Tricks. Part 32

In fact, I'd better go. I hang up, pop a Valium, "borrowed" from a bottle in Ronnie's medicine cabinet. f.u.c.k.

Stealing pills. I suck. But I'm glad I have something to push away the pain, stash it in a compartment of my brain I don't visit very often.

I cruise slowly, noticing cars prowling for street-corner hustlers.

Twenty bucks for a backseat b.l.o.w.j.o.b?

At least I haven't sunk that low. Yet.

No! That will not become my future.

Then again, if someone would have told me two months ago I'd be selling myself to men, I'd have said they were full of s.h.i.+t. Necessity is a motherf.u.c.ker.

And if they would have said I might even like it, I'd have kicked their a.s.s.

The first time I offered myself up, turned myself into meat, I ran to the bathroom, heaved. That guy laughed and laughed.

Lydia said it would get easier.

The first time is always the worst.

Just remember you can always say no, if something doesn't seem kosher. Somehow I doubt many rabbis would bless "Cody meat."

But Lydia was right. The second time wasn't as bad. At least I managed to make it through without losing my breakfast. Every time after was easier still, except for the guys who needed a shower. B.O. is a definite b.i.t.c.h.

Once in a while I get really lucky, when a dude decides he'd rather talk than screw. They're paying me for my time. If they want to complain about their significant others, hey, I'll listen for a buck fifty up front.

But I don't have to like any of it.

Shouldn't like any of it, and getting off is just plain crazy. I do this because I have to. Not because I want to. I need a good, healthy dose of Ronnie. Only what if she doesn't turn me on now?

I Pull into Valet At the Riviera, not the nicest casino in town, but not the sleaziest, either.

Not that it matters. What I'm going to do is more than sleazy. It's sick.

But I'll leave with enough money, even after Lydia's cut, to give Mom a hundred toward the bills. And, depending on how generous the guy feels after, I just might have enough left over to place a small bet on the Chiefs. If those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds do right by me, I could maybe skip a date or two. "Date." Why don't I just call it what it is-a trick. I'm turning tricks.

Can I really have sunk so low?

I'm having s.e.x with men-often married guys, trying to figure out why they're attracted to boys-for cash.

I'm not gay! Before a few weeks ago, I had never even checked a guy out, let alone thought about doing one.

So why isn't it harder? Why am I heading into the elevator, going up eight floors, to room 822?

Two Quiet Knocks Nothing. Two more, louder. Footsteps toward the door. It opens. "Dan?"

The guy nods, steps aside to let me in. The room is obsessively neat, and a familiar scent perfumes the air.

Gingerbread? Like Ronnie's shampoo.

Dan is fortyish, short crewcut graying slightly at the edges.

He wears no s.h.i.+rt, and his muscles are tanned. Toned. Jesus. He could be an underwear model. Why does he need to pay for it? Whatever.

As long as he has the cash. "So, Dan.

What can I do for you?" I know the drill.

Lydia coached me in the art of paid seduction: Strike the deal up front. Never give them more than they pay for.

Collect before you start. No COD.

No cash on delivery, because after you're finished, they might say you didn't deliver. I've done this for a month now, and so far, not one has made that claim. Customer satisfaction guaranteed. G.o.d!

Dan Has Done This Before You can take me around the world.

He reaches for his wallet. One fifty, right? He tries to sweeten the pot. Dan will pay extra to go without a sleeve.

He talks about himself in the third person? No wonder he pays for it.

No condom? It's not the first time I've had the request. I'd kill for the extra cash, but I'm not taking a chance on AIDS. "Sorry. No can do. Cover up, I'll take care of you."

I pull my T-s.h.i.+rt over my head, watch him strip off his jeans. His waist is narrow, his hips straight. Beautiful.

Stop it! What's wrong with me? He's down to his skivvies. I should have charged more. He's built like a f.u.c.king bull. "Holy c.r.a.p, dude, I don't know...."

What's wrong, kid? Never done it with a real man before? His voice falls, cold and heavy as hail. You want me wrapped? Do it for me! He pushes me to my knees, comes around in front of me. My heart thuds in my chest.

I open the foil pouch, remove the thin latex protection. You ever seen a ramrod like Dan's? I shake my head as I roll the condom down over it. No, of course you haven't.

Let's see just how good you are.

I close my eyes, fight not to gag at the taste of lubricant, not to choke on his thrusts against my throat.

I think about Cory, locked up in juvie until a judge decides he's been "rehabilitated."

Dan decides he's done with Europe.

He pulls me to my feet, moves behind me, drapes my back with his chest.

His muscles are thick cables, but his skin is smooth and cool as snake skin. Check it out.

The little boy likes that. He reaches down between my thighs. Look how hard he is.

No! How could something so messed up turn me on? Whatever he does, I won't ....

His lips brush the back of my neck and, still folding me into him, he moves me toward the bed, urges me facedown.

The sheets smell of bleach. I picture Mom, waiting tables at Denny's. Jack's life insurance put off the foreclosure.

But not forever. And those f.u.c.king bills just keep piling up. Her meager tips won't pay them. Something has to.

Down go my boxers. Oh my. What a sweet little bottom. Dan's hands, moving over my skin, are soft, and when he lowers himself over me, a cloud of cloves and apple sinks around me. Reminds me of ... Ronnie.

G.o.d I love her. She is my spark of sanity. My light against the darkness, closing in. She knows things are bad, but not how bad. If she even suspected ...

this. What I'm doing. What I've already done, she'd never speak to me again.

Dan is in for a real treat, isn't he?

He presses up against me. I brace and he pauses. Do you think it will hurt?

Let's see. He pushes, but only a little.

A test. Oh yes, I'm afraid it might.

And after Dan, nothing else will do.

I Bite Down On a strange metal taste-a metal taste of emotions. An odd blend of fear and .... excitement For some f.u.c.ked-up reason, I'm excited. I can't want this! Adrenaline firecrackers through my body. Blood pulses in my temples.

You make Dan happy now, hear?

Pain! Oh my G.o.d! Nothing has ever hurt like this. I tense, beg him to stop. But he doesn't stop.

Doesn't slow. Can't take it. Can't.

Through the rhythmic pain, apple.

Pressure. Pressure, deep. Oh!

Nothing has ever felt so good.

Exquisite. Exquisite. No! I won't.

No matter what, I won't. This isn't me.

I'm only here for Mom. Cory. I won't!

But I do. And when I do, it's over the top.

I Leave, Emptied And when I get home, the house is emptied too. Emptied of life.

Emptied of love. Emptied of ... us.

I suppose Mom might find another man, but he can never be Jack. And Cory?

He's already harder. A stranger.

If there's anything left of my brother, I don't know where it is. I hate to visit him because when I look into his eyes, all I find is death. He's a walking, talking, breathing corpse. Lockup will only make that worse.

I go into the bathroom, turn the shower as hot as my skin can stand it. Scrub.

But the universe doesn't hold near enough soap to wash this filth away.

The slippery lather does what it often does to me. But when I touch it, I hear, The little boy likes that, doesn't he?

Scrub harder. I keep at it until the spray goes cold, shrinking every body part and raising rows of goose b.u.mps. Can I ever feel decent about a shower again?

Can I ever feel okay about me?

A Poem by Eden Streit Shrinking Do you know how it feels to be shrinking?

Withering away into nothing more than a memory?

You need to put one foot in front of the other, but running in place is all you can do.

How do you overcome pain when it's something you breathe, a blast of hot exhaust in your face, something turned you must eat, or starve?

How do you search for tomorrow when you're mired in an endless today?

Eden

They Say Freedom Isn't Free

I agree. My bid for freedom from Tears of Zion has already cost me dearly.

I don't know what will happen to me if Jerome keeps his promise, unlocks my door tonight, steals me away from Father's house of rehabilitation.

I have no clue where I'll end up. Maybe right back here (please, G.o.d, no). The one thing I'm sure of is, should I leave this place, I will not touch down in Salt Lake City. Will not set up housekeeping with Jerome. I will find a way to escape him, too.

I sit in the dark, heart racing as seconds ...

minutes ... hours creep by. Did he change his mind? Did someone change it for him?

The air in the room grows heavy. I sink into it. Can't find breath. I start to drown.....

Suddenly I wake up. A key is turning in the lock. Jerome came for me after all.

He pulls me to my feet. Ready? he whispers.