Pure – Chapter 1
People look at me differently calling me different names. Slut, whore, hooker, prostitute. That’s all I’ve been hearing. But I deserve that, I deserve it all because that’s what I am . Dressed in knee high boots, mini skirt, and a tight ass spaghetti strap top. My belly button pierced, hair loose, nails painted red. That’s all part of the job, to lure the men in. It’s probably the easiest shit to do if you got the looks but you’re marked, scarred. It makes you feel dirty. I hate it. It’s 10:30pm on Saturday night. I’d already gotten dressed in my skimpiest. My door opens.
“C’mon bitch, time to go.” It’s Stu my boss. That’s what he always calls me. I follow him and close the door behind me. Down the squeaky, rusty, stairs out through the back door. Stu get’s into his pickup. I step outside the cold air hitting my face and all of my bare exposed skin. It’s fucking freezing. But Stu won’t hear that shit. I climb into the passenger seat. Stu starts the truck.
“So tonight’s a good night, all of them fuckers out partying. Drunk, high, and loaded.” He says this without looking at me. “You better not fuck up.”
“I never fuck up.” I tell him “You know that.” That shuts him up. We drive through the dark empty streets of L.A. For a Saturday night it’s damn empty. Stu stops in front of a building covered in graffiti. I can hear some rap song blasting from inside. This is the place to be on a night like tonight. I get out and slam the door. Turn to face the building.
“Pick me up at one” I tell Stu. Then I walk up to the metal doors and into the elevator. The party was up at the top floor. From the moment I walk into that party I have to own it. I have to make all the other sluts jealous and all the men lusting after me. If I don’t then I won’t get shit. The elevator stops. I close my eyes. Work it sky, you can do this inhale, exhale. The doors part open I step out. The smell of pot hits my face hard. I hate that shit. Then I walk again. Walk with confidence. Tell myself I’m the shit and make everyone believe that. I can sense eyes following me as I walk to the back and sit down on an empty sofa, legs crossed. Now I wait, it won’t take long. It doesn’t take two minutes. Someone comes over and sits down next to me.
“Hey baby.” He says handing me a drink. I take it and chug it down feeling the alcohol and whatever shit was in that drink going down my throat.
“Whoa bitch!” he exclaims laughing. He reeks of pot. I look at him licking his lips, eyes bloodshot.
“So how much?” he asks
“How much you got?” I ask him
“Enough for me to get in your pants.” He says sneering. He pulls out his wallet flashing some one hundred dollar bills. I smile.
“Alright then.” I get up “C’mon”.
I take him to one of the bedrooms available there. The only thing in them was a bed. He locks the door turns around and looks at me. Horney bastard. This is the part where I’m not in control anymore. I just follow in his steps. He presses his mouth hard on mine, licking me. Taking my clothes off roughly. He makes me pleasure him, making him hard. Then I just lay down as he gets ready to fuck me. This is where I go numb. I don’t feel him inside me. I don’t feel any pleasure at all. But I hear him grunting and moaning, enjoying it. I don’t know anything about this guy that’s all over me right now. Not even his name. It makes me cringe when I think back to all the times I’ve let this happen to me. To me there’s a difference between getting fucked and making love. Getting fucked I’m numb but making love makes my entire body tingle with pleasure. I’ve only felt like that a few times. With the same guy, who to this day I still love. So while no name is fucking me as hard as he can, I can only think of making love to him. The only reason I can get through this night and all the other nights. Why I face all the shit that gets thrown to me. Why I am who I am today. The only reason is for Justin.
