Pleasure Poots

Let's face it, unexpected things happen; especially during "sexy time". As a professional, I must be ready to engage any intimate mishap with a gracious demeanor. Sometimes it's difficult to maintain one's composure, but losing control could eliminate any future opportunities for rehire. I remember one such incident early on in my "love for hire" career. She was a very  popular R&B singer who was extremely shy around people she did not know. Because of the image her label wanted to portray, she was never seen in public with a date. I was hired by her management team to provide discreet male companionship on various occasions, wherever she happened to be in the country. As time passed we became close friends and she decided one night to "take it there". I was terribly attracted to her, but had learned that sex was a weapon that should be brandished with care. After a romantic dinner we went back to her hotel for a nightcap. One thing led to another and soon we found ourselves lost in the throes of passion. Before long, a curious aroma started to fill the room.
"What's that awful smell?" I thought to myself.
There I was, holding this sex symbol in my arms, about to pass out from the horrid vapors of this invisible demon that had suddenly invaded the bedroom and possessed my nostrils while my partner was laying there moaning and thrashing about beneath me. It didn't take me long to discover the source of the funk. It was my lover! She was so enraptured by the sensations of our love making session that she was emitting "pleasure poots" underneath the covers. Both our eyes were rolled back in our heads, hers from extreme pleasure, mine from the threat of suffocation.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she finally screamed while digging her nails into my back.
Let me tell you... that orgasm came in the nick of time, because I immediately collapsed on my side beside her  feverishly panting into my pillowcase. We never again made love after that night. A few weeks later we bumped into each other at the Grammy Awards. She playfully hugged my neck and seductively whispered into my ear,
"You're afraid of me. Do you remember how my good loving "knocked you out"?
 I smiled and told her how vividly I remembered that encounter. I just have never found the heart to tell her that it wasn't her skills as a lover that knocked me out, but the lack of oxygen going to my brain from holding my breath.