“TWO HUNDRED MORE,” Lee kept telling herself as the big
fat erection rammed in and out of her. “Just two hundred more.”
Moments later, she inadvertently put her hands on the big fat man’s
back. And instantly regretted it. And grimaced. For her hands were as
soggy as if she had put them in a puddle. And she quickly retracted
them.
“Yeah, fuck me!” she whispered into his ears, trying to
make it sound believable. “It’s so fucking good!”
He well knew that it was a lie, but it didn’t matter. To him,
she was nothing more than a doll, a toy—a plaything. And, as he
pawed her and groped her small breasts, he continued to slam his
flesh into hers while grunting like an animal.
“Come for me, baby, come!” she cried, slapping his big
wet butt with her fists, trying to make the whole thing end as soon
as possible.
So she could get that last two hundred dollars.
But he wasn’t ready to oblige. He was nowhere near ready. For
he had paid extra to get her for the whole night, and he was going to
get the whole night.
She had made a calculated gamble with him. She bet that this ugly
middle-aged turd could never last close to the whole evening, even
with all the advancements in medical science. She bet that it was
only bravado when he said he’d “Fuck her all night long.”
But it wasn’t.
And as the hours passed, and he continued to plow himself inside her,
she realized that she had made a mistake. A big one. For she knew
that she probably could’ve pulled off two or three tricks
during the time she spent with him, and still had time for another.
Or maybe even two others.
But now . . .
Now time was running out on her.
“How about you finish now and I give you some money back,”
she whimpered, after he turned her over and started pounding her from
behind, with his sweaty hands around her throat. “Twenty
maybe?”
“No!” he screamed, wobbling up and down on top of her.
“Forty?”
“No!” he again screamed. “I don’t care about
the money! I want to fuck you all night! And I’m gonna!”
She sighed and tried to accept her fate, as difficult as it was.
Then, a short while later, he suddenly stopped moving. And breathing.
“Are . . . are you okay?” she asked, with
concern in her voice, wondering for a second if he were dead—knowing
that this could really screw her plans up for the night.
But, just as suddenly as he stopped moving, the fat man put his arms
around her body and turned her over again—this time with
himself, leaving her on top of him.
“Fuck me for a while,” he ordered.
“That wasn’t our deal,” she replied.
“What?”
“The deal was for you to fuck me all night—not for me to
fuck you.”
“Come on, I’m tired.”
“So am I.”
She then looked over at a the digital clock on the nightstand. And
saw that it was almost four.
“I tell you what,” she said, “I’ll give you
the fuck of your life right now. I’ll give you much more than
you deserve, much more than what you paid for. But you have to come
afterward, and let me out of here. I have to get out of here.”
“How long?” he asked.
“Five minutes,” she told him. “Ten at the most.”
“No! I want more!”
“Listen, you fat fuck—I’m offering you a bargain!
The bargain of your life. For the first time you’ll get
passion—real passion. I’ll fuck you like I mean it! You
can’t buy that!”
He thought about it for a moment and then murmured, “Do it!”
She smiled and laid her body on top of his, and grabbed his face. And
kissed him.
And, as she kissed him, she slowly ground her hips onto him, and
caressed his wet heaving breasts—breasts larger than hers.
“How does it feel?” she whispered into his mouth, as her
thrusts got faster and harder.
“Oh, it feels so good!”
“Better than fucking me?”
“Yes! Harder! Do it harder!”
She bit into his lower lip, and, amidst his cries, started pounding
herself on top of him.
A short while later, when his pain finally subsided, he took her butt
in his big fat hands and slammed her even harder on top of him.
Suddenly, one of the front legs of the bed collapsed, sending both of
them sliding forward, toward the floor.
But, if anything, she bounced on top of him even harder. And then
stuck her tongue down his throat. And clawed his chest with her long
red nails.
“Fucking come!” she ordered. “Now!”
And he did.
“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” he hollered, shaking all over, as
he exploded into his oversized condom. And, while practically
drowning in his own fluids, added, “Yeeeeeeeessss!”
Lee collapsed on top of him, making a slapping sound from all the
moisture. She felt disgusted and filthy, just as she felt after every
trick. And part of her wanted to die.
But then she remembered the two hundred.
“We’re cool, right?” she whispered to him.
“Right,” he whispered back. “That was the best.”
A moment later, he was asleep.
And a moment after that he was snoring.
Lee quickly jumped off the broken bed, and, with even more speed,
jumped into the shower; and, when she returned to the room, she
dressed and hurriedly applied her makeup in the mirror.
And for just a second glanced at herself. Her real self.
She was a pretty woman—short, petite—with dirty blonde
hair and dimples. And she was young, not quite twenty. But she could
tell that she was getting old fast. She could tell that time was
running out on her.
Which reminded her of the two hundred dollars she still needed to
make her rent. She was already way behind on it and her landlord had
threatened to evict her that very morning if it weren’t paid in
full.
And just the thought of this made her shiver. For her apartment was
her oasis—one of the few places where she could feel human and
forget who and what she was. She could lie in her comfy bed under the
covers and read some romance novel, and dream. Dream it was her.
Her impending doom made her turn to the fat man on the broken bed.
He was still sleeping and snoring.
And his pants were lying just a few steps from her.
She had never stolen from a john before, and knew that there could be
serious repercussions if they found out about it downstairs, but
these were desperate times. And so she rummaged through the man’s
cheap gray slacks and found his wallet.
But there was nothing inside. No money, no credit cards. There wasn’t
even a driver’s license.
Clearly, she realized, he planned the evening carefully, only keeping
on hand the exact amount he offered her, and nothing else. She didn’t
even know his name.
Lee sighed at this not-so-little misfortune, and dropped his things
onto the floor. And, after leaving the room, she took the elevator
down to the basement, where the hotel bar was located. A bar that was
open all night, every night of the year, including Christmas.
The hotel itself was the biggest in the city, with hundreds of rooms.
And, being that it was near both the train and bus stations—and
only a short drive from the airport, there was never any shortage of
guests.
And usually there was never any shortage of johns in the bar.
So, she hoped, crossing her fingers.
She hoped and entered the dimly lit room, and meekly smiled at the
bartender—a neat looking man in his sixties who had large
silver hair and a big silver mustache.
Lee had an arrangement with him and the other bartender that jointly
ran the place, where she paid for the opportunity to work her trade
there. An opportunity only two other women got; though many others
were waiting for the possibility.
And, in exchange for a monthly sum more than three times that of her
rent, she had free reign there. She didn’t have to hang out on
the streets, or deal with pimps or cops or street psychos. Which gave
her a relative degree of safety, especially as her clients were all
registered hotel guests, and hence unlikely to do something
bad—something that could easily be traced back to them.
Slowly, Lee strode toward the bartender; and he nodded at her, and
then looked out at the emptiness in all directions. And shrugged.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he told her. “If you were here
just a half-hour ago. There were three suckers from Minneapolis just
dying for some action. Suzanne came and took all three.”
“All three?” Lee replied. “At once?”
“How they arrange it is their business.”
“Shit. I really need another trick. Badly.”
“Why don’t you try Tommy.”
“All right.”
She sighed and left the bar, and took the elevator up to the lobby,
and walked over to the concierge—a little guy wearing a red
uniform, who was maybe a few years older than her and a couple of
inches taller.
“How’s it going, Tommy?” she asked.
“Quiet,” he replied. “Real quiet.”
“So, no one’s looking for . . .”
“Sorry, babe. Not tonight.”
“Thanks anyway.”
Glumly she then exited the hotel, and saw that the sun was beginning
to rise. And, with nothing better to do, she walked a few blocks down
to the boardwalk, and from there looked out at the ocean just beyond
it—and at the waves as well.
It was these same waves that first lured her here after high school a
few years earlier. At that time, the waves seemed so life-giving. But
now they were laughing at her.
She let them laugh awhile and thought for just a moment about getting
the last laugh, by jumping in the water and never returning.
For she hated her existence. She hated every bit of it, especially
the loneliness. And at the same time she saw no way out from it.
But this urge to destroy herself soon faded, and she turned around
and headed toward her apartment.
To get her things.
And she thought about where she’d go afterward. A thought that
made her shake her head, as it was difficult enough beforehand
getting a place without a steady job and references from past
landlords, but now she still had no job and had a bad reference. And
she had no friends or family to help her out.
A flophouse—that’s where she’d go, she told
herself. A flophouse. A thought that just horrified her.
Then, then she saw him. And stopped. And stared.
He had just taken a seat in front of an outdoor café, a café
that must’ve just opened. For he was the only one there. In
fact, most of the chairs were still on the tables.
This guy, who was modestly dressed, looked as if he were perhaps
forty, and was well-built but short, perhaps a little taller than the
concierge, with short wavy brown hair that had just a touch of gray
in the sideburns. And though he had his face down as he read the
newspaper in front of him, she could tell that he was attractive.
Perhaps more than just attractive.
Not that it mattered, she tried telling herself.
Instinctively, she started toward him, even though she knew that it
was one thing to approach a man in a hotel bar at night—especially
after he had been drinking—but quite another to approach
someone in front of an outdoor café in broad daylight.
Something bad could happen.
And the chances that something good could happen were remote.
But she had no choice.
So, she walked over and sat down across from him.
Moments later, he looked up from his paper in mild surprise, and
smiled at her.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied. “Is, is it all right if I sit
here?”
“By all means.”
“I, I don’t suppose you’re looking for company?”
“Company?”
Before she could explain what she meant, a waitress exited the café
and came up to them, and knowing immediately who and what Lee was,
sneered at her.
A sneer that was returned in kind.
“Can I get you something?” the waitress said to the man,
with a forced smile.
“Yes,” he said. “Some of your orange juice. A big
glass of it.”
The waitress nodded and started off.
“Wait a minute,” he said to her, before turning to Lee.
“Would you like something?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll have an orange juice,
too. With vodka in it.”
“We don’t serve liquor,” the waitress growled.
“Then, forget it.”
The waitress then quickly rambled off, and the man playfully smiled
at Lee.
“You sure you won’t have some orange juice?” he
inquired. “I have it all the time. It’s freshly squeezed,
and truly wonderful.”
“I like my wonderful dulled a bit.”
“My name is Seth.”
“Lee.”
“I—”
“—Look, Seth, why don’t we just cut to the chase.”
But before she could, the waitress came out with Seth’s orange
juice, and once again sneered at Lee, who once again sneered back.
Then, as soon as the waitress left, Seth said to Lee, “You were
saying?”
“I think you know what I am,” Lee replied. “You
don’t look stupid. And obviously you’re not a tourist or
here on business.”
“Obviously.”
“So?”
“So?”
“So, are you interested?” she asked. “Or am I just
wasting my time?”
“If you have a proposition I’m willing to listen,”
he told her.
“You’re not a cop, are you? Because if you are, you have
to tell me right now. Otherwise, it’s entrapment.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“All right. Here’s the deal, Seth. Two hundred dollars.
And, in return, you can do anything you want with me until 8:30.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
“All right.”
“All right?” she replied, with muted excitement, not
certain for a moment if she were happy or sad that she was saved from
her fate.
“I said, all right,” he reiterated.
“All right, let’s go,” she said. “There’s
a hotel—”
“—I live a few blocks from here,” he interrupted,
pointing in the direction of it.
“I prefer the hotel. It’s safer.”
“But I’m the one paying.”
She thought about this for a moment.
Seth certainly looked harmless enough, but there was always that
possibility he wasn’t. Normally, she would never put herself in
such a situation.
But things weren’t normal.
“All right,” she finally said.
“All right?” he asked.
“All right.”
Seth then quickly finished his juice and paid for it, and the two
quietly walked to his apartment, which was in a modest garden-style
building that probably was once a motel. And, after they entered the
courtyard, they walked upstairs to a small one-bedroom unit.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, as they walked
inside.
“You got some blow?” she asked back, before plopping
herself down on a cheap light tan futon in the living room.
“Sorry,” he replied with a smile.
“Weed?”
“Nope.”
“Certainly you have some booze.”
“Afraid not.”
“So, what do you do for fun?”
He smiled at her.
“Well, I guess that’s why I’m here,” she
said.
“Maybe,” he replied, before sitting down on the futon, a
good distance from her.
“Let’s get down to business, Seth,” she said,
looking over the modestly furnished place. “You do have the
money, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Well, I’d like to see it now if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
He took out his wallet and extracted two one-hundred-dollar bills,
and put them on the inexpensive coffee table that stood in front of
them.
“All right,” she said, while taking the money and putting
it in her small purse, from which she then extracted a condom
package. A package that she dropped onto the table. “You’re
gonna wear this,” she added.
“No, I won’t,” he replied, matter-of-factly.
“Then, I won’t fuck you.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Then, what am I here for?”
“You said you’d do anything I wanted.”
“I’m not doing anything kinky.”
“I want you to hold me,” he said, opening his arms.
“What?” she replied, with a stunned expression.
“I want you to hold me until 8:30.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Is that too kinky for you?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m waiting,” he uttered, again holding open
his arms.
Hesitantly, she inched toward him, and soon was right next to him.
And then she awkwardly held him, putting one arm behind his back and
the other on his chest. “Like this?” she asked.
“It’s a good start,” he replied softly. “Now,
put your head on my shoulder.”
She did, and felt even more awkward. “This is just crazy,”
she murmured. “Don’t you at least want a blow job?”
“No,” he murmured back.
“A hand job?”
“No.”
“You just want me to hold you for two and a half hours?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m lonely.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I just want some human contact. That’s it.”
“Why don’t you just get yourself a girlfriend? They’re
good for that, so I’m told.”
“I’m not good with women.”
“What do you mean? You’re attractive, nice.”
“And uninteresting.”
“That’s not true.”
“Can I ask, why are you a prostitute? You’re attractive,
nice.”
“I’m not nice.”
“You are.”
Suddenly, she started feeling more uncomfortable. “I don’t
like this at all,” she said. “Sex is much easier.”
“I know, but that’s not what I paid for. You’re
gonna have to earn your money this morning.”
“Can I ask, what do you do?” she asked.
“I’m a writer,” he answered.
“A good one?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. But I’m a
successful one.”
“You mean, you got money?”
“Enough.”
“Then, why do you live in this dump?”
“I have everything I need here. The ocean, fresh-squeezed
orange juice . . . beautiful women to look at.”
“I bet if you bought a big house and a fancy car, and expensive
clothes, lots of girls would find you interesting.”
“But would I find them interesting?”
“I don’t know.”
“I find you interesting.”
Lee strangely felt a blush coming out. Something she hadn’t
felt since childhood. And it wasn’t welcome.
Suddenly, he started caressing her hands and her arms, and finally
her legs.
“You, you want me to get naked?” she asked.
“No. Just touch me. Please touch me.”
She complied, and gently rubbed her hands against his chest and
thighs, and brushed her face against his arms and shoulders.
It felt good to her. Too good. And somehow she got even more
uncomfortable. “I don’t like this,” she cooed. “I
really don’t.”
“This is the best,” he said. “Sex is nothing in
comparison.”
He then interlocked her fingers with his and caressed her belly and
her hips, and she started quietly gasping, knowing he was
right—knowing this was beyond anything she ever felt. More
erotic, more sensual.
Here she was—a hooker—a hooker who had done everything
imaginable she thought.
Everything but this.
“Can I kiss you?” she softly asked. “Please?”
She half-expected him to say no, but instead he leaned over and
gently put his lips on hers. And kissed her, sweetly and lovingly. He
kissed her in a way that was so different than any kiss she ever
knew.
Quickly, the hours went by, and the two still hadn’t left the
futon. They just held each other and kissed and touched and whispered
nothingness, with their arms and legs and bodies intertwined.
She felt numb and thoughtless, finding his touch much like the drugs
she often used. Drugs that made her momentarily forget who and what
she was.
But this was better. Way better.
Though it was just as temporal as the drugs.
For soon he gently pulled away from her.
“What?” she muttered, feeling suddenly empty.
He pointed at the clock on the wall and smiled.
“Oh,” she said, before slowly standing up and
straightening herself.
“Thank you,” he told her.
She quickly realized that was the first time anyone had ever thanked
her. For anything. “You’re welcome,” she replied,
struggling with the words. And, a moment later, added, “Well, I
guess I should be going. I gotta pay my rent. You know, you saved me
this morning.”
“No, you saved me, Lee. You’re a wonderful woman. And
nice.”
She smiled, and, feeling as if she were about to fall apart, started
for the door. “I’ll see ya,” she uttered.
“I’ll see ya,” he uttered back.
And then she left the apartment. And walked toward the staircase.
She had done it, she tried to tell herself. She had made the two
hundred. She could now pay her rent and continue her existence.
Only, she couldn’t.
She couldn’t continue to the stairs.
Something stopped her. And, when she looked back at his door, she
knew what it was.
And it wasn’t him.
It was her.
Then, something strange happened. Something that hadn’t
happened to her since childhood.
She cried. She cried and walked back to his door. And knocked on it.
Seconds later, he opened his door and looked at her, and looked at
her tears. And felt an overwhelming urge to touch them, and stop them
from flowing. And only didn’t because he knew his time was up.
Slowly, she reached into her purse and took out the two hundred
dollars. The two hundred dollars she desperately needed.
And she handed the money back to him.
“What?” he muttered.
“I love you,” she muttered back before rushing off.
“I love you, too,” he shouted, loud enough for all his
neighbors to hear.
She stopped cold and hesitantly turned back to him, and saw the money
falling from his hand onto the floor, before blowing away in the cool
ocean breeze.
Blowing away from both of them.
He then opened his arms, much as he had done that lifetime ago, back
in his apartment.
She ran up to him and jumped on top of him, knocking them both back
into his apartment, where they kissed and touched, and finally made
love. Something that was only an afterthought.
The dessert.
And never did she pay that rent. Or return to the hotel. Or read
another romance novel.
Though the two somehow did find their way back to that café
for the freshly squeezed orange juice.
Every single morning.
###
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