The Prostitute's Diet. By KJ Hannah Greenberg.
Heather Boom-Boom Zyleponic determined that she would mitigate the ill-effects of a long time spent selling her skin. She intended to reduce her outlay of immoral deeds, effective immediately.
First, the raven-haired beauty gave up coupling with multiple partners. Her pimp got angry. He sent lepers and pensioners to her.
She read the newspaper or looked at childrens books with those customers. She meant to increase their literacy. Consequently, Heather became more popular and more fickle. Over time, she joined the staff of a tutoring service. Over time, she also began to turn down married clients.
Heathers increasing selectivity displeased her overlord. He tested her with rough trade, hoping they would end his dissatisfaction. To his surprise, Heather domesticated those brutes with arias and with short, personal performances of ballet. One leatherman even invited her to perform at his clubs annual pageant. Heather started to accept gigs as a torch singer. Heather told her ponce she would no longer take clients who were into bondage.
Her boss then stuck Heather with Johns operating a major sting operation. They failed to turn her in, however, for she taught them pottery. Heather opened up an arts center and gave up prostitution all together. Those undercover agents sent her many students.
In a small amount of time, men of all sorts traipsed to Heathers Place to learn the rudiments of love, as made manifest on paper or by violin. When Heathers former employer came around to harass her, Heathers newest boyfriend, a poet, roughed him up a bit. At last accepting that his best woman no longer attainable, the solicitor turned to a life of social work.
By the time that Heather retired, she had founded an orphanage, a cutlery shop, and a library. Her art center had expanded to four branches. The chief of police was her protector and her health was watched over by her daughter, a physician. The local crime boss walked her dog when Heather vacationed.
Then Heather binged. Miffed at her poet-husband for abandoning her, ever so temporarily, for a book tour, she winked at the pizza delivery boy. Hours and layers of clothing later, she was no longer fidel.
In the intervening weeks, Heather slept with senators, with newspaper editors, and with the occasional bull fighter. Thrown from her home and marriage, Heather searched for and found her former purveyor.
He, too, had retired. Decades of case management had mellowed and had otherwise educated him. Those efforts, though, had left him with few financial resources. He gladly once more represented Heather. Within six months of their renewed business relationship, that vendor died from gunshot wounds.
Heather once again made a Herculean effort at reform, by refusing to take on customers who insisted on weird clothing. Yet, she would have died from a dormant, but entirely nasty, sexually transmitted disease, had she not ceased to breathe when she encountered a large spider.
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