfilled them completely. 
During our time together, she made me feel like a king, a savant, and a playboy all at the same time.
She made it seem like I was her one and only and that she was created just for me.
And when our time was over, we parted ways; only to reconnect again, if and when, it was convenient for me. 
And, in many ways, it was the perfect relationship.

I once became infatuated with my call girl.
She had a few of the characteristics that I looked for in a woman.
She was sweet, cute, and enthusiastic.
She was flirtatious, erotic, and open-minded. 
She connected with me physically and emotionally.
She allowed me to roam my hands all over her fleshy body.
She allowed my tongue to explore every inch of her, both on the inside and the out, though I was reluctant.
She was willing to participate in my most taboo of fantasies and tried her best to fulfill them.
During our time together, she made me feel like a prince, craftsman, and a tomcat all at the same time.
She made me feel like we were linked, that she was my woman and I was her man of the moment.
And when our time was over, we parted ways; only to reconnect again, if and when, it was convenient for me. 
And, in many ways, it was a halfway decent relationship.

I once fell in lust with my prostitute.
She was one of the newest faces on the street, yet to be tasted by others, yet to be sampled by me.
She was unattractive, sickly, and dirty. 
She was immature, disinterested and rude.
She connected with me physically.
She allowed me to roam my hands all over her flat and disproportional body. 
She allowed my tongue to explore every inch of her, both on the inside and the out, though I declined.
She begrudgingly tried to accommodate my most primitive of urges, though her effort was half-hearted at best. 
During our time together, she made me feel like she was being coerced, cheapened, and humiliated. 
She made me feel like we were detached, that I was someone of little importance, who was wasting her valuable time. 
And when our time was over, we parted ways; only to reconnect again, if and when, it was convenient for me. 
And, in many ways, it was the poorest excuse for a relationship that anyone could ever imagine.

Searching for affection in all the wrong places.

This is not a very nice poem. It's about a lonely man who was so beat up and who needed to connect with someone that wouldn't hurt him back anymore that he started to look for this in spots that he shouldn’t. And the more he engaged in these practices, the more worthless he felt about himself. The more worthless he felt about himself, the lower he set his standards until the connection he was searching for changed to just a necessary fix to get him through the day, just so he could wake up the next day feeling even worse about himself.

Written in 2013

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser