Hot Seed Pumping Down My Throat

Hot seed pumping down my throat was making it hard to breathe as I hadn’t mastered the art of deep throating.

I’m 22 years old. I’ve been living on my own for almost a year now. The only work I could find was being a sugar baby to old greedy farts who found it entertaining to use young bodies for their own pleasure with no hint of remorse or shame.

Hmm it’s Tuesday. I keep all my clients names, phone numbers, addresses, and the days of the week I meet with them in a little black notebook. I pull it out and check it to see who I’m meeting today. Ah Old Thomas. Thomas was the very first client I had and we’ve been going on strong for almost a year. I called him up to confirm we’re still meeting, but he doesn’t respond. I call twice more and still no answer. I have an hour before I meet him so I shower and get ready to leave. I call him once more before I leave and he still doesn’t answer. I figured I might as well drive by his house to see if he’s there, as I needed the money desperately to pay the bills.

When I arrived at Thomas’ house, there were three police cars and an ambulance. There was a body on the ground covered up with a sheet. The wind blew the sheet off the face of the corpse. It was Thomas.

A couple months after the murder of Thomas (they still didn’t find the killer); I got a letter in the mail from Thomas’ family attorney. The letter stated that Thomas had written me in his will and he saved $20,000 to give to me. I dropped the letter in shock and stood there for a good few minutes before recollecting myself.

The money was transferred to my Bank of America account a month later. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with this money. Working in this line of work had made me depressed and shameful of myself; I didn’t even want to date anyone as I was afraid of them finding out what I do for a living. Nobody wanted to hire a 22 year old with no work experience, so I had no choice but to live like this to take care of myself. So, my plan was to enroll in college to become a defense attorney for people charged with prostitution related offenses.

I enrolled at the community college and attended for two years. I made sure to study hard and to have no lower than a B average. I joined sign language club and Jazz club where I played piano. I truly felt that I could start over and have a shot at a real future. I made some friends from my clubs and got a job on campus so I was able to limit the amount of clients I met with which helped with my depression. Two years later, I applied to Harvard University. They were so impressed with my grades and extracurricular activities that they gave me a full ride to attend for four years.

It was a long four years; still doing a little tricking with old clients throughout. Nonetheless, I made it through. I graduated Harvard Law and went on to pass the Bar exam. I quickly got hired by a Law Firm as an attorney through some friends I had met on campus in a social justice advocacy group. It sort of all just fell into place. I helped so many of our society’s most vulnerable by doing as much pro bono work as I could take on. I noticed however, that many times prosecutors didn’t want to work with me on deals for my clients unless they gave information on those who had been trafficking them. It was clear that they had nothing on the people doing the real harm, and that they were just charging whoever they could to make the numbers look good in the fight against human trafficking. They wouldn’t know a real human trafficking case if it smacked them in the face, and they wouldn’t know how to prosecute one either. It was clear to me that my services were officially required elsewhere.

I went on to become assistant attorney to the DA’s office. He had run on cracking down human trafficking and I brought my honesty and experience to his ear. Together we began to gather evidence to build a case against the biggest human trafficking ring in the city. Beginning with speaking to all of those whom I had defended in the past, built trust and relationships with. One by one they began to spill the beans. Tales of young girls and young boys forced into sex slavery began to flood the office documents. These were sad times. But we overcame them, as our office, in cooperation with the sheriff’s department launched an operation that lead to the freedom of 13 minors that had been held captive in an old warehouse, and the arrest of over 20 individuals directly involved with such. Needless to say we landed our conviction rate that quarter. We were featured on all of the local news channels and I even got an award from the Mayor himself. Every now and then I still take it out and look at it. It always reads the same “To Mr. Joshua Wilson esq., you sir, are the finest damned assistant attorney this city has ever seen!”