This guy was loaded, like some constipated gun, ready to shoot his wad into anything with a hole big enough. You could tell by the way he walked and the way he canvassed the displayed meat.
"How much?" he coughed, like it wasn't bad to be seen with me, but to be seen talking to me. So I decided to agitate him a bit, watch him squirm. Call me a sadistic bitch, but I like to make people angry. I get a kick out of it.
"Excuse me?" I asked, leaning foward.
"How much?" Strained his words. He really needs it.
"Blow job's 15, standard's 30, anal's 50. All other prices depend on what you want."
"Standard" rushed out of him, like he knew, but wanted to hear his options anyway. Pervert? Not yet, but he really needs it bad. I'm watching his eyes and they refuse to look at me. "Do I pay now or-"
"Yeah." As he dug the money out of his pocket, I studied his features. Unconventionally good-looking. This was no Hugo Boss model, this was chiseled from the street. Heroin addict. I would have done him for free, but I could always use the money. No one runs on blood anymore. Hard currency courses through your veins. Your heart pumps out dead grey presidents and pious Latin quotes.
He hands me the money and I count it out. On of the bills has Jackson looking like Frank Zappa. College students with too much time on their hands. I pocket the money and follow him. No car, though. We walk.
It's a typically New York slum-like apartment. Garbage in the corners of the halls, rash screaming from a woman being beaten by her husband, and from the sound of it, doing a pretty good job defending herself. TV blasting some generic Gen-X sitcom. Bass from some kid's stereo. We come to the 4th floor and enter. He's actually made the place slightly tolerable. I'm not gonna go into details 'cause no one remembers details anyway. You just want me to get to the sex. Fuck you, I'm a writer, not a porn star. You want that shit, there's an infinite number of pornographic sites on the web, I'm sure you can find one. Anyway, where was I? Right, the apartment. So he points out the bedroom and tells me to get undress, he's just gonna get a drink. "You want something?"
"Um, no, that's okay. I'm fine." I go into the bedroom and look around as I get undressed. He comes in as I'm taking my bra off. Damn nails make it near impossible. I should probably cut them, but I find the guys like 'em. He turns me around so my back's facing him, and unhooks it. Slides it down and kisses my neck. Most guys don't kiss you. They just fuck. It's a nice change.
So blah blah blah, we screw around. Done it so many times nothing's memorable. Hurts a bit 'cause, like I said, he really needed it and wasn't thinking about whether he was gonna pierce a hole in me. He falls asleep and I get dressed. When I get to the door, it's got some weird lock on it that I'm not sure how to work. I think he made it himself. So I'm in a mild panic now. How the fuck am I gonna get out of here? There are other guys to fuck and more money to be made, and I'm stuck here. I think about waking him up, but something stops me. Pride maybe. Look at me, I'm a dumb whore who doesn't even know how to unlock a door. Yeah, that would be real smooth. So I look for a fire exit. It's kinda there, well it used to be. Looks like some sort of acid chewed through it. Big gaping holes and it's just barely holding itself together. Fuck. So what can I do? I fall asleep next to him.
Maybe an hour later, a sound wakes me up. Someone coming in the door. Shit, does he have a girlfriend? I'm fuckin' terrified. I get out of bed and peer around the corner. It's a guy. A boyfriend? No, there's another bedroom near-by. A roommate. Looks like he's had a little too much to drink. He's walking towards his room, then he sees me. "What do we have here?"
"Uh, hi. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't figure out how to work the lock. Can you help me?" I ask pleadingly. Trying to look as innocent as possible. Like a one night stand.
"Heh, maybe." He's looking me up and down. I got a bad feeling about this guy.
"Joke, right? Heh. Cute. . . Please?"
"Fuck me first." he says. Shit, I knew it. Then he pulls a knife. "Don't make any noise." He grabs my arm and drags me into his room. Throws me down on the bed. But I've taken self-defense from the very best street thugs. I wait for him to come to me. Kick him in the groin, slam his head down on my knee, and punch him in the stomach. He falls to the ground. I get up, brush my hair out of my face, and walk away. But he grabs my ankle and I come crashing to the ground. He's squeezing and it's cutting off my circulation. Then he takes my arm and twists it behind me and does the same to the other one.
"I don't need this shit right now. Fuck you." He picks me up which hurts like hell, drags and kicks me over to the window sill, and pushes me out.
The pavement came sooner than I thought.