by Lexi Hots
If there was any negative effect on me, it was that I had a fascination with penises. I watched in awe at the different shapes and sizes that came through. There were some that were huge and thick. Some were long but extremely thin. Some were short and stubby, and still others were barely visible. The thing that confused me the most when I was little was that some would be hard and pointed straight to the sky, while others sagged and dropped to the floor. I obviously now understand what my younger self did not, but at the time it only served to further my fascination.
My mother also kept a box of condoms in the drawer of the table inside the door to our apartment. She had a rule that she would tell all of us when we were together that went something like:
I don’t care which one of you takes these, I don’t care why you need them. They’ll always be here, and you’ll never be in trouble for using them.
This may seem like a very positive way to raise children, but it becomes less appealing when you learn that after that part of the speech she would start rambling on about how she refused to raise any more children and that if any of her daughters got pregnant we either had to move out, get rid of the child, or put it up for adoption.
It should come as no surprise that I had sex at a younger age than anyone else at my school. I became known as the girl who knew all the secrets, so when other girls wanted to lose their own virginity, they would come to me for advice. I saw an opportunity, and started taking extra condoms from our drawer, selling them for inflated prices to anyone who needed one.
I had watched as my brother sold drugs, and learned a lot about staying under the radar in the process. My condom empire thrived for over a year before I was finally caught by a teacher who called my mom in to discuss the problems. My mom’s only problem with the situation was that I hadn’t been helping to pay for all the extra condoms I was selling. She thought that my older sister had just been having a lot of sex, so begrudgingly put up with the drain. When she found out they were making me money, she was pissed.
***
I never actually took to school much, so when I was legally allowed to do so, I dropped out. I didn’t see any college in my future, and even if I had wanted to go, there was no way I could afford it.
The only jobs I was able to get with no high school diploma were minimum wage line cooks jobs. I took one at a local restaurant, hoping that I would eventually be promoted to a busser or waitress, but was told that despite the fact that I had the appearance to get good tips, I lacked the education that the establishment wanted its public facing employees to have. As I realized later, the owner was a racist and didn’t allow any black men or women to work outside the kitchen. He was sued later, but the class action lawsuit didn’t cover the time I had worked there unfortunately.
Without much money, I relied on boyfriends to help cover my living expenses. While I’m not proud of it, I actually began scouting out people that looked like they had money, pursuing relationships with them so that I could jump up several levels of lifestyle without actually working for it.
Most of men that I dated during this time were at least somewhat my age and type, but things got very bad when I met a man nearly 30 years older than me. His name was Melvin, and his bank account was seemingly endless.
I wasn’t really attracted to him that much, but I will admit that he was funny. I would have never considered talking to him, but when he approached me at a club one night and I rejected him, his response left me laughing so hard that I let my guard down. Through some mix of bad judgment and too much to drink, I went home with him that night. I had no intention of actually milking him for money and presents, I actually was planning on a one night stand with him. I didn’t even know he was loaded at the time that I made that first decision to sleep with him.
I’ll never forget the surprise I felt when I saw the car he was leading me to. He pretended like it wasn’t his at first. We walked by it, and he drew his fingers along its red paint. “Aren’t Maseratis beautiful?”
I had no idea what a Maserati was at the time, but he was certainly right about it being a gorgeous car. He continued, “Look, the keys are in it. Let's take it for a spin.” He ran and jumped in the car, then reached over and popped the door open as I stood behind it trying to comprehend what he was suggesting in my drunken stupor. “Hurry, we gotta get out of here before they call the cops!”
I ran and jumped in the car with him, heart pounding as I realized how crazy what we were doing was, still not knowing it was actually his car. He continued the charade the whole way to his house on the other side of town, leading me to believe the cops would be chasing us down at any minute.
Once I figured everything out, gears started turning in my head. I had never even met someone with as much money as he had, and even a microscopic piece of his pie could lead to big changes in my own. It didn’t hurt that he also happened to be amazing at sex.
An entire room in his rather large house was dedicated exclusively to sex. The room was bigger than the entire apartment I had spent my whole life living in, and the value of all of the toys also likely far outpaced the value of the meager amounts of objects my family owned.
He was a generous lover, and ensured I had orgasmed multiple times before even finishing once himself. In the morning after our first night together, he took me out for breakfast at one of the most well-known breakfast joints in our city, then took me shopping for a new pair of clothes since I had none.
I had stumbled into the most classic example of a sugar daddy that may have ever walked this earth. I stayed with him the next night as well, before finally going home the next day with a new outfit, new purse, and some extra cash to make sure I had a safe trip home since he wasn’t able to take me.
At the beginning I only saw him once every couple of weeks, but things progressed quickly. Before long, there were no pretenses left, and he would actually leave me wads of cash in the mornings after we slept together. The weird part was that I had grown extremely fond of the sexual adventures we took together, and would have likely continued them even without the cash. The cash certainly didn’t hurt though.
It may seem hard to believe, but it took me a long time to realize that I was essentially his prostitute. This was never something I wanted for my life, so when that fact dawned on me, I distanced myself from him quickly. I thought about sending some of the money I had saved back to him, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.
When things returned to normal, I found myself missing the lifestyle he had been providing me, and any guilt I had felt about selling my body for money disappeared. I missed the sex and I missed the extra cash, so I went back to apologize to him and to start our fling back up.
In the short time I had been away, he apparently left town, leaving nothing but a for sale sign outside his previous home. I was disappointed, but not so much that I was discouraged. I still wanted more money, and I didn’t want to go back to flipping burgers to earn it.
With a body as good as mine, I found it extremely easy to find men willing to pay to sleep with me. I tried to stay discreet about it, but then realized that the more public I became, the more money I could bring in. Business was great until one summer day when my life changed forever.
Things had gotten out of control. While I had successfully avoided addictions, my life was no better than my brother and sisters. I was giving blowjobs behind our building for $40 a piece, and moving quite a bit of inventory. It was mostly other kids my age who would come around for them, but the occasional older man would approach me as well. The more I did, the more I grew to hate myself. I didn’t enjoy giving them, I hadn’t had a real boyfriend in years, and no one had actually fucked me in ages. The only remotely positive thing is that somehow I managed to stay disease free.
The turning point came when a man I didn’t know started trying to force more out of me. He paid for a blowjob, and while I was giving it he began getting extremely aggressive. I told him that if he continued I would stop, but he grabbed my head and
started to forcefully face-fuck me. I pulled away, but he grabbed me and began clawing at my skirt. I knew what he was going to do, and tried as best as I could to fight him. I even screamed once, before finally giving in and accepting the fate my decisions had led me to.
Almost simultaneously with me giving up, I felt the man being pulled away from me. A rather large man stood behind him and had one of his burly hands around his neck. It was an impressive sight to watch as he lifted him off the ground and threw him into the side of a dumpster.
The man had pale skin but was covered with tattoos. A long beard fell from his face, matching his long hair that was held back in a ponytail. An American flag bandana was wrapped around his head, and he had blue mirrored sunglasses that kept me from seeing his eyes.
His arms were massive, bigger than any man’s I had ever seen before that point. They were on full display as he was wearing a vest with no shirt underneath. Both arms were covered with tattoos, which also poked up along the side of his neck.
He wasn’t the classic knight in shining armor, but I couldn’t help but feel some weird attraction to him. He could have just wanted me for himself, but there was something about him that made me doubt he would hurt me.
I watched the man beat my attempted rapist to a bloody pulp. I had slunk to the ground as I watched, petrified with fear and unable to move. I realized that I had seen the man before, but only in passing. He lived somewhere in my building, and was almost certainly the owner of the large bike that was always parked at the far end of the parking lot.
He picked the man up with one arm, lifted the lid to the dumpster and then dropped the man inside. He slammed the lid shut saying, “Don’t come out to you’re sure I’m gone.”
He turned to me. He was so large that I couldn’t help trembling a bit. I was relieved when he reached out a hand to help me to my feet.
“What’s your name?”
“Jazmin.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing…” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure what he meant or how I would even begin to answer the question.
“I guess I should say, why are you doing this?” The man’s voice was deep and gruff, and had a very commanding nature to it. He was not someone you wanted to cross, that much was obvious.
Despite this, I was a little put off by his question. I didn’t need someone coming around preaching to me about my life. I knew it was shit, but I was doing the best I could, given the circumstances. At least that's what I told myself. I shrugged.
“Thanks for the help, I gotta go.” I really was appreciative. Had he not shown up, I most certainly would have been raped. I just wasn’t in the right condition to discuss my life goals at that moment.
“You’re way too pretty for this. I don’t mean to be rude, but you have a lot of time to figure things out before you should need to resort to…” He looked around, at the dumpster, the dirty alley we stood in, and all the trash that surrounded us. “This.”
“Yea, well.” I shrugged my shoulders, turning to leave. I didn’t like it either.
“If you need something to help you land on your feet, I can give you a job at my bar. A girl like you could earn plenty from bartending tips. Just think about it. Come down anytime.” He reached in his back pocket and handed me a business card.
I didn’t look at it, but I did take it. I slipped it into my bra, thanked him again, and left.
***
I didn’t return to my normal tricks after that, but I didn’t take the man up on his offer either. I had some weird semblance of pride in me that wanted to make my own way in life, but clearly that wasn’t working out well. Late one night, weeks after I had run into the man, I found myself lying in bed, turning the business card over and over.
Flames ran out the sides of the words ‘Full Throttle.’ According to the card, the man’s name must have been Moose. It didn’t say anything else. No actual first or last name, just Moose. The man was built like a Moose, so it seemed appropriate. The only name that would have been better would have been Bear.
The next day I decided to go down to the address and check the place out. I was surprised to find out that it was less than two blocks away from the place I had lived my entire life. I had passed it probably hundreds of times, but it never registered in my consciousness. It was probably due to the fact that it was the most obvious biker bar I had ever seen, which is a culture I had previously had no interest in.
I stood across the street looking at the place. Quite a few men and women flowed in and out of the doors, all looking stranger than the last. There was plenty of men with black t shirts and handlebar mustaches, but there were also many with crazy body piercings and large mohawks. Even the women looked like they could easily handle most normal men in a fight.
I watched for a while, before deciding it wasn’t worth my time to go in. If I had been honest with myself, it wasn’t that I didn’t think it would be worthwhile, it was just that I didn’t think I belonged and would stick out like a sore thumb.
When I turned to leave, however, Moose was standing right behind me. He must have noticed me on the street, and had come up next to me.
“Leaving already?” He smiled. It was disarming, something about it conveyed a sense of safety.
I couldn’t help smiling back. “Yea, I just don’t know if this is the place for me. I don’t look like the biker type.”
“That's why you’re perfect! A sexy girl like you, especially with your skin color, will have those men acting crazy. If you’re worried about racism, you don’t need to be. I run a tight ship when it comes to that, and don’t tolerate any of it. We could use a little culture from someone like you. At least come in a check it out!”
I hadn’t even considered racism, but it was still nice to know I wouldn’t need to either. Without any good reason not to go in, and an escort from the owner, I decided that it wouldn’t kill me to go check the place out.
The inside was rather dark and a little hazy. Three pool tables sat in the middle of a giant room, with a huge bar to the left. The walls were decorated with license plates, gas station memorabilia and signage, and tons of pictures of motorcycles. A rather old yet pristine bike even hung from the ceiling, bringing all the decorations together to one focal point.
Everyone inside save for three were white, and none of these three were women. All the eyes of the patron’s turned to look at the two of us as I followed him through the middle of everything. As we walked past, people got out of our way and made low “Mooooooose” calls. He was very clearly top dog around here.
Moose led me to the bar, lifting a wooden panel and inviting me to step behind it with him.
“Have you ever poured a drink before?”
“Shots…” Where I came from, people didn’t waste time doing more to their drinks than adding something flavorful like coca cola.
Moose laughed at my answer. “Well, you’re in luck cause we’re easy around here. 90% of what you would be doing is pouring beers. The only trick to that is keeping the froth manageable, but that is easy to pick up on. The other 10% is mostly whiskey, but you can learn how to pour specific drinks as you go. It really isn’t hard. Wanna help Meg out a bit today and learn the ropes? See if this is something you could get into?”
I said yes, if for no other reason that leaving now would be more awkward than staying. I also figured I could earn a little money, something I was sorely short on since quitting my business behind the complex.
Meg was an extremely short yet feisty brunette. She had her share of tattoos, and a shirt that barely covered a remarkably large set of boobs, especially compared to her short stature.
“Well what the fuck are you looking at, you gonna help or what? I don’t need someone standing here in the way. I need someone pouring drinks and cleaning those fucking cups.”
I stood opened mouthed for a moment. I normally didn’t let people talk to me that way, but there was something about the way she said it that made it obvious that it wasn’t
meant personally, that was just the way that she talked.
I started washing the cups she had pointed to, not sure how to take a drink order or who to take it from. As I stood washing them, she came over and pushed me out of the way.
“You’ll be here all goddamn night if you do it like that. Fill this part here for rinsing. This brush pumps soap out, and trust me, you need soap after these grimy bastards have had their mouths all over them. Give this an old once around, pull it down and drop it in.” Her words meant little, but I followed her demonstration closely. I didn’t want to screw up and be made an even bigger example of.
I must have followed her instructions well, because Meg seemed to approve of the clean pile of cups I produced. There was a bit of lull in activity, so she started telling me more about the job.
