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American Geisha

by Cadma 2 months ago in Short Story

Short story of an American Geisha

When the phone rang I imagined a job less explicit. An amicable woman's voice greets me into an introduction of the world I would become a part of. Instructions were vague but well understood and I agreed. I had grazed this lifestyle once before but did not throw myself into the dark abyss because I saw something beautiful. So beautiful that it drove away all the darkness that I was born with, and like everything else in my life; the light went away and perhaps for the best. There's a level of filth no light could clean. He will be better off without me. I thought of him before I decided to dive into my new found work. I wondered what would he think but then I remembered that he walked away from me and refuses to speak or acknowledge my existence; so what would he care? However, I have no time to think of such things I have a friend who overheard my conversation and agreement to work; and they have a lot to say.

My first gig left a volume of questions and I held an empty solander for answers. Be discreet and be professional. As my boots pressed the concrete through the streets I observe the surroundings of the city. My feet walked me to the first location that Madame had given me. All I have is a name and room number. I travel with luck with staying visitors without a card key. At first the haze from the smoke, lights and over glamour drunk laughter were disenchanting and caused confusion to where my first was laying. Finally, he is found and nothing what I imagined. He is an adorable business man, well mannered, gentle and kind. He is in awe as the coat falls off and he offers to hang it up. I place my bag on the floor and before I could stand back up he was bashful but bare. I have to move quickly because he is more than ready.

The money is in a cup on the counter and that's to be collected first before anything. Sweet and shy but he was demanding to begin with front of his body, back and return to the front again. I followed my paid instructions. We ease into a world of comfort with body rolls against each other during the massage. This married customer likes kisses. His basic front is complete and so is his back. It is time for his happy ending. The massage is intense and I began to work my way with hands and kisses everywhere. His hands explore my inside and out freely. There are no thoughts running through or emotions; just simply actions and humbly servicing a man whose clearly ignored by many. As his toes curl and mumbles my name he reaches happiness. I offer to clean him up gently with a warm towel and kisses. His warm smile is disarming and nice to see. He begins to wonder if he wants to keep me longer or needs his sleep after a long flight. He decides there will be a next time and as I dress he showers me in compliments. He says I could easily be a model; if only he knew how easily I've failed at doing simply that and more we would have never met. "Goodnight Jessica, be safe always" he whispers as he means it and I leave for home during the witching hour.

Morning meets an empty soul. I await another message from Madame. It is a slow business week apparently. After a night of roaming slowly a call reaches my phone. A masseuse is required with a simple happy smile ending it. I arrive early to my destination and am accidentally let in by a delivery man. I choose the stairs to avoid neighbors or potential friends of my client. I walk all the way to the 9th floor. I see there are a pair of shoes outside on his mat and I suspect he's either clean or Asian like myself. I call Madame but he tells her he's not home yet; that's not true I can hear him. However, when I arrive inside I realize he was polite enough to shower which made him more considerate than some of my ex- boyfriends. He takes my coat and offers me water then hops into bed. I caress his hairless skin with a light scented oil. I observe how lightly toned his body is and I can tell that he has walked more than extra desire. Learning about the human body on a deeper level than anticipated. He is slightly loquacious for an Asian mix but is easily silenced by my hands on his back. All work and no play is trouble for him. My selection of fishnets stay on while I show off my flexibility. The hour that I thought may appear long is passing quickly and my hands need to roam to the trance music he is playing. Massage gently between the thighs but don't touch the testicles and as I inch closer and closer I can see his physical moans. Teasing strokes of play gets giggles and like that he's clay in my hands. I was told he wanted a submissive touch but it seems to me more like child's play. As his climax peaks I hear his low growl of satisfaction. I ask for permission to clean him up. I head to the bathroom to heat up a small rag to clean him up. He is impressed how well I know how to properly clean the tip and shaft.

I think of my ex-husband, who would have preferred this form of submission to him, but when you rape your feisty wife who tried to love you; that submission is not allowed! I will not bow down to my significant other or anyone; because we are equals. My client is very happy and grinning so much that his eyes become more like lines. He is complete ten minutes early. He begins rambling about a tea a friend gave him but it is apparent he needs a strainer or mesh. He doesn't cook and only eats out. He also enjoys coffee. I have 10 minutes and am dressed but I offer to make him the tea if he'd like it. He almost agrees but said it was too much trouble. I grab my coat and lead my way out. Another simple night but I wonder will it always be this way? I spend the rest of the evening roaming the late hours of the streets. I am seeking a cafe that will stay open late enough so I can reconcile. Finally before the last 15 minutes before my shift ends Madame says to go home. I'm exhausted and miss my bed.

These secret cravings always lead me to lonely men who call for me. At a price they pay to be entertained and pleased. They often leave with full souls and lighter pockets and sometimes they call back; and sometimes they don't. The days have escaped me and it has been a long time since I have physically viewed the sun. I can even admit that I don't miss it but that could be my natural expectation of life spilling through. There is something incredibly natural about the dark and it is not always bad or evil; but merely a misunderstood essence. It is already December and the weather is becoming brutal. Long hours waiting in the cold for a call but it seems with the holiday in seasons these married men and boyfriends seemed less than content with the idea of spending it with women who they supposedly loved. I presume all beings engage in paid behavior just because they can.

There is a lack of concern for loyalty and no wonder I have never trusted humans. Flawed narcissistic misfits that get off on secrets they think nobody knows but somebody always knows. The phone rings and it seems this cold night is about to end. My shift is over and I can stop shivering from the harsh wind. I begin to travel through the muck and pray my body can warm up. I finally arrive to the false security of my home and there's a demand pounding from my phone. It is Madame "Jessie, how quickly can you reach this address?" I realize I am too far but make a decent judgment. I flee the barracks of my neighborhood at the hours where only death rooms. I am close to the location when the gentleman of the night begins making threats to cancel. I need this money. If I didn't I wouldn't be doing this job so soul less.

I try rushing and am greeted by a door man. The caller rings me in and I begin to open my coat to setup the advertised goods. He opens the door and I can tell he is in no condition to attempt standing. He is very angry and tells me to show more. He is not only tall but resembles an unsavory Tweed appearance with saliva on his chin. I smile and expose what can although my only true thoughts are that I may have to kill him because of the anger in glazed eyes. I already know stepping through the door everything changes. He stares me at me like expired meat and says "you made me wait, fuck you!“ and slams the door hard enough to shake the walls of the hallway. I ring the Madame to explain I lost a job and she is disappointed but furious at the client.

At the snap of her fingers he's banned from not just our girls but all of the business gamers know who he is, his number and where he actually lives. Perhaps he should think twice about crossing Madame. She apologizes and tries to find me booking but no calls tonight and the sun has almost risen. Christmas is about two weeks away and all I can think about is my next client and how to be prettier, smarter and more. If I am going to do this job I have to at least attempt to be a good employee, right? I arrive exhausted looking to lay in my bed and once again I miss the sunlight.

I awake to the ranting of my friend who untimely overheard me getting hired for my new job. It seems they found a way to let themselves into my room. She's fussing about maybe I should wait before continuing to take any more jobs. She's confused and thinks my 10 year struggle will apparently end. I'd like to know what euphoric drink she has at her place. I try explaining that I don't feel anything about the job. It is what it is; a job and nothing more or less. It is a method to keep the leaking roof over my head so I can spend another night with the mice that plague my walls and listen to the late night somber gun shots outside my window. At least at this job for an hour these men with full pockets will pretend that only he and I exist, that for a moment in time I am not who I am but a woman loved; not that I have ever fancied the concept of love.

I don't believe love exist especially from humans. People are only concerned with their selfish itinerary and throw each other away faster than they throw out trash. My clients care about the money they spend and I want them to feel more than special and they do because it is all natural to me to be kind; and they can have it all by the hour. My friend finally quits her yapping and realizes I don't care; and so she makes her threat to tell someone I don't care to admit I love about my new steady income. I can't help but to chuckle at her audacity and her foolish concept that he would even give a shit. She leaves my ratty apartment pondering but honestly I know she's not going to do anything. She has never crossed me after 15 years of friendship and she damn sure won't start. She's not the bold kind just a yapper with no action. I love her limitedly but even I have to admit that bug she planted in my ear is buzzing.

I know he doesn't care but I would still much rather him know nothing about me. There's no reason or use for him to learn anything. It's my life but her threat bothers me a lot more than it should. How am I the terrible party because this shitty economy fell apart and the rich only help the rich while the poor ravage the poor for scraps! I have applied to every job and walked until my knee caps could fall off applying and everyone of them have told me no or they are looking in a different direction. I'm educated but not by paper proof. I read and am quite self taught and sufficient but is that enough? No, it is far from good enough to obtain scraps. Hell the last job I held was through a random recommendation and I performed too well that my work performance exposed hands in the company pockets; and they challenged my ideas because I had no goldenseal document proving I'm as smart as those idiots. They convinced all the members of the board I didn't deserve all the promotions I obtained from climbing the ladder and they dropped my paycheck without a word down to minimum wage. I was beginning to actually eat properly.

Imagine my surprise to find a large amount of my check missing as if I was to be undermined because apparently I am stupid enough to roll over. I don't have time to turn my nose up at a job because it was not a dream. I had bigger plans for myself 15 years ago but climbing out of the City of Dis is far more difficult when the social structure is designed to continue humans behaving like crabs in a barrel. No wonder our lives never change because we are raised to destroy each other and blame an enemy when the enemy is truly the ignorance we breed ourselves. The phone rings and it is Madame and it's time for work. This gentleman is bearded and handsome. His session requires a bit of domination or so he claims. He works for a company and was obviously nerdy in his younger days. His body kind of reminds me of someone and I am clearly going to have to shake the thought that my friend planted. He stares at me almost in complete awe and he opens his mouth to tell me "You're more beautiful than I expected".

I can only thank my client regardless of my confusion. He looks intimidated and hesitant. I realize he is seeking for me to take over and to want him. I command him to remove his clothes pretending he is who I am thinking of and it works like a charm. His face lights up and he tells me it is the best thing he has heard all day. I presume that is all it takes for this session because as far as I am concerned that's what all men care about; well promiscuous people in general but I guess the pot can't call the kettle black huh?

My delicate hands explore the curves of a self conscious man while his hands embrace the softness of my skin. I wore a special outfit for my John to make them feel like the only one. I wrap my thighs around his waist as my fingers release the tension of his back and I can feel the stress that is eating at his neck. He attempts a little frisk but as his mistress of the night that conduct can not be condoned. He's resistant to my commands and attempts to wrestle me down but I am not an easy battle. His excitement to my resistance grows by the inch and he confesses that he likes to switch back and forth when it comes to roles. I slip into a submissive state of mind and pull out hand cuffs to be pinned. As his lips and beard travel up my calves I look outside the hotel window and it is an incredible view. The sheets are soft and warmer than the winds banging onto the windows. I bring my attention to my client once again and hear his cries to ravage me. All he can say is "I must have you" and all I can think of is that is what men always say about women to all women.

I'm nothing special just a passing moment of time. He wraps his hands around my throat lightly but keeps asking if I'm okay. As his happiness peaks and falls I am laying across the bed on the other side. With one strong arm he slides me into him to cuddle and turns my head to hear his heartbeat but it is certainly not the song I thought I would hear. He proceeds to converse with me as he breathes me in and for a nanosecond he behaves as if we are together and it baffles me. We lay there in our conversation and he wants me to stay but the timer is up and Madame is calling to make sure I am safe. Before I close the hotel door he holds my hands in such a familiar way and he says "I could fall in love with a woman like you" I blush empty until I can close the door. He was sweeter than guys who called themselves my boyfriends and he paid for me.

I stand in the hotel hallway closing up my coat and begin my travels towards home. I don't mind staying out later but this whole day has been one long heartbreaking reminder. I want to curl up under my covers and not think for a while. Days have gone by and John this or John that respond to me the same way they all do. The days drive by me in a spin and today is only halfway there to have to deal with my friend demanding to know everything about my job. Personally, I don't owe nobody anything and I refuse to tell her anything. She wants to know where I am going, the names, my boss phone number, what I am doing, how many clients and more. She's getting frustrated with me and I can see it because I don't want to talk. Her last statement is "What if something happens to you? Can you at least let me know that you're ok throughout the night? What if someone hurt you or worse killed you?" I smile darkly to respond "Well shit you think I'd let someone kill me so easily before I could do it properly and permanently?" And the look on her face is fury.

Shit I thought it was funny considering how many times I have genuinely tried and failed miserably. I didn't do it because I felt unloved I didn't do it for attention. I didn't do it for any reason that anyone has ever thought of. I have done it because I am exhausted and simply do not care for this world to stick around. I will take my chances in the undiscovered country where no traveller returns from. I do not like it here. I even collected pills so I can go quietly but only once did I want to let go of something so precious in exchange for something I did like here once. However, my morbid joke is not getting the smile it normally would so I tell her "I'll let you know I'm alive just quit nagging me" "How about you quit?" she quickly suggests and the look on my face is a solid answer. Before she leaves as I shuffle her out of my apartment she asks me "Would you consider quitting?" "If I find steady pay depends" and her quip remark is "What if I told him? I know he would not want you doing this and if he asked you to stop?" I have to chuckle at the idea of him giving a shit "I'll humor you, sure but you and I both know I mean nothing to him."

She squints her eyes as I lock my door. I call Madame to tell her I am available tonight again as usual. This client is making demands for two workers, as if he could handle two women in general. I roll up my thigh highs and head out the door. I arrive to another hotel for an early shift and find a tall man who wears a political greed on his face naturally; but to be honest he doesn't even look like he could go through with it. Of course that doesn't mean he's less of a man but I think he will be honest with himself at least.

We walk down the hallway and he is watching the way I walk. I can almost hear his thoughts in the sound of my heels as they hit the marble floor. I have to admit at least for what I am doing I am not cheap. Before the deal is complete my client decides like I thought he would that two women are too much and he only really needs one. I also personally think he just wanted a preview before officially deciding. I am being sent home with pay and I call Madame. She is disappointed an extremely annoyed but is glad that I received some pay for the lost time. Even though everything ended early within seconds my phone is buzzing. The night is still young and there are plenty of businessmen who are lonely. When the shift is over I slump over my bed with bruised feet and I could really use a nice warm bath.

I am truly amazed at how time is sneaking pass me. As I wonder the streets endlessly I find a small corner at a cafe. I try to enjoy the clean moment but I can't help but to notice a couple snuggling. In the midst of their fire I wonder if that's what keeps them warm and my thoughts drift off towards my friend's threat. I begin to remember a still moment of time where I was so overwhelmed with happiness down to the very last minute that I never knew what to do with that joy. It was a true first for something I had no right to try to believe in. I could almost still taste his lips and feel the warmth of his broad body.

Yet, if I am going to remember that I should keep in mind how I meant absolutely nothing and I had been had. I got suckered and considering my new occupation I look back and feel used. I guess he was tired like I knew he would and got what he wanted from me like everyone else. I can list the leg chasers and pretenders but no one and I mean NO ONE fooled me like him. Stupid me for ever thinking outside the box. My phone rings and dissipates my thoughts. Another man looking to be dominated at the most expensive hotel I had ever seen; in a neighborhood that carries old pleasant memories that I should forget. I arrive outside feeling nervous about the local police in high volume.

My gentleman of the hour arrives to greet me and I can't help but to notice his beautiful smile. I immediately wonder why a man like him would even pay but I guess I will learn his story. We walk through the door and I couldn't believe my eyes. This room is beautiful and a matching view of the city with it's busybodies running. I'll soon be back out there in the cold. I open up the dialog to discover what his desires are and learn as much as I can. Afterwards I begin to slowly tease him while dancing to remove my clothes. He keeps repeating himself where he is stating how beautiful I am and I can blush on cue. However, the compliments are uncomfortable because it seems I am only beautiful enough to take advantage of not beautiful enough to keep; unless it's by the hour. Quite frankly I have never understood the use a physical attraction because all it does is gain trouble or assumptions of others.

A woman's physical appearance has never given me what some women claim are natural to all. In fact, my looks have always gained the eyes of others from a young age, maybe too young. My gentleman seeks my attention to follow my commands and I provide him with what he needs. In the midst of carnal passion we become fond of each other. He tells me stories about a terrible marriage and how he felt being used by her. She only cared about the dollars he could bring and locking him in with a child; because he is a good man.

Regardless of political correctness of the circumstances even I don't see my Johns' as a walking dollar and it is not my place to judge them for they are living beings too. We exchanged stories that I don't normally tell. We exchange more than pleasure but our souls. We laugh and have one of the best nights I have had in so long. His laughter roars and he is truly intriguing. We begin to test each other intellectually and we are an even match. Who would have thought I could keep up with this money making university educated man, perhaps I'm smarter than I think. I even share the stories of holding a man's attention too young and an intimidating rage floods into his face. I don't know what to say to him and I wonder why he even asked. In a nanosecond I think I just ruined a sweet evening plus tip. He slides in close to me and says "no one has the right to rape anyone.

Your body is precious and beautiful. Honestly, speaking I can't believe someone as beautiful as you are is laying beside me. You're really something." I have to admit I didn't see that coming. He's staring at my lips but I can't kiss anyone. Kisses are for people in love not paid opportunities. He doesn't move but doesn't press me either. How the hell did she let this one go? Everyone has their yin & yang but I know a pure heart when I see one. Stupid woman ruining a good man.

We lay there before the view of city. His skin is soft and warm. I'm trying to listen to the music from his chest and his song is interesting. Don't get comfortable, remember you don't belong here and you never will. I hear my phone ringing and it is Madame. I'm over staying and much like Cinderella I have to flee a gorgeous time. He helps me get dressed in such a loving manner. He stares at me alive and tells me before I leave "you are the kind of woman that consumes a man's mind" and I actually blush. I head out the door feeling a missing high of the previous minutes. I could have given him more than he ordered and paid for but I don't want to cross the Madame's rules. I don't want another client tonight I'm too good tonight. I arrive to the leaks in my apartment and electrical fire prone bedroom where the bars on my only windows don't open like a caged tiger with curtains. This place is a death trap and this is where I'm going to die. As uncomfortable as that truth is I have no reason to think I will ever leave.

I awake the following morning to an enthusiastic Madame about my review. Normally the feedback I receive is always deserving of at least a silver or golden star but I had a pleasant make believe moment so I'm curious. He told Madame that I make a good case to not sleep. Apparently, he wanted to see me again tonight but he never slept and is dead exhausted. He claims all he did was think of me and my magic. I am a dangerous distraction even if I didn't want to be. Madame is very pleased. I begin to wonder when did anyone ever say anything so sweet about me. As I rummage through the memories and I almost come up with one name who spoke of me with such enthusiasm but that was just a ploy. I guess my client would be the only one. I have a feeling it will be a while before I become pretty woman again. However, since I am awake I should prepare for another long shift. I find myself at my dresser searching through lingerie. I don't really own a lot of lingerie but I do have some creative pieces. The lingerie sets I do own are recently purchased and I can't bring myself to wear it again. I finally discover an outfit that is typical amongst business men. Minus my favorite client I just assume they are all the same and buy a woman when they can. I'm not judging but I think it is a pretty safe assumption especially when dressing for them. I have become extremely good at my outerwear to appear conservative but the clothes drop in two seconds. I make it a bit theatrical. I like to put a little love into it. I think it's the only way to do this job well; if I want to be paid.

I have a line up already and my bills won't pay itself. I strap on my thigh highs and head out the door. By the time I arrive home my feet are pounding and my muscles are aching. If anyone thought what I did was not of physical stamina, they would be terribly wrong.

Another special night of activities is lined up for me by the hour. My head is filled with less questions and more definitive self depreciation as I start to wonder about the last time I cared. I can't remember when my troubles troubled me. I can't remember the last time I truly felt anything good or even anything bad. I have walked through life so long pretending because of how disconnected I always feel. It is the kind of disconnection that allows me to say "I Love You" but never mean it with the intention people assume. I am excellent at observation. I have spent more time observing others like an alien species for a school science fair. I don't recall trusting people ever.

I can't remember ever feeling safe even as a child. I have studied individuals and analyze their interactions with a psychoanalysis tree system in order to truly comprehend why they do what they do. I am very familiar with how I should respond especially if I want to blend in with hell. I was born disconnected I think. Yet, somehow I have managed to not feel or care. I run into nostalgia about when I instinctively came to life because of a pair of broad shoulders I spotted. I felt alive and I can't remember how it feels. I just feel empty. A complete vast of nothingness etched into my bones. I can almost the remember the redundant death but I have spent so long feeling this dead and pretending; that happiness is clearly a lie I told myself. In between the minutes and hours my last call is with a client who decided a fake name that brings a false sense of happiness to me.

As sweet as that name rolls off my tongue did the client really had to pick that one. I arrive to a hotel door with a scruffy kid behind it. I walk through the door and size him up. I notice his tattoos and his douche haircut. I get the feeling this name copy won't be anything like the last. I remove my clothes and he judges the merchandise like I'm a used up condom. I already don't like him. I have an idea what kind of client he is. He strips down claiming he wants to be dominated but I get the feeling he uses women up like toilet paper to somebody's ass. He shows off what he thinks is an incredible body but he looks like a hairless cat to me and a potentially glued on facial. I lay him down to begin his massage but he proves he's not looking to be dominated. He wants to dominate.

I got exs who could tell you I don't go gently into the good night. He tries to overpower me and keeps commenting how physically strong I am for a woman. His boring speech reeks of a degraded perspective of women and expected to take more advantage of me. As the minutes I count move he becomes more aggressive including his violent hints and reaching near my throat. I could almost fall back into the nostalgia of my first time but there's something about him that makes me want to snap his little bones instead of carefully being submissive. As much as I pretend I can never pretend to be submissive. I am either content with no complaints or I'm not. I don't do submission. I don't believe anyone should have to be forced to do anything but some individuals get their rocks off by doing so. Towards the end of the hour in between his rock shots he begins to do something worse than his brutal sex moves. He begins to talk. He's a self promoting prolific chatter box. He wants to talk and experiment. He begins to play terrible modern music and show the true nature of a loquacious bastard. He's too confident he has the moves to satisfy by doing anything because he's satisfied. He attempts to please me but I start to bleed a little bit. I haven't bled since my first time of resisting. Regardless of the night I realize I've had rough nights but my body has purely rejected him. He is repulsed by the blood and thinks it's that time of the month. I don't explain I just take my money and run his full details to Madame. He is not just blacklisted from us but from others too. He's crossed Madame and her new star.

We have a good chuckle about his terrible performance and music taste while I make my way home. I feel a bit beat up. I stare at my reflection waiting to see some life but nothing comes. I carefully go over tonight's details. I can't help but to become furious about the name he chose. The name he chose to go by is a beautiful name and I love the way it sounds when it rolls off my tongue. Here he dares to think but has no right to even pretend he was worth that name. I scrub my skin as much as I could until I could pretend I felt clean. To be honest, I cannot remember when I have ever felt clean. I do not think I even felt clean when I was with someone who made me believe and unfortunately I never had the opportunity to tell him so. I do not think he would have understood what feeling clean would have meant to me. I do not think he would know what it is like to feel filthy for so long that you think it can never be cleaned. Good thing he got out as quickly as he could. My body is aching and I miss my bed terribly.

I wake up to my phone ringing with a frantic voice on the other end it's my friend. She's upset that I didn't call her last night to let her know I was alive and well. I do not think she has considered the fact that I don't feel alive and I never did; and the one time I breathed in the feeling it turned out to be empty lies. At least that is what I have gathered none of my questions or confusions were ever answered just paraded around like a verbal tango of lost abyss. I never retrieved any answers or anything straightforward; so my demons answered them for me. I begin to explain carefully that physically I am alive and she makes a demand to come over. I doubt I have a choice with the way she is going. I shuffle around the house and realize I haven't cleaned in weeks or maybe months. My clothes are all over the floor and garbage is overflowing. I even tripped on the new fire bound wire setup.

Since the fire my home is primarily without proper heating and lights. Ok, I'm lying I never had proper heating and the two heaters I have in one small room are barely getting the job done. I almost consider cleaning the house but it's so difficult to clean without lights. I used to clean and now I can't remember when was the last time I picked up a mop or a plate. I look at the dishes piling up in the sink and I am going to be making friends soon with the looks of this place; but I can't bring myself to care. I kick a clear path for my friend to walk through and sit down on the same sheets. Did I clean this last year?

I start to stare at the cigarette holes in my sheets and realize i've fallen asleep with cigarettes more than I thought. I check underneath my bed to see if I can find any liquor and I'm running low. It is the worse feeling in the world to want to drink yourself to death but you can't afford the booze. It is a special kind of death like a ring in hell designed for people like me. My thoughts are interrupted by my friend helping herself inside. She notices the path I made for her and just stares at me for a bit. I can see the look on her face means she wants to talk. I dust off a corner of the bed so she can sit and throw myself into the bed. She begins rambling on about why I should call her more often but honestly I'm not really listening. She wants to know why I didn't call her last night and I try to sum up the evening. She knows it was a rough customer that chose a fake name I disagree with and I couldn't do what I wanted to him; like break his face because I can. I admit I can be a firecracker sometimes but I do know when my financial survival is in trouble and I have to bare it and grin. She mumbles "I know you can handle yourself very well but please call me". I was exhausted. Is that a crime now?

She realizes I'm getting frustrated and changes the topic "Have you found other work?" All I tell her "I find jobs I can't have. They all require a special paper that says I'm smart. I spent hours searching before my shift like I do everyday." Her frustration spills into our conversation "I know plenty of college educated idiots who don't apply themselves the way you do. I watch you teach yourself anything and everything and i don't get it, why you're turned down or consider not to be qualified". I have to say I appreciate her confusion and anger but I already figured out years ago there are some people who are meant to escape hell and some that are destined to their sentences. I guess I must have done something really bad but I wish I could remember what it was so I can apologize. My phone rings and it is the Madame. I have a line up and time is money.

The arms on the face have not helped me keep track of time. My friend keeps making threats that she will tell him to make me stop working. Her only logic was a conversation we had when I was with him and in private I told her that I wasn't going to go deeper because I wanted to be a clean lady. I had these silly notions that the words he said were true and that I could stop hesitating and trust him like he asked. I don't trust nobody and that includes my friend. She agreed that I could do something else so he would be proud. He was familiar with my grazing of the lifestyle but he didn't seem to judge me and only wanted to know if I had stopped.

I was terrified of what he thought and I didn't know why. Instantly I knew I was feeling unusual and didn't know how to identify what it was; it was happy and I was deathly terrified of it. All I could think was if I just waited long enough he would see my scars, my crazy, my flaws and my filth; and he would flee. I could not think of a reason why he would stick around and although I could not find a reason I tried to let him in. Big mistake. I should have followed my instinct and run. Yet, my friend won't stop dangling his name above me like a newspaper to a dog. I have money coming in and she is making a threat she won't carry out anyway. She's not bold enough to cross me and I know he wouldn't care anyway.

As far as I am concerned I return to the life I was living before him and I am pretty confident how little I meant while being so easily replaced. Sometimes I wonder what she will look like. The woman he will care for but in all honesty I can not handle knowing what she looks like. This is information I do not want to ever know. It is easier for me to leave it up to my demons and imagination than to have the truth in my face even if they both offer the same conclusion. She is still rambling on in the background. I look to my calendar to kill time and realize his birthday is tomorrow. I question if I should bother to say anything. He's not fond of his birthday but I am. Yet, this doesn't mean he want to hear from me. I'm sure he will receive plenty of messages and cards from people he actually wants to hear from. I still have his birthday gift and Christmas gift on my dresser. It is the only section of the house that's not filthy. I wonder if I could give it to him but I doubt he wants to look at my used up mug ever again.

I guess he got what he wanted from me and he didn't even have to pay; that's what my demons tell me everyday. I could always offer to hand it to my friend to pass it since she is such a fan of his. Perhaps they should get together. My friend realizes I have been lost in thought and I just realize she's been dead quiet this whole time. I gather my belongings for work but see that my tantric rope is missing. I hope I don't need it tonight. She catches my hint and I leave her inside without looking back. My phone begins to ring and it is the Madame. The night flies by me but I barely remember anything. I think about my dreadful birthday and remember that in the midst of radio silence he did say Happy Birthday. I tried to respond properly but it was such a bad day that I began telling him and he never responded. I didn't know what to think of it. Was that supposed to be a treat of a crumb in a form of pity? Just a pity contact and then no one understands why I hate being here so much.

The radio silence on my birthday was like sea salt and peppers to an open wound; like our end I'm left confused with questions only my demons can answer and trust me they do. I never did figure out why he went from talking and sharing to absolute silence. I told him if he wanted me out of his life all he would have to do is ask me. I would leave hurt but I would not be waiting with what I now know was hope in my hands. I didn't even recognize what hope was until my demons took it away. Regardless, I should be courteous and say Happy Birthday and I do. Honestly, I don't expect to hear anything from him but that hasn't stopped him from surprising me. I finally reach my bed and wonder about today but I can't remember anything. Every client and passerby looks like a distorted memory.

I wake up late in the afternoon and check my phone. I see no response and feel confident about always being right. People always prove me right. Maybe I've been jaded for too fucking long but I know what to expect from people. I'm never wrong and with him I actually thought I could be. Stupid me. I start rummaging through the clothes on the floor for an outfit. I stare at his gift taunting me and walk out the door. As I hit the subway I see a movie poster that we were supposed to go see and then I remember reality. As my boots skip along the concrete I try to focus on my client.

I arrive at my destination but I'm not really there. It's another large amount of time passing that I won't really remember. Another business intellectual but I'm not feeling mentally stimulated. We are interrupted by his wife and children on the phone. She misses him and so do the kids. She sounds incredibly loving and happy. I wonder how happy she would be that he's in a room with me naked giving him a happy ending. I can almost see the guilt he feels but clearly not guilty enough to not do it. All men would dive into this luxury as long as they can afford it. Good thing I'm not cheap but I'm not priceless either. We continue the session but with the radio on.

The radio is taking the moment to play music to form a reminder. I said happy birthday! I want this radio to shut up. This client is more than happy and provides extra tip. I exit the hotel room and my phone buzzes. It must be my next client. It's not, its him. He apologizes for not saying thank you to my happy birthday. What the fuck do I say? I try to be normal as if he could see me and I start fixing my clothes in the elevator. I'm alive again but only enough to worry. I remember that I have his gift and mention it.

As I hit the cold I see a taxi with an advertisement of the same movie we were supposed to see and I offer the movie to him. But I just remembered I'm the last underground creature he would want to see so I offer him to take someone he'd rather be around. I want him to enjoy the movie with someone he can stand. I'm starting to panic in between messages and remember when he was trying to give me a whole hundred dollars for groceries. I refused to take the money. I'm too prideful to take money from him. He never pressed me for being poor but understood. It never stopped him from feeding me when my fridge was empty for so long and making sure I never spent money on him. He seems resistant of the gift but he's probably worried about my financial crisis. He always got upset if I spent money I didn't have and I make sure to tell him I can afford his gift; so don't worry. I have to lie to him if he asks what I'm doing. I can't say anything that's public just in case if he ever popped up. Babysitting? Not financially stabilizing.

I could say I'm beginning a business of self promotion and meet many business clients every day. That's not a complete lie but it sounds good. I realize I had been thinking too much and too quickly when I meet with the message that says "No thank you, I already know about your new job your friend told me". My heart stops and Madame is calling me. I have a client. I can't breathe. That bitch! What did she say? Nothing could have warmed my feet or face like my anger did. I immediately call her and she is not answering. I send her a message and see she can reply there. Coward.

I try questioning him to see what she said and my defense walls fly up. As the moment is happening I am in disbelief that after radio silence, after cutting me out of his life, after treating me like I was dead to him that now he speaks. He seems to want to know what I do but he's not asking directly so I don't answer directly. There are no words for when time stops. I became fed up and realize I'm coming to life again. I don't want to be alive. I'm perfectly fine being dead and responding on cue. I'm so good at it. I've spent my life in the dark and he was my light. Blinding and confusing because it was new when in reality I was just swimming in the abyss when he, my angler fish felt me.

Regardless of my vague reply judging from his answers I think he is judging me. He must think lower of me than before and according to my demons it was already really low judging from empty words and confusing actions. My demons are laughing. He realizes I'm becoming highly defensive and mentions he didn't want to argue. He then makes mention that I mentioned money. Of course I mentioned money I've been your bottom of the barrel societal class hit and run and all you did was nip at me for spending money on something I thought was worth it. I had a different life setup to tell you and you would have believed every word if it wasn't for her opening her mouth. Then it hits me "what do you care?". I tried contacting you before about ideas I had since you're so good at business. I tried carrying the torch you gave me that I could get out of this hell but you never called. What a fashionable method to ice the torch. I ask "what do you care!" and his immediate response is "she contacted me and I said it was none of my business". I stare carefully at the reply and start laughing in public so hard that I can't help but to tell my friend "I was right, I'm always right!" I couldn't believe it.

I've got a talent and a clean flawless record of how many times I have been right about others. The panic I felt begins to melt into a nefarious pain. It hurts to always be right but now she can't dangle it over my head. I'm at the door of my next client when my friend calls me. I think she realized her defeat. I can't stop myself from answering with such an arrogance and her first question is "what happened? What did he say?" I tell her "he said he it was none of his business and be careful, I told you I was right. I didn't mean a damn thing, just another transaction for the books..." she cuts me off "that's not what he told me, you didn't watch you two fall together. There is more I can feel it. I remember him telling me he didn't think he was good for you because he couldn't see the change I saw! He was supposed to ask you to stop" I start laughing so hard in my misery that I manage to say "well I'm at my next clients door". The phone is silent and she carefully asks "did you mean it? Would you have quit if he asked that of you?" I realize her defeat hurts and calmly say "of course, but I've never meant a thing. I gotta go, my client is waiting". I hang up the phone and put on my happy grin and knock on the door.

Christmas has arrived and it has been tense. My friend is swallowed by her defeat. She keeps trying to make a plea and prove to me that what I experienced is not what he said to her. Quite frankly, I don't want to talk to her. Regardless of her defeat I am still pissed off. She challenged me after nearly 20 years of friendship. I never did understand why she made a big deal about him. She really believed in us. I must have caught that hopeful bug from her. Good thing I'm normally immune. I believed in us especially when he hit a dark patch. I know my way in the dark and wanted to show him that he would be alright. I wanted him to know I was still happy and wouldn't change anything because of how much I cared. But when your existence mean so little to a person then your words mean even less. As much I accepted his flaws because I thought for once it was worth it the truth is I was never worth it; not even for a second. As thrilling as it was to actually care, to feel and not respond on cue. I truly believe the worst thing to ever happen to him was meeting me and yet there was a moment I almost thought otherwise. Stupid me.

I start to flip my house upside down looking for a bit of tobacco and liquor. Since my victory I spent some money meant for bills on my liquor cabinet and I'm saving one bottle for a special occasion. I call Madame to tell her I'm dressed for a Christmas Special. The day passes with a few callers but no one serious. I guess today is the day when my clients play loyal, lucky women I guess. Madame announces she will be going away and everyone is on vacation. I have a few days to myself while everyone I know spend it with their families and loved ones. I can't say I'm depressed about it. I don't feel anything but for some reason I think I should. The day ends with my friend visiting with hope in her eyes. She asks me did I hear from him and I guess the dead look on my face answers her question. She looks around at the garbage and begins to clean my dishes. I sit down in my half lit room and my phone rings. My friend walks in to speak but the hair on my neck is standing. He said Merry Christmas. My friend's face lights up while mine displays confusion.

It's midnight what kind of pity crap is this? I immediately turn to her with accusations that she denies. She swears she did not say anything but I don't believe her. Last time we spoke it was because of her clearly her words are valuable opposed to mine. He did not tell me the things she claims to bear witness to. Nothing was ever said to me directly. I decide she is a hopeless romantic pathological liar. I don't think much of him contacting me. He will just disappear again. I'm pretty confident he replaced me before getting rid of me. I have nothing else to believe.

The new year rolls and passes like the nights and clients. Madame calls me about a client who wants to wrestle. When I arrive it's more of touch and go job. He is under a tight schedule because of his girlfriend. He's an art dealer with his own arcade in his home. This is what successful men do with their time. The hour is no where near complete but he is and he throws me out faster than trash. I'm still fumbling with my shoes in the hallway. My next client is better looking and kinder. He's a foreigner who hates his job. He loves his country and tells me I should travel there at least once. As wonderful as that sounds I don't think I will ever see the world. We chat and I find out he's touchy about anyone touching his hair. He keeps sliding his hands over my body slowly that I can close my eyes and pretend. As much as he is traveling he keeps asking for permission. I want a tip so I grab his hands and show him what he can do. He seems so excited about being with me. He keeps complimenting my body over and over. Business men don't go to just Thailand for women. They will buy them anywhere. He slides his fingers and on cue I moan.

I have practice being a liar in bed but that's mostly due to lack of performance or my care for sexual activities. It's just sex and nothing more. It is simply meaningless actions that people would spend money on, take without permission and use people for. I had an ex throw money at me during the act and walk away. I had even been drugged to be taken advantage of by both genders. Only one person called it making love and I couldn't understand what he was talking about. I still don't know. My client continues rambling on about my body and how much he loves it. He is so appeased that I earn my tip. I see my schedule for the night and wish him the best. I tell him I will await my next night with him when he returns. He's happy and says "I'll dream of you." I have to admit it is so amazing how natural males will say sweet nothing to any woman. I arrive home and stare at my liquor collection. I pour myself a drink to go to bed. I start looking for my cigarettes but I can't find it. I could clean. I think I will just buy a new pack tomorrow. I need to sleep. I finally remember that I have a collection of prescription pills that will knock me out. I dig through my closet and pull out my treasure. My beautiful and most sacred possession is this jar of pills. I twist it open and the fumes slap me hard. I start visually sorting the pills. This is Vicodin. This is acetaminophen. This is cyclobenzaprine. This is simple Advil. Maybe I should have been a pharmacist.

There goes the sleeping pills at the bottom. This will do it. I don't want to mess up my collection. I take what I need and seal my jar again. Instead of placing it in the closet I slide it under my bed next to my special bottle. I stumble around the house and find myself looking at old pictures of me. In every photo I look drained or dead but trying to pretend. There is no light in my eyes. I think that should affect me but it doesn't. It is simply something I notice. I feel the pills taking over finally.

The phone rings and it is Madame. I head out to work but this isn't in the normal locations. This client is right around the corner from him. What if he sees me? I think I can dodge him. I arrive early to work and my phone buzzes. I decide to ignore it and head in. When my phone buzzes again I see its him publicly advertising what looks like my replacement and expensive shows they've attended right after we ended. They could be friends but I doubt it. I didn't want to know what she looks like. I check myself in the mirror and feel incredibly ugly. I start to wonder if my John will think the same but then again I'm just a hit and run like always. They look comfortable, very comfortable in the photo. He had to know I would find this. I wouldn't be surprised if it was done on purpose. From the inside I feel my heart crack. I told him I never wanted to know and he claimed the same for me. They always lie. I wonder if my friend knows about it.

My thoughts are interrupted by a smiling man at the door. If there was anything difficult about doing this job it has suddenly become a lot easier. My client takes my coat and I begin to do a little dance. I start to lose myself in the music I play. I begin to caress his thighs and stroke his face. He is a complete gentleman and tells me about his business. He takes a good look at me and says "You seem too smart to be working this" and I tell him "That's what my resume says but not life".

He understands well and his phone rings. It's his wife. They begin to chat and I make my way to rub another well deserved victory in my friend's face. She had been expecting it. Her only response is "something looks off" and I tell her "At least he's happy and not as miserable as I made him". She interrupts me to say "Funny, he said the same thing about you". My client is tugging on my gypsy sheer skirt. He's finished saying "I love you " to his wife. I hang up on my friend without thought and continue the night. I want to lose myself to my gentleman tonight and I do. We have a wonderful time. He tells me dark and light stories of his childhood; even secrets he claims his wife doesn't know. He says I'm easy to talk to but I'm sure I could think of someone who disagrees. He lifts me by my waist and tosses me to the bed. We laugh. We love. By the hour. When it is time to leave Madame is ringing my phone and I'm already packed to go. Before I leave he tells me "You're not like every other woman. You're very different and good catch". I smile at his naive statement and prance away with tips. My feet hit the cold pavement and the winter wind is clawing at my face. I try to walk briskly. I want to go home. I want a drink. I want to force my body into a submissive sleep. I'm tired. I'm very tired.

My days are careless nights flying by me. I shuffle through the kitchen looking for breakfast and I all have is last night’s dinner. I reach for the bottle and begin to pour. They say you can’t start any day without having anything in the stomach. I can feel the burn in my esophagus but at least I’m kind of clean. I pass by the mirror in my hallway and catch a glimpse in low light what is supposed to be me. I stare at her and into her eyes deeply. My eyes look so exhausted. There is something far more wrong than feeling dead and I cannot identify it. My phone buzzes and it is my friend. I am not in the mood for her and ignore the call. I contact Madame to notify her that I am available for work. I realize Valentine’s Day has arrived much faster than I knew. I pull back my collection of garments and start struggling between which outfit would be holiday appropriate. I want my gentleman to feel special. The Madame rings me back for another wrestling session with a happy ending. I strap on a creative and head out the door.

I find my client excited to see anything with a vagina. I assume he’s another one that loves women and wants as many as possible. As I do my unveiling he smiles big but seems to want more of a different kind of session instead of wrestling. He seems to want me, but of course only by the hour does that desire seem to fit. The time spent seems too quick that I was startled by my alarm. As he helps dress me my phone rings and it is Madame. It seems there’s a desire to have me for 4 hours from the start. I start to imagine what he has in store for me but my mouth has already agreed before my thoughts could process. When I finally arrive home I pass by that mirror in my hallway again I try to look at myself once more. I try to find the changes in my soul.

There’s a graveyard silence echoing through my mind when I realize how much I do recognize myself. I see how life has left its worries on my forehead and how bland my skin is becoming again. I kind of miss when my skin used to glow. I only remember glowing when I was with him. I guess happiness is the key to eternal youth. The sound of mice running around me catch my attention but I can’t see them. I take a very long pause to observe where I have been sitting for years. Why can’t I ever seem to escape? Am I being punished? Is this karma from a previous life? When people say there’s so much more to life do they know how much they are lying. My precarious thoughts take a hold of my throat and the grip is tight. I start to feel the rhythm of my heartbeat reaching out of my chest. I am having another hell fire panic attack. I have been having these since I was grammar school. This is just a Monday for me. I start to look for medication that will slow down my heart. I find my jar of magic and start filtering through to find my sleeping pills. I want to sleep. I need to sleep.

My phone buzzes me awake and there is a man begging to have me. Madame is very pleased with me. Finally, after all these dreadful years somebody is happy with me. It is an older gentleman who wants to book me weeks in advanced and another man who wants a full on domination. I grab my heels and head out the door. The evening is not as cold as I assumed. The client calls Madame and wants to meet me outside at a bar. He wants to buy me a drink first and talk. All business I presume. I arrive to what appears to be a hotspot for the youthful and alive. My John is sitting there waiting for me and in the middle of the crowd we recognize each other. I have become very talented at spotting them out before they realize it’s me. I sit down and the waitress takes my drink order. He seems older than what I expected but who am I to judge? We start talking shop of his deepest desires. The waitress brings me my drink and I down it faster before he can turn his head to the left and back. He is impressed that I drank so much and so quickly.

If only he knew how professional I was at drinking. I have been drinking since grammar school so this is child’s play. He takes me by the arm while pulling a bag out for me. He brought me food. I feel like a Goddess disappointed at the offering made before me. He appears genuine about it but let’s be honest I don’t trust anyone. Humans are not creatures that can be trusted ever. It’s a no brainer why God doesn’t want bother. I thank him for being so thankful and promise to eat it later. I won’t but it’s nothing personal. I can’t trust people. I’ve been drugged on purpose once in my life and quite frankly that’s enough. It’s quite an event to have no control over your basic body functions and have to watch what happens to your body while turns are being taken. Fights become present because someone else took too much and didn’t leave enough. He agrees to have me and we head to the hotel. I start my dance routine to shake off my clothes. As the session begins he starts yammering about his wife who just left him and intentionally isolated him from his own children. At his age I figured people should know better but then again looking at the people I’ve encountered I’m not surprised. I try to console him in every way possible but she is all he can talk about or think about. Women would kill for that kind of affection or dedication.

My night is mostly a mixture of how much he misses her and work. He pays me well for the talk and play. I even walk him to his car. However, his ranting has left me in disturbing thoughts I hoped would never come out to play. As the night carries on I study the environment. I watch people laugh and smile with their dirty secrets in their pockets. All of this is not even real. These so called good times are not real. Why do people bother to pretend? I finally crash on my bed and start looking for my late dinner in a bottle. As the time passes I notice I have to hit the restroom. I am almost startled at the reflection of myself. I stare at her the way she is staring at me. I start to think about every little detail about myself.

I wake up realizing I fell asleep on the bathroom floor and didn’t even complete my last thought. My phone is buzzing and it is my friend. She’s frantic again and upset that I haven’t spoken to her lately. I tell her I have been busy but to be honest I do not know where time has went. It’s like it packed it’s things and ran. I try getting myself together but it is a struggle. I sit on the couch and absorb my home. I breathe in the stench sneaking through my windows. I stare at the ceilings where there are cracks forming in every corner. I think this ceiling will fall down soon on me. I tell Madame I don’t feel like working today and she’s fine with it. I’ve been such a loyal worker so she doesn’t mind.

I like Madame. I like her a lot. I start to follow the cracks in my ceilings through the house until I end up by my booze collection with my jar of magic. I stare at my jar and without thought or question I reach for it. I pop it open and begin having breakfast or lunch. I start feeling a little sick while eating but I can’t stop eating. My beautiful jar is empty but covered with the pill coatings on it are inside. My throat feels dry and I realize that I need something to drink. I grab the first thing I see from my collection. As I continue to pour the bottle straight in I start to struggle to hold myself up to finish the bottle. I feel sleepy very sleepy. Everything falls silent. I don’t hear any sirens or gun shots in the background. I don’t hear anything. I can feel my heart speeding up like it is confused. I can feel my blood moving by the nanosecond. I can feel myself truly slow down. I feel light. In the background at I hear something but I’m not sure what it is. As the sound comes closer I realize it’s my friend. I hear her screaming. She’s struggling to hold my body up and trying to open my mouth. She begins opening my eyes because I can’t do it anymore and I realize what she is about to do again. She’s going to try to save me again. I don’t want to be saved. I’m tired. I’m so tired. She starts trying to tell me to avoid the light and mentions him again. All I could think of is that it doesn’t matter. I watch my body start to shake. I know this routine well and this time it is perfectly timed. No one can interrupt me. I’m free.

Short Story

Cadma

A sweetie pie with fire in her eyes

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