I mean, the sex isn’t good,
but it’s fast, and all things
considered, the pay scale
isn’t bad. Fifty bucks for
under ten minutes’ work?
Three hundred an hour!
Shit, girl, that’s attorney
wages, and you don’t have
to go to school—
“Stop it! We don’t need money
that bad. I’ll get off the rag
and we’ll go back to stripping.
“Lydia can have her cut. We
were doing okay like that,
weren’t we?” We were, damn it!
Finally Alex deflates just
a little. Sit down. Please?
There’s stuff you don’t know.
Like how she knew all about
Lydia’s escort service before
we ever got here. Like how Lydia
never invited her to “come stay
any time.” Like how when we
talked about running away, Alex
called Lydia and set the whole
thing up. Like how Lydia
promised to keep her mouth
shut, as long as Alex went
to work for her. Like how
Alex’s not-stepdad did call,
looking for her. But Lydia
denied knowing a thing.
So Alex owes her, big-time.
Alex Goes to Shower
But not before promising
again, It will just be for
a little while—just until
we can save up enough
to blow this freaking city.
I love you, Gin. Stay cool.
I love her, too. And I can’t
stand the idea of her being
with a bunch of stinking, nasty
men. If I could bring myself
to do it too, we could save
up even faster. But I don’t think
I could. I’d be no better than
Iris. Would I? Did she ever
think, Just for a little while?
The room still wears evidence
of Alex’s recent encounters.
I go to open the window. Notice
Ms. Heroin going through
her door again. Followed by
another guy. Not her father, either.
A Poem by Cody Bennett
Door
I once heard an old
saying about things
going all to hell.
It went, “When
a door
closes, somewhere
a window opens.”
If so, when a train
slams
into a Volkswagen,
does a BMW materialize
down the tracks? If you
remember your undies
in your
dreams, do you wake
up naked? Okay,
maybe the logic fails.
But hey, let’s
face
it. Logic doesn’t really
apply to old sayings,
either. Does it?
Cody
Logic?
What’s that? If it ever applied
to my life, my choices, those years
(days?) have vanished from memory.
I am spinning. Spiraling. Clinging to
the eye of the tornado. If I give up,
give in to the mad desire to just
let go, I know I’ll die. But death,
close by, might be preferable
to this dizzying ride. How did I get
here? How did things go so wrong,
so fast? Left? Right? Whichever way
I choose, one thing is very clear—
I can never turn around, never
go back. Twisters only move in one
direction—full speed ahead.
Like Dorothy Gale, I ran from safe
haven, searching, despite the storm
gathering strength behind me.
The Chiefs Kick Off
In about an hour. Still time to place
a small bet. I log on, check out the point
a little larger bet. I can pay Lydia back
later. Fuckers better step up to the line
of scrimmage and play fricking ball!
Guess I’ll call Ronnie, if only to hear
her voice. My cell phone blinks—
did she call me? But when I retrieve
the message, it’s Misty, grating my ear.
Hey, cutie. How about a double
date? And can you bring smoke?
Misty is the skank who hooked
me up with Lydia. Okay, maybe
I shouldn’t look at it that way.
She did me a favor, or at least
we both thought so at the time.
Her boyfriend plays poker
with Vince. One night he was
way too buzzed to drive home,
so he called Misty. I had pretty
much lost my shirt that night,
and when she showed up, I was
looking miserable. Chris still
had a sleeve or two left of his
shirt, and while he was busy
losing those, I invited Misty
to smoke some bud. We got to
talking, and the more we smoked,
the more I confessed, which made
her open up to me. Yeah, money
sucks, but you can’t live without
it. I’m paying my way through
UNLV with a little sex-on-the-side.
She let that sink in, and it took too
long. You know … escorting?
“You mean you get paid to …?”
I studied her closer. She looked
like a college student. Nothing
more. Certainly not a whore,
especially not the type I see hawking
their wares from the sidewalk.
Yeah, and it’s not so bad, really.
I mean, if you’re going to have sex
anyway, why not earn a little extra
cash, you know? She took a big drag.
Held it a long while, as if it helped
her think. I won’t trick forever.
I had never once in my life thought
about having sex for money. Could
finding enough cash to help myself
out of debt be that easy? I asked for
details, and when she mentioned
working for an established escort
service, it almost sounded legit.
“Do any guys work there?” My
stupid little brain glommed onto
a picture of lonely middle-aged
women paying for an evening
of companionship, plus some fun.
A coupleM, she said. Lydia calls
them her “boys,” but I think they’re,
like, in their twenties. Why?
She winked. You interested in
a little paid action? I can introduce
you to Lydia if you want.
“Let me think about it.” Wow.
Sex for money. I still hadn’t
considered the possibility of it
meaning having sex with men
when I asked, “Oh. One thing.
How much does it pay, anyway?”
Her Answer
Surprised me. Thrilled me. Who
knew you could make a hundred
bucks an hour (after the service’s
cut) for screwing? I thought it over
for at least a day, and even made
a written list of pros and cons.
Pro: Work one hour, get paid more
than eight hours at GameStop.
Con: What if the old babe was really
disgusting and wanted, like, oral?
Pro: My insurance had already
Lapsed
, and I had no way to pay it.
Con: If Mom ever even suspected,
she’d flip her fricking wig!
Pro: If Mom ever found out about
the credit cards, she’d lose all faith in me.
Con: People who have sex for money
might end up with some awful disease.
Pro: With enough cash to place the right
bet, I could win enough to fix everything.
Con: What if having sex on the side
meant I couldn’t get it up for Ronnie?
Pro: I didn’t have many choices left.
Result: I picked up the phone, called Misty.
She Introduced Me
To Lydia, who outlined the rules
and regulations, not knowing
I still had women in mind. When
I finally mentioned that, her smile
slipped a little. But only for a second.
You’re envisioning American
Gigolo. Sorry, but that kind of
escorting is rare. Something you
see in the movies, really. Generally,
when I get calls for young men,
it’s older men doing the calling.
You ever been with a man?
“A man? No!” What? Did I look
gay or something? Sex with men?
Not even a hundred bucks an hour
was worth that. At least, not then.
“So every one of your ‘boys’ is gay?
Because I’m, like, totally straight.”
Lydia shrugged. No one is one
hundred percent hetero. We are
all bi to varying degrees. It all
comes down to necessity. Turned
out the statement was accurate. Took
about a week to see things her way.
Sometimes Misty and I
Do have “two-fers” with confused
guys. But not today. “Sorry,” I tell her.
“I’ve already got a client lined up.”
In fact, I’d better go. I hang up, pop
a Valium, “borrowed” from a bottle
in Ronnie’s medicine cabinet. Fuck.
Stealing pills. I suck. But I’m glad
I have something to push away
the pain, stash it in a compartment
of my brain I don’t visit very often.
I cruise slowly, noticing cars
prowling for street-corner hustlers.
Twenty bucks for a backseat blowjob?
At least I haven’t sunk that low. Yet.
No! That will not become my future.
Then again, if someone would have told
me two months ago I’d be selling myself
to men, I’d have said they were full
of shit. Necessity is a motherfucker.
And if they would have said I might
even like it, I’d have kicked their ass.
The first time I offered myself up, turned
myself into meat, I ran to the bathroom,
heaved. That guy laughed and laughed.
Lydia said it would get easier.
The first time is always the worst.
Just remember you can always
say no, if something doesn’t seem
kosher. Somehow I doubt many
rabbis would bless “Cody meat.”
But Lydia was right. The second
time wasn’t as bad. At least I managed
to make it through without losing
my breakfast. Every time after was easier
still, except for the guys who needed
a shower. B.O. is a definite bitch.
Once in a while I get really lucky,
when a dude decides he’d rather talk
than screw. They’re paying me for
my time. If they want to complain
about their significant others, hey,
I’ll listen for a buck fifty up front.
But I don’t have to like any of it.
Shouldn’t like any of it, and getting
off is just plain crazy. I do this because
I have to. Not because I want to. I need
a good, healthy dose of Ronnie. Only
what if she doesn’t turn me on now?
I Pull into Valet
At the Riviera, not the nicest casino
in town, but not the sleaziest, either.
Not that it matters. What I’m going
to do is more than sleazy. It’s sick.
But I’ll leave with enough money,
even after Lydia’s cut, to give Mom
a hundred toward the bills. And,
depending on how generous the guy
feels after, I just might have enough
left over to place a small bet on
the Chiefs. If those bastards do right
by me, I could maybe skip a date
or two. “Date.” Why don’t I just call
it what it is—a trick. I’m turning tricks.
Can I really have sunk so low?
I’m having sex with men—often married
guys, trying to figure out why
they’re attracted to boys—for cash.
I’m not gay! Before a few weeks ago,
I had never even checked a guy out,
let alone thought about doing one.
So why isn’t it harder? Why am I
heading into the elevator, going up
eight floors, to room 822?
Two Quiet Knocks
Nothing. Two more, louder. Footsteps
toward the door. It opens. “Dan?”
The guy nods, steps aside to let
me in. The room is obsessively neat,
and a familiar scent perfumes the air.
Gingerbread? Like Ronnie’s shampoo.
Dan is fortyish, short crewcut
graying slightly at the edges.
He wears no shirt, and his muscles
are tanned. Toned. Jesus. He could
be an underwear model. Why does
he need to pay for it? Whatever.
As long as he has the cash. “So, Dan.
What can I do for you?” I know the drill.
Lydia coached me in the art of paid
seduction: Strike the deal up front. Never
give them more than they pay for.
Collect before you start. No COD.
No cash on delivery, because after
you’re finished, they might say you
didn’t deliver. I’ve done this for
a month now, and so far, not one
has made that claim. Customer
satisfaction guaranteed. God!
Dan Has Done This Before
You can take me around the world.
He reaches for his wallet. One fifty,
right? He tries to sweeten the pot. Dan
will pay extra to go without a sleeve.
He talks about himself in the third
person? No wonder he pays for it.
No condom? It’s not the first time
I’ve had the request. I’d kill for
the extra cash, but I’m not taking
a chance on AIDS. “Sorry. No can
do. Cover up, I’ll take care of you.”
I pull my T-shirt over my head, watch
him strip off his jeans. His waist
is narrow, his hips straight. Beautiful.
Stop it! What’s wrong with me? He’s
down to his skivvies. I should have
charged more. He’s built like a fucking
bull. “Holy crap, dude, I don’t know….”
What’s wrong, kid? Never done
it with a real man before? His voice
falls, cold and heavy as hail. You want
me wrapped? Do it for me! He pushes
me to my knees, comes around in front
of me. My heart thuds in my chest.
I open the foil pouch, remove
t
he thin latex protection. You ever
seen a ramrod like Dan’s? I shake
my head as I roll the condom down
over it. No, of course you haven’t.
Let’s see just how good you are.
I close my eyes, fight not to gag at
the taste of lubricant, not to choke
on his thrusts against my throat.
I think about Cory, locked up
in juvie until a judge decides
he’s been “rehabilitated.”
Dan decides he’s done with Europe.
He pulls me to my feet, moves behind
me, drapes my back with his chest.
His muscles are thick cables, but his skin
is smooth and cool as snake skin. Check it out.
The little boy likes that. He reaches down
between my thighs. Look how hard he is.
No! How could something so messed
up turn me on? Whatever he does, I won’t ….
His lips brush the back of my neck
and, still folding me into him, he moves
me toward the bed, urges me facedown.
The sheets smell of bleach. I picture
Mom, waiting tables at Denny’s. Jack’s
life insurance put off the foreclosure.
But not forever. And those fucking
bills just keep piling up. Her meager
tips won’t pay them. Something has to.
Down go my boxers. Oh my. What
a sweet little bottom. Dan’s hands,
moving over my skin, are soft,
and when he lowers himself over me,
a cloud of cloves and apple sinks
around me. Reminds me of … Ronnie.
God I love her. She is my spark
of sanity. My light against the darkness,
closing in. She knows things are bad,
but not how bad. If she even suspected …
this. What I’m doing. What I’ve already
done, she’d never speak to me again.
Dan is in for a real treat, isn’t he?
He presses up against me. I brace
and he pauses. Do you think it will hurt?
Let’s see. He pushes, but only a little.
A test. Oh yes, I’m afraid it might.
And after Dan, nothing else will do.
I Bite Down
On a strange metal taste—a metal
taste of emotions. An odd blend of fear
and …. excitement For some fucked-up
reason, I’m excited. I can’t want
this! Adrenaline firecrackers through
my body. Blood pulses in my temples.
You make Dan happy now, hear?
Pain! Oh my God! Nothing
has ever hurt like this. I tense, beg
him to stop. But he doesn’t stop.