Tagged: prostitute

My First Impulse

  • by KentOne of the backhoes ran over him.
  • The sun became pitiless.
  • felt almost like blasphemy
  • I dare not kiss you
  • a wobbly wire chair

Tune in next time part 234                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

My first impulse was to take command of the room and make everybody sit down and shut up while I asked the questions.

But my second impulse, to pipe down and think things through for a minute, felt smarter.

My father had been lying to me for years. Faking his death entailed lying to the whole world, but he’d made exceptions for other people while letting me go on believing the official version. The video footage of the construction mishap was quite convincing. One of the backhoes ran over him. Obviously that didn’t really happen. Not to Father, at any rate.

A glowing ball of resentful realization climbed in my mind like a desert sunrise. That sun shone hot on the Svenborgian sisters. The sun became pitiless. They had also misled me. Cleopatra withheld her real name and her nationality, and played dumb about her family when we watched the zeppelin tape. Esmerelda lied about the misappropriation of state funds. She knew Father hadn’t paid Darlene, because she knew Darlene.

Darlene was the one person present whom I did not know for a fact had lied to me.

Employing my Academy training (Tactical Upholstery 245, an elective for third-years in the accelerated track), I went straight to the seam in the curtains and passed seamlessly through it into utter blackness. I spun around, and spotted Darlene’s pale keister swaying in the distance. I gave chase.

Soon I was close enough to call out to her. She looked forlornly over her shoulder, still walking naked through the featureless darkness. Her face was lovelier than I had noticed before. So, though it felt almost like blasphemy to say it, I said, “I dare not kiss you, because right now my mind is like five jigsaw puzzles all in the same box, and my heart is like a wobbly wire chair.”

That made her smile, and the sun rose again, casting a gentler warmth within my soul.

“No, you dare not kiss me because you haven’t paid. And you couldn’t afford it.”

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At My Father’s Statement

  • by Kentto peep between the curtains
  • exposed him
  • just a mess inside that car
  • although she didn’t even own a car
  • seemed to me, judging from his fingers,

Tune in next time part 232                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

At my father’s statement, questions took flight in my mind like a flock of startled birds. But now was not the time to seek those answers.

“You know, the world thinks you’re dead,” I said. “Supposing it turned out they were right after all?” He sat down heavily on the mattress. “Glad to see I have your attention. Sit there and behave for a minute and we’ll get this over with. You have to stop,” I glanced at the naked woman, “renting affection.”

The Asian woman scampered through a gap in the velvet along the wall. She turned back to peep between the curtains, just a face levitating in the blackness of the room. “That is not what it is!” she cried. “I’m not a prostitute. We’re good friends. Last night, I complained that he never exposed himself to me. So, he did.”

Father’s wheezing laughter grated on my eardrums. “In a New York minute, I did! Man, things were just a mess inside that car.” Father’s eyes drifted closed.

I snapped my fingers. “Stay with us, you pervert.”

“We were in a car together,” he went on in a dreamy voice, “although she didn’t even own a car according to my security team.”

“It was stolen,” the face in the curtains giggled. Father giggled back.

I turned to Cleopatra and Esmerelda. “Sounds like you’re mistaken about the abuse of treasury funds. Now I need to talk to my father about some family business.”

The sisters stood with their arms folded. Unconvinced.

I turned back to Father and snapped my fingers at him some more. I wanted to make him explain about Mom and the one-eyed Svenborgian, but suddenly I was unconvinced, too. Which meant I was pretty convinced I couldn’t believe anything he told me, so there was no reason to bother asking. Because I noticed a clue I had overlooked before, a clue that told me there was more to this story. Because it seemed to me, judging from his fingers, that my father had recently been handling a lot of currency.

I looked at the Asian woman and narrowed my eyes. “You,” I said, “tell me the truth about what’s going on here.”

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Geography was Never My Strong Suit

  • by jendidn’t want to say more over the phone
  • the deadly secrets she’d been hiding for three years
  • “What the heck is this?”
  • many generations of fine breeding
  • a very unrealistic assessment of what sex workers charge

Tune in next time part 229                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Geography was never my strong suit, but even I knew there was a limited number of countries one could reach from Harmonia by water, and our current location resembled none of them. And then it hit me: hovercrafts can travel over land as well as sea. We could be nearly anywhere. And Cleopatra worked so hard to keep me distracted belowdecks, as it were. My distrust of her flared anew.

A zeppelin floated by overhead.

Cleopatra led me into a twisting alley. Where it dead-ended, there was a rusty steel door where she unleashed a flurry of knocks in a complicated rhythm. The door swung inward after a moment and I was compelled to enter the dim room.

From the shadows, a tall woman said, “You should have told us you were bringing him along.” Her voice was familiar.

“Time was short and there were enemies everywhere,” Cleopatra said. “I didn’t want to say more over the phone than the bare basics.”

Shadow-voice stepped out of the shadows and stood behind me, hands on my shoulders. She leaned forward and spoke quietly into my ear. “Did she tell you of the deadly secrets she’d been hiding for three years?” Her odd accent and stilted phrasing identified her as Esmerelda, my brother Jim’s wife. If she was here, did that mean my father was, too?

Esmerelda moved from behind me and embraced Cleopatra, giving her bottom a squeeze. “What the heck is this?” she demanded. “I’m disappointed in you, sister. We are the end result of many generations of fine breeding, and yet you cover up your genetically perfect ass with this relic of old Svenborgia?”

They were sisters? That was news to me. Cold dread clutched my gut.

“I am a traditionalist,” Cleopatra replied.

Esmerelda stood beside her sister and regarded me icily. “Your father has a very unrealistic assessment of what sex workers charge. He’s draining the treasury of his new empire, and he’s not even been publicly acknowledged as leader. We need you to talk to him.”

She was standing side-by-side with her sister, but they were on opposite sides of the conflict over my father. Or were they? Had Cleopatra been playing me all along in order to get me here?

Wherever here was.

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Then There’s The One

  • k-avatarWendy and Peter Pan get engaged
  • endless bodies all in a row
  • It’s not an escort service.
  • come on people, we’re almost there
  • ignorant, psycho dickheads

Then there’s the one where Wendy and Peter Pan get engaged in an argument about how many Lost Boys it would take to reach from Neverland to London if you laid them out, endless bodies all in a row. Very metaphysical and macabre. Not one of the better episodes.

My personal fave is the one where they go to Hook’s lair. Hook has given up piracy and become a pimp, so the ship in the cavern is all done up with red lanterns. It’s not an escort service. There’s nothing classy about it. He makes Wendy a job offer, but jealous Tinkerbell swoops in and takes the position instead. Soon her side business of dealing dust has earned her enough to boot Hook off his own ship and take over.

Only one more season to go, and it’s all stuff I haven’t seen yet. Come on, people, we’re almost there! Our binge will be complete!

Okay, fine, wimp out after only 46 hours. I’ll finish it up by myself. Who needs you ignorant, psycho dickheads anyway!

Wait, they recast Tink? Now Peter’s a cop in Boston? And Wendy’s little cousin is moving in? Man, this show really jumped the crocodile.

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They Have No Lawyers

  • k-avatarthey have no lawyers
  • No wonder she attracts me
  • to see up close how he builds
  • nocturnal emissions
  • examining the dead sailors

They have no lawyers in this country. Instead, disputes are settled with feats of strength, and with games of chance.

They have no lawyers, but they have judges. Someone must decree the victor, proclaim which is the stronger or luckier man.

Grizelda is a judge. They are all women, the judges in this country, but Grizelda is the only one I know of who is also a prostitute. No wonder she attracts me.

When presiding, she always spends one night with each man. This allows her to see up close how he builds his rationale, and gives her the opportunity to read the truth in his nocturnal emissions.

Examining the dead sailors bobbing next to my lifeboat, I hope Grizelda will take my case.

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Yolanda Hated Mr Wong

  • k-avatarwounded by betrayal
  • Mr Wong smiled at her
  • — amputation, tongue-cutting, excisions
  • nothing but a festering rat king of malware
  • such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes

Yolanda hated Mr Wong. He had no right to look so happy.

It was no surprise to see such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes. After all, his cybernetic brain was nothing but a festering rat king of malware. She had contemplated ways to fix him, but they all entailed great effort and expense, and he would just download all the same garbage into himself as soon as she booted him up. He was an addict, and he didn’t want help. Yolanda therefore contemplated ways of punishing him — amputation, tongue-cutting, excisions of random chunks of his body — but these were just idle fantasies, unvented spleen. Really, she was just bitter.

Mr Wong smiled at her. Somewhere deep in the fetid sewers of his CPU, he could still appreciate irony. He was a teacher and a scientist, built with lofty aspirations. Yolanda was a sexbot. She turned into his nurse, a protracted good deed for which she could be dismantled. They weren’t supposed to interact. Their arrangement made both of them fugitives, but only she would be in any real danger if they were caught.

Her only choice was to abandon him and hope his incoherence would prevent him from leading anyone back to her. And, hope that happy Mr Wong was too far gone to be wounded by betrayal.

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Sheets of Flame Enveloped Every Surface

  1. k-avatarCharacter – pimp
  2. Setting – Hell
  3. Object – baseball card collection
  4. Situation – amnesia

Sheets of flame enveloped every surface, including the bubbling black tar of the river.

“I don’t remember how I got here,” I said to the tall, goat-headed person beside me.

“That’s normal,” the demon replied. “Which is too bad, because the dimensional transit vortex is really bitchin’.”

“The spinning tunnel of sulfurous lightning? Oh I remember that part,” I said. “I meant in a philosophical sense. As in, what did I do that was so terrible?”

“Ah!” Goat-Head brayed. “Tasty. Existential dread added to the other forms of torment! You’re gonna be a celebrity down here.”

“Maybe I can figure it out,” I said.

“Oh, I hope not.”

“Let’s see. I stole my sister’s baseball card collection…”

“That’s a first. But no, that’s not the reason.”

“I had a stable of skanky hos, sold their asses all up and down the north side. And I was looking to expand my territory, which come to think of it is probably what got me killed.”

“I’ve been a loyal customer for years. That’s not it.”

“Really? I was sure that would be the answer.”

“You were a businessman. The big guy doesn’t hold that against you.”

“Well, then what is it? Why did I get sent to Hell?”

Goat-Face grinned. “You’ll thank me someday for not telling you. Things get a bit monotonous after a century or two, and that question will be all that still interests you.”

I looked at him. His words made a kind of twisted sense, even if his breath was a roadkilled skunk in late July. “Thanks,” I said. “You’re okay in my book.”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “If I get fired from this job, I’ll have to move back in with my mom.”

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No Matter What You May Be Thinking

  • eby jenffluvia on his desk
  • robes of office
  • dark bulk
  • “Mom! Mom!” he cried
  • everyone is offering him money
  • a story about prostitution
  • a late snack
  • waverings and backslidings

No matter what you may be thinking, this is not a story about prostitution, full of waverings and backslidings of the moral variety, but ultimately ending with redemption for the hooker with the heart of gold. This is a different sort of story altogether – although it is about prostitution. It is less like a smorgasbord of character development, deep, timeless themes, and witty prose, and more like a late snack of pure porn.

The judge stands in the shadowy corner of his chambers, his robes of office rendering him a mere dark bulk to Effluvia’s eyes. She knows everyone is offering him money to rule in their favor, but Effluvia doesn’t have much money. So she is offering him her body.

He stands in the corner, staring at the reclining Effluvia on his desk, nude and legs akimbo.

“Mom! Mom!” he cried, suddenly recognizing her.

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Felicity Shook Her Head Sadly

  • by jenand a big swimming turtle
  • except his penis
  • his possible sexual approach
  • a sluglike glob of substance
  • a mysterious human skeleton?
  • no subtlety, just penis and vulva

Felicity shook her head sadly as she considered the naked man in front of her and his possible sexual approach, knowing there would be no subtlety, just penis and vulva, except his penis was merely a sluglike glob of substance, and a big swimming turtle-like scrotum dangled underneath.

What have I done, wondered Felicity, to prompt my pimp to sell me to such a mysterious human skeleton?

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“I Never Should Have Gone To That Frat Party”

  1. by jenCharacter – recently hypnotized male college student
  2. Setting – whorehouse
  3. Object – large pink balloon with 25 live bees inside
  4. Situation – servicing the addiction

“I never should have gone to that frat party,” Josh grumbled. The situation he found himself in grew stranger and more worrisome by the second. Josh tried to remember what had happened.

At Kappa Delta Rho house, the brothers had decided to try something different. Instead of a band, which inevitably led to noise citations, they hired a hypnotist for entertainment. Josh thought that it was supposed to be the girls who were hypnotized out of their inhibitions (and clothes), but he wound up being one of the first “volunteers.”

Next thing he knew, he was here, wearing a frilly, pink and white teddy and holding an oversized pink balloon.

And now the balloon was buzzing.

Josh gave the balloon a shake and the buzzing grew angrier. Something inside thumped against the taut membrane. Josh frantically ripped at the white ribbon which connected it to his arm, to no avail.

The red velvet wallpaper and faux-fur bedspread added to Josh’s unease, as did the rhythmic creaking of bedsprings and regular grunts from the other side of the wall.

Josh drew his knees up to his chest and hugged himself, the balloon bobbing just above his head.

Moments later a hidden door opened and two people entered. One was a middle-aged woman in a long silky robe and fluffy, high-heeled slippers. The other was the university president, wearing a cowboy outfit.

“Thank you, Miss Kitty. This one looks mighty purty,” the president said.

“Don’t you go hurtin’ this one, Tex,” the madam replied.

“I won’t, I won’t. Are all the bees in there?”

Josh glanced worriedly at his balloon.

“All 25,” the madam said, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

The university president peered down at Josh while slipping out of his spangly, fringed shirt. “Well now, Missy. There’s no need to be so worried. As soon as I get my bee fix, we’ll get down to business.” He popped the balloon.

Josh screamed.

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