Olga tried to feel excited. It certainly wasn’t a requirement; the photographer didn’t care, and the boy was probably still in shock. Nevertheless... she always tried to enjoy the sex. It made it less of an act of prostitution. It wasn’t a moral distinction; Olga would do the work whether or not she enjoyed it. Something had to pay for her apartment now that the pension so long ago promised by the State had vanished in a puff of smoke with the fall of Communism. But today, she just wasn’t feeling. "Geez, you look like shit. What's up? Are you ok?" she asked,changing her tone to tenderness. "You smell like shit too...pee yoo,"she said. I nodded my head. "Yeah. I'm ok." Then I said, "Actually I'm justfeeling really lousy. Not myself." Hmm...you don't have a fever. This had better not be some elaborateexcuse to miss my dinner tomorrow night. Right?" She looked directlyinto my eyes and I felt frozen there, waiting for her to shout out whenshe saw I wasn't who she thought I was. . More

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