My friend, the phone sex worker

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I met Denise for lunch last week at a quiet corner cafe in Paris. She was lounging on the terrace with a friend and a bottle of rosé, their faces two dark dots amid a row of pale office workers packed into tables on the sunny side of the street. She flashed a toothy grin as I apologized for being late, and poured me a glass.

“So,” she began as I settled in, “do you have any questions or do you just wanna start talking about sex?”

Denise and I met for the first time last summer through a…

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