Chapter 1
They stood at the intersection waiting for the light to turn. They'd been fighting for four blocks now.
"You are so stupid!" he yelled at her.
"You may not be so smart yourself."
She said it without emotion, just going through the ritual. Don't fight back; he goes on forever. Fight back too much; he gets explosive, not physically abusive but headache loud. They're relationship had become a game of trying to fight just enough. Though on this occasion she was exhausted and aimed to push him swiftly to leaving; an ambitious goal. He could fight all night. He didn't seem to hate it that way she did. Maybe he enjoyed it.
"What did you say?!" He demanded.
"Smart men tend to attract and couple with smart women. Men who only think they're smart, or would like to, they hook up with the stupid ones, like you, with me."
"Oh, fuck you!" and that was that. She'd gotten what she wanted. He stormed off. Perhaps she was supposed to chase. But she just stood there. She stared into space. She wondered how she'd gotten into this situation yet again.
Sure, she had the stereotypical asshole dad. Her mom had attracted jerks too it would seem. Perhaps it was genetic, or perhaps she learned from her mom how to move, talk, breath in way that said "Jerks, looking for jerks!" She tried so hard to pick men who were charming, and sweet and kind. What subtle signs of latent jerkdom did other girls catch that she was missing?
Lost in these thoughts she took no notice of the car that had stopped at the curb in front of her. "Hey, sweetie." the man inside hollered.
She looked down to see an older man in a town car, leaning forward and looking at her through the front passenger window. She figured he needed directions.
"Yeah?" she asked leaning forward.
"I, uh, I'd like a date?"
She was a bit surprised at his tactics. She'd been picked up on before, but he sounded as if he was collecting a debt, as if she was somehow obligated to give him the date he was requesting. It wasn't until she looked over her shoulder to see who else might be witnessing this, maybe to see some prankster with a camera, that she noticed the other woman, also standing on this corner. He thought she was a prostitute! She opened his passenger door and she had a seat.
Sitting there, staring out the window, she figured she'd done her part and now he'd do his. He'd take here somewhere, fuck her and hand her money. He seemed to be waiting as well. She looked at him and he looked back. She figured she should smile. She didn't.
"Well, how much?" he asked.
How much? She had no idea how much. How much did Julia Roberts get in that movie? She couldn't remember. "I'm no Julia Roberts." she though to herself. Of course the heavy set, balding man sitting across from her in the short sleeve dress shirt and ugly tie was certainly no Richard Gere.
"A thousand bucks... please." she answered, finally.
"A Thousand Bucks! What the hell are you going to do me that's going to be worth a thousand bucks? You got a couple of friends joining us? at the Ritz?"
"Well what do you normally pay? I'm new at this."
"Look, how about just a hand job? I'll give you twenty bucks."
Twenty dollars for a hand job sounded considerably less glamorous but maybe that was a good thing. It would get the job done. "Fine." she answered and he pulled the car away from the curb. He did not drive to a hotel or even a motel, but instead parked behind a strip mall that was closed for the night. Behind the dry cleaner he pulled out his limp dick.
She was amazed that he could hire a stranger, negotiate having this done and not have an erection. She laid her hand on his cock and made a kneading motion. Nothing happened. She wrapped her hand around and tugged a bit, pet the head with her thumb, and now she heard some slight moans but he remained flaccid. She kept at it.
"Look." He interrupted. "You gotta be sexy. You gotta talk dirty and let me see a little skin, or at least open your mouth for me."
For twenty bucks? She'd been to strip clubs with Charles. She loved watching the woman there "be sexy". They made a lot more than twenty bucks. Now she wanted this done.
"I feel sexy. I feel like I'd love to have you fuck me." He seemed unimpressed so she added "in the ass." she said it in the same bland voice she used to fight with Charles.
"Okay look, this is ridiculous. I'm sorry." He put his cock back in his pants and he zipped up his fly. I'll drive you back to the corner. And now, as surprising to her as to him, she began to cry, no to bawl.
"Oh, honey, it's okay. I just, I require a lot. I've been doing this awhile sweetie. Most guys I'm sure will come before they even get parked, honey. Look, if you need the money I'll give you the twenty bucks."
"I don't need the fucking money, I need you to fuck me. I need you to make the asshole not want me since I can't seem to leave him as long as he pretends I haven't whenever I try. I need to go home and throw a good amount of money in his face and I need to say 'Here. Enjoy it. I fucked a stranger for it.' And I can't even get twenty dollars for a hand job god dammit! And now I'm crying and confessing my deepest secrets to a fucking John, who can't even get a hard on, because I have no fucking friends anymore, because the asshole was so sure I was fucking all of them."
He didn't take offense. He started driving, stopping when he reached an all night coffee shop. They sat and drank coffee and talked about television. He loved Survivor. She enjoyed VHI shows about rock star excess. He actually listened to her, and she told him every minute detail of Ozzy Osborne's life and career from Sabbath to his first solo albums to his becoming a reality show. She almost cried talking of Sharon's love for the Oz and of what a great father the dark lord really was. She talked for two hours straight.
She'd heard of the hooker with a heart of gold and now, she though to herself, she'd met the John with the heart of gold. Of course, she imagined, he'd drop her off and go get his cock yanked by someone more damaged than she, but better at hiding it; someone who would open their mouth for him, so he could fantasize about what he really wanted instead of paying ten bucks extra to actually get it. The heart was a bit tarnished, but he'd treated he well.
Charles would not know that she'd not come right home. He didn't return until early the next morning.
*
Chapter 2
She had on a ridiculously short black skirt with pinstripes. She wore stockings, nude, with a black seam running down the back. A sleeveless cotton blouse hugged her breast which were lifted and squeezed together by a black push up bra. Her heels, the tallest she could find on short notice had her ass sticking out, and her strut sexy as she walked back and forth on her corner.
With her hair slicked back, and her make up heavy but expertly applied she looked like a make believe prostitute amongst the real working girls.
Said working girls asked her who her man was, and she told them she was in the market for one. They warned her that she shouldn't be out without a man "watching out for her." She watched the cars go by, getting lots of slow down and stare responses. She wondered what she'd do if someone stopped and she guessed she'd get in their car.
Charles pulled up to the curb, other than being fifteen minutes late, exactly as they planned. It hadn't been hard convincing him to participate in some role playing. Not when she described the outfit. He balked when she explained how authentic it had to be. He would pick her up on the corner, he'd have real cash, he'd take her to a motel. He agreed when she mentioned that he'd tell her just what he wanted and there was nothing that couldn't be bought with enough cash.
"Hey baby, you lookin' for a date?" the woman in the yellow dress asked arriving at Charles car first. She hoped he'd say yes, but he looked past the yellow dress to her. Her competition stepped aside, sparing no attitude.
"Hi honey. You lookin' for a good time?" she asked him.
