I leaned my hips against the door of the white Mercedes. Looking across the car to the other side of the street, I could see a beautiful black woman and a skinny blonde conversing with two men in a large, blue car. My hands rested on the on the cool white metal; the impressions where I'd removed my wedding rings were quite visible. Feeling somehow detached, I moved my hand across the car top. I caressed a breast and lightly teased a nipple as my hand slipped down to my pearl-gray cashmere skirt. Slowly I pulled the hem until the skirt was bunched at my middle. I knew the man inside the Mercedes could see me naked from the waist down. From somewhere I could hear his voice calling, "Thanks. Ok get in."
Instead I held my pose and sought the eyes of the black woman across the street....
It's not like I hadn't talked myself into this. Earlier that evening, I remembered racing my BMW down the ridge on the steep curves of Hickory Trace and turning on to Highland Boulevard. As the road leveled in the valley, the glow of the city lights filtered through the treetops. Stopping at a traffic light, I'd pulled down the lighted mirror to check my makeup; blue eyes stared out at me. Contemptuously I'd flipped the mirror back up. Later trees had given way to small businesses then further on strip malls and gradually the ghostly buildings of the city. The BMW rolled to the center of town with windows closed, stereo on, I was insulated from reality.
The streets turned into a maze, and I had been momentarily confused, but found a direction arrow and turned onto Main, then River street. The sign from the all-night parking garage was garish neon, advertising the lowest rates in town. An ancient woman had accepted $5.00 for unlimited use while never taking her eyes from a TV tuned to a noisy wrestling match. Snapping on the interior light, I'd paused again to touch up my makeup and noticed blue eyes observing me from the courtesy mirror. Carefully I ran a comb through my long black hair and set the car alarm. Stepping outside I had adjusted the pearl-gray cashmere suit purchased in Paris and pulled on a black coat, grateful for the warmth.
I quickly walked the two blocks to River Street. Nervously, I'd stepped into the glare of the streetlights. I was not alone. Various sizes, shapes and colors of women walked the dingy sidewalks. The wind whistled and blew newsprint, paper cups and other detritus, first to the left then right ending in small whirls. Scowls greeted me, the newcomer, as I'd staked an area near an auto parts wholesaler. Black faces, white faces, and one Asian checked me and whispered comments. I felt my knees shake and knew it wasn't the cold. The volume rose, "New bitch on the walk-That's my damn spot-Kick her ass later"---Then customers appeared, and I was temporarily ignored.
At eleven o'clock, it had seemed as if a starter's flag had dropped as cars, trucks and one camper van appeared. The ladies began to strut their stuff. Tube tops, mini skirts, tight pants--some flattering, others not. Most were designed to emphasize breast, buttocks or legs. I'd run a professional eye over each competitor. As an advertising executive (day job, I thought), I understood product packaging. Impulse buying is king in the retail word. I had wondered vaguely if the rule applied to the street. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and I snuggled further into the black coat.
Second thoughts had raced through my mind. I was scared. I didn't need this. My life was full. Since childhood, sports were always my particular passion. Golf was easy, so was tennis. I had trophies all over the house. I was the terror of the country club set, often asked for as a tennis mixed doubles or golf partner. As a young woman, I'd graduated from an exclusive women's college where I tried acting. Much later, after marriage, I was in the local little theater group. However, my stage career had always been a mess. It was the only failure in my life. I could never get into the parts. But then skydiving came along...later riding lessons. I craved excitement and adventure. After graduation, I'd started in advertising. I learned the craft quickly and founded my own company. I was a success. If there was a glass ceiling in the business world, I'd never noticed it. Contracts came easily. I'd enjoyed working with men. Of course, it had never hurt that I was good looking, and what the hell, I knew it. At five foot six and 130 pounds, I always dressed professionally, but never bothered to hide my body. I often watched men sizing me up, and more than a few made proposals. Most, I'd found, were easy to handle with a firm rejection, usually done in a humorous way. Only once had a potential customer been too persistent. I had kneed him in the balls (gently, but he knew I could have applied more force) and he backed off. To my surprise, he called the next day, offered no apology, but agreed to the contract.
My husband was the love of my life. I'd met him at a charity event and knew immediately I wanted him. He'd driven me crazy for weeks by not responding to my open invitations. But eventually, we'd gotten together and married after a year's romance. He'd risen rapidly in his bank and now managed a large division.
On River Street, an ancient black Oldsmobile had moved towards me. The cracked and taped window lowered. Three black faces grinned at me.
"Yo, pretty mama. You be wanten to party? No need to freeze your pretty little white ass. Jump in ho."
I'd backed away--fifteen-year-old car--bald tires, dents, smoke rising from the tail pipe. No money.
"Fuck you white bitch." The Olds had moved down the street to the knot of ladies on the corner.
A large shiny, red truck with a silver bar over the cab with lots of lights then eased to the curb. A man, middle-aged, white, fat had struggled to roll down the window.
"Looking for fun?"
Bending at the waist, I'd peered into the truck. The black coat fell open and the cashmere top pulled away from my body. Naked beneath the suit except for a garter belt and stockings, I'd wondered how much he could see.
"Maybe. You appear in a festive mood."
"Festive? Shit, I'm ready for a feast all right. Wanna climb in the truck? We can talk about it "
I'd caught a strong whiff of hash.
"No thank you. I'm waiting for my date for the evening."
"Date hell, I'm ready now, screw you." But he'd put the truck in gear and moved down the street.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw three women climb into the Olds. The red truck moved to a bevy of spandex further down the street.
A small, green sports car then approached. He was young, about 32, some five years younger than I.
"Hi. I'm not sure what I am supposed to say." He'd looked so shy. The words sort of stumbled out of his mouth. "
I'd bent low to put my head at his level. Damn, he was good looking. Slim body, jet black hair and deep brown eyes. His jeans were tight, a nice bulge showed under the zipper. I'd moved my coat hoping he could see my nipples straining against the cashmere. "Guess you're on the town, looking for fun?"
"Yea, I am. And uh, well you sort of looked lonely, so I uh thought I would just see if you were uh in the mood to uh, talk or something." His eyes had moved to the V of my top. I hunched my shoulders, the top opened even further. I'd felt his eyes caress my breasts. I wondered if if he could see my nipples? I remembered hoping so.
The newspapers had done an expose on local prostitution. I remembered it was important he mention money first. He could be a cop. We chatted for a few minutes. Shifting my hips, I'd made my small breasts swing. His eyes flared. Now I knew he could see my small, brown, hard nipples plainly exposed. The bulge in his pants had seemed to grow larger. I felt a wetness between my legs. It felt so... what was it...naturally wonderful. He was so cute, just the thought of he and I—no stop-- business first.
"Look, I just got my paycheck and have a little extra. Maybe I could blow some of it on you."
I'd looked him in the eye and moved one hand slowly up my body. His eyes dipped, then followed my hand as I cupped one breast and began to tease the nipple. From years in business, I knew I'd made a perfect presentation. He was concentrating on my red tipped fingers caressing my breast, not on negotiations. I'd used similar techniques (not quite so blatant) to distract advertising customers. I saw him touch himself as he'd shifted the hard hunk in his jeans. Catching his eyes, I'd licked the corner of my lips with the tip of my tongue. "Three hundred." No idea if that was high or low on this street, but I knew he couldn't afford it.
"Uh, guess we'll have to pass. I haven't even cashed the check yet and, well maybe later or...
Blowing him a kiss, I'd covered myself. "Bye honey. You got a girlfriend, a nice looking guy like you must."
"Yea"
"Then go home and call her." I felt like the big-hearted Irish hooker in the old movies. I felt a rush. Maybe I should reconsider, lower my price? God he was so beautiful, perhaps I should have...no back to business. I remembered a cardinal business rule--keep business and pleasure separate.
The green car moved on. Across the street the blond had said, "Smatter honey, no one want your skinny ass?"
As a police car entered the street, the ladies began catcalls and waiving to the two cops. I'd frozen, unable to move, as the large white and blue machine eased to a stop just across the street from me. The wetness between my legs was replaced with a strange taste in my mouth-fear. I loved it.
The beautiful black woman had walked to the cop car and leaned on the windowsill. "'Sup' police. Hassling us ladies?" Her long, elegant fingers pulled down the tube top. She had the most beautiful breasts I'd had ever seen. Medium sized, chocolate-colored, her brown nipples stuck straight out. A hand moved out of the car's window. The cop's finger had touched her nipple and made a circle around the entire breast. "'You got to pay to play--boys." She stepped back and pulled up the top. The cops laughed. She laughed and the car had moved on. The white girl extended her middle finger at the departing machine.
As if a new scent was in the air, all heads had turned to the far end of the street. A large white Mercedes slid down River street. Money. On both sides of the street, women had hollered, waved, shook their asses, or stuck out their chests. I surmised a new marketing approach was called for--something different, something that made one's product stick out from the norm. I struck a most elegant 'businesswoman waiting for lunch engagement" pose. I glanced at my watch and just happened to look up in time to meet his eyes.
The Mercedes had continued down the street out of sight. I took the time to pull out a mirror and touch up my makeup. The blue eyes were in the small mirror; they looked at me mockingly. Moments later the Mercedes reappeared and stopped in front of me. A smoked window slipped into the doorframe. Again I had bent to peer inside. He was handsome, early forties, trim, expensive slacks and leather jacket. A large filigreed wedding band had sparkled with small diamond chips. Yes, money.
His gray expressionless eyes had locked mine. I opened my coat and pulled my shoulders together making the top open as far as possible. Secretly I pleaded with him to admire my breasts--worship my nipples. But the gray eyes held mine. "Just passing by, thought you might be having car trouble. Can I offer you a lift?"
I'd answered cautiously, cops come in all disguises, "No, the car is fine, I just haven't been downtown for a long time. Had an open schedule for a Friday night. So thought I would do a little bar hopping--maybe run into some friends."
"Interesting, I'm doing the same. None of the clubs on this street appear to be open. Why don't we go together? Easier to find parking for just one car-------I'll buy."
"I can be expensive."
"I'll bet. How expensive?"
Damn I thought. I should have done a through market survey prior to offering the product. I made a wild stab. "Two hundred."
"Seventy-five."
"One fifty." Even my toes were tingling.
"One, lets go."
