by Tia Lewis
"You could at least slow down," he said as he caught up.
"Not my fault you're so slow."
"Why does it seem like you're trying to send me away?"
"Maybe I am."
"You know, not to be offensive or anything but for a hooker, you're doing such a crappy job of trying to hold onto your client."
"Crossed your mind that I'm maybe trying to 'not hold on to you'?" I teased.
"Very funny," he said and stopped in front of the staircase of the hotel.
I turned my gaze to the hotel, and a sense of nostalgia swept over me. Nothing had changed since the last time I was here. It was exactly as I remembered it. The two-story building looked more like a building of apartments than a hotel. Except for the sign posted with the name inscribed on it, one really might not have been able to tell.
He went on ahead of me to the lobby and started to speak to the receptionist.
Before I reached him at the lobby, he was done with the receptionist and twirled a bunch of keys on a keyring around his finger. I doubled my steps and caught up with him. Together, we climbed the stairs in silence.
Doubts began to fill my mind as he opened the door to the room. I really didn't know if I wanted to do this anymore. Everything that had happened during the night rushed through my mind and continued to further fortify my doubts. I walked into the room, but my mind was walking away from it. Get the hell out of here! An inner voice screamed at me.
I walked straight to the bed and sat on it, ignoring the voice of reasoning that spoke to me. The soft bed sank under me as I sat on it. The softness was supposed to soothe me, but it did nothing for me. Deep down within me, I knew it was fear.
Nothing but fear was clouding my mind and try as I might to push it away, it wouldn't leave.
After all I'd been through, it was perfectly understandable. My heart started to pound violently in my chest. I took deep breaths in and out to steady me. Nothing happened. My heart was still pounding despite the fact that I was trying to steady it.
Oh God! I thought. What in the world was I doing? I should get away from here quickly! He had gotten to me, and he was bending over me. Despite my better judgment, I stayed there and let him touch me. When he bent over to kiss me, I turned to the other side, and he kissed my cheek instead. I braced myself for what was to come.
After all, I approached him and not the other way round. I had to see this through to the end. He was kissing my neck and even though I normally would have been affected by this, maybe even moved to action, this time I didn't feel a thing.
He started to trail the kisses all over my neck, riding up toward my chin. Get out, the voice said. He bent my neck the other way and planted kisses on my chin.
Leave now! His kisses moved up, and finally his lips sealed mine in a kiss that was a mix of both hot and cold; the hotness of the kiss and the almost ice-coolness of his lips. I closed my eyes and tried to kiss him back. I really did. But the honest truth was that the kiss was nothing like an actual kiss. All it was right now was a chore.
3
Dylan
Something felt wrong as I kissed her. I could swear that she is not one bit moved by my kisses. This was the first time that a woman was not at all moved by my 'ministrations' and I had to admit, it didn't feel good. Not one bit. I was feeling a little bit emasculated, if I was honest. Emasculated and a little bit challenged.
Challenge accepted, woman, I thought to myself. We were going to take this a notch higher.
I leaned in closer to her and started to run my fingers up and down along her arm.
Kissing her had become more than just for the pleasure. I took it as my duty. She had to feel something sometime. She couldn't possibly be immune to feelings and stirrings.
It crossed my mind at this point that she was probably not as good of a hooker as I thought she was. If there was anything hookers were good at, it was pretending.
Let's face facts. All anyone paid for was for them to pretend; pretend they liked the kisses—pretend they liked you, well except in the cases where that SM thing came in—pretend they like the fact that you filled them up. And then they pretended like you actually made them orgasm. Now that I thought of it, I didn't think these hookers ever orgasmed. That's why I took my business elsewhere; social media apps, bars—wherever the spirit led.
Back to this totally unmoved young lady, I was trying to pleasure. She was still not responding to my kisses, and I was beginning to find it quite distressing. My hand moved from her arms to her torso, and I started to lightly caress her body through the dress. Nothing. My hand moved to her breast, cupping it and that was when I felt it.
Not quite the response I was expecting.
Instead of the fiery passion I assumed she would consume me with, she stiffened. She actually stiffened under my touch! I pulled away from her immediately, and her reaction further confirmed what I thought this was. Normally, she would have looked up at me immediately, dazed, probably even disoriented by the fact that I had stopped doing what I was doing to her, but this one was staring at me with the blankest of stares. Like nothing even passed through her. Like she actually wouldn't care if I continued or stopped.
"What's going on?" I ask her.
"I don't understand." She said with what I couldn't exactly say was genuine confusion, but looked like it. I would have been sold by her reaction, but I know what this was. I was pretty sure she would tell me some sob story that was supposed to make me just give her the money without having sex with her. Wouldn't work. Wouldn't happen.
A voice in my head told me I’m just being petty. I agreed, not because I was actually thinking of having sex with her, but because of my story and now that I had the opportunity to get what I wanted without having to exert myself. What I felt was a very misplaced sense of wrong. Like she was being unfair to rob me of the opportunity to turn her down when things got intense.
"You don't understand? Do you really want to do this?"
"Umm."
"Umm? You can do much better than 'umm.' Are you into this or not?"
"Yes…No..." she sighed. "I don't know."
I sighed myself, and my voice got a notch softer. "What is going on? You don't seem so into it. I can read it in your body language. You don't seem so willing to this thing, and I am beginning to wonder if you really meant to chase me off earlier."
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into all of this. I thought it was a good idea earlier but now, not so much."
"So what changed your mind?"
"I...I just don't really feel up to this anymore."
"Isn't that kind of what you guys do? Pretend you are up to it when you don't really feel up to it? I thought that's why you guys are called 'professionals' in your field."
"It's not what you think it is. I'm not what you think I am." She said and moved some distance from me. However, she was still on the bed.
"Enlighten me on exactly what it is that you are, please. You charge money for sex, and that is exactly what hookers do. What else am I supposed to think you are?" I said a bit rudely.
"Watch how you talk to me!" she said to me with so much anger in her voice. "I won't let you talk to me in just about any manner you please."
"Look, I'm sorry I spoke the way I did. I just thought this was just another ploy you guys employ to rip people off." I said in an attempt to read her reaction when I dropped the bombshell that I knew what this play was. "You know, that thing where you pick up a hooker and she tells you sob stories when you are already so in the mood and she spins some story that wins your sympathy and the guy gives her money but doesn't touch her?"
Her face was weirdly calm as I spilled out the spin. She looked a little confused like she didn't understand what I was saying. It was either she genuinely was not trying to play me, or she was a pretty good actress.
"I am not trying to con you out of your money. I promise you."
"So what is this?"
"I…" she sighed and let out a small, sad lau
gh. "How do I say this without seeming like I want to spin a tale? Yeah, I am a hooker. But I am off work tonight. I was just trying to relieve tension back there when I saw you staring, and I decided to just take a shot at you. It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time."
"And now?"
"Now I'm not so sure. For all its worth, I wasn't going to take your money. I was just going to let down my hair and then get out of your hair."
"Oh really?" I said with my first smirk of the night. "You had an ulterior motive. You just wanted to use me and run away."
"Well, kind of," she said, and this time the smile was kind of genuine.
"Looks like I'm not the only one with a hidden agenda. Good to know."
"Wait, you?"
"Well, you're not the only with the luxury of an ulterior motive," I said. "Okay, that didn't sound as right out loud as it did in my head."
She rolled her eyes. "What do you really want?"
"Well …"
"Out with it now!"
"Fine. Just promise you'll hear me out first before you make any hasty conclusions or decisions."
"Why do I have a feeling I won't like what you are about to say?"
"Err, you probably won't like it."
"Oh God! What is it?"
"I am going through quite a rough patch right now. Things at work aren't going as smoothly as they're supposed to be going and I kind of need…"
"Oh really?" she interrupted. "Now, you're the one trying to pull one over me? Just great. How much?"
"Wait, what? I'm not trying to con you or anything like that."
"Right," she said, rolling her eyes.
"I'm very serious about this. What I need does not require a dime from you. Just your words."
"Look, I don't work for anyone that can make me have juicy gossip for you."
"But you do."
"What exactly do you do for a living?"
"I'm a journalist." Her face dropped when I told her.
"Wait, what?" she asked in surprise. "So what do you want from me?"
"I need a story that can help me hit the cover page like yesterday. It is quite crucial for my career that I find that story. When you walked up to me in the bar, I just knew it was you."
"But I'm just a regular girl that walks up to guys at the bar. Nothing serious. Why would you want my story in your newspaper? What's so important?"
"Everything is. When you bumped into that guy, something fell off you. This." I said as I fished out her ID from my wallet. Her face immediately reflected the shock that she was in and she didn't even bother to hide it. She reached out to me and tried to snatch the card out of my hand. I pulled it back and placed it far enough from her.
"Give me that!"
"Not until you have actually listened to me. It fell off when that guy bumped into you. Stanford huh?"
"What does the fact that I go to Stanford have to do with anything?"
"It has everything to do with everything. Stanford is quite the prestigious school. It got me thinking, and then it hit me. I want you to be my next big story. The story about the hooker that goes to Stanford. I need your experiences, your story—everything. I can save my career with your story."
"And ruin mine? No thank you."
"I wouldn't be ruining your career. Nobody would know it's you. We'll change the names, change some of the places—anything that can link the story back to you. Trust me; I wouldn't want my source to come to any harm. I'd do everything to protect you."
She got off the bed and grabbed her purse. "You're crazy. Very, very crazy. I can't do it. I won't do it. Give me my ID!" she demanded.
"Please! This could change everything for me."
"Why should I be bothered with what it does for you? That part is none of my business. I don't know you, and you don't know me. So whatever happens to you is none of my business. Heck! I don't even know your name or anything about you except this little story you just told."
I mentally shot myself in the head after she was done speaking. I could be such a fool sometimes. I was so blinded by what I wanted from her that it didn't even cross my mind to try to endear her to me; my first wrong move. I don't even know her name. The second wrong move was to assume that she would care what happens to me. She doesn't know me. I wasn't relevant to her.
"Look, I'm so very sorry for that oversight. I was just so excited by this whole thing that I forgot my manners. I'm Dylan." I said and stretched out my hand for a handshake. She ignored the hand or the fact that I had told her my name and stared squarely at me before speaking.
"I can't do it. Even if I really wanted to help you, I couldn't. This is beyond me."
"Beyond you? You hold all the cards! I don't need to meet with you every blessed day. All I need is just some time. Maybe two or three times in a week and during the day so it won't affect your business. Please! I'm in a really big mess. I need this story, or else, I will be fired really soon. This is all I've got. If you were a religious person, I would have said God himself sent you to me to help my situation."
"God didn't send anyone. I just came to you myself."
"Same difference. The bottom line is, I really need this, and I'd be eternally grateful to you if you could just accept to do this. I know it's too much to ask considering that we're not friends or anything like that, but you'd be saving a life if you agree to do this."
"Look, I understand everything you're saying perfectly, and it's not like I'm such a demon I don't want to help. It's just that I can't."
"Why? Why can't you?" I asked, my desperation clearly expressed in my voice.
There was no point in pretending that it wouldn't hurt me badly if she didn't agree to this.
"Because I am not a hooker."
4
Alexa
He blinked once. Then twice. His hands moved from the bed to his jaw, and he scratched his beard, confused.
"What?" he finally said.
"I said, I'm not a hooker."
"You could just tell me you don't want to do this instead of lying to me, you know. I'd be devastated, but that's all it'd be. You've no reason to lie to me."
I sighed and looked at him like a mother would a petulant child. He thought it was just a ruse to get away from him and this crazy idea that he had, but it wasn't. I owed him nothing, and he owed me nothing, so there was absolutely no need for me to lie.
This guy had a wrong sense of entitlement, and I wondered if that hadn't gotten him into a mess before.
"I have no reason to lie. You're just too full of yourself to realize my turning you down would mean nothing to me. I am not a hooker."
"But you came on to me?"
"Like every other girl at the bar does to a guy she sees and likes."
"You said you were not going to charge me."
"I could have been fooling around."
"You…"
"Enough, Dylan! All those scenarios you're painting? They're all perfectly normal things people who aren't hookers do. But yeah. I was a hooker."
"Was?"
"Yeah. Was. Past tense of 'is.' Meaning something that isn't happening anymore but happened before the moment of speaking?"
"Very funny. I know what the word means. Explain to me how this works again."
I sighed because he was about to remind me of a story I never liked to remember.
But I guessed I couldn't run from it forever.
"I used to be a hooker before now. Your regular babe on the streets but I had a terrible experience that made me quit. I just couldn't do it anymore."
"So why were you out there tonight?"
"I was out there because…because I am thinking of going back into it. College won't pay for itself, and since I'm not a rich kid with a fat trust fund somewhere, I have to find a way to raise money to pay my bills, and this is the only way I know."
"Oh. I'm…I'm..." he stuttered. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"You and I know there's nothing sorry about that. Shit happens. And I've gotten over it."
<
br /> "Have you really?"
"Please, let's not pretend that you actually care here."
"But I do."
"What's my name?" I asked in an ultimate test of this 'caring' nature of his. I cocked my head to the side, waiting for him to say something…anything. I knew he couldn't though. I never told him or should I say, he never cared or bothered to know. He brought me here from the bar, stuck his tongue in my mouth and down my throat without even knowing the most basic of things about me; my name.
"I…" he started to say.
"You what?" I asked, daring him to speak.
"I am terribly sorry."
"You're always sorry."
"What is your name?"
"Alexa. I'm Alexa."
"It's nice to meet you, Alexa."
"Oh, please. You met me ages ago and it just now crossed your mind to behave like a civilized human. Anyway, back to your proposition. See why I can't help now?"
"I see why you quit hooking, but I don't see why you can't be my story. I see a great story in this situation of yours and trust me; I know it would make it to the cover page and even endear people to you."
"I thought you said they wouldn't know it's me?"
"Well, they won't, but it doesn't mean they won't still relate with whoever the story is about. Think about it."
"But what is there to tell? I don't work with these people anymore. I'm more like fresh fish in these waters now."
"But you've worked with them before. You've lived the life they lived. You're about to start living that life again. Even if it's based just on your past experiences, it still is something. Some people are living this past of yours as their present. Some would continue to live that life until the very last day. So what's there not to tell?
"You entered into the system for a reason. Something pushed you out of it. But despite all of this, despite the fact that some people feel hookers have no future whatsoever, you decided to go to school. Isn't that a worthy enough story for people to read about?"
