The rash has grown very red and burns me most of the day. It stretches far around and wide from my groin and my clitoris is mostly swollen and reddish pink from it. I got it, I guess from some guy who I did it with last week, which was the last guy before my birthday. Ernie said it was just a rash, as if not being able to sit down or take a piss or even put on underwear was nothing.
Ernie is, by social standards, my pimp, but he doesn’t abuse me or anything. He protects me from most of the scum, but he doesn’t stay in the same room while I’m fucking a client. One guy, this hairy Puerto Rican guy had this huge cock and wanted me to give him head, but it reeked so heavy of underarm funk, that I couldn’t and so he grabbed my face and pulled me closer and hit my face with it. It was throbbing and wet and splattered his fluids on my lips. When I started screaming because he was pulling my hair off, Ernie didn’t come, the Puerto Rican guy punched my left tit and threw me on the floor and got a gun from his pants. While I was on the floor on my ass I thought that if he made me do it, I was going to bite his dick head off, but then the gun was up to my temple and this guy was still hard. I had the bitter taste of rotting-sour fruit on my tongue
and a tear rolled down my cheek. What I really wanted to do was to bite into the smelly thing and run. The taste was revolting and reeked. Ernie was nowhere and even if he was – he would probably open the door and close it fast thinking it was something kinky anyway, not noticing the gun, the stupid fuck! I didn’t do it good, I could tell because he stared into my face as I sucked in and out as if trying to breath from a hole. The saliva was oozing from my chin and fell onto the tops of my knees and by the time he let me go there were big patches of cum beginning to dry on my knees. Then he fucked me. I tried not to think about the funk or the pain. When he dropped the gun I thought I could push him off and run like hell down the hall, shoeless and clothes less but decided not to. Puerto Rican Man had only given me half of the money before we started and that was in the clothes that I would leave behind if I ran out. Anyway, Ernie would think that I was holding out on him for the other half of the money. I stayed and counted the times he thrusted himself into me before coming…15…16…17…it was like counting the seconds an injection takes waiting for the needle to be pulled out and an alcohol cotton ball to be placed over it so it wouldn’t infect. I lost count when my head hit the headboard and knocked something over. It was pretty dark in the room, but light enough to see his face covered with scars and white pimples ready to burst with puss. I tried to hold my breath as he did it, not letting the putrid scent of his body penetrate me, causing me to vomit. Sometimes there were men with good colognes that masked the odor a man gets working all day in the sweltering sun, but there was nothing to cover the odor of the groin of a man in the same situation. It was similar to the stink that rose from me after a night I didn’t’ douche and was infested with a variety of cum. But it was worse because it was not mine, it was unnatural to me because it was not mine, it stunk because it was not mine, but I accepted it. Finally I felt the gusher, it was a lot, even for a second load, and he still stayed on top of me. The needle had been pulled out but the wound was not protected of infection, there were no cotton balls, there was no nurse at the health center, there was him, the hairy guy, there was the stink that roamed over me and the room like a black cloud plagued with death. He got off and dressed as I looked for my clock, which I always set to ring at exactly 30 minutes. I realized that what had fallen and broken was my clock that’s why it didn’t ring. I was fifteen minutes over schedule, fifteen minutes with no overtime pay. He dropped the last twenty on the top of the table as he walked out not saying a word, just opening the door, dropping the bill and slamming it shut.
I got dressed, went downstairs and Ernie drove me home, to my house. Though I said I didn’t feel well Ernie brought over this guy who seemed really nice. He was some white guy with blonde hair that Ernie had left at my place waiting for me to take care of. It was really important to Ernie that I do everything he says though I really didn’t fell like it. After a couple of chitchat minutes with the guy and the money up front, Ernie left. “Can I buy you a drink?” he says this as if he possessed some virgin college boy charm innocence to the ways of this slut whore. In high school I had fantasized about having more than one guy fucking me at the same time, but that was only once, and it was not really a fantasy but a curiosity. A friend of mine in my sophomore year of high school invited me to this fraternity party and I met this guy who I went out with a couple of times. He told me he was a virgin and wondered if I would go to bed with him. I had already done it 34 times with 5 different guys in my 16 years of age so I said what the Hell. I said yes but didn’t that night because I had to go home early. He kept calling me up and asking me to other fraternity parties. I finally went to one with him and he kept giving me grain alcohol punch and beer. I didn’t fell myself being carried upstairs drunk. I blacked out but woke to see at least three guys on me, one fucking me, one sucking my tits, and one trying to get his dick into my mouth. Trying to hold my head while positioning his skinny, lanky dick into the same mouth that was screaming for help. Since it was dark I only saw shadows and silhouettes of people doing these things to me, but when the door opened and a stream of light spilled into the room I saw the college boy was between my legs.
The nice buy hasn’t been looking at me without smiling. “Do you want to eat or something? We can go…” “No, wanna watch TV? I really don’t feel like talking or anything else.” I said at first pissed that he would want me to get dressed and go out with him but then again Ernie wouldn’t like that. I don’t get the vibes that he’s done this before; I actually begin to think that he doesn’t know what I do. I keep my eyes glued to the TV. set as he comes and sits next to me.
My apartment is nice; I keep it clean and always have deodorizer next to the ceiling fan so it can circulate a breeze of clean air. The couches and love seat Ernie game me but the rest I bought at a second hand store. It’s a nice blue set with little dots of white and it looks new; my TV. looks new too though I bought it at a garage sale. I say this because I notice he is looking around the room during commercials.
“So…you and Ernie are close friends?” h looks into my eyes. Can he see the anger, the frustrations, can he feel the beginnings of a rash, can he see Ernie’s white hairy
fists pound on my chin, can he see strange dicks reciprocating in and out of my groin as the hands of my pocket clock tick away. No! So what does he look for? He can, though, hear laughter behind the curious smile that has formed on my mouth. Is he smart, can he tell it’s a lie? Even if it is a curved, twisted truth? “Business Associates,” I finally reply I need a cigarette; I have a deep urge to tear into my pussy with my nails and scratch like hell. “Oh,” he says extending his head towards the ceiling as if carrying the oh to the sky then he drops it at the end of the word. Is he dumb? I wonder what he thinks of it. I squirm a bit in my seat and still look into the TV. as if it offered directions on what to do with a guy who lacks in plenty of areas and reeks in his clothes of innocence and is just about to ask me what I do for a living. “So what do you do?” I ask trying to be on the offensive hoping that we would not discuss me anymore. I guess I have to come on to him so that we could get it over with as soon as possible, despite the welcome distraction of the television, I am beginning to get bored and the clock is ticking. But he does not answer; he gets up and goes to the tube, his blonde hair falling gently to the left side of his face. A face, neat, clean-shaven, without even one pimple to contaminate the flawless complexion. Mindlessly removing something off his leg, maybe lint, he says he’s a cop. I’m wondering what the fuck, what do I do? Is he joking, if not do I run, do I yell for Ernie? Do I act calm, what do I do? I don’t change my face though my heart is about to beat violently out of my chest.
I had never been arrested, somehow for the year I’d been doing it, Ernie has always found all my gigs and they’ve been clean, until now. He excused himself and went into the bathroom. When he did my mind began to race with even more contemplations and questions. Do I leave, do I just run out and find Ernie and tell him, but what if there are cops outside waiting for me and they already have Ernie, will he fuck me then arrest me, will they go through my things and find my phone book and find my mothers number and call her up and ask her to come to the station, but then again my birthday is this week on Tuesday and I’ll be 18 so they won’t, but I’ve seen my picture on missing children so they probably will, but won’t recognize me because I dyed my hair blond and lost 30 pounds. All these things go through my mind. I have to stay anyway because all my things are here and if I leave he’ll probably stay and wait, if he is a cop. He reappears. “Look,” he says, “ I have to tell you something.” He said he’d been trying to track me down for 11 and half months at my mother’s request. Then he sits next to me and squarely tells me my mother died in some freak car accident two weeks ago. If I was not already dead She wanted me to have the house where I grew up in. In the event I had subsided to the street life I had chosen instead of her righteous path the home should go to the orphanage her church ran.
After he left I developed a fever and stayed in bed for two days. Ernie came over and brought some Vicks, Valium, and Cigarettes, which I appreciated until he said I was well enough to go back to work, people were asking for me. The rash had gotten real bad and I finally told him about it, but didn’t let him look at it though he had seen my cunt before. I felt different and the days I spent in bed gave me time to think and clear my head, I thought of my other, of the house and the orphanage that I never visited.
My mother spent Tuesday and Thursday nights from 5 to 9 there reading bedtime stories while I stayed with the sitter, she would come home and I would be asleep, the other nights we hardly talked. She kept charity well out of the home, but she was a good mother, she fed and clothed me, which now I appreciate but then revolted against. It was this thing where I was spoiled and had too much and she often told me that. The kids at the orphanage appreciated the little she gave them, and I didn’t. This was often the topic of arguments that spilled over into my adolescence and grew into something deeper and darker into my teen hood. When I was sixteen I invited this guy from school over and began to fool around while she was reading to the orphans. She came home early and found the guy buried into my crotch and me into his. I guess now I had planned it as a sort of revenge, which today I really wish I hadn’t. She was a Catholic woman with a saint for everything, but there were not enough saints she could pray to for me. It grew worse until finally I ran away on my birthday last year and met Ernie, then I began this career.
Ernie came over and says that it was time to get up and that he has someone for me tonight. But when I want to show him how bad the rash is, which isn’t since I found some vagisil and used the entire tube, he doesn’t want to hear it. He goes to my bathroom and says he’s going to take a shower and shave. I am still whining when he walked out, his compactly muscular body peppered with drops of water, he is cleanly shaven and smells of ivory soap, he looks very handsome and I see his bare ass as he bends over to get dressed and rolls into his jeans. He looks in the mirror and brushes his short jet black hair raising his left hand to arc his elbow, I see the mass of underarm hair and notice that it’s wet, notice the hair on his back, wonder why I look at him, I wonder a lot of things. Like why the hell I agreed to meet this guy for him tonight when I am still in pain from the rash. I want to call my mother and hear her voice, I want her to yell at me and have a big fight, even if just to hear her voice. She tried to raise me a clean catholic girl, and has done, or tired to so hard that it has made me rebel. It sounds to me like some sad story, but there are no more tears they have stopped rolling last night and today being a new day I try to cope, I try to forget. But the day goes slow, Ernie calls to tell me, at about four, that this guy will not make it, but to get ready. At seven we am ready and watching TV, waiting for the guy that Ernie is sending over. When the guy comes, finally, it is eleven, and he had to be here at nice, Ernie says they had car trouble and then he leaves, leaving this big guy who I think is some redneck. I’m so glad he does not want to eat me out but did have this dick that must be about eleven inches long and three inches thick. This is not at all good news to me and while it lasted, which was for an hour, tears of blood ran I felt the demons trying to tear me from my soul, I had wild sensations of things trying to tear out, it is a feeling quite like nothing I’ve felt before. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t, he was big and heavy on me and I smelled nothing but the incense that I had burned earlier and the warm heat between our chests as he pounded away. The vagisil had not done its job completely. I was in so much pain, I felt numb and when I did finally scream he covered my mouth and said take it, take it! And kept on. His huge hand covered the lover half of my face. I blacked out. The pain persisted through I saw only blackness. I then regained sight after he came and I felt he had pulled back some, putting weight on my thighs and then as I moaned while cupping my groin in my hands with my eyes closed he slapped me hard, so hard I landed on the floor which only added to the pain. I passed out.
Ernie was the next person I saw, when I came to senses. He had put me into bed and said that everything was going to be alright, over and over I felt my face big on me and I knew it was swollen, I had not forgotten what. He had covered me with thick quilts just as he found me: With the cum oozing from me mixed with blood. When he left me at one, I had spent the first hour of my eighteenth birthday trying to clean up what spilled from my body; tears, blood, cum, vagisil, mixed with everything. I thought of my mother seeing me like this as I touched my face in front of the mirror. How artificial it seemed to me, I tho8ught of just grabbing some clothes and running out on Ernie, I thought of going home and cleaning out those fucking saints so that the ghosts would not haunt me, that they would not come into my dream landscape and terrorize me. I thought if only she was not always with her beloved fucken saints we could have had something and I would not be here. I had to cleanse myself. I went into the bathroom and draw a hot bath in the tub and sat in there thinking as I cried thinking of mom, of her face, of why after all the abuse I still stayed, I wondered up to when I’ll rebel, the razor Ernie had used was still on the sink and I reached for it not thinking, just concentrating on the shiny blade, I was not thinking also as the edge ripped over my wrists as the blood jetted out, then reddening the water like red ink, I laid back and began feeling lightheaded quickly, I was feeling better and better, my face did not hurt as much, I did not feel my hear much either, times up, oh my god, I’m sorry mom is all I thought I said.
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