Womanized

by Nikki Crescent

  I made my way back towards town. On my way, I crept up to houses and peeked into windows, hoping to find another abandoned place. But that December night, I wasn’t so lucky. I saw a number of people sitting down to dinner. I even looked into one window and saw a man fucking his wife, who was tied to the bed with leather straps. It was quite the sight, but I was too cold to stick around and watch.

  I found myself back near the town centre, near that pawnshop, which was closed for the night. So I couldn’t even sell those iPhones if I wanted to—and I still didn’t want to. I was still planning on slipping them back into that farmhouse mailbox on my way back to my hut in the woods come springtime.

  I came upon a motel with a glowing ‘VACANCY’ sign hovering above it. The parking lot was empty and all of the rooms were dark. My legs were trembling uncontrollably now as the cold clutched at my joints and bones. I went to the office building, even just hoping to warm up for a minute if I couldn’t convince the owner to give me a room for the night while I got my shit together.

  The office was empty. There was a little bell on the counter, but I didn’t ring it. I wanted to buy myself some time while I warmed up and came up with a plan. I took a seat on one of the little folding chairs and I stared up at the room rates. The cheapest room they had was sixty bucks per night, which was sixty bucks more than I had. But I found myself wondering, what could I do that was worth sixty bucks? What does a prostitute charge for a handjob? What about a blowjob? And could I realistically offer myself up, the way that I was able to with Kyle? What if the motel owner was a woman? What if he was married? What if he just didn’t find me attractive the way Kyle did?

  My legs finally stopped shaking. The block heater in the corner of the room was loud and ugly, but it was still a miracle as far as I was concerned. I walked right up to it and held my hands close, nearly burning them on the hot metal. Then the back door opened and a man stepped in. He stopped as he noticed me. “Can I help you?” he asked. He had a deep voice, and a grey beard, even though he only looked to be in his early forties.

  “Hi,” I said. My body tensed up suddenly. I tried to think if there was another motel in town—somewhere to go if this plan didn’t work. Maybe I could find Kyle and he would let me stay with him. But how could I find him? I didn’t even own a working phone. What about my parents? Could I go to them? Certainly not in my current state, with makeup on my face and women’s clothing on my body. I had to make this motel work. I had to convince the grey-bearded man to let me stay.

  “So do you want a room or what?” he asked. I could hear his television playing a hockey game in the back room. He probably wanted to get back to it.

  “Well,” I said. “I do need a room. But I, uh, don’t have any money.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, right into my eyes. “You don’t have any money? I’m afraid I can’t give you a room if you don’t have money.”

  “But I have nowhere else to go,” I said. “It’s cold outside.”

  He looked down at my body. “Well you’re clearly not homeless,” he said, probably referring to my almost-new white parka and my clean black leggings—or maybe he was referring to the boots on my legs, which were probably expensive, or the purse over my shoulder, which was probably worth more than the rest of the outfit combined. “Did you run away from home? Maybe you should go back.”

  I bit down on my tongue. “I’m telling you: I don’t have a home. I’ve been staying at this house, but—but I got kicked out,” I said.

  “Using drugs?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” I said. “I just—I overstayed my welcome.”

  “And where did you stay before that?” he asked, leaning over his little counter. He was still looking into my eyes, as if he didn’t fully believe what I was telling him.

  “In the woods,” I said.

  “In the woods?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why were you living in the woods? You don’t look like a girl who has been living in the woods.” He looked down at me again with that judging glare. But I wasn’t even lying to him. I wished that I could think of a lie to make him have a bit of sympathy for me.

  “Please, sir. I just need somewhere to stay for the night. I’ll pay you in some other way. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

  He remained still for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “I see—you’re trying to solicit prostitution. I’m married, you know. I have kids. I don’t hire prostitutes.”

  “Who said that I’m a prostitute?” I said.

  He laughed and shook his head. “I suppose if you wanted a room, you could get a guy to pay for one for you. Just go stand with the girls on Morton Street and ask whoever picks you up to bring you here. I’d appreciate the business.”

  “I’m not a prostitute,” I said.

  “Well this isn’t a woman’s shelter.” I heard the announcer of the hockey game shout ‘Goal!’ “Ah, shit,” the bearded man said. “If there’s nothing else, please get going.” He turned around and walked back into his back room, leaving me with only three options that I could think of:

  Return to my hut in the woods and hope that I don’t die from the cold or hunger.

  Return to my parents’ house, which was just a few blocks away, and hope that they don’t just kick me out and send me off to my hut in the woods to die.

  Take the motel manager’s condescending advice and go down to Morton Street and hope to be picked up and taken somewhere warm.

  Maybe that third option wasn’t so terrible. Not only would I get a warm room, but I would also get some spending money, which could keep me alive for another night or two—maybe even afford me a pair of snow pants, some hefty boots, and some insulated underwear.

  Morton Street wasn’t far away—just a few blocks in the opposite direction from my parents’ house. I’d seen girls standing out there before—and I’d even seen girls being picked up. Maybe someone really would pick me up. Maybe that really was my best bet.

  CHAPTER VI

  Morton Street was one of the streets that I walked down the day Devin and his buddies dressed me up in that little red dress after they stole my bike and my clothes. It was where I got catcalled, and it was where I was standing now, over a year later, once again dressed up like a chick.

  But now it was cold. The arctic air was making my legs shiver, so I kept my body moving. I paced up and down a short strip of sidewalk, making sure not to get too close to the girl on the street corner, who had been giving me dirty looks since the moment I arrived. Maybe I was on her turf—I don’t know.

  I couldn’t believe what she was wearing: a short skirt with nothing underneath, and a little fur vest, leaving her arms and stomach completely exposed to the bitter cold. How was she not dropping dead in front of me? How was she not trembling and clattering her teeth together? I needed to learn her secrets if I was going to spend the next winter out in the woods.

  Across the street was another girl, also wearing very little, also giving me dirty glares, also waiting for a man to pick her up so she could make a living. We weren’t in a big town, so maybe there wasn’t enough work for three prostitutes. Maybe I was stepping on a few toes—but I didn’t have any other choice (at least any other good choices).

  I knew that I could jerk a guy off or suck his dick. I’d already done it twice since leaving my home in the woods, so what was one more time? I just had to be careful not to get into a car with someone who possibly wanted more than just a sucking or a rubbing.

  A car turned onto the street and crept slowly towards us. The other two girls perked up, so I did the same. I winced my face away slightly as his bright headlights scanned over my face. The air suddenly felt colder and thinner, hurting my lungs as I tried to breathe in. I closed my eyes for a moment to compose myself, and when I opened them, that car was pulling up next to me. I looked around and saw the two girls staring at me with narrowed gazes. I looked away quickly, trying my best not to feel guilty. It wasn’t my faul
t that the car’s driver picked me over them. Who’s to say that he would have picked any of them had I not been there?

  The window rolled down and a young man popped his head out. He was maybe only a year or two older than me, wearing a black suit and black sunglasses. “How much?” he said with a hushed voice.

  My stomach groaned. “For what?” I said.

  His eyebrows lowered. “What do you mean, for what?” he said. I could tell that this wasn’t his first time hiring a woman.

  I cleared my throat. “A blowjob is sixty,” I said.

  “Sixty for a blowjob? That’s an expensive blowjob, beautiful. How much for the whole package?”

  The exhaust from his car was making me nauseous—or maybe it was the anxiety making me sick. “I can just do a blowjob,” I said. “But I promise it will feel good.”

  “What kind of whore doesn’t let guys into her puss? I’ve got a big cock, darling. It will feel good—I promise.” He had an intimidating smirk. I could tell that he was tall, even though I could only see his face.

  That nausea grew in my gut. I was starting to feel dizzy. I cleared my throat again, and then I said, “I don’t have a pussy.”

  He paused for a moment. “You’re a trap?”

  I nodded my head, suddenly terrified that he would recognize me from the posters around town. There was a poster just twenty yards away, on a lamppost.

  “Damn. Not my thing—no offense,” he said. “But I’ve got a friend into that sort of thing. Maybe I’ll let him know you’re giving out sixty dollar blowjobs.” He scoffed and then he pulled away from me, stopping at the very underdressed girl at the street corner. She hopped into his car almost immediately, as if he didn’t even have to ask her for her rates.

  Once the car pulled away, I noticed the girl across the street giving me a confused look. She probably thought that I just turned away perfectly good business. But what was I supposed to do? Try to get him into my asshole without him seeing that I had a cock and a ball sack tucked into my panties? I didn’t have an identity. I was a no-name prostitute. He could have killed me and there would never be an investigation—and he seemed like the kind of guy who could have a violent temper.

  So I kept waiting, pacing up and down the block to keep my blood flowing so that my limbs wouldn’t fall off. I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore, and it had been over an hour since there had been even a tickle of feeling in my toes. I started thinking about my parents’ house. I hated the idea of facing them, but I loved the idea of the big fireplace that was in the middle of the living room. I loved the idea of the warm bed that was in my bedroom—assuming my bedroom was even still there. But what if it wasn’t? What if my parents didn’t even live in the house anymore? They often talked about moving—downsizing—and maybe they finally did it after I disappeared. Maybe I was the last bit of motivation they needed to go out and find a smaller house to live in—maybe even in a different town, where they could be far away from the shame of their missing son.

  Another car pulled around the corner and slowed down as it approached. The girl across the road perked up. I did the same, but it was pointless—the car went straight to her. She chatted with the guy for a minute and then she hopped into the passenger seat. The car pulled away, leaving me alone on that street.

  And what was I even thinking? Did I really think that I could find a guy willing to take me to a motel room for a measly blowjob? If a guy wanted a blowjob, he could just hop into his backseat and get it over with. No guy was going to pay my fee plus a motel room fee just to have his cock sucked dry. And was I really willing to risk being beaten or killed? Did I really think that I could keep my cock a secret between my legs? No one was going to pick me up knowing that I was actually a dude.

  Another car came around that corner. It was travelling at a quick pace, as if it was going to drive right by, so I didn’t bother perking up. Then, as it passed, it started to come to a stop. My whole body was illuminated by the red brake lights as the car stopped at the end of the block. It idled there for a moment. Was I supposed to approach? Or was he just stopping to check his phone for directions.

  Suddenly, his white reverse lights came on. The car began to pull back towards me. I stepped away from the curb. I was ready to run. What if it was the sheriff or someone who recognized me as they passed quickly? My heart raced—then the car came to a stop and the window came down.

  It was another young man, wearing a toque and a pair of sunglasses. “You the trap?” he asked with a quiet voice, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear. But there was no one around for miles.

  I nodded my head slowly. Was this the friend of the first man? This man was a bit younger—probably my age. I didn’t actually think the first man was serious when he said that he had a friend. I thought he was just being patronizing, but apparently he was serious.

  “How much?” he asked.

  “That depends on what you want,” I said.

  He was silent for a moment. His face was suddenly a dark shade of red. “I want lots,” he said. “Just tell me how much for the whole night.”

  My stomach turned and my legs wobbled, nearly caving together. “Two hundred,” I said. I had no idea if that was a high number or a low number. The man in the car didn’t reply. He just stared at me with his red face and dark sunglasses. A plume of exhaust rose up in front of my face, making me cough. What did the man mean when he said that he wanted ‘lots’? Did I have ‘lots’ to give? If he were disappointed, what would he do? Would he pay me either way? Would he beat me up and leave me in some ditch on the side of the road?

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Get in the back,” he said. “And stay low. I work around the corner and I don’t want anyone seeing you with me.”

  I hesitated. I could feel the warmth of his car heater and I wanted to warm my bones up badly—but I was starting to think that this was a terrible idea. This man was a complete stranger and I wasn’t a professional whore. He could have been a murderer for all I knew—but he was my last resort. It was either get into his car or walk over to my parents’ house. So I opened up that back door and I took a seat in his warm vehicle. He took off with a small jolt, pulling a U-turn at the end of the block. I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding or my stomach gargling with terrified nausea.

  CHAPTER VII

  We pulled up to that familiar motel. My driver pulled right up to the office and said, “Wait here,” as he got out of the car. “And stay low.”

  So I kept my body scrunched down as low as I could, still watching through the window as he walked up to that office door. He didn’t take his sunglasses—not even while he was ringing the bell and subsequently talking to the bearded man who wouldn’t give me a free room. When the bearded man leaned over to look at the car, my date leaned over to block his view. He really didn’t want anyone to see that we were together. And who could blame him? It was a small town, and he wasn’t just with a prostitute—he was with a tranny prostitute. News like that could potentially spread around a small town in minutes. That kind of gossip could make him lose his job, friendships, relationships, and so much more.

  I ducked down even more when my date turned around and started walking back towards the car. He hopped in the driver’s seat and pulled the car around to the room at the very far end of the motel. Then he turned the car off and looked around. “Don’t get out yet,” he said. He kept his gaze glued to his rear-view mirror, even though there was no one around for blocks. “Okay, I don’t want you to get out of the car until I get the motel room door unlocked. Got it?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He got out and casually walked up to the motel door. He turned the key and opened the door before looking around and then waving at me. I hopped out. “Hurry!” he hushed. So I ran in as quickly as I could. He slipped in after me, closing the door with a slam before rushing over to the window to shut the blinds. He was still wearing those big sunglasses. “I’m sorry—It’s just that I work around here,” he said
again. “I can’t let anyone see me with you. It’s nothing personal.”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  He remained still at the other end of the room, still with those shades on his face, still with dark red cheeks. The room remained silent for a moment, and then he said, “Do you have lingerie on under that coat?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry—I don’t,” I said. “Though my panties are kind of cute.”

  There was another pause. “Let me see,” he said.

  Before even taking off my white parka, I reached down and shimmied my black leggings down to my ankles, exposing my red lacy panties and the bulge of my cock. He stared at my crotch for a moment with his mouth agape. He nodded his head slowly. “Those are nice,” he said.

  My heart skipped a beat. “Do you want to see my cock?” I asked. I assumed that’s why he was hiring me: for the extra appendage I had between my legs.

  So I was surprised when he said, “Not yet. Take off your coat.” I took off my coat. “Do you have tits?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s okay. Leave the sweater on for now. Crawl up on the bed—on all fours.” I followed his command. My joints were still stiff from the frigid cold outside. But my heart was filled with warm hope. If he really paid me the two hundred bucks, that was enough to pay for another three nights at the motel. In that time, I could probably find another client, and maybe I could keep this gig going until the weather started to warm up. I wouldn’t have to face my parents and I wouldn’t have to rise from the dead. All I had to do was suck a few cocks and maybe let a few guys into my asshole.

  “Turn your ass to me,” he said. So I spun myself around so that my ass was facing him. I was expecting him to walk up and feel my tush with his hands. But he just continued to stand on the other side of the room, doing nothing. “Now take your panties off—slowly.” I bit down on my tongue and took a deep breath. Was this worth remaining dead? Was this really better than facing my parents? Was this not the most degrading moment of my life—maybe even worse than when Devin made me wear the dress before stealing my bike and clothes? “But keep your cock tucked forward. I don’t want to see it yet.”