I come here and feel like a different person. I'm more open about my sexuality and feel like I'm finding myself. Every time I come here I feel at peace and at home and unafraid. And when I'm home there is a sense of responsibility. I'm grown up but also afraid. Not open about who I am. I hide behind this facade of being "straight". When really I'm queer. I'm queer and not proud because I'm whole family would disown me if they knew. But here I let loose. And finally feel good in my own skin. Even when I'm quiet or I'm at a party and I don't know a single soul. I feel more at home here as a stranger than at home with people who know me.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
More short story ideas
I left the door to my room open knowing that Chris would be following right after me. I took off my faded red kimono and hung it over the bedside lamp, dimming the light just so. Chris was an old fashioned type. He liked the lights dimmed romantically and insisted on bringing his record player and old Nat King Cole albums. Honestly the whole facade of it all was sickening to me. I mean come on lets face it I'm a 23 year old hooker who's been on her own since she was 17 and has a 57 year old Casanova of sorts. Yes. This is my life.
But Chris means well despite his creepy and somehow charming antics just to get it on with a hooker. I settle on the bed, cigarette hanging out of my mouth, legs crossed one over the other, sweat starting to collect on my back from the summer heat. "Dammit Willy!" I say as I ash my cigarette onto the floor, "He's supposed to be getting the air fixed in here soon. Soon. He said that 3 weeks ago. Guess I better not hold my breath huh?" I fix my eyes on Beau who's setting his record player on the worn down boudoir across from the bed. He looks at me in the reflection of the mirror and our eyes meet. He smiles warmly and says, "You know it don' botha me suga. Growin up in Georgia, the heat was ten times worse theya."
His fingers go down the buttons on the front of his black shirt. They are thick and strong. They are man and hard working and for a brief moment they remind me of my fathers hands. I shake my head and exhale another bout of smoke. His shirt slips off and he starts on his jeans. First the button, then the zipper, next he toes off his shoes. His pants come all the way off now and he's left standing in his white briefs and socks. He turns Nat on and then towards me and walks to the right side of the bed, opposite to where I'm sitting. I take one last drag off my smoke and put it out in the ash tray.
Chris sits down and pulls off his socks and briefs too. He's hunched over, the muscles in his back straining. I graze my eyes over him and the way his hair reaches the back of his neck just so and I bet it feels really soft. I clear my throat gently and he sits up a little straighter. I crawl on my knees over to where he is sitting and kneel down behind him. I can see sweat collecting along his hairline. I blow there to cool him off. He shivers. "Come on Chris. What are you waiting for. Let Sugar take care of you huh?" I reach around him and put my hand on his length. It's fully erect and waiting. I stroke him a few times and that does it. He turns around and settles on his back. I climb aboard and go for a ride. His eyes are half way closed the whole time and he makes me do all the work. At least I got Nat to distract me from his heavy breathing.
But Chris means well despite his creepy and somehow charming antics just to get it on with a hooker. I settle on the bed, cigarette hanging out of my mouth, legs crossed one over the other, sweat starting to collect on my back from the summer heat. "Dammit Willy!" I say as I ash my cigarette onto the floor, "He's supposed to be getting the air fixed in here soon. Soon. He said that 3 weeks ago. Guess I better not hold my breath huh?" I fix my eyes on Beau who's setting his record player on the worn down boudoir across from the bed. He looks at me in the reflection of the mirror and our eyes meet. He smiles warmly and says, "You know it don' botha me suga. Growin up in Georgia, the heat was ten times worse theya."
His fingers go down the buttons on the front of his black shirt. They are thick and strong. They are man and hard working and for a brief moment they remind me of my fathers hands. I shake my head and exhale another bout of smoke. His shirt slips off and he starts on his jeans. First the button, then the zipper, next he toes off his shoes. His pants come all the way off now and he's left standing in his white briefs and socks. He turns Nat on and then towards me and walks to the right side of the bed, opposite to where I'm sitting. I take one last drag off my smoke and put it out in the ash tray.
Chris sits down and pulls off his socks and briefs too. He's hunched over, the muscles in his back straining. I graze my eyes over him and the way his hair reaches the back of his neck just so and I bet it feels really soft. I clear my throat gently and he sits up a little straighter. I crawl on my knees over to where he is sitting and kneel down behind him. I can see sweat collecting along his hairline. I blow there to cool him off. He shivers. "Come on Chris. What are you waiting for. Let Sugar take care of you huh?" I reach around him and put my hand on his length. It's fully erect and waiting. I stroke him a few times and that does it. He turns around and settles on his back. I climb aboard and go for a ride. His eyes are half way closed the whole time and he makes me do all the work. At least I got Nat to distract me from his heavy breathing.
Short story ideas
Chris Tucker was a pencil pusher. He sat at a desk all day in dress jeans and pin stripped button up shirts with his graying hair perfectly in place. He did god knows what on a computer for 8 to 10 hours a day and was resentful every second of it. He hated the technological times our country was moving towards and was not afraid to tell people his view on the matter. He was in shape for his age of 57. He wasn't what you'd call a ladies man but he was charming nonetheless.
Sometimes you could hear him flirting with cute young lady who sat behind him at the cubicles. "Chris do you have any more Reese's Pieces?" She would ask him. "No, sorry sugar I'm fresh out. But you Don' need none that anyway. You's sweet enough on yo' own." He winks at her and she blushes slightly. But that was Chris for you. Southern accent strong and captivating. The difference between Chris and most other men was that he was sincere. Charming, sincere, and honest.
Most of the time.
But he was one of my regulars at the Stardust Motel. The buildings and the office were both painted a terrible shade of yellow trimmed in baby blue. The sign was the same and had big royal blue stars on it too. It lay on the edge of a small, dirty town in central California filled with the likes of people like me: strippers, hookers, druggies, pimps, single moms with screaming children. It made me wonder how someone like Chris came across this part of town. I was leaning against the door frame of room 116, keeping an eye on the manager of the place Willy, as I filed my nails when he pulled up in his 1975 Camero. 7 o'clock on the dot same time he had every Friday for the last 8 months.
Willy was nice enough but I still didn't trust him further than I could throw him. He gave me a good deal on room 116 in exchange for 2 good blow jobs a week. Plus it made it so he didn't mind so much the way I made my money. Especially considering he got fringe benefits of it. Willy peeked from behind his Ray-ban knock-offs at the sight of Chris' car pulling up. I rolled my eyes at him and slinked back in my room. "Stupid fool! Still getting jealous for nothing" I complained.
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