by Linda Kage
“Definitely.” I rose to my feet because payment always meant dismissal. Lifting the cash to show my gratitude, I added, “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you.” She remained sprawled in the Adirondack chair, naked with her legs draped open and her shaved pussy still gleaming wet from my tongue. “Just leave the Speedo on the sink when you change, darling. It’s my husband’s.”
I nodded, feeling sympathy for the cuckolded man. I bet he would just love to learn a male prostitute had been wearing his swimming suit, which is probably exactly why my client had instructed me to put it on in the first place. It hadn’t taken long to learn that the women who employed me tended to have quite a malicious streak. Yet another reason why I made sure never to piss any of them off.
“Yes, ma’am.” Saluting her, I turned toward the pool house to retrieve my own clothes. Gidget scampered after me, following me inside.
“Hey, pooch,” I murmured as soon as we were alone. I knelt and scratched her behind the ears because suddenly she seemed like a fellow war survivor and maybe even my new best friend. “You as traumatized by all that as I am?” I asked quietly.
Gidget yapped. I took it as a yes.
“Yeah.” I huffed out a breath and straightened to tug my clothes back on as fast as I could. “I don’t blame you. I wanted to run as soon as I saw that leash. No wonder why you guys struggle so much when humans put collars on you.”
Once dressed in my own clothes, I flung the used Speedo onto the lip of the sink and toed on my flip-flops, only to give the dog one last scratch goodbye. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again, but if we don’t,” I blew out a breath and whispered, “then thank God.”
I never purposely sabotaged myself. I gave every client a hundred and ten percent and I was always careful to execute my services exactly how they specified. Call it having a little pride in my work or whatever you like, but I busted my ass to be good at what I did. I had repeat clientele going on ninety-five percent (one had died and three had moved out of the area). And I got paid well for it. So living up to my own reputation was important to me.
But that didn’t mean I loved my duties. I didn’t like being treated like a possession, like something that could be put on a leash and fondled whenever and wherever they liked as if they had every right. I didn’t like being the toy they played with while their husbands were away, the puppet they commanded to perform, the object they tossed aside when they were done with me. I didn’t like being the dirty little secret they kept from spouses and children. I didn’t like not being able to be my own damn person.
The lack of freedom bothered me the most, and that collar had felt like a great big bitch slap, reminding me I was nothing. A filthy, worthless man-whore, bound by the cash of the rich and depraved.
I wanted out. I wanted out of this life so bad.
And trust me, I knew what kind of fucked-up, ironic mess that made me. I strove to do my best at something I hated and craved to stop. It made no sense. I could easily end all this by messing up one session with one client badly enough that none of the others would even want to call for me again. But whenever the idea tempted me, the next thought I had of losing all that extra income would send me into a panic, and I found myself continuing to be the best I could so they’d keep asking for me.
This was my life in a nutshell. I constantly felt pulled in two directions—feeling the need to do it and do it well in order to protect the ones I loved most, all the while, just wanting to escape so I could save my own soul—always wondering when the entire situation would just tear me in half, leaving me broken beyond repair.
I drove myself crazy with never being able to commit to a single decision and just stick with it, needing this and yet needing that too. But I was always so torn between what I wanted, what I thought was right, and what I felt was best for my loved ones. The three lines would cross and tangle so much that I got confused about which one was which until I grew petrified and believed that no matter what I did it would be the wrong choice. It seemed like I could only get everyone important to me hurt.
What was worse, the back-and-forth indecision in me was draining and frustrating and it usually led me into messing everything up anyway. That’s why this isn’t just my story about what happened.
These are my confessions.
Confession #1: I was a sucky son.
Once I pulled into my own driveway, I killed the engine of my Jeep and sat in silence, scrutinizing my house. Home sweet home. It was only a rental but this place was the longest I’d ever lived anywhere, plus it was my escape from reality.
I should probably think about painting it. And I needed to mow the lawn again. More importantly, I needed to water the lawn. It looked brown and pathetic sandwiched between the other immaculate green yards in the neighborhood. Plus the cracks in the concrete front walk were horrendous.
I knew I couldn’t count on my landlady to take care of anything. She’d ignored all requests for repairs since I’d told her I wasn’t going to have sex with her again.
Like I’d said, my clients tended to be cold, calculating ice queens: piss them off, and they made sure you felt the repercussions. On top of refusing repairs, Patricia had raised the rent twice in the past year. Not enough to entice us to move—not that we could with my mom’s dismal credit rating—or for me to fuck her again, but enough to make me hate her more with each passing breath.
Nausea rose as I barely glanced toward the right, at her mansion. The things I’d done in her house… The things she’d made me do…
Shuddering over the memories, I opened the door of my Jeep and lugged myself out into the warm afternoon. I entered through the kitchen and immediately veered toward the back bathroom. The door never latched properly, so I didn’t even bother trying to shut it.
One more repair I needed to add to my ever-growing to-do list.
Emptying half a tube of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, I jammed the goopy bristles into my mouth and scrubbed with a vengeance, paying particular attention to my tongue. Yet even as my mouth filled with minty freshness, I couldn’t remove everything I’d just done. There was no paste strong enough to eradicate shame and self-disgust.
I spit, then scrubbed some more. After rinsing with a cup of water and gargling with mouthwash, I layered more toothpaste onto my brush and started the process all over again. I could no longer taste her, but I swear I could still feel her in my mouth, flooding my veins and invading my soul, infiltrating everything I was and defiling me.
“Mason?” a voice asked from the opening of the bathroom.
Startled, I spun around and straightened, lifting my eyebrows questionably at my mother who stood in the doorway. “Mmm?”
When our eyes met, her cheeks went pink as if she knew exactly why I was so vigorously brushing my teeth. She shifted her gaze away and self-consciously played with a piece of dark hair at the back of her neck that had come loose from her ponytail.
“I was going to go get some groceries. Do you… Do you happen to have some extra cash?”
Turning back to the sink, I spat out the last of the toothpaste and remained hovered over the vanity a second longer, closing my eyes until I straightened again. “Yeah, just a second.”
I dug my hand into my pocket and, while my fingers were still obscured from view, I managed to peel three bills away from the rest of the roll my client had given me so Mom couldn’t see exactly how much I had on me. She eyed the Benjamins hungrily as soon as they came into view, making me wonder if she was really going grocery shopping or not.
“You taking Sarah with you?” I asked.
If she said yes, I knew there was no way she’d stray from the plan. With Sarah in tow, she’d definitely only go straight to the grocery store and straight home. She didn’t like to lug the wheelchair a ton of places. But if she said no—
She glanced at me as if I’d just asked the most ridiculous question. “No.”
Well then, there was no telling where she was really going or what she was real
ly buying with my money. She’d had a drug problem a couple years back but she’d sworn to me she was clean now. I had no proof otherwise, but sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder: where did all the money I gave her truly go? I’d taken over most of the utility payments and covered Sarah’s medical expenses, school, and clothing. But Mom had two jobs and she still never had enough. I couldn’t outright accuse her of anything but I could never really trust her, either.
“Just be back before five, okay? I can’t watch Sarah any later than that. I gotta work tonight.”
Mom paused. “At the Country Club?”
The fact that she even asked me that set my teeth on edge. I was a valet at the Country Club’s golf course, restaurant, casino, and hotel. That was technically my only job. But every time she made a reference to my other source of income, I swear something in me died. She’d never come right out and addressed the subject, never tried to stop me from what I did, never mentioned a single censorious, motherly thing about it. All she did was ask me for more money.
I didn’t hate my mother. I couldn’t hate her if I tried. She was my freaking mom. She’d stuck around when everyone else in our lives had split. She was by no means perfect but she did try. A single mother, she held two jobs and made sure my sister was fed and clean. Sarah and I knew she loved us—in her own way—so it seemed selfish to wish for some kind of June Cleaver. But the mere fact that she obviously knew about my side profession and had never once tried to save me from it kind of stung. Made me think the money was more important to her than my damned, filthy soul.
The money was important, though, so important I probably wouldn’t have stopped if she had begged me to, but I would’ve at least appreciated her efforts. More than she ever knew.
“Yeah. The Country Club,” I answered, then rinsed out my toothbrush and put it away. “Where’s Sarah?”
“Watching TV in the living room.” Her feet shifted as if she were antsy to escape.
We didn’t have an easy, comfortable relationship. We hadn’t for two years now, when I’d started taking money from women in exchange for sex.
I blamed myself, always wondering if we would be closer today if I’d never started what I had. So I’d begun this strange habit of prolonging each of our encounters as long as I could, gauging her level of happiness and hoping someday we’d find some kind of mother-son connection.
“Could you get me some more soap at the store?” I asked because I wanted to ensure she actually went grocery shopping, and also because I was honestly running low.
When you had to wash off various women, you tended to go through a lot of soap.
Mom paused as if she knew exactly why I needed more soap before she gave a jerky nod. “S-sure. No problem.”
“Thanks. And you remember I start classes in the morning, right?”
She blinked as if she had forgotten, but her answer was, “Of course. Did you need me to pick up some school supplies, too?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I’ve already got that taken care of, but thanks. I was just reminding you I’d be gone more and won’t be able to help so much with Sarah.”
“That’s right.” She pressed her palm to her forehead and winced as if the stress of that was too much to bear. “I’m going to have to find another evening sitter for her soon. Dammit.”
“Want me to find one?” I offered.
She glanced at me but then shook her head. “No. It’s fine. I’ve already started working on it. I got an ad posted in the college classifieds. I just forgot to put one in the city newspaper, too.”
When I nodded, neither of us had anything else to mention, but I refused to be the one to say goodbye first.
Mom shifted her weight again, brushed some hair out of her eyes, and glanced everywhere but at me. “So, are you nervous?” she asked. “About returning to school again?”
I was, but not in the way she probably thought. She most likely assumed I was worried I’d be out of practice since I hadn’t done the school scene for a while. I’d graduated high school two years earlier. At the time, there’d been no money or prospect for college. But now, not only did I have the cash to afford any class I wanted from the local community college, but I also had the renewed determination to make something more of my life.
This creeping sensation had been assailing me lately. I kept worrying that if I stayed on the path I was following, I’d end up self-destructing. I needed a change, a future to look forward to, something to make me feel worthy of myself.
So I’d enrolled this semester, hoping maybe, if luck looked my way, I’d get myself a real job someday, something that paid enough that I could leave the prostitution business behind with no worries, no panic, just peace of mind. For good, this time.
Shrugging at my mother, I mumbled, “A little, I guess.” I was ready and anxious to get started on this next phase, but I kept fearing something would go terribly wrong and I’d have to drop out and kill my dream of escape. I was nervous I’d end up stuck being a paid whore forever.
But who told their mother that?
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Though the words were right, Mom glanced toward the exit as she said them, as if she wanted to leave but didn’t want to be rude while I was talking to her.
“Yeah, I hope so.” Having pity on her, I gave a single nod and lifted my hand to wave her off. “Sorry, I’ll let you get to your errand.” Whatever it may be.
She released an audible breath. “Bye, Mason.” Already backing away from me, she turned to flee. “I’ll be back by five, I swear.”
“Okay.” I watched her go. When she didn’t even pause to call out a farewell to her daughter before she hurried out the back door, I shook my head, biting back the disappointment. Sarah probably didn’t even know Mom was leaving.
Eager to see my sister, I started through the house toward the living room. When I stopped in the opening, I found her sitting on one end of the couch with her wheelchair on the other side of the room next to the front door.
I silently cursed my mom for basically trapping Sarah on the couch. If she’d wanted to go to the bathroom or get a snack or whatever, it would’ve been difficult for her to make it to her chair first.
Noticing my presence, she peeled her attention from the television and grinned at me, lifting both hands to wave. “Bubba!”
My insides melted. I had no idea how one delicate twelve-year-old goofball managed it, but a single smile from her could make an entire shitty day feel worth living. She was the reason I kept going.
“Hey, kiddo.” Grinning, I entered the living room so I could plop down onto the rest of the couch and kick my feet onto the coffee table before leaning my head toward her shoulder and lightly resting against her. “Whatcha watching?”
“Danno.”
That was what she called Hawaii Five-0. I nodded, watching it with her for barely a second before asking, “Have they figured out who the bad guy is yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I bet it’s him.” I pointed at the face of the next guy who popped onto the screen.
“No,” Sarah screeched, completely aghast. “He’s good.”
“Oh.” Turning playful, I motioned again. “What about her?”
This time Sarah laughed and nudged my shoulder, scolding me. “She’s good too.”
Making a sound of exasperation, I asked, “If there are so many good guys on the show, then what’s taking them so long to catch the bad guy?”
“Shh,” she hissed before ruffling my hair, letting me know she wasn’t mad but she really did want me to shut up so she could concentrate on the unfolding storyline.
I gave a silent laugh and scooted closer to her so I could wrap my arm around her waist and snuggle my face against her shoulder. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll stop talking now. I swear.”
As if she knew what I needed most, she hugged my head and kissed my hair. “Love you, Bubba.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, soaking those words in. “Love you, to
o,” I managed to reply, swallowing repeatedly in an effort not to get choked up, because this girl right here was my entire world.
I would fuck my way through every rich person in a fifty-mile radius if it meant keeping Sarah happy and healthy. She was why I was so nervous about college. What if I was making the wrong decision by going back to school? What if my sister had some medical emergency and Mom wasn’t there for her, so it all landed on my shoulders to take care of everything?
I couldn’t imagine making the same cash I did from selling myself as I would any other occupation I attempted, so why was I even bothering to try college to find something else? The idea of losing my security scared me.
But continuing my life this way tore a piece away from my soul, bit by bit, with every new client I took on.
I needed out. For my own sanity, my own future, I needed to stop.
And yet I couldn’t let my family down, which meant starting college felt like the most selfish thing I’d ever done.
The war inside me raged as my sister’s smell filled my senses. I wanted to provide a sturdy foundation for her so she never had to worry about anything. All the while, I wondered how I could do that if I went crazy, because the wad of bills in my pocket currently digging into my hip was a fresh reminder of how desperately I was suffering, slowly and bitterly, dying from the inside out.
With all that cash, I knew I could buy my sister another month of medicine and doctors’ appointments and pay off hospital bills. I could provide for my family. So I couldn’t regret what I’d done. It had been worth it. But how long did I have to keep doing it? And more importantly, how much could I take before I broke completely? I needed out, or maybe I needed someone to tell me I’d done enough and could stop now. I needed something new and different that gave me peace.
