Working Girl (22 page)

He laughs, surely surprised by my ignorance. But my ignorance is something I’m proud of. I never once dreamed that my road would lead me here. But it has, and I don’t have a clue what I’ve just agreed to. I only know that playing along is my only hope of getting out of here in one piece. “I like to test out all my new girls.”

With those words, my mouth runs dry and I struggle to swallow. Bile rises in my throat, the acid setting it on fire, but my feet are stuck in place. It’s not right; this is not how this day is supposed to be. I’m supposed to be able to float on cloud nine and dish to Chrissy about how fabulous last night was.

But this? This is just wrong.

Big Earl reaches out and slaps my ass. “Go on now. I’m horny as fuck.” He punctuates his statement by reaching down his pants and adjusting himself. Repulsed, I choke on the vomit threatening to release from my stomach and bolt for the door. But I don’t make it more than two steps before his hand wraps tightly around my upper arm.

“I don’t know where the fuck you think you’re going, but I said get into room number four.” He tosses me back so that I’m facing the hallway. My chest heaves as I try to breathe in the thick, stale air. My plan has soured and I have no backup. I don’t know what to do.

My shoes feel like they’re filled with cement, and my steps are slow and pained as I walk towards the room. With my mind reeling, my stomach turns over on itself, heavy with shock and disbelief. It’s like I’m watching myself in a bad movie, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I know what’s about to happen, and I want to shout, to tell myself to run again, but I can’t. It’s my worst nightmare come true and I’m trapped in it.

Somehow, I manage to step into room number four. Strangely enough, even though I’ve worked here for years, I’ve never actually been in one of the rooms where the girls have sex. It isn’t something I’ve ever been interested in, and it certainly doesn’t pertain to my job, so there was no need. But here I am, taking it in for the first time, Big Earl right behind me. It smells bad, like sweat, but somehow it looks normal. I’m busy looking around at the room, taking in how comfortable it seems, when the door slams shut, snapping me back to reality.

My shitty,
shitty
reality.

My eyes are focused on the flowery comforter covering the bed when his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back into him. The thin cotton of my skirt does nothing to hide his arousal as he presses himself against my ass and it makes my skin crawl. “It’s much nicer here than it is at Menses Mansion, isn’t it?” he breathes into my ear.

Reluctantly, I nod, because he’s right. It actually feels like I would imagine a home to feel. The girls who get to live in these rooms are lucky. And I’m going to be one of those girls . . .

It happens so fast. Still sore from my night with Emerson, I wince as Big Earl lifts the hem of my skirt with one hand, using the other to force my thighs apart before pushing his fingers between my legs. I cry out, trying to move away from him but he pulls me back. “Nice and tight,” he groans, ramming his fingers in and out, “men will pay double for a tight pussy like this.” His fingers feel wrong. He’s not Emerson, and the thought of him causes bile to rise in my throat. I struggle, trying to pull away from him, but it only makes him push harder, hurting me in the process. I cry out, partly from pain, but mostly because I’m frightened. Big Earl groans as though my struggle turns him on, and I focus on the flowers covering the bedspread. As a child I had always wanted a flowered comforter. Why? I’m not really sure, but I think it was because it was something I never had. You always want the things you can’t have the most.

The moment is over and he withdraws his fingers. I pray that the light bleeding from earlier has stopped because I don’t want Big Earl to know I’m pretty much a virgin. The relief I feel as I catch a glimpse of them as he lifts them past my face and they’re clean is fleeting when without missing a beat he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You taste virginal, too. You’re gonna be my prize girl, Presley.” He pushes me away and I struggle to stay on my feet. “Now take off your clothes and lie on the bed.”

My back is to him, and I wrap my arms around my chest. Having him touch me while I’m fully clothed is one thing, but to bare myself to him, allowing him to see the same me that Emerson saw last night feels so far beyond wrong that I’m frozen into place, unable to move even if I wanted to. “I said, take off your damn clothes!” The heel of his hand jams into my back, causing me to fall forward, but I have just enough warning to hold myself up, my hand on the mattress.

“Fuck you.”

This time his hand squeezes the back of my neck pushing me forward until the only thing preventing my body from becoming flush with the mattress is my bent elbows. “You little bitch,” he says over the sound of his belt buckle unfastening. The fact that he is able to do this without removing his hand from my neck tells me that this is not the first time he’s held someone like this. The thought is terrifying. “The first thing you gotta learn is to make ’em feel like you actually want them . . . and right now, I’m not feeling very wanted.” I squirm under his hand, afraid that he’s about to make things more forceful, but instead he releases me and I collapse onto the bed.

I scramble across the mattress, pulling my legs up into my body before I look at him. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, his pants undone, his dark eyes glowering at me. “Make me feel wanted, bitch.”

I try to think about what my next move should be, but my mind is too clouded with emotion for me to make head or tail of it. I don’t see a way out of this. Either I do what he asks, or he’s going to end up hurting me—or Chrissy.

He’s waiting for me to make the move. Testing me. Seeing if I actually have it in me. To make it out of this I’m going to give him what he wants, but I’m going to win in my own way. He’s not going to have all of me.

I’m not his to take.

I push away my fear and move onto my knees, inching toward him. I force myself to think of Emerson, because if I don’t I’ll never be able to go through with this. I try to focus on him, but I can’t. Seeing his face in my mind does nothing to help me. I want to move, but I’m petrified. I can’t do this. Before I can say, or do anything, Big Earl’s hand strikes my face. Crying out, I place my hand to my lip, feeling the warm wet liquid against my fingertips. Tears fall from my eyes and my lip begins to quiver.

Big Earl glowers down at me. “I don’t feel wanted, Presley.” His voice is harsh and abrasive and I bite down on my lip to prevent the sobs from escaping my throat.

With fear in my heart, I force myself to pretend it’s Emerson standing there, ready for me, and I reach down and take him in my hand. It’s like I’m watching myself in a bad movie; my heart pleading for me to stop and run away, but my head telling me something different. When you’re responsible for the wellbeing of people you care about, you do what’s necessary to survive. Fight or flight in its most animalistic form.

Big Earl gasps and pushes into my palm. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you.” He groans and my stomach tosses itself around in my body. I turn my head for fear I may vomit. “Put it in your mouth,” he commands.

Keeping my eyes focused on the patterns underneath me, I squeeze him harder and stroke a few more times before leaning down and taking him in my mouth. He groans and I know I’m doing something right. I’ve heard Chrissy talk about blowjobs enough to know that it isn’t about blowing after all; it’s all in the tongue and sucking power. Maybe this will be where it ends? If I suck him hard enough he’ll be done and it’ll be over before he has a chance to take this any further.

Pulling my cheeks in around him, I flick my tongue over the head a few times, hoping that I’ll be able to finish quickly. But my hope is short-lived and he grabs me by the shoulders, throwing me to my back. I scream, hoping that someone will hear and perhaps rescue me, but I know it’s no use. This is a whorehouse and shit like this goes on more than anyone would care to know. Things have just taken a turn for the worse, and I frantically try to claw my way off the bed.

His hungry eyes dance over my body as I try to move but he holds my ankles in place, preventing me from moving. Making his way between my legs, his body weight presses down on me as he pushes my dress up and my panties to the side. He doesn’t waste any time. There’s no kissing. No tenderness. Just pain as he rams himself into my already tender entrance. Crying out again, hot tears slide down my cheeks. I slap at him with my arms, but he grabs my wrists with his left hand and pins them against the mattress. He slams into me again and the wetness from last night returns.

I’m bleeding again.

A painful moan escapes my throat and he grunts in response. Every muscle in my exhausted body shakes as the sobs rip through me, my wrists burning, his hands tightening around them as I continue to fight. It doesn’t take long before his pace quickens and the only sound in the room is his skin slapping against mine. I want to scream it’s all so painful. I want to tell him to get out, to at least put a condom on, but I don’t. Because I can’t. I’m not in any sort of position to open my mouth about anything.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moans, leaning back to study where our bodies are connected. He grins down at me, obviously seeing the blood from last night returning. “And a virgin too. No wonder you’re so tight. Makes me happy to know I just popped that cherry.” He laughs before going back to pounding against me. He lets my wrists go and places his hands on the mattress, creating more leverage for himself. I should fight again, but I can’t find it in me. It’s too late. It’s already over.

The headboard bangs as he impales me over and over again. It’s like a knife, stabbing, tearing; shredding every hope I ever had. Every pump is punctuated by a grunt, the sordid noise filling the room, and a hot tear slowly falls down my cheek as I go limp, praying that it will be over soon.

Again, he picks up the pace. The mattress shakes as he quickly and repeatedly hammers into me, his body hovering over mine as sweat drips from his forehead onto me. I cringe as it slides down my chest and I close my eyes, hoping that if I don’t see him that it won’t be as bad. But the noises are far worse. They’re the same ones I tune out when I’m working the desk: the skin slapping, the pops, the grunts.

He quickens again, this time at the speed of a jackhammer. “Oh, yeah,” he moans, “you like it when I fuck that sweet little pussy. Don’t cha?”

He stills himself, quickly withdrawing and hovering over my body as he uses his hand to stroke himself a few more times before his eyes roll back and he releases onto my stomach. I watch in horror as the warm jets land on my skin. Turning away, I feel so much shame that I can’t even look at him.

Instantly, he’s on his feet, laughing as I hear him pull his clothes back on. “You know, Presley, I’ve wanted to fuck you since you grew tits.” His revelation makes me sick and I roll to my side away from him, using the comforter to clean myself before sliding between the sheets. I stare at the wall as I listen to him fumble with his pants. The door opens and I look over my shoulder in his direction. His eyes meet mine and he smiles a crooked smile. “You’re going to make a fine addition to my place, Presley, but you fuck like a dead fish. You’re not good enough to be one of my whores.”

A strangled sob gets caught in my throat. After all of this he’s still going to throw me out on my ass.

“Lucky for you I have a new venture. You’ll work in my strip club. Pull some backroom tricks and get some experience under your belt, then we’ll reassess your worth.”

The thought of having him crawl between my legs again makes the tears spring from my eyes. Somehow I had managed to keep myself from breaking down in front of him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry, I wait until he’s almost out the door before I roll back so that I’m facing the wall and allow them to fall freely.

The second the door slams closed behind him I bolt for the bathroom that adjoins the room, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach empty. I wretch for what seems like forever before finally collapsing onto the cold, hard floor. Pulling my knees close to my body I start to cry. My chest tightens and the tears fall as my body trembles with shame.

I cry for everyone, but especially for me; for the life that has slipped through my fingers. The life that I will never get to live. The life that I should never have started.

I stay that way for an eternity. When at last I manage to pick myself up off the floor, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I even look different. Staring at the stranger in the mirror I know that I can no longer be two people. I have to choose. Only one of us can survive now.

I can’t believe this is how my life has ended up. All roads lead to here, and I’ve been a fool to think otherwise. My happily ever after was short-lived, my night with Emerson forever tainted by Big Earl. Just like I always feared, I’ve stumbled across that invisible line; straight over to the dark side. I’ll never be able to be normal. When I was born it was predetermined: I was meant to be a working girl.

No. I was meant to be a
whore
. And here I am, nothing more than that.

A whore.