by Rex Miller
She'd picked the next one, or rather he'd hit on her when she was back on the street a few minutes after leaving the second john's hotel. Just walking around like a little kid. Not thinking about the fact her clothes were selling the product and surprised when this old dude goes, "How much for a party?" And she almost told him to fuck off but caught herself in time.
Greg would be so happy. She already had a wallet filled with money and it was easy money just like that man of hers promised it would be.
"Movie-star money," the john told her in the room. But she could not foresee what was in store. She could not read the signs that a woman of experience might have seen and understood. She was Spain's mixed-up child of a fourteen-year-old daughter. Pure cherry and the third horse out of the chute is a bad one.
It is a business of numbers pure and simple. Hooking is all math. Bucks. Numbers. Sex numbers. Minutes in the saddle. Speed. Fast service and turnover, like a fast burger franchise. All by the old numbers. And the probabilities of problems are numbers again. It becomes a percentage thing. So much chance of getting ripped off. So much chance of a vice bust. So much chance of being hurt. So much of a percent you'll be crippled or offed by a psycho. Numbers.
Rip-offs. Johns. Whackos. Vice collars. Pimps. The life of a street ho is obviously marvelous. One reason why they do it. The bucks. Numbers again. Hers could have would have should have been number three hundred and seventeen or something. That was the john she might have been street-wise enough to protect herself against. But he was number three.
He moved in front of her and inserted the key in the lock and turned the knob and held the door open for her as she moved in, thinking in her mind how much she'd be bringing Greg tonight and wondering how many times she'd have to do this before she could go to him. Idly she speculated on the time of day it would be, hoping he'd take her out to a fancy dinner like last night. She would want to put all of this out of her mind.
It wasn't too bad if you thought about something else. She thought guys would take an hour or something like the kids did when they balled each other in their folks' cars. She didn't know that screwing and lovemaking were two separate things. The john would seldom need more than three or four minutes of a pro's expertise, and that would be it.
The main thing was she had to remember what Greg had taught her, the saying they'd rehearsed over and over, and his clever words kept playing back to her as she popped her gum and entered the strange room.
"Get money first, clean him off, get him off, get out fast. Get the money first, clean him off, get him off, get out fast .... Get the —" Saying it over and over to herself like a speed litany, chewing her sugar-free and feeling her palms get sticky, and then getting the saying mixed up in her head already in the nervous excitement of the moment, fear smearing it. "Get out fast, get the money —"
"Um. Hey, uh, could I like have the money now, please?" she said sweetly, not liking to ask like that but saying it so it wouldn't be just a question either, a tricky moment she thought, a tricky moment with a trick; she still hadn't looked at him.
"Sure, baby." He reached in for a huge roll and peeled a hundred off the outside, but she couldn't see what was in the roll. For all she knew or cared it could be newspaper in there. All she wanted was the hundred to put in Greg's trap money. "But now I gotta li'l favor to ask in return. No offense, but lose the gum, okay?"
"Huh?" she said, thinking he'd said lose the gun.
"The gum in your mouth, sweetheart. Get rid of the gum, please. It's like a little turnoff, okay, dear?"
"Oh. Yeah. The gum. Oh, sure." She plucked it out with her teenybopper fingernails and threw it into the wastebasket next to the bed.
"Excuse me. I have to go in the bathroom a minute, please," she said, and he smiled and nodded as he gestured expansively at the door. Get the money first, clean him off . . .
"While I'm getting undressed, would you please take your pants off? Thanks." She blurted it out as she closed the door behind her. What embarrassment. She'd never get used to asking a stranger to undress, but she knew what she had to do. Get the money clean him off get him off. One thing at a time. She wished that her case of nerves would ease up before she did something dumb. She tried to think calm, and then, as she was running water, she realized she had some Libriums in her purse. Mother's Librium. She came out of the bathroom with the hot washcloth, lightly soaped, the cloth dripping as she walked, still repeating her litany over and over to herself, and the guy hasn't budged. He's standing just where she left him like he's in shock.
"Come on now. Please let Tiff wash you off nice, huh?"
He pulled her over to him and took the cloth from her. "I'll sure do that in a second, hon, and I'll skin it back and clean that big ole devil real good for ya, but before we git to that, I jes' gotta have a little kiss from my sweet ole sugarbuns." He pulled her in close and she pushed away a little involuntarily as he relaxed his death grip on her arms. He was muscled like a weight lifter.
"Hey, easy, chief," she said, trying to remember what Greg had told her was the best way to handle this. He stunk of booze.
"C'mon. One kiss. One little kiss, whatcher name? Tiff? Tiff?" She nodded. "Tiff. Short for Tiffany." He laughed into her cat's eyes. "Oh, Christ almighty, that's great. I really like that one." He started kissing her on the mouth. "Yeah. That's real original. I only ever met one other working girl with the name Tiffany. Marvy."
"That's my real name," she said, slightly angry. "I use Tiff mostly."
"Tiff the Quiff. Hell, I like it. I might get you and my other Tiff the quiff together and we'd like get into something. A little double-Tiff menage a trois?"
"Menagerie what?" she said, trying to pull free a little.
"It means whore sandwich in French, love." He was kissing her now on the mouth, but more and more he was taking her whole mouth in his when he kissed, big sloppy wet smackings suckings as he sucked her lips into his boozy mouth. He was as strong as an ox and she was starting to get angry. He took two powerful fingers and pinched her lips together in an ex-aggerated pucker, saying, "Ummm. Not menagerie what. Menage a twaaaah." Saying it pedantically and drawing it out, speaking almost into her mouth, his sour tequila breath about making her gag. "Now you repeat after me, Tiff-quiff, say it. Muh-naaaaahhh-hhhj ..."
"RRRRmmmmmgg."
This broke him up and he breathed more sour breath and tequila in her face and he squeezed the lips together more. "Oh, puss. You're so damn cute. I just gotta bite that little ole saucy mouth of yours, okay?"
"Rrrrr," she tried to pull back, unsuccessfully. It reminded her of an old aunt on her mom's side who always was going gitchee-goo to her when she was little and pinching her cheeks real hard. And even when she got older, the aunt would try to pinch her like that. But it only hurt a little bit and Tiff always tried to smile because her aunt was nice except for that. And suddenly his big, hard, yellow teeth are sinking into her lips and biting her mouth practically off and she is trying to scream but she can't get anything out except "AAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMM-MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-MMMMMGGGG-GGGGGGGGGGG" as he bites into her and she can't stand the pain and her mouth is caught in that awful vise and it is like pushing against a brick wall and by reflex she has enough presence of mind to lash out with one of her pointy-toed high-hell boots, kicking him with all her might right in the leg and he yelps and she manages to tear free from his grasp as he makes a little noise like "Waaaauuuugggg."
And she is crying and screaming and almost hyper-ventilating, screaming in pain as she runs into the bathroom to see if her mouth is in tattered shreds or what. Oh my God oh Jeez it hurts so bad, she cries. It feels like her lips are bit clear through, and she's sobbing almost out of control and trying to get her breath and he's saying something this maniac is mumbling some garbage and she isn't listening she's holding a cold, wet towel gently against her bruised mouth and crying and looking at the deep teeth marks in her face there in the motel bathroom mirror, but the john is in the next room and he doesn't care.
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nbsp; He's in the room where he bit her and he has his penis out now and he's standing there grinning and whacking off and squinting his eyes shut, grunting, making a strained, groaning noise as he climaxes almost within thirty seconds shooting a hot arc of milky white sperm to die amid the filth of the worn, burned, stained, sleazebag carpet.
"Waaaaaaaauuuuuggg," again as he shoots his wad, immediately rubbing his leg again where the bitch kicked him. She'll pay dearly for this oh sweet Mary and Joseph yes she'll pay.
He smiles darkly and in a mock-conciliatory tone says through the door, "GOD dammit! Oh, I'm SO sorry, little Tiffy." He can hear her still bawling her lungs out in there. He knows he shouldn't bite them but by the blessed Virgin it's hard. And you lose control sometimes when the real young stuff has a nice sexy mouth like that one. Oh God he could cum right now, cum again just thinking about it, and he touches himself all smeared and wet with his orgasm and keeps apologizing through the door to the young hooker.
In the bathroom she is still sobbing, but between sobs and blowing her nose she is trying to tell him off and he is asking her to forgive him in the next room and the madder it's making her. And she's getting as mad as fury as she feels the pain and looks at the ugly teeth marks burning red around the sides of her mouth, and all she can think of is how mad Greg is going to be and she runs out of the bathroom trying to catch her breath as she sobs and yells at the crazy john, "LOOKWHATYOUDIDTA ME YOU, UH, YOU-UHUHUH, MY BOYFRIEND'S GONNA KILL —"
"HERE!" He scares her yelling back at her as he holds up a handful of money and she swings at his hand, but he's fast and he jerks his hand back before she can knock the money out of his hand and he screams again, "WAIT. JESUS. DAMMIT. WAIT. LOOK HERE, WILLYA!" He fans out all the hundreds. A handful of hundred-dollar bills again right here in her face. It looked like over a thousand dollars all spread out like that. "Oh, I'm so very sorry, honey," he says, very sincere and contrite-looking as he sells it to her. "This is to make up for that. I don't know what came over me. This is yours, dear; take it, please." The fan of money again. It was the only thing that would have worked for him and somehow he knew to push the right button. The money stopped her dead-cold. "It's a grand, Tiff. A thousand bucks. Plus the hundred I was about to pay you."
She reaches out, still angry and hurting, and snatches the money from his grip, snapping, "You should have to pay that and more. Look at me. Are you nuts or what? I'm not going to be able to work for days looking like this." She fingers the tooth marks.
And he keeps talking, conning her, lulling her with a big, dopey, apologetic look on his face. "... so very, very sorry for losing control of myself, I don't know what came over me to —"
And she's thinking to herself. One hundred and one hundred is two hundred dollars ....
"Don't expect you to forgive me but let me make up for the amount of time you can't work. It's only fair that I pay for —"
And she thinks, And two hundred and eleven hundred is thirteen hundred, that's one THOUSAND, three hundred dollars!
"Know how much that must have hurt," and he keeps gentling her down, but she's not listening, and then she sees his hand come back out of that pants pocket and it is just loaded with money and she hears him rattling on, "Want to give you some more to make up for it, okay?"
And all she can do is examine the math in her mind and suddenly the pain is totally gone. This is a fourteen-year-old child sitting here in her goofy whore outfit with some maniac who reeks of booze, trying to press more money on her. And all she can do is think about Greg and what he would say, how he sent her out today saying, Don't come back without at least six hundred bucks for me, six tricks. And she's got it all for today AND tomorrow, she thinks as he sits there begging her, but she only hears his apologies with half an ear as she continues her computations.
No way would she have done ten more hundred-dollar "dates." She knows this full well. With the two bills she already has, thirteen hundred, Greg could put over a thousand dollars into their nest egg. And she might not even have to go back out tomorrow.
That would still leave plenty of money to party with, and the thought of escaping from the pain and memories of this became very strong. A desire to smoke suddenly engulfed her from out of nowhere and she realized she could buy a dozen crack vials on the way back to the motel and still hand her man twelve hundred dollars. She ran into the bathroom again, idly wondering if makeup would hide the deep bite marks, and she took a little plastic bottle out of her purse and did a couple of lines right there. Sniffing and running her tongue over her sore, reddened lips. The angry red bruises looked so ugly and scary.
"Could make it up to you," his harsh, slurred voice intruded on her thoughts as she came back in the room, "and I was thinking . . . Hey, come over here a second." She stopped where she was. "I have a way to make it up to you right now." He had his big roll of money back out again.
"Party with me for just fifteen minutes more so I can get off — I'll be gentle as a lamb, I swear — and I'll give you fifteen hundred dollars more. How's that sound?"
"You kidding me or what?" She was almost speechless.
"Hey, Tiff. Does it look like I'm kidding? I'll pay ya up front. And here's the whole thing right now, in advance. Jes' so you know I'm not kidding you." He had fifteen one-hundred-dollar bills counted out and was extending his arm toward her. She still didn't move.
"You mean including the eleven hundred — you'll pay me four hundred more if I let you ball me?" It hadn't quite sunk in.
"Hell, no. Tiffany girl. I will give you ONE THOUSAND FIVE hundred dollars MORE jes' so Ah can git off. That's a hundred bucks a minute, kid. Plus the eleven I gave ya by way of showin' how sorry I am for biting like that. You get what that means? That equals twenty-six hundred for a li'l ole fifteen-minute party — that'd make your pussy the most valuable twat in history. That's movie-star money."
"I don't know," she said, looking at his outstretched hand suspiciously. He dropped the money hand down in front of him and she went over and started to take the money from him. Looking at him real hard. Feeling how sore her mouth was.
"And you won't touch my mouth again. No kissing, no touching, no biting me anywhere. " The lines had bolstered her courage.
"I swear." He was shaking his head like it was about to fall off his body. "I jus' wanna git off and go home. Fifteen minutes. Straight ball. Nothin' else. No kissing. Nothing. Jes' let me put it in."
"You guarantee me no kissing or anything?" Very suspicious.
"Absolutely. I promise. And you got my money up front." He wore his best contrite look. "Look, Tiff, I can see I bruised y'r mouth. This will make up for you not being able to work awhile. A paid vacation. Just fifteen minutes inna saddle and you've got twenty-six hundred." This time she reached over and took the money and he knew he had her.
"And no more of this goddamn biting," she reprimanded, cat's eyes asparkle
"And no more biting. I'll be a gentle pussycat, I swear."
"Well, okay," she said, taking the money and starting to strip. "Clean that thing off first." The money looked real.
He had the washcloth even as he was shaking his head in compliance, and was dropping his pants and skivvies and cleaning himself there in front of her. He hobbled into the motel bathroom dragging his pants around his ankles to wash off the warm soapsuds. She had to smile through her bruised mouth as she rubbed her sore face and thought about the money. God. Greg would be so proud of her. Scoring like this her first day out on the set. Um. Wow. $2,800! Get the money first . . . clean him off . . . get him off . . .
"Now. Daddy's all clean," he said as he came back out of the bathroom, wearing only a T-shirt and his socks. Carrying his pants and shirt and shoes in his hand like a clod.
"And NO MORE KISSING!" Just stand it for three or four more minutes!
"You got it, sugar. No smoochin' and no bitin'. Promise. Just in and out and easy money for Tiff."
"Okay," she said as they crawled into bed, and he dropped his socks by th
e bedside and reached for her gently, moving forward against her and beginning a soft rocking motion as she felt him stiffen against her body. She was deciding whether or not to moisten him like Greg had said or to let him wet it himself for insertion as he rocked back and forth, and she didn't see him bring the thing out and put it behind them, sliding the metal thing behind and under the pillow beside them, then making the transfer to his other hand, then easing out the other one out and having it all set to go.
"OOOOHHHH! Baby." He was good. He knew how to make a real loud noise just as he moved the cuffs. The one was in a little rinky-dink washcloth he'd got when he went in the bathroom, and as he snicked one cuff to the bed, he made a loud groaning noise that halfway covered up the metallic noise and before she had a chance to wonder what was that she'd just heard SNNNNIKKKK! Cold steel catching her around the wrist and his body weight pressing down on her with her struggling against him as he captured the other wrist easily, snikking the cuff up tight and then moving off her to fasten the other cuff and spread-eagle her out there, and that was her chance and she kicked out at him but with no shoe and he only suffered a toenail scratch and he was stoked way beyond that and still it torqued him off and he pounded her twice with a big, hard, mean right fist and shoved the little washcloth down in her mouth.
"That's the one I washed my little thing with, TIFFANY or whatever the fuck your whorehouse name is, cunt. And here's a couple socks to go in there too." He stuffed a filthy sock into her mouth. She could feel bile rising in her throat and she was afraid she'd gag. Gag on the gag. Get the gag, she thought inanely as she struggled against the cuffs and tried to kick out again. He pounded her another hard right. This time catching her squarely in the solar plexus and taking all the rest of the fight right out of her. He pulled the gag out of her mouth and let her choke for a little, then wiped off her face and shoved the sock back in. Then changed his mind and pulled the sock out and took her sore face in his hand and made her pucker up for another special kiss.
