Brief conversations with prostitutes (part 1 first draft)

"Not even for money."  She said.

Her answer hurt my feelings. 

"You won't have sex with me...even for... money?"  I ask again.  My voice rising an octave or two on the last syllables.

"Not even for money."  Came her quick reply.

"She didn't even have to think about it."  I thought.

"But that's what prostitutes do."  I protest.  "They have sex for money."

"Yes."  She admitted.

"But not with you."  She repeated.

"I see."  I said.  But not really.

Was I so disgusting that even a prostitute would not have sex with me?

"Maybe."  I thought. 

"I was looking forward to this." I offered meekly.  "And I hardly ever look forward to things."

I knew how pathetic that sounded.  But I was hoping the hooker would have pity on my.  Not pity per-se.  But sympathy for my situation.  Sympathy which could lead her to empathize with me.  And that empathy might allow her some how to gain some insight into my personality.  Perhaps then she could see the "real" me.

"Because people like me." I though to myself.  "After they get to know me."

"But Kyrstal,"  I begged.  "Pleasssssssse."

Krystal reached into her bag and pulled out an orange and yellow colored bag of Reese's Pieces.   As she tossed the bag around in her hand she explained to me why she was carrying a bag of candy around with her.

Her last "John" did not have all the money he'd agreed to pay her.  So she had gone around the motel room collecting whatever things of value she could find that happened to be lying around.

She was upset about "the john" stiffing her, but I felt like she was proud of the fact that she had managed to get some of her dignity back by jacking an alarm clock along with a few bags of candy from him.  I thought about asking her why she didn't try and look for things of more value, but then I thought better of it.

"You want a bag of candy?"  She asked me.  Her voice was surprisingly sweet.  "I got three of four."

"Ya!" I almost jumped out the bed to grab the sack.

"I love candy."  I told her earnestly.

"I bet you do sweetie."  She said as she patted my hand with hers.  The sound of my flabby hand being slapped reverberated around the cramped room.

Not for the first time I wondered if it was my obesity that was bothering her.  I suddenly became conscious of how sweat drenched my socks were.

My toes curled in against one another and scratched at the soles of my shoes. I had been withholding scratching another itch on my calf so long that the itch decided to file for residency.

I hate scratching myself  in public, but I could not hold out any longer.  I had to give in to temptation. I sighed and exhaled deeply.

I bent forward and struggled to itch my swollen calf.  My belly folded in on itself and mentally I tried to avoid counting how many rolls of fat had just been pushed up towards my gut.  I was sure my face was a bright purple from the exertion, so I stared at the space heater and tried to avoid giving Krystal a direct look when I dragged my body back to its upright position.

I took a few breaths with my mouth open to get my oxygen levels back.  I wondered if enough time had passed since Krystal had asked me about the Reese's for me to accept the bag and tear it open without looking like a fat slob.

All I wanted was a few of the candies.  I wasn't about to eat an entire bag of Reese's Pieces in front of Krystal.  Especially after my reaction to her question about the candy was so obvious.

"Yes, the big fatty would love a bag of candy.  He wants the bag of candy more than sex.  Candy is all he lives for."

I get it.  You don't have to look at me that way, Krystal.  I know loving candy is bad.  Just like I know that eating an entire bag of candy is way bad, and choosing a bag of candy over possibly having sex with a Mexican prostitute is beyond good or bad.  No.  My choice was made for me.

But it's not exactly as if I was choosing the candy over the Mexican prostitute.  If I had a choice I would choose sex with the prostitute.  I could get candy anytime, anywhere I wanted.  There is a convenience store on every block.

If you drive by a block without a convenience store you can bet that out there somewhere is a developer or architect dreaming about finding a way so that you never have to leave the block to get yourself a corn dog or a giant sized slushy.  They will never stop building 7-11's.  There seems to be an inexhaustible supply of strip malls and corners that have yet to be decorated by neon signs advertising 32 ounce Big Gulps for 99 cents.

I think Krystal-the-prostitute waved a bag of candy at me because she hoped that I would take the bag of candy from her and forget all about what I came here for.  Sex.

Well, there was no chance of that.  I was horny as shit.  I shifted my  penis uncomfortably around in my pants.  I was going to wake my flaccid penis up.  Ready or not my penis was performing today.

Krystal's tiny frame jerked around the bed from all my squirming. She steadied herself by placing her hand down on the bed then she crossed her legs.

She was wearing a black mini jean skirt with no stockings and a brown top.  The top had white crotchet flowers sewn all over the front.  From her feet dangled a pair of black slip on heels that had seen better days.  The soles were worn and the metallic straps looked like they had been recently chewed on by a dog.

"Probably a Chihuahua."  I thought.

That last thought was pretty racially insensitive.  I'm not like that.  I am just very tense today.  And actually having to convince a hooker to have sex with me is not exactly helping my stress condition either.

A small electric floor appliance plugged into a nearby wall was turned on and hummed loudly.  From the look of it, the appliance must have been made in the 1970's.   The red hot coils burned your eyes if you stared at it too long.

"It's hot in here."  I offered.

It seemed to me that our conversation was stalling and it also seemed to me that it was HER job to steer the conversation some place interesting, or at the very least sexy.

"Yes."  She said flatly.

Krystal did not speak with any accent.  In fact she probably spoke better English than me.  She sounded vaguely Valley Girl when she talked.

"I hope the Reese's Pieces don't melt."  I added trying to joke around with her.

"You can have them, you know."   She smiled at me and her eyes darted for a bit towards the shiny plastic bag.  "It's okay."  She said.
"It really is."

"Thanks."  I told her and reached for the bad.  I had to use my pocket knife to rip open the bag.  I fumbled first for a few minutes using my teeth after my fingers were rebuffed by the impenetrable plastic.

"These things don't like to open."  I laughed again trying to lighten the mood.

I got the bag open and asked Krystal if she wanted some.  She  declined politely.  I worried that she declined the candy because she was afraid of the knife I was carrying on my key chain.

"It's really dull."   I told her as I closed the small blade.  "I don't think it could cut anything.

"Oh."  She smiled half-heartedly.  She didn't seem to notice the knife after all.

Krystal had been staring at the burning space heater.  Her eyes watered a bit and she turned back to face me.

"I don't want to have sex for money."  She said with a sudden forcefulness. 

"I know."

But before I could finish she interrupted me.

"I mean I don't want to have sex for money with ANYONE anymore." She gushed.

"Oh, great!"  I thought.  "Just what I need.  A hooker with a conscious."

"Wow." I told her.  "What made you come to that decision?" I asked.

What I really wanted to know was WHEN did she come to this decision.  Was it before she walked into the shabbily decorated Motel Room with me?  Or was it after she imagined me naked and on top of her thrusting away with my tiny pencil dick into her gaping wet hole?

"I thought about it after my last trick."   She announces.

The last trick was not exactly a trick.  It turned out Krystal was sleeping with her pimp. Her 'confession' did not exactly come as a shock to me.  I knew from a 60 minutes documentary that most prostitutes had to sleep with their pimps. But things were different in Krystal's case.  Krystal's pimp actually was her boyfriend before she started tricking.

Krystal met her boyfriend at the big screen I-Max where she worked.  She was a popcorn girl, and he sold tickets, or he was a popcorn boy and she sold tickets.  I wasn't too sure I caught what she said.

But anyway, she met her pimp AKA the boyfriend at the movie theater and they fell in love and moved in together.  When the theater they both worked at got bought out by a larger movie chain the larger movie chain fired all the I-Max workers.

Left without jobs and fearing homelessness or worse Krystal's boyfriend convinced her to prostitute herself.

"I always had low self esteem."  She said brushing back a loose strand of highlighted hair.  "It must have been pretty easy for him to convince me."

When Krystal spoke she thumped her shoe to her heel making a slight clacking noise.  The more she grew excited about telling me her story the more the shoe went back and forth between her heel.  The clacking got so loud it threatened to overtake the space heater as the loudest thing in the room.

I was thankful for all the noise.   The space heater made the room insufferable hot and I was mouth breathing.  I hate the sound of mouth breathing.  I just don't seem able to stop mine.