(This is an official entry into the 2008 Halloween story contest. I hope you enjoy this little tale. Don't forget to vote, and please, read all the other contest entries.)
*****
Stacy eased herself onto the bus stop bench, nervously glancing up and down the darkened street. This Halloween night was cool, wet, sticky; rains had recently fallen, making the street shine and glisten. The cars that passed by ripped through the thin film of water upon the asphalt, leaving misty spray in their wake which coasted along on a gentle breeze. The glowing neon within the windows of small dive bars advertised various domestic brews even as the dull, muted music from within advertised desperation, depression, and a dulled hope for something better. Stacy could sympathize.
She held her cell phone like a devoted believer clutched a cross, staring at the tiny dark window. After a few moments, the window came alive with light and a chime filtered through the humid air. Quickly, she called up the new text message.
"Looking forward to tonight. See you soon."
Stacy closed the phone with a heavy sigh and pushed it into the front pocket of her loose jeans. She rubbed her hands together, keeping a wary eye on the street. On the corner, a pudgy Hispanic girl in clothes two sizes too small gave her a challenging look as she pushed out her barely-constrained breasts. Stacy looked away. Across the street, a lean young black man paused as he walked with overconfidence, smoking a blunt and giving her a speculative look. Stacy tore her eyes from him as well.
She lit a cigarette, exhaled harsh smoke from her lungs. She really didn't like smoking; she hated the way it clung to her hair and soaked into her clothes. Reverting to her former habit was both a defense mechanism and a way to pass the time. At least she was doing something.
"Hey, got another one?"
Stacy glanced up from her innocuous study of the cracked sidewalk. The querying voice belonged to a slender young blonde, late teens, clad in the tiniest denim cutoffs imaginable and a tight sweater top. Her skin was pale, almost alabaster, earned from too much time spent indoors during the day and only venturing outside at night, yet still, she was pretty. Almost innocently pretty, in fact. Her face was smooth, drawn, with a narrow mouth and pink lips, dark eyes magnified by adroitly-applied mascara.
"Sure," Stacy said, taking out her pack. The blonde leaned over, providing a choice view of her barely-covered derrière to the passing motorists as she tucked the cigarette between soft lips and allowed Stacy to light her. Straightening, the blonde breathed out slowly, expelling a cloud which drifted through her as much as around her.
"New around here?"
Stacy nodded. "Yeah."
The blonde smiled cynically and sat upon the bench. "What'cha gonna do, right?" she asked philosophically. "Life beats the fuck outta ya, and you got about three seconds to figure out what to do. Ain't too hard to decide, really. Live in a shelter and get raped by the 'Good Samaritans,' or make a little money sucking dick and tell yourself you're doing all right."
Stacy stared at the girl in profile, nodding slowly. "Is that how it is for you?"
The blonde turned her head, seeming so much older than her features should allow. "I been to the shelters," she said grimly.
Stacy averted her gaze. "I'm sorry."
The blonde laughed. "Don't fucking feel sorry for me, chick. I don't know you, and you don't know me." She pulled on her cigarette and exhaled again. "'Sides, ain't like it don't happen all over the place. I ain't never known a chick that's never been raped. That's life, you know? Guess that's how we're supposed to be strong or something."
Stacy frowned empathetically. "Maybe."
The two women fell into silence, casting greyish smoke into the air which quickly disappeared. On the other side of the street, a maroon sedan slowed, the driver's face barely visible through a rolled-down window. His gaze panned across the pair seated at the bus stop bench, and he seemed to make a decision. The sedan continued along the street for a moment or two before it made a U-turn and rolled up along the curb before the bus stop.
The blonde cast a weary look to Stacy. "You want him?"
Stacy fidgeted. "Um . . . ."
The other girl smiled disarmingly. "You really are new at this, huh?" she asked rhetorically, then continued. "Don't sweat it. I'll take him." She stood, approaching the edge of the street as the car came to a stop. Stacy watched as the lithe blonde leaned upon the passenger-side door, speaking briefly with the man inside. After only a few seconds, she opened the door and slipped inside. Briefly, the blonde cast a look back to Stacy, an enigmatic smile decorating her face.
Then the car was gone, peeling away on sticky wet streets. Stacy watched after until the faint glow of the tail lights vanished around a corner.
*****
"So, uh, what's your name?" asked the pudgy man behind the wheel of the maroon sedan.
"Kylie," the blonde girl answered.
He smiled, giving her an appraising look. Kylie smiled back and casually unzipped her sweater top. Her breasts were small but firm, almost perfectly spherical and capped with light-toned pink nipples. Flicking her fingers across them, Kylie grinned as the rubbery protrusions swelled and hardened. The man behind the wheel licked his lips in arousal, dropping a hand to his crotch and rubbing.
"Need help with that?" Kylie asked demurely.
The man laughed nervously. "Uh, sure."
Kylie massaged her breasts more wantonly, giving the man a sultry look. "Tell me what you want, baby."
The man returned his attention to the road before him as he navigated dark neighborhood streets. "Well, um . . . I really just want a b-bl . . ." He sighed in frustration. "A b--"
"Blowjob?" asked Kylie.
The man's face flushed. "Yeah."
Kylie slid closer, leaning across the console between the seats. She brought her face close to the man's ear, flickering her tongue out to tickle it. "Want me to suck your cock, baby?"
He shuddered. "Yeah."
Kylie smiled.
*****
Bobbing her head rhythmically in his lap, Kylie massaged the stiff tube of flesh with talented lips and tongue, tasting the seepage of pungent, tell-tale fluid upon her tongue. The pudgy man writhed in the seat, legs parted as wide as the confines of the car would allow, his hands spread across the back of Kylie's neck and her shoulders.
"Oh, fuck, you're good at that," he muttered, opening his eyes and looking down upon ethereal blonde hair which glowed beneath the stark lights of the grocery store parking lot. The wet sucking and slurping sounds made by her eager, tugging mouth only enhanced his pleasure, giving him the impression that the girl sucking his cock truly enjoyed what she was doing.
Kylie's only response was a muffled and apparently agreeable moan. Her hand deftly manipulated his balls, rolling the fleshy sacks in her slender fingers.
"Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" In short order, he began pumping his hips up and down, careless of the streetwalker's comfort, wanting only to get off. His cock tingled electrically in the hooker's mouth, swelling to the limit of stiffness before erupting. He gasped and spasmed, moaning loudly and shaking as the talented prostitute sucked every last drop of essence from his straining dick, laving the head of his cock with massaging swirls of her tongue.
She finally lifted up, lips pursed closed and decorated with a slimy film of semen. She smiled upon her client, who returned the look with dreamy satisfaction. He laughed euphorically. Kylie merely straightened, languidly removing her hand from the man's wilted cock. She licked her lips, swallowed, breathed out, then licked her sticky lips again.
"Got a cigarette?" she asked.
*****
Stacy was still seated upon the bus stop bench when Kylie returned, holding a cigarette which trailed a wispy line of smoke behind her. She gave the brunette an amused look as she sat once more. "No takers?"
Stacy blushed and smiled in embarrassment. "A couple offers," she admitted.
Kylie shifted, facing the newcomer directly. "I know what you're thinking," she said. "'How the fuck can I do this? How fucking pathetic do I have to be to sell myself?' But it ain't like that."
Stacy met the other girl's gaze. "It's not?"
Kylie shook her head vehemently. "Think about it. You've fucked before, right? Sucked dick before. The only difference now is that you're giving it up to some guy you don't know. But that really ain't that important, when you think about it."
Stacy frowned. "Isn't it?"
Kylie scoffed. "Look, the way guys think, all chicks are whores. Buy you dinner, bring you flowers, all that shit, and all they're thinking is that you're gonna be so fucking gracious that you'll at least suck 'em off."
Stacy was quiet, thinking back to her senior year in high school, then her undergraduate days. Thinking about all the men and boys she had dated, and all the sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars, in movie theater seats, in the bedroom of her first apartment. And then she thought about Bruce, patient, kind, and mature Bruce.
"Not all guys are like that," Stacy said at last.