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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007. Please
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The Streetwalker
by Kade Hansson (address withheld)
***
A woman becomes a prostitute by choice for the fun and
excitement and the money. (M+/F, prost)
***
I was surrounded by steam. My body glistened as I
gently slid the shower door open. A cold draft blew on
my smooth skin and I shivered. As my long legs
gracefully stepped out into the bathroom, I grabbed a
towel and gently rubbed my large breasts. I dried my
stomach and buttocks, and then my crotch. Oooh! That
felt wonderful. I longed for sex. I wanted a male body
so badly that I would have lunged upon any man that
entered the room at that moment. I ran the towel up and
down my thighs, and imagined it was a man, about to
fulfill my need.
I let the towel drop to the floor, fully exposing my
silky feminine form. I pranced over to the mirror and
smiled deviously. I plugged in the hair dryer and
switched it on. As it blew my long blond hair in its
warm wind, I dreamed that the warm hands of a lover
were massaging my head. Eventually, bored with my
fantasy, I turned the dryer off and brushed my golden
locks until they were as silky as my skin.
I took a perfume spray and allowed the minuscule
droplets to fall on every curve and crevasse of my
body. My skin was tingling and cool as it soaked up the
droplets, and the sweet aroma filled the room. I
replaced the pack and put my hand behind my head and
pursed my lips. I looked at my reflection in the mirror
and giggled.
I rolled some black sheer pantyhose onto my feet. I
pulled them up, around my knees and onto my thighs.
Finally I pulled them up around my waist. I gave them a
swift jerk and they rode up into my crotch. I hoped
that my smooth dark grey legs looked inviting.
I threaded my legs through a black lycra leotard and
stretched it over my shoulders, pushing my arms into
the sleeves. It was very tight, and followed every
contour of my upper body, exaggerating my breasts.
Finally, I pulled on some highly polished black
stiletto heeled shoes and sat down at the mirror.
I took some powder and carefully patted it onto my
face, bleaching the colour away. I applied some blue
eye shadow to my eyelids and outlined my eyes with dark
blue lines, striving for perfection. I blinked and
smiled. My eyes no longer belonged to me. I took the
lip gloss and painted my lips until they were bright
red, with a lustre that would put sterling silver to
shame. As I fastened some gold earrings to my ear
lobes, I stared at myself in the mirror. How could a
man turn me down, I asked myself. I stood up and
admired myself further.
From my golden hair, down to my polished shoes, I was
as sexy as a woman could be. I was going to have sex,
and I was going to enjoy it. Maybe even make some bucks
at the same time. I put my handbag over my shoulder and
stepped out of the room.
***
It was cold on the street, and I had to try very hard
to stop myself from shivering. I wasn't alone. Others
lined the shadows, with much more experience than me.
They wore very little, as did I. But they seemed much
more resilient to the cold night air.
I put a cigarette to my mouth and inhaled the fumes,
hoping it would make me look more professional. A woman
dressed in a short red dress across the street looked
accusingly at me and I blew smoke in her general
direction. She didn't see me. A man in a grey trench
coat walked up to her and she smiled as she looked up
at him. After a short discussion, the man put his arm
around the woman and they walked back up the street
from where the man had come.
I puffed on my cigarette again, and blew the smoke out
my nostrils. The cold wind made my legs feel numb,
almost like metal rods. Another man walked past me, and
stopped a little way down from me. He had found another
hooker in the darkness. As they walked back past me, I
took one last desperate breath through my almost
exhausted cigarette, before dropping it on the ground.
As I twisted my foot on the butt, another man walked up
and stood about ten metres from me. He looked at me up
and down. I managed a smile. He frowned and turned and
walked away. I began to feel unwanted and ugly. Cold
and alone.
I took another cigarette from my handbag and lit it. I
began to feel better after I put it to my mouth and
took a long drag through it. Eventually, it too was
exhausted, and took its place beside the first on the
pavement. I was about to begin the cycle again when
something warm touched me on the shoulder. I turned
quickly and was greeted by the silhouette of a tall
man. Somehow, as I studied him in the dim light, he
didn't seem like the kind of guy you'd expect to find
late at night in this part of town.
"Sorry if I startled you," he said, gently.
"It wasn't your fault," I said, awkwardly. I looked
into his eyes and tried to see who was behind them.
They were sad eyes. Worried eyes. I looked to the
ground, and we didn't say anything for a few minutes.
"I...I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do." he said,
nervously.
"Why don't you take me to your place, sir." I
suggested, resting my head on his chest. He put his arm
around me and shook his head.
"I can't. Is there somewhere else we can go?" he asked
shyly.
"My place," I replied, leaving his embrace and walking
back up the street. The man didn't move for a while. I
turned back. He was looking at the ground. Ashamed? He
looked up with his sad face and I smiled thoughtfully.
Without changing expression he walked up beside me and
put his arm around me again.
"Lead the way," he said, solemnly. We plodded off into
the darkness.
***
I pushed my apartment door open and walked inside. It
was warm, and quite homely. I began to wonder why I had
left it that night. Dim green light filtered in from
one of the front windows. It was from a large neon sign
outside the window. I paused on the way to the bedroom.
I turned and saw the man taking off his coat and
folding it over the back of a chair. He was a big man,
and very sexy.
I began to remember why I had gone out on the street. I
had gone out, not as a lonely girl looking for some
company, but a whore looking for a man to go to bed
with. I felt guilty, but another part of my mind urged
me to continue to live out my fantasy. I had always
wanted to have a one night stand. To simply make love.
To forget about the complexities of relationships.
Continuing into the dark bedroom, I threw my handbag on
a chair and pulled my arms out of the sleeves of the
leotard. I slid it off my body, kicking off my high-
heels. My breasts had escaped their cruel envelope, and
I began to feel less constricted and more free to move.
As I was carefully removing the pantyhose, the man
entered the room.
He was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest. I
smiled at him and got into bed. I lay there, with my
hands folded on the covers as I watched him pull down
his trousers. It all seemed to be progressing
unbearably slowly. I continued to watch him remove his
shoes and socks, and finally pull down his underpants.
I grinned broadly and gestured for him to come to me.
He reluctantly moved forward. I could see this wasn't
going to be easy.
I threw the sheets back and stood up on the bed, and
started to sway my hips. I pursed my lips and blew him
a kiss. He smiled cautiously and got up on the bed with
me. I had no time for his reluctance, so I pulled him
down on me and squeezed him against my breasts. He
groaned and I gasped. His penis began to stiffen and I
began to feel light-headed. He started kissing me from
head to toe and I began to feel wanted again.
The time came, and I felt his penis plunge deeply into
my vagina. In one swift, powerful stroke, I knew the
fantasy was real. It was absolutely and utterly
wonderful. I felt as if my consciousness had been flung
into the furthest reaches of the universe. His semen
flooded into my undulating body. I closed my eyes, my
other senses immediately becoming intensely acute. Time
stood still, and we moaned and groaned happily until
exhaustion would not allow our mutual joy to continue.
He slowly withdrew his penis and I began to relax my
tired muscles. He rolled onto the bed beside me and I
snuggled up against him.
Part of me felt better. The urges that had haunted me
for months were beginning to ebb away. As I lay there,
I began to feel happy for the first time in ages. I
began to wonder whether I was now destined to become a
streetwalker for life. I had no financial reason to be,
although some extra money never hurt anyone. Then
again, I imagined that I could make more money as a
whore than as a doctor's receptionist.
Originally, I wanted just to have a one night stand --
once. But, I had enjoyed myself so much that I was
seriously contemplating doing it regularly. But what if
someone found out about my secret life? I'd lose my
job. My friends. My family. My conscience began to
argue.
Was there something wrong with me? Is it wrong to have
sex outside of well established relationships? To go a
step further, and make money from it? A moral dilemma.
Perhaps, already, I was hooked on being a hooker. With
that thought, I drifted off to sleep.
***
I awoke to find two hundred dollars on the pillow
beside me. The man had gone. I didn't even know his
name. Guilt and anger began to overcome me. I got up
and hastily stuffed the money in my purse and lit a
cigarette. As I smoked it, I looked out the window at
the street below. It seemed empty and quiet. For a
second, I thought that perhaps I was the only one that
existed.
A knock on the door startled me. I swung round and
called out, "Just a minute." I quickly slipped into a
nightie and wrapped myself in a dressing gown. Moving
over to the door, I opened it. It was Michelle, a
girlfriend who lived downstairs from me.
"Hi, Angie," she said briskly, coming in and sitting at
the dining table. I shut the door behind her.
"Hi, Michelle," I said groggily, puffing on my
cigarette. I went over to the bench and turned the
kettle on. I got out the cups and shovelled some coffee
and sugar into them.
"Who is he?" she asked.
"Who is who?"
"The guy who came out a few minutes ago. Who is he?"
I hesitated. I was to ashamed to tell the truth. Maybe
I could dodge it.
"Just a friend," I said coolly, putting the cigarette
to my mouth. I watched a grin form on her face.
"Yeah, right. What did you two get up to last night?"
asked Michelle.
I quickly looked away and took another breath through
my cigarette.
"This and that," I replied. The kettle began whistling
and I promptly turned it off.
"Oh I see..." said Michelle. I went to get the milk
from the refrigerator. "So how was he?"
It was plain that she knew what happened. She could
read me like a book. It scared me. Perhaps she knew
about the whole affair, but just wanted to hear it from
me. I could tell her a partial truth. After all, she
was a good friend.
"He was all right," I replied, with a smile. I poured
the coffee and brought the cups to the table.
"All Right?" she enquired, raising an eyebrow. She took
a sip of her coffee. I took a final puff of my
cigarette and butted it in the ashtray.
"Okay. He was terrific," I confessed. There was no
keeping feelings from Michelle. I held the coffee cup
to my mouth.
"Terrific, eh? So who is he, really?"
"Er.... Simon. We're old friends," I replied hastily.
"Old friends, indeed. Tell me the truth, Angela," said
Michelle. She was losing her patience. The smile had
disappeared from her face. I put both hands around my
mug and put it to my face, letting the steam warm my
face.
"Okay," I finally conceded. "I don't even know the
guy."
Michelle looked shocked, but she seemed much less
shocked than I expected. She must have already guessed.
"You're kidding."
"Not at all. A one night stand. I don't even know his
name."
There was silence for a few minutes. Michelle stared
into her coffee, periodically sipping it. Well, I'd
told her most of the truth now. But, she could go
deeper yet. I lit another cigarette.
"You're becoming a chain-smoker. You know that?" said
Michelle quietly. She didn't look at me. I took a long
breath through the cigarette and turned to blow the
smoke away from Michelle. She despised smoking.
"Yeah. Things are getting me down." Michelle looked up
at me. She stared at me, as if trying to find out what
I was thinking.
"Getting you down enough to turn you into a slut?"
"I am not a slut!" I exclaimed, defensively.
"Whore. Streetwalker. Hooker. Call it what you will. I
saw you leave last night, Angie." I finished my coffee
and took another puff on my cigarette. I stared at the
table.
"You don't understand. I only wanted someone to keep me
warm."
"Bullshit. Face it, Angela Harper, you wanted sex so
bad you went out on the streets to get it," yelled
Michelle, angrily. My guilt began to swell. Tears
formed in my eyes and I put the cigarette to my mouth
again.
"My life's a bore, Michelle. A fucking bore!" I cried.
Michelle got up and walked over to me. She put her arm
around me.
"It is not a bore. You just made a mistake, that's all.
Things got on top of you," she said softly.
"Was it a mistake, Michelle? You know what?" I asked,
puffing on my cigarette. "I enjoyed myself so much, I'm
seriously thinking of taking up prostitution full-
time."
Michelle stood up and stared accusingly at me. "You've
changed, Angie. What happened to the kind and happy
girl I used to know?"
"The kind and happy girl got sick and tired of being
kind and happy, and boring. There's more to life than
being a fucking receptionist."
"And there's more to life than being a fucking whore.
At least being a receptionist is respectable. How many
respectable prostitutes have you heard of, eh?"
"All Right, All Right! I won't become a prostitute," I
sobbed. "But I enjoyed it, Michelle."
"I probably would've too. But it's not... well, it's
not right." I butted the cigarette and looked up at
Michelle and sighed.
"I know its not. But last night was so... wonderful, I
can't help feeling regretful that it was probably the
first and last time I'll ever have sex," I said.
"The first time?" asked Michelle. "You mean you haven't
been to bed with a guy before. You're almost 28,
Angie!"
"I was desperate. I was beginning to think there was
something wrong with me. Nobody has ever even asked me
out, let alone invited me to bed," I explained.
Michelle looked stunned. She sat back in her chair.
"I had no idea," said Michelle. "Why didn't you tell
me?"
"Why should I tell you? My private life is really none
of your business."
"And it's none of your business either, by the sound of
it," she commented. She paused. "Perhaps you should see
a shrink."
"What on earth for?"
"You're contemplating being a full-time prostitute."
"I wouldn't really."
"You sounded pretty sure a minute ago."
I looked out the window. "Well, I'm not. I'm confused.
I want sex, Michelle. Is that wrong."
"Not at all. Everyone wants sex. But, going to the
streets to get it is wrong."
"Why? People have done it for centuries."
"Exactly. People also kept slaves for centuries. We
were treated like dirt for centuries. Don't you see?"
"But that doesn't make prostitution wrong, does it?"
"I think you're talking yourself back into it."
I turned back to Michelle. "Don't you want sex?"
"Yes. But not for the sake of it. I want someone to be
with, not just to have sex with and forget about it."
"Come with me. I'll show you what it's like," I
suggested.
Michelle looked appalled. "You've got to be joking. I
thought I'd gotten through!"
I slammed my fists on the table. "You're not seeing it
from my perspective," I yelled. "Come with me next
Saturday, and you'll find out just how wonderful sex
without obligation is."
Michelle turned away. What was going through her mind.
Would she give me a chance? Perhaps I really was losing
my sanity. It was several minutes later that Michelle
finally spoke.
"I'll do it," she said, quietly. "But for you. Not for
me."
"Oh, there'll be something in it for you. And not only
a man either," I said, taking the two hundred dollars
and waving it in the air.
"For one night?" she asked.
"For one night," I replied. I smiled and Michelle
managed a half-smile.
***
I admired Michelle in the mirror. Her long black hair
came down past her shoulders, and the exceedingly short
red dress followed her body as close at the black one I
wore followed mine. We both wore red lip gloss, purple
eye shadow and black mascara. Michelle fastened her
diamond earrings as I put her pearl necklace around her
neck.
"I'm not sure about this," said Michelle, threading her
belt round her waist. I smiled.
"Don't worry, Michelle. I'll be with you," I said, as
she buckled the belt. I felt like I was doing the right
thing. But, perhaps I shouldn't bring Michelle into my
fantasy world.
Michelle smiled at the mirror as she put her hands on
her hips. "What do you think?"
"Not bad."
"Not bad? Who could resist me?" laughed Michelle.
"Many people. It's a jungle out there, Michelle."
"Look, Angie. If you can get laid, so can I," she
retorted.
"That's the spirit. Now tonight, I'm taking a jacket,"
I said, walking into my bedroom.
"You better get one for me too," called Michelle. I
picked two jackets out of the wardrobe. When I
returned, Michelle was shaking at the front door. I put
the jacket around her and then put mine on.
"A bit cold is it? Wait 'til were outside."
"But we shouldn't be cold for long should we?" asked
Michelle, with a wry grin. I opened the door and
Michelle stepped out. I followed and shut the door
behind her.
"I don't know. Business may be slow tonight," I
chuckled. We made our way down the stairs and into the
street. In a few minutes, the cold air had numbed my
legs again. The sheer pantyhose offered almost no
protection to the cold night air.
"You're n-not wrong about the c-c-cold," commented
Michelle as we plodded down the street. "What if
someone picks you up first?"
"I'll make him go with you," I replied. We walked
several blocks before Michelle spoke again.
"You know what, Angie?"
"What?"
"I'm a bit excited."
"Really?" I asked, knowingly. We laughed as we walked
into the night. I began to feel a little better. Maybe
Michelle was beginning to see things my way.
Finally, we reached our destination. Once again, I was
amongst professionals. Michelle and I found a wall in
the shadows to lean against. I pulled out a cigarette
and lit it. As I took the first puff, Michelle gave a
sigh. I guessed she was disapproving of my habit again.
"What's it really like?" asked Michelle. I inhaled
another breath through my cigarette. The end glowed as
the oxygen aided the combustion.
"You'll find out. But, I'll say this -- it's
addictive," I laughed, blowing smoke through my red
lips. Michelle gave a chuckle too. We didn't say
anything else for several minutes. I took a last drag
on my cigarette and tossed it on the ground, stepping
on it with my foot.
"It's not rough is it?" asked Michelle, worriedly.
"We'll it wasn't for me. But, hey. Getting it rough is
probably a bit more fun."
"I don't know, Angie."
Michelle was having second thoughts. The sooner a guy
showed up, the better. As if answering a prayer, a man
walked up to us. He examined us, as if we were a
commodity. In a way I suppose we were. He smiled at
Michelle, and Michelle smiled back. But her smile
seemed somewhat fraudulent. She was hiding her
feelings.
"How much, babe?" he asked, leaning against a pole.
Michelle hesitated.
"Two hundred."
The guy whistled in amazement. "A bit steep. But, I'm
sure we can negotiate. What do you say?"
Michelle smiled, for real this time. She snuggled up to
him. He put his arm around her and walked off into the
darkness. She was gone. I began to feel guilty again. I
had turned my best friend into a hooker. I began to
question whether I had done the right thing. I lit
another cigarette and waited.
***
I awoke early the next morning, still in the black
dress. The night had been miserable. I had stood in the
cold until just after 2am, before making my way home.
Every muscle ached and I felt stiff and nauseous as I
lay on my bed, sun shining in my eyes. No-one had taken
me home. No-one had made love to me. I sat up and
immediately felt worse. A sickening feeling welled up
from my stomach, and I quickly ran to the toilet.
I vomited for several minutes, and an awful taste
filled in my mouth. I flushed the toilet and got
shakily to my feet. I wasn't feeling well at all. I
changed into my nightie and got back into bed. I was
about to light a cigarette when someone bashed on my
door.
I moaned, got up and put my dressing gown on. As I
walked to the door, I almost felt like collapsing. I
managed to stay upright and I collected myself to open
the door. It was Michelle. She looked terrible. She
stumbled into my apartment and slumped face-down onto
the couch. I shut the door and went over too her.
I rolled her limp body over. She still wore her red
dress, but it was
torn. She had two black-eyes and had deep cuts and dark
bruises all
over her arms and legs and face. I gaped in amazement
for a few
minutes, forgetting my own pain. Hurriedly, I went and
got a
first-aid kit and made some coffee
I came back and began cleaning up her wounds. After a
few minutes she came around. She half-opened her eyes
and managed a small smile. She shut her eyes again.
"Hi Angie," she croaked.
"Here. Have some coffee," I said, giving her a mug. She
shook her head gently and put it back on the floor.
"What happened?" I asked softly.
"He raped me, Angie," she whispered. I had guessed as
much. It horrified me what had happened to her. I felt
responsible. It was my fault. I got her into this.
"Who did?" I asked. "Was it the man who took you last
night?" She nodded.
"He bashed me. He threw me around. Then he'd play
with..." she explained, quietly. She started to cry. I
put my arm around her.
"It's all right. He's gone now. I'm here."
"It hurts, Angie. It hurts everywhere. Everywhere!" she
sobbed. Tears began to form in my eyes. What had I
done? I lifted her up and carried her to my bed. I lay
her down on her side and unzipped her dress. As I
pulled it off I cried even more. She was right. There
were wounds all over her. She was bruised from head to
toe. Her dress was soaked in blood. I gulped and tried
to find some words.
"I'm sorry," I finally managed to say.
"It's not your fault. I should have known better," she
said, weakly.
"Get an ambulance." I ran to the phone and dialled
emergency.
"Ambulance. My friend's hurt pretty bad," I sobbed.
"She's been cut up and bruised and... and raped." I
quickly lit a cigarette and took a deep breath through
it. The woman at the other end paused before asking
where I was. "Apartment 3B, 145 Bandmostle Street," I
replied. I hung up and went back to the bedroom.
I sat on the bed beside Michelle and stared at the
wall. I didn't want to look at her. I began to feel
sick again. I puffed on the cigarette.
"You were right," I said. I turned to Michelle and
looked at her staring at the ceiling. She was tensed
up, as if holding back her pain.
"It was terrible, Angie. He made me do it all night. If
I wouldn't do it, he'd throw me around or cut me with
his knife," she whispered, staring glassy-eyed at the
ceiling. "And when I did give in he poked his finger in
and wiggled it. Then he said, 'Let's see if two will
fit.' He cut the skin and pushed two in. Then he
tried..." sobbed Michelle, shaking. I shuddered as I
imagined how it must've felt. I took another breath of
cigarette smoke.
"It is my fault, Michelle. I did this to you."
"No you didn't. I wanted sex. It's my fault, and I'm
going to pay for it."
"The doctor'll fix you up. I'll help you get over it,"
I promised, wiping the tears from my eyes and turning
to face her.
"You don't understand. I'm finished. I'm ruined.
There's no point..." Michelle closed her eyes and
relaxed herself. Her abused body looked beyond repair.
Her mutilated breasts were stained, and a pool of blood
surrounded her genitals. I crawled over to her and
lifted her hand and pressed it in mine.
"You can't die Michelle. You can't," I cried. I checked
for a pulse. It was still there, but it was faint. I
heard sirens in the street below. I ran to the window
and looked down into the street. An ambulance was
parking at the side of the road. I watched as the
attendants lifted a stretcher out of the back and
disappear into the building. I took another breath
through my cigarette and butted it in the ashtray on
the bedside table. I ran to the apartment door and
stepped into the corridor. The attendants appeared at
the top of the stairs and I called to them. Then
everything went black. I had passed out.
***
I awoke to find myself in a hospital bed. A police
officer was sitting on a chair across from me. I sat up
and began to feel ill. "I'm afraid I've got some bad
news," said the officer, solemnly.
Tears welled up in my eyes and my stomach turned.
"She's dead?" I asked quietly. The officer nodded.
"I'm afraid so. Do you know what happened to her?"
Tears ran down my cheeks. I felt guilty. It was all my
fault. "She was raped."
"Do you know who did it?"
I gave a description of the man.
"Was she a hooker?"
"No," I quickly replied. I hesitated before adding,
"Well, she wasn't before last night. It was all my
fault, officer. I took her out..." I broke off and
closed my eyes. I still felt sick.
"Maybe I should come back later," he said. I nodded
weakly and he got up and left the room. I was about to
doze off when the doctor came in.
"Hello Angela. I'm very sorry about your friend," he
said solemnly. It was Doctor North, the doctor whom I
worked for. He sat in the chair the officer had dragged
up.
"I suppose you aren't ready to talk about that, though.
So, I've got some good news for you instead." Good
news? What could possibly be good about that day?
"Huh?" I grunted, puzzled.
"You're suffering from morning sickness, Angela. You're
pregnant." I lay there shocked. I didn't even know the
father. I began to feel even more guilt.
"No. There must be a mistake. I don't want a child," I
cried. The doctor frowned.
"Well, it's your decision. But, as your friend, I think
you should go full-term. There are many people who do
want children, but can't have them, you know. Hey, you
may even decide to keep it."
It was all too much to take. I closed my eyes and
slipped into unconsciousness.
***
I lay in my bed, staring mindlessly at the ceiling,
periodically taking a breath through my cigarette. I
had never felt worse in my life. I had killed my best
friend. But, she hadn't just been shot in the head. She
had been hideously tortured. Piles of ash lay on the
sheet around me, and the ashtray beside me was
overflowing with cigarette butts. My eyes were sore and
bloodshot, and large purple bags had formed under them.
My cheeks were tear-stained. I wondered whether I'd
ever get over Michelle's tragic death.
Then there was that illegitimate child starting to grow
in my womb. "Simon's" child. I didn't even know its
father. All because of a hot one-night stand. All
because I wanted to have sex.
"I'm sorry, Michelle," I sobbed as I butted yet another
cigarette in the ashtray. I just kept saying it over
and over. I hoped it might do some good. But the more I
said it the more meagre my apology seemed. Especially
since there was no-one around to hear it but me. Little
old hot-to-trot me. Suddenly the phone rang, and I sat
up in surprise, throwing the piles of ash onto the
floor. I reached over and picked up the receiver,
sniffed and held it to my mouth.
"Angela Harper," I said quietly.
"Jeremy Miles."
"I'm sorry. Have we met?" I asked. I started to blink
my eyes in an effort to dry them.
"You could say that, Angela. You invited me around to
your place Saturday night, week before last," came the
reply. "I want to see you again."
"Oh," I said quietly. I paused as I began to feel a
little guilty. "Why?" I asked. I had already guessed he
wanted another night of unbridled passion. He
hesitated, as if he was scared of me.
"I really like you, Angela. I'd like to go out with you
sometime.
Dinner perhaps?"
"You mean like a date?" I asked, surprised. "That's
all?"
"Look, if you don't believe in getting romantically
involved," he replied.
"I'd love to."
"Pardon?" he asked, taken aback.
"I said, I'd love to go out with you."
He gave a muted chuckle of delight. "When would be best
for you?"
"Tonight," I replied. I smiled briefly, but guilt soon
made it vanish. "There's something I need to tell you,
Jeremy wasn't it?"
"Yes, that's right. Go right ahead," he said. He
sounded so polite and refined. It was hard to believe
he was the man I had picked up on the street only a few
nights before. I gulped. How could I tell him?
"I'm pregnant," I finally muttered. I almost cringed as
I waited for the reply.
"Are you sure it's mine?" he asked after a long pause.
It was a reasonable question. For all he knew, I was a
professional prostitute.
"Look, I'm going to level with you. You are the only
man I have ever made love to. I'm afraid there's no
question."
A slight pause. "I had no idea it was your first time.
You seemed so, experienced."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Of course. Well, I guess we'd better have this date
and work things out. How about I pick you up around
eight?" he asked. "By the way, I don't think the
restaurant finds leotards appropriate dress," he added,
managing a small chuckle. But his voice was a little
worried.
"Eight would be fine," I told him. I wiped the tears
from my eyes with the back of my hand.
"Great. See you then," he said.
"Yeah. See you," I said, hanging up the phone. Part of
me was happy, but another part of me was guilty. Very
guilty. I sat there for half-an-hour, deciding whether
I was doing the right thing. But I had that damned
child to think of. I had always wanted children, but
not like this. I started to clean up the disgusting
mess that filled my apartment.
***
There came a knock at the door, and I immediately
opened it. I had been standing there waiting. It wasn't
even eight o'clock, but I had been waiting. Jeremy was
surprised by my quick response. I probably seemed
overly anxious. He quickly composed himself and
presented me with some flowers he was holding behind
him.
"Flowers? Thank you," I said, as I took them. I was
staring at him, as if I were trying to reinforce the
fuzzy image of a face I had been remembering for days.
He smiled.
"Roses, actually. Is something wrong?" he asked. I
turned away and walked back into my apartment.
"No. Nothing's wrong. Please, come in," I said,
gesturing to the couch. I heard his footsteps behind
me. I felt his hands touch on my shoulders as I put the
flowers in a vase. I shrank away, and the vase fell
onto the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.
"I'm sorry," he said, as I turned back to face him. His
face seemed gentle and caring. I began to look at it as
if it held a personality. I managed a small smile.
"No. It's not your fault," I said apologetically. I
paused. "I'm just a little tense, that's all."
He frowned, as he knelt on the floor and gathered the
pieces of the vase. "I suppose I am too," he said,
shyly. I knelt down and helped him. We looked at each
other, and stared into each others eyes.
"Why do you like me?" I asked, in a trance. He took my
hand and held it gently.
"I don't know. I just do. You seemed so real -- not
like I imagined a prostitute. But then, you're not. I
had suspected. No, I hoped you weren't."
"Then you don't just like me because of my looks?" I
asked. Great-now he knew I was immodest. He gave me a
half-smile.
"Not now. But still, I don't know much about what's on
the inside," he said, gathering the pieces he had
found. He picked them up and I stood up. I quickly
collected together the pieces I had found and stood up
before him.
"Where do you want these?" he asked. I walked over to
the garbage bin and pushed my foot down on the pedal.
The lid sprang up and I realised that it was filled
with cigarette butts and ash. I dropped the pieces of
the vase in and tried to cover it. But he was right
behind me, and must've seen the unsightly refuse. He
sighed and dropped his significantly more sizable
collection of fragments of porcelain in, and I released
the pedal. The lid fell back down and I turned back to
face him.
"So, where are we going?" I asked quickly, trying
desperately to make sure that he didn't have the chance
to say anything about smoking.
"You'll see. It's a surprise," he replied. "Angela,
what's making you tense? Look, if you don't want to go
out, I'll understand."
"Look, I'm fine," I snapped. A lump formed in my throat
as I thought of Michelle. I shuddered and tears began
to form in my eyes again. I stepped quickly over to my
handbag sitting on the bench. I pulled a cigarette from
the packet and held it between my fingers as I fumbled
to find my lighter. I found myself looking at Jeremy
again. He watched me worriedly.
"Maybe I should go," he said.
"No. Don't go. Please, don't leave," I pleaded,
dropping the cigarette on the floor. My hand was
shaking.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"About what?" I snapped, defensively. He walked over to
the table and sat down. He sat back in the chair and
glanced towards me.
"I'm sorry I got you pregnant. I should've been more
careful. But, I'm willing to help," he said.
"It's not that," I said, bending over to pick up the
cigarette. I stood back up and looked at him. "Well,
it's part of it," I added, dryly. I shakily put the
cigarette between my lips and lit it. I closed my eyes
as I took a deep breath through it. I opened my eyes
and slowly let the smoke filter out of my nostrils.
Jeremy looked down at the table.
"Level with me, Angela," he ordered, his voice a little
more forceful.
"I want to help."
"Do you?" I cried, walking to the table. "You're all
the same. All you care about is yourself. You just want
to get into bed with me again." I started sobbing as
sat at the table.
"I do care, Angela. I really do," he said softly, as he
looked up at me and put his hand on mine. I took
another puff of my cigarette. I tried to calm myself as
I gradually exhaled.
"I had a friend called Michelle. She died on Sunday," I
whispered, trying desperately not to breakdown.
"I'm sorry," he said, clasping my hand more tightly.
Maybe he did care. But, I wasn't convinced.
"Yeah, so am I. Especially since it was all my fucking
fault," I told him. I glared into his kind eyes for a
second before looking away.
"How could it have been your fault?" he asked.
"Because, I took her out on the streets with me. Some
bastard picked her up," I said, but I lost my composure
and I clamped my mouth shut as tears rolled down my
cheeks. I felt sick. "He raped her. Sunday morning she
came in here, bleeding all over the place," I rasped,
before taking another breath through my cigarette. I
looked back at him to see his expression. It was that
of horror. We remained silent, as I continued smoking
my cigarette.
"It could've happened to anyone," he finally managed to
say.
"Bullshit," I yelled. "It could only happen to a
fucking whore. It should've been me."
"It shouldn't have been anyone. Have they got this
bastard yet?" he asked, quietly.
"No," I said. There was another break in conversation.
I finished off my cigarette and butted it in the clean
ashtray in the middle of the table.
"You can't keep blaming yourself. If any one is to
blame it's the bastard who raped her."
"He could've taken me, you know. If he had, she'd still
be alive. If I hadn't talked her into tasting life as a
hooker, she'd still be here. It was my fucking fault."
"I've got this friend," he said after a short pause.
"He's a psychiatrist."
"I'm not gonna see no shrink," I snapped.
"I think you should. And I'll come too. We've got to
work through this," he said, kindly, gripping my hand
again. His hand was warm, and so was his voice. I
smiled dully at him.
"What the hell was a guy like you doing looking for
love on the street?" I asked, looking up into his eyes.
How could a man be so kind and understanding? I was
beginning to think that I was dreaming.
"A long story... May I use your phone?" he asked.
"Go for your life," I said. "Can you get my handbag for
me."
"Another cigarette? They'll kill you, you know," he
said, standing up and walking over to the bench.
"Spoken like a true non-smoker. When you're hooked,
you're hooked." He threw my handbag over to me. I
reached in and took another cigarette from the pack and
lit it.
As I took the first drag, Jeremy said, "They don't do
babies much good either, from what I've heard." He
sighed again and picked up the phone and punched in a
number.
"You're not pregnant. You're not a smoker," I pointed
out.
He gave a half smile as he cancelled a reservation at
the restaurant. Then he called for a pizza. As he hung
up the phone, I admired him walking towards me. My mind
flashed back to how good he was in bed, I shook my head
and then tried to dismiss the thought. There was no
room for pleasure. I had killed my best friend. I took
a deep breath through my cigarette and blew the smoke
down at the table as Jeremy sat back down.
"I've ordered pizza. I hope you don't mind."
"No," I said quietly, aware that his eyes were watching
me smoke my cigarette.
He looked down at the table and scratched his head. "I
was a virgin until I met you, you know." I looked up at
him, surprised.
"You too?" I finally asked. His eyes looked up into
mine. He seemed as bewildered as I.
"So, I had sex with a virgin prostitute, and she got
pregnant." he observed. He chuckled.
"Why were you out looking for a whore?" I said,
continuing to smoke despite Jeremy's obvious
disapproval.
"I told a friend of mine I was a virgin, and he talked
me into going looking for a hooker. He said I wouldn't
like being in a restrictive long term relationship, and
that I was better off with a fling. But, I wasn't so
sure. That night with you -- well, it was just so
wonderful. I fell in love. Well, at least I think it's
love."
My mouth was open wide. "That's incredible. I wanted a
lover so bad I went on the street to find one. I got
sick of everyone going on about their new boyfriends
and how good they were in bed. I just had to know what
it was like -- I had to. And then, that night with you,
it just.... well, it really hooked me."
"Was it me or the sex?"
"I don't know. But then, we were the sex, weren't we."
"I guess so. Look, I know this rape thing must be
really hurting. I really do want to help, you know."
He had reminded me. I became fully aware of what I had
done again, and I started to sob. I dropped my
cigarette on the floor and hid my face in my arms on
the table. I felt Jeremy hug me from behind, but I
didn't flinch. I was convinced he did care.
"It's all right, Angela. Sh," he whispered quietly in
my ear. He pecked me on the cheek and rested his head
beside mine. "Come on. We'll go and sit on the couch."
I stood up slowly and Jeremy lead me over to the couch.
We sat down and he put his arms around me and put his
head against mine again. He was just so warm and sweet
that I became quiet, although tears still streamed down
my cheeks. We rocked gently.
"I killed her," I whispered.
"No you didn't. He did. At any rate, it was ultimately
her decision to go out with you," he said quietly in a
soothing voice. I felt almost as if I were in my
daddy's arms once more, and I was a little girl who
just had a terrible nightmare.
"But, I talked her into it."
"It wasn't your fault. That bastard raped her. He
killed her. Him and him alone," he said. I began to
realise he was right. I was blaming myself to too
greater extent. I had played only a very small part in
Michelle's death -- another man and she might've even
had a good time. Now, I was starting to feel loved.
Jeremy was incredible. Where had he been all my life?
"I love you," I said. I didn't really plan to say it.
It just came out. But, I guess that just made it more
truthful.
"I love you too."
We held each other for a long while. We were warm and I
was almost contented. I no longer regretted being
pregnant. The baby had a father, a father I was certain
was not about to dodge his responsibility to it. Then
it suddenly dawned on me. I was going to be a mother. I
was going to raise a kid into adulthood. Nappies.
Primary school. The terrible teenage years. It was then
that I became joyous.
There was a knock at the door. Jeremy slowly prised
himself away from me, giving me a loving kiss before he
went to answer it. I could tell it was loving -- it
meant something to me.
He returned with a pizza. He put it on the coffee table
and turned on the TV with the remote. He sat beside me,
and put his arm around me and waved a slice of pizza
under my nose. I took a bite and looked at him. He had
the most beautiful smile. I smiled back as I picked a
string of cheese out of my teeth and pushed it into my
mouth. He took a bite and we finished the slice in
similar fashion.
"Do you have a TV guide?"
"Under your cute butt," I said, pinching it on the
side. He chuckled and pulled a small booklet from under
the cushion. One of his hands went under my dress and
tickled my stomach. I writhed and giggled as I pushed
his hand away. He studied the guide briefly and then
picked up the remote and changed channel. An old black
and white film was on. He watched for a while and then
reached for the pizza. He gave me a bite and then took
one himself, as he put his feet up on the coffee table.
"It just started. It's a favourite of mine. I hope you
don't mind black and white."
"It's romantic."
"More romantic with the lights off," he said, handing
me his slice of pizza before going to turn the light
out. When he returned we snuggled up to each other and
finished the pizza, with a lot of giggling, pinching
and tickling. We watched the film for a while. He
turned to me and smiled. "You'll like the next scene."
"Oh will I?" I asked, with a grin. I turned back to the
TV and crossed my arms.
A line of train carriages reflected the flood lights. A
woman dressed in a full length white dress was holding
both hands of a man in a suit with an old fashioned
bowler hat and a cane.
"You can't go. You can't. I will miss you so, Gerard,"
said the woman.
"Oh, Phillipa. I shall miss you too. But I must go. I
will be back.
You must not fret for me," came Gerard's reply.
"I love you," she said, releasing his hands. Her eyes
were sad.
"I love you also, my dear. On my return, and I promise
that I will return, will you be my wife?" he asked,
taking one of her hands and kneeling before her.
She smiled and held his hand with both of hers. She
shook it. "Of course. I will. I would love to marry
you." He returned her smile and got back up. He held
his arms out and she fell into them. They embraced each
other and kissed. I felt so warm and happy, almost
forgetting that it was fiction. I smiled and turned to
Jeremy. He had been watching my expression. He was
smiling. He put his other arm around me and I put mine
around him. We pulled close together. Our lips met and
we kissed. We kissed for a long time. I felt so glad
that I almost completely forgot Michelle.
"Will you marry me?" It took a while to sink in. When I
finally realised what he was asking, it was too late.
"Of course. I will. I would love to marry you," I said,
reciting Phillipa's line. But I didn't want to retract
my acceptance. It was almost as if I couldn't say no to
this wonderful man. I had been completely swept off my
feet.
We hugged and kissed for a while before we went to bed.
Then we kissed some more before I drifted off to sleep.
It had been a long day and a wonderful night.
***
I let my teeth sink down into a Tim Tam and allowed the
sweet taste to fill my mouth. I lay sprawled out on the
couch, rather miserable and still in my T-shirt
nightie. My hand rested on my bulging lower abdomen as
I digested the plot of a late afternoon soap. I was
eight months and two weeks pregnant, and Jeremy hadn't
let me do anything strenuous for several months.
Not that I felt like doing anything. Moving around was
slow and difficult, and I often had to hold my stiff
back as a hobbled around our apartment.
Suddenly I was in agony as a sharp pain ripped through
my lower abdomen. It was one of those uterine
contractions they had talked about in pre-natal
classes. I attempted to regulate my breathing as we had
been taught, but it didn't seem as easy now. As I tried
to get up I glanced at my watch. Quarter past five.
Where was he? I felt another sharp pang and lay on the
couch. I was reaching for the phone when I heard the
door open. Jeremy came in carrying a bag of groceries.
"It's coming, Jeremy," I said slowly, as I got up and
moved over to him. Suddenly another jab and I almost
collapsed, but Jeremy caught me.
He said quickly, "We'd better get you to hospital. Can
you make it down the stairs, Angie?"
"I hope so," I rasped as he led me to the door. We made
our way down the stairs. At the bottom I felt my uterus
contract again, and I thought the baby was kicking, but
I was starting to pass out. We made it to the car and
Jeremy lay me in the back seat. I felt terrible, but
somehow I was feeling happy at the same time, though I
wasn't smiling. Jeremy pulled out from the curb and we
were on our way.
***
I was propped up on a bed in the delivery room, and I
think I was surrounded by doctors and nurses. Jeremy
stood beside me and held my hand. I tried to
concentrate on the warmth of his hand as an attempted
avoidance of the pain of the birth. I was beginning to
regret my refusal of the offering of pain killers as
the dreaded word was once more uttered amongst the
monotone of the doctor's assurances-"Push."
I closed my eyes, and felt a drop of perspiration roll
down a closed lid. I took a deep breath and then a
natural reflex movement followed. With it came
excruciating pain, as I imagined the baby lodging
itself in its tunnel to the outside world. I opened my
eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath, before
closing my eyes and pushing once more.
I lost count of how many times I went through the whole
sequence, but I do remember what came of it all. The
final effort released me from the ordeal, as I felt
little Michelle's head pass the point of no return. For
a brief moment, as I felt the rest of her body exit
from mine, I was very disturbed, as though I was losing
a part of me. But when I heard her cries and found her
in my arms, I was overjoyed.
My daughter, beautiful little Michelle, was a new life
-- one that Jeremy and I had created. It seemed so
amazing. I was mesmerized by the wondrous miracle of
life that I was holding. It was only then that I
stopped blaming myself for her namesake's death. The
life I had created had taught me to tolerate death.
Death may be an end, but new life is a beginning.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 53