Cold hands pet the girl as if she is a lost kitten. Letitia should have known that Marceline wouldn't ease the girl into it. SHe'd been relieved when Fletcher had won first prize but was unaware who was next on the Roster. Going from the dreamy silhouette of the tall American to the extra-small and clumsy ministrations of Mr. Lawrence must have been a shock.
At least Mr. Lawrence wasn't mean. Some are. Some are nice. Some are sloppy. Some have a smell.
"Mr. Lawrence means well. I think he's grateful women like us exist at all...You did him a service and he'll be grateful for it always." she moves around the splots of the washed off sex session and pulls the darling girl with her to the bed. Letitia hates chairs. A bed is her office. It feels correct to have this conversation upon it.
"Not all will be romantic vessels in blonde lust personified. You've seen who comes. How average most are. Some are better, some are worse. There are other ways of coping." She taps her chin, "Do you have appointments today?"