My cunt should not be included in your demographic.
So it might be leukemia, breast cancer, thrombo…cy…something… maybe it’s just a pot smoker’s cough, with a daub of OCD and a dash of hypochondria but for whatever reason I am currently unemployed and working as a patient. This involves drug screens, scantron tests, scary electrode tests and not so scary MRI imaging as well as a plethora of interviews with well meaning professionals. But first you have to get through the front door.
-“Have you been out of the country in the last six months?”
-“Still at this addy and number?”
-“Do you trade sexual favors for food and lodging?”
(Stoned or rather lightly baked; crispy enough to flatten my boob into a 1 inch pancake and hold my breath… AKA: Mammogram toasted. Ativan? Yes please.) “Um…. what?”
-“Are you a whore?”
OK OKOK she did not ask it in those terms, but this is what she did say:
-“Is your husband employed?”
(Wait…. what? how high am I??) “I do not have a husband. Does it say that I have a husband?”
-“What is your relationship to B-Boy?”
“He is my emergency contact.” (I mean I assume that is how they know his mother named him B-Boy… non-sequitur: he was conceived on cardboard in Loisada. Long story.)
-“Well is he like your significant other, or your friend or….????” trails off vocal fry style so as to allow me to jump in, and explain.
I Smile and nod in a non-committal acquiesce.
(B-Boy drove me here, B-Boy is my friend since waaay back. I live in B-Boy’s house. B-Boy cooks for me, cleans for me, and even wipes my punta when the pain in my spine is too much for me to even bend and I have to pee in a cup…. this just happened last week and it was hella embarrassing.)
“He takes care of me. Why are you asking me this?”
-“Well we just are asking for our demographic information.” types something into her desktop screen.
And that my new friends is where it hits me that they are asking me if I fuck for food and lodging. If I am fucking B-Boy then he should be paying in some way for my pussy and it’s longevity ie: pony up for the high dollar treatments and tests, Mister.
But if he is not accessing my pische and I am ‘just a friend’ do then the demographic interested parties need to alert him that he should defiantly be trying to hit that sweet thang?