Held, Pushed, and 22918 (3 Complete Novels)

by Kimberly A Bettes

  We made it back to my house without incident. I heated up some of the leftovers and we managed to eat dinner, although I ate far more than she did. While I ate as though I was hungry—which I was—she ate as though she was stuffed, only picking at her food, nibbling on a green bean here, a small piece of turkey there, and a bite of cranberry sauce that she chewed for far too long.

  Several times I tried to strike up a conversation with her. I started out talking about my lawn business. Since I knew nothing about her, I figured I’d talk about myself and she’d ask questions or make comments, just jump in whenever she felt like it. But that didn’t happen. She only stared at her plate, shuffling food around slowly from one place to another.

  So I thought I’d talk about her. I’d often heard that women loved talking about themselves so I gave it a shot.

  “So, what do you do?”

  Without looking up from her plate, she muttered, “I’m a prostitute.”

  “I know. I meant in your spare time.” Though it wasn’t easy, I managed to keep from reaching across the table and slapping the stupid out of her. Of course she was a prostitute. I knew that. That’s why she was there.

  She shrugged, not even putting much effort into it. “Nothing. I have no spare time.”

  “You hook all day and night, every day?”

  After a hesitation, she replied, “I like to do blow.”

  I let the conversation die, which wasn’t difficult since it never really had a life. I had a feeling that there was nothing she could say that would interest me anyway. She was pathetic, a waste of life and space. Her mere presence was beginning to annoy me. But it was a holiday and I was excited about having sex, so I ignored everything about her that I hated—which was everything—and tried to enjoy the evening.

  In the silence, I couldn’t help but long for a relationship. I wondered what it would be like to have a woman there because she wanted to be instead of because I was paying her. I wanted to know what it was like to come home at the end of a long day to a woman who was waiting for me, dying to share her thoughts with me and engage in actual conversations about things that mattered. I wanted a relationship, a real one. I wanted a girlfriend. I hadn’t even realized it until then, but it was true.

  I was lonely.

  Glancing across the table, I wondered if it would ever happen for me. I had it once but had fucked it all up with my insecurities and fears. Now, an older and somewhat wiser man than I had been back then, I thought I was ready. The only problem was I didn’t know any girls that were suitable girlfriend material.

  No longer glancing occasionally at the whore seated across from me, I stared at her blatantly, wondering if she’d ever had a boyfriend, curious as to what kind of girl she’d been before the streets had claimed her. Was she funny and spirited? Was she a woman of strong convictions, standing firm in her beliefs? Did she like to engage in serious debates over topics such as religion and politics? Was she artistic? Her long fingers suggested she was, but the cocaine had surely erased all aspects of creativity from her mind, replacing it with a dependent mush that craved only one thing. More powder.

  “Hey. Do you…um, do you think you could get me some blow?”

  I watched as she squirmed in her chair, clearly uncomfortable now that her high was wearing off and she found herself nearing sobriety.

  “No. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “I need it. I’m starting to feel bad.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  She dropped her fork, giving up the pretense of eating. Her face took on a different look, one of forced seduction. She stuck out her lips in an effort to make them fuller and poutier, and she let her eyes fall half-closed, trying to give me a lusty come-hither look. It only made her look more pitiful.

  “If you get me some, I’ll rock your world in ways you can’t even imagine.”

  Before I could protest further, her foot slid up the inside of my thigh under the table and came to rest on my crotch.

  I had to admit, that tactic was working. My mind began to race, trying to think of how I would go about getting her some cocaine.

  “Look, I don’t even know where to get it.”

  “I do. I’ll tell you where to go, and while you’re out getting it, I can stay here and take a bath. Get all cleaned up and smelling good for you.”

  I said nothing. All I could think about was everything that could go wrong. If I left her here while I went out, she could rob me blind and be long gone before I got back. But if I made her go with me, I could be walking into a trap. So many things could wrong either way. I wasn’t sure what to do, but when she wiggled her toes against my crotch, the answer became clear.

  With her directions in my mind, I headed out to buy cocaine, leaving her alone in my house. I didn’t want to. I didn’t feel right about it. But I did it anyway, lonely and eager to have at least some sort of company for a while. Plus she’d promised to rock my world.

  After finally tracking down her dealer and convincing him I wasn’t a cop, I bought what she told me to buy and drove home, half expecting to find the front door standing open and all the valuables missing. Instead, I found her naked in the bathtub with her knees pulled up against her chest in a foot of water.

  “Hey,” I said when I walked in. “I got it.”

  She quickly stood, eager to sniff the white powder up her nose.

  After she stepped out of the tub and snatched the cocaine from my hand, I stepped aside, leaning against the wall and watching as she dried her arms and hands, sat on the closed toilet, and began to cut a line on a small mirror she produced from her purse, which lay atop the pile of her clothes on the floor.

  To pretend she didn’t arouse me would be a lie. Having bathed and shampooed her hair, she smelled nice and clean now, the complete opposite of when I’d picked her up and brought her home with me. It was true that pretty much any naked woman turned me on, but it was especially true with this one. Her body was thin and muscular, her movements graceful. She sported small, perky breasts that bobbed this way and that as she used the razor blade to arrange the cocaine on the mirror. And while her ass was small, it was round and taut. The ceiling light shone on her wet skin, causing her to glisten and my heart to race.

  I watched as she put her face to the mirror and inhaled deeply once, twice, not stopping until both of the lines she’d cut were gone. Then she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

  There was no denying my want—my need for her. It was evident by the protrusion in my pants. Still, I somehow managed to wait, ignoring the overwhelming urge to do her right there on the bathroom floor.

  When the high hit, she smiled and lowered her head. Clearly relaxed and happy now, she turned toward me and stood. She stepped over to me, setting the mirror on the counter as she passed it.

  Seeing her like this, it was hard to imagine that she was a hooker. It was so easy to get lost in the fantasy that she was my girlfriend. I had just come home from work and found her taking a bath. Happy to see me, she rushed out of the tub and came to me, eager to please.

  Her lips pushed hard against mine as her tongue slipped into my mouth and twirled around fast, so fast it shocked me.

  Instinctively, I put my hands on the small of her back, pulling her into me, pressing her wet and naked body against mine while her arms went up and wrapped around my neck. This was exactly as I imagined it would be, a girlfriend wanting me, excited to be in my arms.

  Lost in my fantasy, I picked her up and she wrapped her legs around me easily, never taking her lips from mine. From the bathroom, I carried her into my bedroom and laid her on the bed. She sat up and scooted to the edge as I began to undress. After I stepped out of my jeans, I pulled my shirt up and over my head. Before I could get it off, she had me in her mouth.

  I went with it all, still pretending she was my girlfriend, that we lived together happily and loved one another with all our hearts. This was the way it was supposed to be, two people mingling t
ogether because they both wanted to. Almost every sexual encounter I’d ever had was with a prostitute. This felt nothing like any of those other times. This felt real, like she was my girlfriend. Possibly even my wife. That alone was thrilling, adding to the sexual gratification I got from the experience. But in addition to that, the sex was fantastic. Quite possibly the best I’d ever had. It was probably the result of a beautiful mixture of her being high on cocaine and me being lost in a fantasy.

  When it was over, we laid side by side on the bed staring up at the ceiling until our breathing returned to normal. My heart beat heavily in my chest, both from the physical exertion and from the excitement of having her next to me.

  After catching my breath, I rolled onto my side and faced her, drinking her in more thoroughly than I had at dinner. I saw now that what I’d previously thought of as plain was actually an understated beauty, simple perfection.

  Her eyes were closed.

  “Are you asleep?”

  “No,” she replied.

  “What are you thinking?” I wanted to know what was on her mind. I longed for conversation and there was no better time than during post-coital bliss.

  When I posed the question, the answer I expected was something along the lines of ‘I was thinking that you’re the best I’ve ever had’ or maybe ‘I was thinking of doing it again’. I didn’t expect the answer she gave me.

  “Blow.”

  “What?”

  Her head rolled to the side and she looked up at me with eyes half-closed.

  “I was thinking about doing more blow.”

  “You just did some.”

  “That was a while ago. I want more. Have you ever done it?”

  I shook my head no.

  She rolled onto her side, facing me.

  “Will you go get me some more?”

  “No way. I already went and got you some once. I don’t want go out again.”

  She placed her fingers on my chest and slowly moved them down, making her way to my pubic hair. She wrapped her hand around my dick, which instantly sprang to life.

  As she moved her hand up and down, stroking me gently, she begged, “Please. I feel bad without it. When I feel good, you feel good. Don’t you wanna feel good?”

  How could I say no? She literally had me in the palm of her hand. In that moment, I would’ve done anything she asked me to do.

  Once again, I bought cocaine from her guy. I didn’t want to have to go out a third time so I decided to play it safe and buy twice as much as last time. When the deal was done, I drove back home, making sure to obey all the traffic laws. Getting stopped would be bad enough, but to get pulled over with cocaine riding shotgun on the seat beside me would be damn awful.

  I found Candy in my room, still on my bed. She’d dozed off in my absence. My first thought was to let her sleep. That thought was quickly replaced with a small amount of anger. She had me running around all over the city to get her drugs while she slept comfortably in my bed. No. If I couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t sleep.

  “Hey,” I said as I shook her. “Here’s your stuff.”

  She mumbled and groaned before opening her eyes. When she realized where she was and what I was talking about, she sat up and became excited, suddenly wide awake.

  “Far out.” She snatched the cocaine from me and didn’t hesitate to dig into it. Instead of cutting a line, she dipped her index finger into the powder and held it to her nose, sniffing the stuff with a smile.

  I took off my clothes while she got high again. As I crawled onto the bed and took my place beside her, she asked if I wanted some. I refused. Smoking marijuana was one thing. Snorting cocaine was something totally different.

  After she got sufficiently foggy-brained, we had sex again. Out of all the women I’d screwed in my life, she was definitely the best. Cocaine was like an aphrodisiac to her. It drove her wild and tore down any inhibitions she might’ve otherwise had.

  We did it for a long time and in many different ways. Different positions, various speeds. When we were finished, she begged me for more.

  That could only mean one thing. She liked it. And she wouldn’t like it if she didn’t think of me as her boyfriend. So that was it. Our relationship as hooker and john was over. She wasn’t a whore off the street any more. She was my girlfriend, just like I imagined. I had a girlfriend to curl up next to while I slept, to eat dinner and spend time with. Someone who would be waiting for me when I got home at the end of the day. I finally had a woman who couldn’t wait to get her hands on me. A woman who loved me.

  I fell asleep imagining what my life was going to be like now that I had someone to share it with. Hours later, I woke to the sound of change dropping to the floor as Candy rummaged through the pockets of my jeans.

  Sitting up in bed, I asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Was that all you got?”

  “What?” I rubbed my hands over my face to clear away the sleep.

  “I said was that all you got?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Cocaine,” she shouted. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  It was then that I noticed the white smear on her nostril and the empty bag on the nightstand. She must’ve woke up and finished off the rest of it.

  “That’s all I got. It should’ve been plenty. It was twice as much as I bought the first time. Did you use it all?”

  “It wasn’t enough. I need more.” Frustrated that she couldn’t find any more coke in my pants, she let them fall to the floor. With her hands on hips, standing naked in the middle of my bedroom, she said, “You’re gonna have to go get more.”

  “No. I’m not going anywhere except back to sleep.”

  She rushed at me, jumping on the bed and landing on her knees by my side. She put her hands together under her chin as if she was about to pray.

  “Please please please,” she begged. “Please go get more.”

  “No. I’m tired and I’m not going out again. Just go to sleep.”

  “I can’t go to sleep. I need more,” she whined.

  She looked to be on the verge of tears. Suddenly she jerked back the covers and put her head in my lap. She wrapped her mouth around me but I pushed her away.

  “Stop that.” I would’ve never thought I’d turn down a blow job but there I was, doing just that. “Go to sleep.”

  “I can’t. I need some coke.”

  “I think that’s the last thing you need.” I pulled the covers back over me and laid back on the bed, preparing to go back to sleep.

  “So you’re really not gonna get me more coke?”

  “No I’m not.”

  In a huff, she pushed herself off the bed and stormed out of the room. A minute later she returned, half-dressed. As she wrestled with her shirt, trying to turn it right side out, she said, “I just want you to know, you red headed asshole, that you could’ve got laid again. I would’ve let you fuck me all night. But not now.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why? Can’t you figure that out for yourself, or are you too damn stupid? You won’t get me coke, I’m outta here. Besides, your mommy will probably be home soon.”

  I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore both her words and her snide tone. But it was impossible to ignore, especially since she didn’t stop there.

  “I’m going out there to get some coke and find a guy who knows how to show me a good time. One that doesn’t live with his mother or whimper in his sleep or yell when he cums.”

  She was still struggling to find the inside of her shirt when I got out of bed and grabbed the clock radio from the nightstand, jerking the plugin from the wall. She looked up just as I swung the radio, connecting solidly with her left temple. She went down fast, falling backward and landing with a thud on the hardwood floor. A moan escaped her as she brought her hands up to grab her bleeding head.

  Before her hands reached her face I was on h
er, raising the clock high and bringing it down hard against her skull. Over and over, until both the clock and her skull were splintered.

  When I was certain she was dead, I dropped the broken radio but I didn’t get up. I remained on her body, a leg on each side of her hips, panting. Her words echoed in my ears, bouncing around the walls of my mind and pissing me off even more.

  I wanted her alive again so I could kill her once more. Since that wasn’t an option, I did something else. I pounded her bare chest repeatedly with my fists, sometimes hitting the soft cushion of her breasts and other times smacking knuckles against ribs and breast bone, creating satisfying snaps and pops just under her skin as the bones broke from the force of each blow.

  Once I had exhausted my anger, I pushed myself off of her and got dressed. I went to the shed and retrieved a tarpaulin. Upstairs, I placed Candy’s body on one edge of the tarp. After taking the money from her purse, I tossed it on top of her along with her shoes. Then I rolled her body in the tarp and dragged it downstairs and outside, where I hefted it up and into the back of the Ranchero.

  I hated to leave her out there alone in the dark. I still considered her my girlfriend, still wanted to take care of her and be with her.

  Twice I headed into the house, and twice I turned back. Finally, unable to stand the thought of being separated from her, I decided to take Candy back inside the house with me, back to my room.

  After picking up her shirt from the floor, I flopped down on the bed and closed my eyes, putting the shirt to my nose and inhaling her scent.

  Her words were in my head, the mean and hurtful things she’d said about me. But I knew she didn’t mean them. She loved me. Of course she did. She was my girlfriend and she loved me. She’d only said those things out of anger. But once something is said, you can’t take it back. No more than I could take back killing her.

  I rolled onto my side, turning to face the doorway and the puddle of blood that I’d have to clean up later.