by J. C. Allen
“Girl, you alright? Don’t tell me you’re letting it get to you?
“Me?” I asked. “I wasn’t the one that was shot!”
Tara only stared at me with a “bitch, please!”-look. I sighed and nodded, knowing that Tara wasn’t going to let me off the hook so easily—nor should she.
“Yeah. I was nervous, I guess, but it really wasn’t that bad,” I said, gesturing to my own bicep. “He was shot in the arm, but aftergetting shot, he decided to play macho man and continued to push himself still. He lost a ton of blood from just being stupid. Damn good thing the other guys were there.”
“Men,” Tara said with a sigh.
“Men,” I agreed, sighing as well. “But, it’s all good. I’ll let Derek have his boys day with Matty—”
“Think that means somethin’ very different to the two of them!”
“They’ll reach a compromise, I’m sure,” I said with a smirk. “And we’ll have our girls day!”
“Indeed! We taking that sick-as-fuck ride Roost lent you?”
“Yeah, and guess what?” I said, unable to contain my excitement. “It’s my car now.”
“No fucking way!” she said, shaking her head in amazement. “Bitch, do not be fucking with me right now! I swear, you best not be shitting me! I will go and pull a hunt-a-John on your ass if you are!”
“I shit you not, I swear! Derek said he was glad it’d get some love,” I said, smiling at the memory.
I also smiled remembering how much my father would have been happy with it.
In short, I smiled at knowing many of the most important men in my life would have been happy with this new car. As would most men, really, but it meant something especially important to Derek and my father… and Derek’s father, someone I only wished I could’ve met.
“So, yeah,” I said, coming back to the present. “Now the car is mine!”
“Fuck yeah!” Tara laughed, sliding into the passenger side after I unlocked the doors.
“Fuck yeah, indeed!” I said, grinning. “And I know exactly where we are going.”
“Where at?” Tara said.
“Mmm,” I said, deliberately delaying. “Let’s just say recently, I’ve been on a roll surprising people. So I’m going to keep it that way.”
I knew I had made the right choice in where to go when I saw Tara’s face light up as I pulled into a parking spot at the outlet center Derek had taken me a few days ago. I’d already wanted to go back and figured Tara would love the place too. We both wasted no time in beginning to shop.
It occurred to me that we had not had a real girl’s day out together without stress like this… maybe ever? Perhaps after Derek had woken, but not since, and even then, we had the Falcons on our tails. While they were still out there, they seemed much more in a cat-and-mouse game than being out in the open. I had much less fear for our safety than I had when Chuck was wandering the streets, at a minimum.
“Oh damn, girl! Look at this lingerie!” Tara said, pointing to a shop window with multiple mannequins wearing different styles of lingerie and bringing me out of my thoughts. “These would be perfect for the brothel for some of the girls.”
Oh, the memories.
“Are you still working too?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said, glancing over at me as if I asked her a stupid question.
I chewed my lip, finally deciding to ask my friend the question that had been burning in my mind from the moment Derek first offered her the job, from the moment she’d accepted.
“Why’d you decide to stay in the game, Tara? Why keep whoring when you could do anything now?”
I didn’t think it was a dumb question at all. The way Rock and the Falcons had treated us was so poor and so abusive that I would have thought that anyone would have wanted to get the hell out. Even if they liked sex, there was no way they would have liked men paying for sex after what the Falcons did to us.
But, instead, Tara was surprisingly silent for a moment. Not because she didn’t seem to have an answer for me; no, her silence was more of a pitying reflection—she almost seemed more insulted that I couldn’t figure it out for myself. That only made my expression more confusing, which probably made her want to double down on her feelings.
Then, seeming to come to a conclusion, she smiled and offered what could have either been a dismissive or a forgiving shrug.
“You got an ugly look at what hooking is, baby-girl, and I think all those girls with those Black Falcons did,” she said “Hooking is… well, it’s a career of passion. Literally. Like, literally-literally! We sell love.”
She paused to smile at that and nodded. I… guess that made some sort of sense, but how—
“For a time, at least,” Tara continued, interrupting my thoughts with good reason. “It ain’t about standing on a street corner, ain’t about risking your neck and waiting for the next violent sadist to come strolling over, and it sure as shit ain’t about pain.”
Sighing, she leaned back, letting her head lull for a moment so she was aiming her smile to the ceiling, and started speaking again like that so that her words took on a deep, almost deifying effect.
“What your man’s offering me—what the Saviors are offering all those girls and, by extension, what he’s offering the whole damn city—is a way to do it right. Safety and freedom, and a means to ensure the health of not only our girls but also our Johns. It’s going to be what it should be, Eve. A means to provide pleasure without fear or control. And isn’t that something to be proud of, something to want to pursue? To sell pleasure?”
I bit my lip at that, startled to find that not only had her response made sense but that it also made me feel a little guilty for asking. But, even in that guilt-inducing response, I realized that she’d actually danced quite marvelously around my actual question. She’d done a great job of answering what prostitution meant to the Saviors and what it meant for the profession in general.
But to her, specifically?
“Then why are you staying?” I repeated, working to drive the point that it was a personal question and not one of ethics or economics. “Why should it be you?”
Tara shrugged.
“Why shouldn’t it be me?”
The question on her end seemed so simple and so obvious, it felt like I was asking her why she liked to breath oxygen and eat food. It just seemed ingrained her too deeply to comprehend.
“Because… because you’ve suffered for it, too. Like me—like all the other girls—you were hurt and… and…”
“And that was a reflection of what prostitution is with the Black Falcons,” she finished for me, shaking her head. “Not what prostitution should be. I should be the one to do it because I’ve seen what the shit-end of the job looks like. Somebody else, somebody who hasn’t seen that shit, wouldn’t know what to steer clear from.”
Once again, I found myself startled by how much her answer made sense. But, still, I found myself troubled by the idea. I realized how prudish I was sounding, but if there was anyone whom I could have this conversation with and not offend them, it was Tara.
Even if I was beginning to pick up on the fact that she was getting annoyed a bit by this conversation.
“But how can you still be interested? I’d imagine you’d want nothing more to do with… well, all that.”
Tara actually laughed. I had to be careful not to cross too many boundaries here and push too hard, but I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it—and I didn’t run into many things that I couldn’t figure out with some thought and time.
“You’re still fucking Derek—what?—every goddam night, and yet you can stillask me that sort of question? How can a chick who scratches her pussy that frequently ask me why I ain’t applying to the nunnery?”
Now I was getting frustrated, which defeated the whole point of the conversation. There was a world of difference between sex drive and selling yourself for sex, and it bothered me that Tara either couldn’t see the difference or willfully ignored it.
“I didn’t mean the sex part,” I defended, shaking my head. “Of course I love sex. Who doesn’t? I’m sure some but most love it. I meant how can you still be interested in whoring?”
“‘Cause I’m still interested in money, too,” she said with a smirk.
I sighed, annoyed by this response but thankful all the same that I wasn’t finding myself unsettlingly guilt-ridden or awe-inspired this time around. There was something about Tara’s simplistic honesty, her disarmingly straightforward nature, that made it difficult to keep my aggression and aggravation toward her. It was hard to get more basic than “because it pays.”
Except…
“But doesn’t it make you feel…?”
“Make me feel whorish?” she offered, grinning. “Believe it or not, Eve, being a whore makes me feel sexy.”
She kept going, ignoring my surprised look—being a whore made me feel the exact opposite, like I wasn’t sexy, but that my body was a product. Nothing more than what a chicken breast would be on the meal—something with sexual words in it but not actually sexy, meant for consumption only.
“You never had a chance to really ease yourself into it, you know? You got blind-sided into the life, I’m afraid. In your spot, I don’t blame you for hating this life, especially with your brother putting you in it. But me? I was hooking on my own for a while—my own boss, you could say—before the Black Falcons brought me in, and when they did it sounded like a much better gig than it turned out to be. Plus, I was always in it for me. It wasn’t about somebody else’s debt or owing something to someone. I got off lucky—so to speak—in that sense.”
She smiled, this time reassuringly, almost motherly. I think she and I both discovered the split in opinions on it—I had gotten thrown into the life and only saw those in similar circumstances, while Tara got the rare and atypical experience of choosing to become a whore.
It was nice to know our girl’s day out wasn’t going to be ruined by a silly philosophical argument about sex and prostitution.
“But… yeah! I always liked sex—liked getting guys off even when I was a sophomore in high school—and the idea of getting folks to part with their hard-earned dollars by doing something I already enjoyed was… well, I guess you could say it kinda turns me on. People got their fetishes, and at an early age I discovered that being a whore was mine.”
I stared, stunned.
“How… how early you say?”
“I dunno, high school?”
“You’re shitting me,” I said. “High school is when you discovered being a whore was a fetish? As in…”
She shook her head as I trailed off, more or less unable to complete the train of thought that crossed my mind. I also had lost my virginity in high school, but that was a world’s difference than discovering that whoring was a fetish. It was like the difference between discovering you liked basketball at six years old and going onto the same court as pro players at six years old.
“I shit you not, baby-girl. I was sucking dick at an early age, and, this one time, I got a little too excited and started blowing this guy I’d been sorta, kinda seeing right in the middle of the living room at this party we were attending. Wasn’t even drunk or drugged! Nothing! I just, I don’t know, got horny from him rubbing on my ass—I already knew others could see it—and he could see that look in my eye, I’m sure. He leans in real close, lips to my ear and everything, and says, ‘bet you won’t blow me in front of everyone.’”
She smirked and winked. Even though I knew where this story was going, even though it sounded more like a bad porno than real life, I couldn’t help but find myself in shock at the nature of the story.
“And so I did just that. Everyone was shocked, sure, but nobody more than him. I went all out, and everyone was just watching and cheering. Now, that night I’d been a slut in the traditional sense—damn proud one, too—but they were all chanting ‘whore.’”
Tara began to pump her fist in the air and parrot the memory, “SUCK IT! SUCK IT! WHORE! WHORE! WHORE!” the chant becoming a sort of rhythmic sound—one, two; one, two, three—and Tara’s grin grew wider. I found myself glancing around, hoping no one stared at the two girls talking about sucking dick in the middle of a strip mall. Tara couldn’t have cared less, as usual.
“He lasted, like, twenty seconds. Nutted right in my mouth, getting all grunty and shaky and stupid—just like men do whenever they bust a nut. Everyone was just screaming, cheering, and I flashed the room the wad on my tongue before gulping it down.”
“Jeez!” I gasped, offering a nervous chuckle in response to the story. “That’s a bit… extreme.”
That was an understatement. I had never, ever, ever heard of anything so insane, and I almost felt a bit unsettled hearing it.
But, it was Tara. She nodded and offered a shrug, as if saying “it was crazy, but no regrets.”
“Stupid kid doing stupid kid shit, I’ll admit, but it was the night I learned that sex empowered me. I didn’t feel demeaned or used; didn’t even feel embarrassed. Hell, if anybody should’ve been embarrassed it was the guy! Mister ‘Can’t Last More Than Twenty Seconds!’ Can’t remember his name now, but I just remember feeling… strong. I never feel more like a woman than when I get to show off my eroticism and get a guy off.”
She shrugged again and patted my back, and I was glad to note that it didn’t seem to carry any hint of condescension or anything of that sort.
“I’m not saying there aren’t women who regret being in the business—hookers, strippers, porn stars… all of those sorts—but that don’t mean that all of ‘em do. When a guy walks up to me—chooses me—to be the one to make him feel good, and then I’m able to do it for him—maybe even better than anybody else he’s ever had—that makes me feel proud. And, yeah, it makes me feel sexy. And if they’re handing me a wad of bills after the fact, then isn’t that all the better? Fuck the gold stars and the thumbs-up, I’m getting money as a direct reflection of my performance. It’s all so… so hot!”
Tara blushed then, seeming embarrassed by the excitement she was exhibiting, and she leaned back again.
“I can understand that it’s not your thing. I wouldn’t expect it to be. Not after why and how you wound up there. But I also wouldn’t expect you to notunderstand why it would be someone’s thing.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I said, begrudging that, once again, she’d managed to make sense. “And I’m sorry if I came across holier than thou. I definitely didn’t want to do that. I guess it’s just… you know, the way the world views us… well, not us, but…”
“I know what you mean, Eve,” Tara said with a gentle giggle. “And, frankly, I don’t care. People would say that all this, the fact that I like what I do, says something about me. Something negative. They’d say that I was traumatized as a kid or that my daddy must’ve diddled me or that I was rewarded for being slutty or that I just want attention. People always say shit like that. Granted, they say that without knowing what real trauma looks like, or, worse yet, they have trauma of their own and choose drugs or alcohol or something to cope.”
I wondered if this was about to be a reveal of something that she had not yet spoken to me, some secret she kept close to the vest, only now revealed because of the honest conversation we had had.
I should’ve known with Tara that wasn’t going to be quite the case.
“They’d be wrong, though, about all of it. I had a normal childhood. Fought with my old man, sure, but what teenage girl doesn’t. The culprit—the realculprit—is pleasure! I like to feel pleasure and I like to give it. So, yeah, people would say all sorts of awful things about me for liking being a whore, but those same people are afraid to fuck with the lights on. They’re afraid to talk about sex, afraid to admit that they like it, and it throws the whole subject into this fucked-up realm where we are somehow dirty for it; where we should have something to be ashamed of. Literally one of the most natural things our species does… and they’d want me to feel guilty for
not only doing it, but actually making a living off of it, too.”
I actually smirked at that. Damn. Tara was not the type of girl you’d see get A’s in physics and math classes, but she had a kind of intelligence to her those kids would never have.
That I never had until I got thrown into the fire.
“So then, if I may continue to play the devil’s advocate… why not just be a slut—steal boyfriends and husbands from the lights off chicks who’d want to shame you—and get paid to do something else?”
“Stupid fucking question,” she said, but she said it with a smile. “I do it because I can; because doing both is better, ain’t it?”
“Well, put that way… I guess so, huh?”
“Good, then let’s get some fuckin’ lingerie!” she said, grinning wickedly as she led me through the shop.
I had to admit, though I could never go back to a life of being a whore—no matter how many jokes I had made to Derek about it, there was no chance of it—I could see how Tara enjoyed it. That didn’t mean I actually understood it, as some part of me deep inside wondered if she was repressing something that I did not yet see or realize. But at least our conversation made me better able to empathize with her and where she stood on this.
Like I said, she had a form of intellect that your typical nerd didn’t have. And that was very valuable in its own right.
If nothing else, she’d saved my ass already, so I owed it to her to be more open-minded.
We both tried on multiple outfits, sharing jokes about who would look sexier and what Derek and other boys would do if they saw us in our outfits. As we finished shopping for lingerie, we made a stop at the bookstore and I grabbed a few more books, grabbing a few for Tara as well—mostly erotica and other books on sex.
Wanting to also start a conversation that perhaps didn’t sound as harsh and judgmental as our previous one, when we settled in for an afternoon coffee, I asked her about her current life—albeit while makings sure we sat away from other people.
“So, how is the brothel going?” I asked.
“Really great,” Tara said as she flipped through one of the books. “We are booked solid every night and the girls are great, really. If ya ever feel like ya wanna come back, you let me know.”