Part 32 (1/2)

In fact, I'd better go. I hang up, pop a Valium, ”borrowed” from a bottle in Ronnie's medicine cabinet. f.u.c.k.

Stealing pills. I suck. But I'm glad I have something to push away the pain, stash it in a compartment of my brain I don't visit very often.

I cruise slowly, noticing cars prowling for street-corner hustlers.

Twenty bucks for a backseat b.l.o.w.j.o.b?

At least I haven't sunk that low. Yet.

No! That will not become my future.

Then again, if someone would have told me two months ago I'd be selling myself to men, I'd have said they were full of s.h.i.+t. Necessity is a motherf.u.c.ker.

And if they would have said I might even like it, I'd have kicked their a.s.s.

The first time I offered myself up, turned myself into meat, I ran to the bathroom, heaved. That guy laughed and laughed.

Lydia said it would get easier.

The first time is always the worst.

Just remember you can always say no, if something doesn't seem kosher. Somehow I doubt many rabbis would bless ”Cody meat.”

But Lydia was right. The second time wasn't as bad. At least I managed to make it through without losing my breakfast. Every time after was easier still, except for the guys who needed a shower. B.O. is a definite b.i.t.c.h.

Once in a while I get really lucky, when a dude decides he'd rather talk than screw. They're paying me for my time. If they want to complain about their significant others, hey, I'll listen for a buck fifty up front.

But I don't have to like any of it.

Shouldn't like any of it, and getting off is just plain crazy. I do this because I have to. Not because I want to. I need a good, healthy dose of Ronnie. Only what if she doesn't turn me on now?

I Pull into Valet At the Riviera, not the nicest casino in town, but not the sleaziest, either.

Not that it matters. What I'm going to do is more than sleazy. It's sick.

But I'll leave with enough money, even after Lydia's cut, to give Mom a hundred toward the bills. And, depending on how generous the guy feels after, I just might have enough left over to place a small bet on the Chiefs. If those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds do right by me, I could maybe skip a date or two. ”Date.” Why don't I just call it what it is-a trick. I'm turning tricks.

Can I really have sunk so low?

I'm having s.e.x with men-often married guys, trying to figure out why they're attracted to boys-for cash.

I'm not gay! Before a few weeks ago, I had never even checked a guy out, let alone thought about doing one.

So why isn't it harder? Why am I heading into the elevator, going up eight floors, to room 822?

Two Quiet Knocks Nothing. Two more, louder. Footsteps toward the door. It opens. ”Dan?”

The guy nods, steps aside to let me in. The room is obsessively neat, and a familiar scent perfumes the air.

Gingerbread? Like Ronnie's shampoo.

Dan is fortyish, short crewcut graying slightly at the edges.

He wears no s.h.i.+rt, and his muscles are tanned. Toned. Jesus. He could be an underwear model. Why does he need to pay for it? Whatever.

As long as he has the cash. ”So, Dan.

What can I do for you?” I know the drill.

Lydia coached me in the art of paid seduction: Strike the deal up front. Never give them more than they pay for.

Collect before you start. No COD.

No cash on delivery, because after you're finished, they might say you didn't deliver. I've done this for a month now, and so far, not one has made that claim. Customer satisfaction guaranteed. G.o.d!

Dan Has Done This Before You can take me around the world.

He reaches for his wallet. One fifty, right? He tries to sweeten the pot. Dan will pay extra to go without a sleeve.

He talks about himself in the third person? No wonder he pays for it.

No condom? It's not the first time I've had the request. I'd kill for the extra cash, but I'm not taking a chance on AIDS. ”Sorry. No can do. Cover up, I'll take care of you.”

I pull my T-s.h.i.+rt over my head, watch him strip off his jeans. His waist is narrow, his hips straight. Beautiful.

Stop it! What's wrong with me? He's down to his skivvies. I should have charged more. He's built like a f.u.c.king bull. ”Holy c.r.a.p, dude, I don't know....”

What's wrong, kid? Never done it with a real man before? His voice falls, cold and heavy as hail. You want me wrapped? Do it for me! He pushes me to my knees, comes around in front of me. My heart thuds in my chest.

I open the foil pouch, remove the thin latex protection. You ever seen a ramrod like Dan's? I shake my head as I roll the condom down over it. No, of course you haven't.

Let's see just how good you are.

I close my eyes, fight not to gag at the taste of lubricant, not to choke on his thrusts against my throat.

I think about Cory, locked up in juvie until a judge decides he's been ”rehabilitated.”

Dan decides he's done with Europe.

He pulls me to my feet, moves behind me, drapes my back with his chest.

His muscles are thick cables, but his skin is smooth and cool as snake skin. Check it out.

The little boy likes that. He reaches down between my thighs. Look how hard he is.

No! How could something so messed up turn me on? Whatever he does, I won't ....