I walked straight in the prettiest hotel of New York this night. It was raining again. And I was clothed almost like a street boy. A guy called me dirty tomboy and didn't believed me when I said I wasn't a girl. Didn't mattered.

I entered the big hall, and show my identity card to the hostess. She opened big round eyes and gave me the key for the room. She was shocked, actually. I thought. And anyway, I came to take the elevator and pressed the sixth floor button. I thought about about my boyfriend a second, and remembered we were boyfriends till two weeks and he would, any way, never know. So I continued on. I was walking sexy, sensually. I saw women and mostly men trun to me, smiled, and pushed the key in the keyhole. When the door opened, I heard music, sexy and heavy music from Pitbull. And closed behind me, turned the key and go in the main room. The guy was here, smiling and looking hungrily at my hiden body. Pitbull started to lull me. So well, of course, I satrted to undress myself. The guy's eyes became wide, and I got my head back, my throat given. Then, there, I completely stoped thinking. I danced, wildly, completely naked, and got myself fucked like always. My mind got away, far away, and I flew.

When it ended, the man tried to keep me with him. I pushed him away, hit him and took back my clothes. He gave up, passed me the money and I took away his cigarettes. He didn't saw it however. Nor did he saw about his fucking wallet. I just let him the bank card.

The hostess looked at me with bigger shock than firt, and I wasn't god but I could say surely she had queued on me and heard. And so, that she knew. And what ? I told her. So what if I'm a whore even if I'm rich ? Do I like this ? No, of course not. Why do I do that then ? Well, because I hate it. I hate me.