In Pieces

by Alexa Land

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn,” he muttered. Then he said, “Well, after all that time, maybe prostitution doesn’t seem like a big deal to you anymore. Maybe it seems normal. So maybe you’ve stopped looking for alternatives.”

  “Believe me,” I said, “it hardly seems normal.” On some level though, it was true that I had gotten used to being a prostitute. I’d learned to accept the negative aspects of my job, I’d adapted to them. When I was first on my own, I’d tried so hard to figure out other ways to support myself, but I didn’t look for alternatives anymore. What I did instead was work hard in school, trying to build a future that didn’t include selling myself.

  Hunter sighed and said, “Babe, I don’t know what to tell you. Apparently you’re not going to stop turning tricks, and yet you want this guy. I don’t have a solution for you.”

  “I know. I don’t have a solution either.” I sighed and rolled out of bed, heading toward the shower. “So, to go back to your original subject, can you meet me on the Sutherlin campus in an hour? We should be able to get in a couple solid hours of studio time before this afternoon.”

  “Sure. What’s this afternoon?”

  “I have several jobs, including two with new clients. That’s not my favorite thing. My regulars may be a bunch of douchebags, but at least they’re a known commodity.”

  “See, that’s the nice thing about porn. There’s not that unknown factor. I know exactly who’s going to be fucking me, and I know it’s safe, supervised. I said it before and I’ll say it again: you should come and work with me.”

  “It’s not really a solution, Hunter.” I hadn’t bothered to explain my goal of not having my current mistakes follow me into the future, because I didn’t want to insult him.

  “Yeah ok, maybe not.”

  At least my afternoon started with a regular, a nice guy who bought me for an hour a week and always spent half our time together holding me and kissing me before we had sex. We always met in his apartment (this one was actually single), and he never did anything to hurt me. It wasn’t true that all my clients were douchebags, I just tended to lump them all together.

  But after that session, I had to steel myself for something I absolutely hated. I was meeting with Larry and Doc, the two men that ran my escort service. I needed to collect my pay from before my vacation (always cash in an envelope) and was also picking up a key to a hotel room. One of today’s new clients had reserved a room ahead of time in an upscale hotel, and wanted me waiting naked in bed for him.

  The problem with going and seeing Larry and Doc was the terms of my employment agreement. I’d taken this job right after I’d been drugged and brutalized, fresh out of the hospital. I’d been desperate to get off the streets, so I probably would have agreed to anything they asked. What I’d agreed to was letting each of them fuck me twice a month.

  This shouldn’t have been a big deal. I was fucked day in and day out by all kinds of men. And Larry was ok, it didn’t bother me that I had to sleep with him. He was just an average guy in his late fifties with fairly straightforward needs. Doc, though, was another story. There was something really creepy about him, in addition to the fact that he was a straight-up pervert. The rumor among the working boys was that Doc had at one time been a real M.D., but that he’d gotten kicked out of the medical profession for sexually molesting his patients. I found that really easy to believe.

  Their office was in a nondescript building housing accountants and other mundane businesses. The sign on the door said SJC Enterprises, and the front room was a bland reception area with two desks that Larry and Doc used, a sitting area, and a couple potted plants. But there was a second room to their offices as well. Behind the perfectly ordinary front office, Doc had set up a combination doctor’s office/torture chamber, the centerpiece of which was a big examination chair with stirrups, like those used for gynecological exams. Only this one included leather straps to hold you in place.

  When I got to their office, I locked the door behind me as usual, and Larry said, “Hello there, Austin! How are you, son?”

  “Fine thank you, sir. How are you?” I was already stripping myself, folding my clothes and putting them in a neat pile on the couch by the door.

  “I’m well, thanks. We missed you over winter vacation. Did you have a nice Christmas?”

  “Yes sir, thank you for asking.”

  Doc came in from the back room then and said, “Ah there’s my favorite employee.” He sat on the edge of his partner’s desk and watched me undress, rubbing himself through his pants. “I got everything all set up in back for your health checkup, Austin. Your next client isn’t expecting you for a couple hours, so we’ll be able to have a nice, long exam.” I fought back a shudder as I crossed the room to them and got on my knees.

  I was shaking as I left the office. Doc had made sure to keep me as long as possible, even giving me money for a cab so he could keep me an extra few minutes before sending me off to meet my next client. I desperately wanted to go home and shower, then get in bed and stay there for two or three days. But I still had two more clients to get through before this day was over.

  I pulled on my big sweatshirt before entering the lobby of the upscale hotel near the Embarcadero. I hated places like this, they made me feel so self-conscious. I was forever worried about being identified as a hooker and kicked out by security – because that had, of course, happened to me more than once, and it was always incredibly humiliating. I kept my head down and moved as quickly as I could without attracting attention, the key card already in my hand.

  The card gave me access to the elevator, and I rode to the twelfth floor. When I let myself into the hotel room, I checked the time on the clock by the bed. I had only minutes to spare before the client was due to arrive. Doc really had kept me as long as he possibly could.

  After undressing quickly, I grabbed a small bottle of lube and a couple condoms from my pack and hurried to the bed. I tucked the supplies under a pillow and got on my hands and knees facing away from the door, as instructed. Please let this client be vanilla. I fought to control a tremor in my right leg. My body was already so depleted, and I was emotionally raw. If this next client was rough with me, I didn’t know how I’d handle it.

  After just a couple minutes, the hotel room door clicked open behind me. I didn’t turn around, I’d been told not to. Fear coursed through me. I hated this unknown factor. The man’s footsteps were muffled on the carpeting as he crossed the room to me. I held back a flinch as his hand caressed my butt, and then slid between my legs and fondled my genitals. He was wasting no time.

  “This is such a beautiful sight,” the man said, his hand closing around my balls. “Even better than I’d imagined.”

  The voice was familiar.

  Chapter Ten

  I disobeyed orders by looking over my shoulder. Ian Tremont smiled down at me as panic shot through me.

  “Hi Christopher. Or is it Austin, since you’re on the clock? You know, it was very frustrating to find out that the boy that shot me down in my gallery was actually a whore. Why didn’t you just put out like a good boy and save me the distastefulness of actually having to pay to fuck you?”

  “How did you find out I was a prostitute?” My voice sounded so small.

  “Oh, it wasn’t hard. My family keeps a private investigator on the payroll, we like to know who we’re working with.” I swung off the bed, putting the mattress between us. His voice was low, dangerous, when he said, “Now, did I say you could get up? Get back on your knees, Christopher.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “No,” I repeated. “I’m not going to do this. I said no at the gallery and I meant it. I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “You’re bought and paid for, boy,” Ian hissed. “Now get back on your fucking knees.” His eyes were so cold, so cruel, his posture menacing.

  I rushed across the room and grabbed my clothes and backpack, hugging them to my chest. “I’ll make sur
e the agency gives you a full refund. But I am not doing this.” Even though I was naked, I started to head for the door.

  Ian stalked toward me and yelled, “If you go out that door, your career as a painter is over! Do you hear me, you fucking whore? Not only are you out of the new artists show, but I will see to it that you’re blackballed in the art community!” I grabbed the door handle, and he yelled, “If you leave before I’m through with you, you will be so fucking sorry!”

  I didn’t even think about it, I just bolted from the room. A middle-aged couple stared at me as I ran naked down the hallway, anger and shame burning in me. Finally I got to the fire exit and burst through the door. I was afraid Ian might follow me, so instead of running down as he would expect me to, I ran up two flights of stairs. Only then did I dress myself, my hands shaking so violently I could barely get my clothes on.

  I needed a few minutes to pull myself together, and curled up in a little ball on the cold concrete landing, hugging my knees to my chest tightly. I’d been stupid to run, and knew it was going to cost me – maybe my entire career. But I had felt so betrayed by Ian. I’d liked him and trusted him, and thought he respected me as a person and an artist. For him to then turn around and have me investigated, to buy me and bring me to a hotel, after I told him I wouldn’t sleep with him? That hurt me and infuriated me in equal measure.

  I stayed in the stairwell for a while, wanting to make sure Ian was long gone by the time I emerged. Finally, I pushed myself to my feet and took a few deep breaths to steady myself. I had one more appointment today. Just one. Then I could go home.

  After riding the bus across town, I tried to put Ian out of my mind as I knocked on the door to the cheap motel room. The guy who opened the door was big and burly with buzzed off hair, a tight black t-shirt and an ugly smirk. He stepped aside, and when I came into the room I saw there were two more beefy alpha types waiting inside. Oh God, it was going to be a gang bang, probably a brutal one by the look of these guys. A little tremor went through me, but I fought to conceal it.

  “Hi there, sweetheart,” the man said. “So tell me, what do I get to do to you for the money I paid?”

  My voice sounded thin to me as I said quietly, “Anything you want, as long as you wear a condom. Gang bangs cost extra, though.”

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Austin.” The lie was effortless. I studied the filthy, worn out carpeting, clutching the strap of my backpack tightly.

  “Well Austin, the good news is, this isn’t a gang bang,” the man said as he pulled a pair of cuffs from the back of his waistband. “The bad news is, you’re under arrest.” He chuckled a little and added, “Or maybe it’s bad news either way. Maybe you were looking forward to taking a bunch of dicks up your ass. Hmm?”

  Panic flooded me, and without even thinking about it I whirled around and flailed for the door knob. The man’s big hand shot out and grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt, which tore right down to the hem as he whipped me around and slammed me against the motel room wall. I cried out as my cheekbone and mouth impacted, tasting blood and feeling it run down my chin as my lower lip split open.

  He wrenched my arm painfully behind my back and said, “Really? You thought you could run? How fucking stupid are you?” A cold metal cuff was snapped onto my wrist, and he began to recite my Miranda rights. The amusement in his voice was unmistakable.

  This can’t be happening.

  It felt like my entire life was unraveling. I was put into the back of a police van, and then I sat there at least a couple hours. Every twenty minutes or so, the doors opened and another boy was loaded into the van with me, his cuffs fastened to the metal bench like mine had been. I was miserable and shivering, my thin, torn t-shirt useless against the cold, and I was scared out of my mind.

  I tried to calm down, tried to think. Who could I call to bail me out? I wished to God Charlie was in the country. He would have helped me, but no way was I going to bring this shit into his honeymoon. There was Hunter, but this was a hell of a lot to ask of a very new friend. Mrs. Dombruso? She’d bail me out, but I’d be so ashamed to have her find out I was a prostitute. Kieran also might have bailed me out, but he was the very last person I wanted to see me like this, and I hoped to God he didn’t work wherever I was being taken.

  Finally we were driven across town, then led from the van and brought into the police station single file, hands cuffed behind our backs. We were deposited on wooden benches along one side of a big room full of desks, and as I fought back my panic, I looked around me. Eight other boys had been brought in with me, and there were already about a dozen young men and women on the benches when we arrived. Some of the younger ones were in tears, while others were trying to appear indifferent. I didn’t recognize any of them, but our clothes made it pretty clear we were all in the same line of work.

  Suddenly, a commotion across the room caught everyone’s attention. Larry and Doc were being led in, both handcuffed, and Doc was absolutely furious, his face red, his voice raised. He was yelling about his constitutional rights and about suing the entire police force. An older woman was being led in with them. I knew she ran one of the other big escort services in town, though her name escaped me. This had obviously been a major sting operation, and I wondered if more agencies had been targeted besides those two.

  A few police officers were watching this spectacle, and obviously all of this was highly entertaining to them. They joked and laughed, leaning against a couple of the desks. Callous bunch of assholes. What could they possibly find funny about any of this?

  I pressed my eyes shut for a few moments and took a deep breath. I felt like throwing up, and desperately wanted to wake up from this nightmare. More than anything, I just wanted to go home.

  And then this entire terrible situation got so much worse. I glanced up, and locked eyes with a police officer that had just come into the room. Oh God, no. Please, no.

  Kieran stood rooted in place, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. We just stared at each other for one very long moment across the sea of desks. It felt like time stopped moving, both of us suspended there.

  In the next instant, Doc went completely ballistic. He kicked over a chair, yelling at the top of his lungs, and all the officers that had been watching the proceedings like it was their favorite TV show snapped into action, rushing to restrain him. Doc managed to kick one of them in the balls before three more officers took him down, face-planting him onto the linoleum.

  I’d been so distracted by the pandemonium that the hand grabbing my arm startled me. I looked up at Kieran as he pulled me to my feet without a word and marched me to the back of the station. Along the way, we passed a big pile of bags and purses that had been heaped on one of the desks, and he snatched up my backpack, the one with the big sunburst drawn on it, without breaking his stride. He led me down a long hallway, pushed open a door marked ‘emergency exit’ and dragged me out into a little alley.

  “Kieran, what are you doing?” He unlocked the cuffs around my wrists, and when my hands were free I turned to stare at him. “But you could lose your job.” My voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “Go,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Get out of here.” He thrust my backpack at me and ducked back into the station, the heavy door swinging shut behind him.

  I stared at the closed door for a long moment, completely stunned. And then I dropped to my knees and unzipped my backpack with hands that were shaking violently, my heart racing. I took out my big hooded sweatshirt, put it on over the torn t-shirt and pulled the hood up over my hair, then quickly checked for my ID. It was still in the pack. I zipped the backpack and slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the alley at a steady, unhurried pace. I waited until I was a full two blocks from the police station before I started sprinting.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’d never been so happy to be home in all my life. I shucked my clothes on the way to the bathroom, and stood in the shower until every drop of hot wate
r was used up. Then I got dressed in layer after layer of clothes, capping it all off with Kieran’s big fisherman sweater. His pleasant scent enveloped me, providing as much comfort as the sweater itself.

  God, Kieran. Why had he helped me? I was so grateful, but it also made me sad that he’d risked his job for me. He’d done something that I was sure must be completely out of character. And he’d done it right after discovering that I was a whore. I hoped to God that his temporary lapse in judgment wouldn’t end up costing him his career.

  I climbed in bed, wrapping myself up tightly and pulling the blankets over my head, leaving only a tiny opening to breathe through. My body trembled as all of the adrenaline from this evening drained away.

  After a while, I started mulling over some practical issues, like what I was going to do to support myself. The escort service was obviously out of business, probably some of the others in town had been shut down tonight as well. If I couldn’t find a job with another agency I’d have to go back to working the street, a proposition that filled me with dread. I knew all too well how dangerous that was. Plus, with the current crackdown on prostitution, there was a very good chance I’d wind up right back in jail if I did that. I couldn’t really see any alternatives, though.

  And God, then there was the thing with Ian. I wondered if he’d make good on his threat to blackball me in the art community. If he was serious about that, then my career as an artist was over before it had even begun. If I couldn’t get a gallery to represent me, what was left? Selling my paintings at coffee houses for a few bucks? Ok, sure, that would still allow me paint, but I’d had much higher aspirations, such big dreams about making art that mattered and being respected for it. That dream was all I’d had to hold on to.

  I remembered suddenly that eight of my best paintings were at Tremont’s gallery. I’d have to go tomorrow and get them back, because Ian was probably enough of an asshole to throw them out now that I was no longer in the new artists show. Man, was that going to suck.