Annie

I had to have my next fix. Touching myself in public wasn’t going to do it for me today.

Yesterday I had driven down to the nearest mall and sat on a bench right outside of Macy’s and placed my purse on my lap and rammed my fingers down the front of my pants and went to town. It was a busy time of day and I figure the security guard who kept circling me like a hungry hawk knew what I was up to but I finished in record time and was off the bench and out the door before I was thrown out of the mall for lewd behavior and into the county jail. Fuck that.

I had to find a job. I couldn’t keep “renting” myself out on “dates.” If I had to lie one more time just to get a few extra bucks to a man whose dick I didn’t want anywhere near me, I was going to take on the ghastly role of Charlize Theron in Monster. Ok, that was an exaggeration. Still. Never hurts to plan ahead.

I need a drink.

I stopped off at a local hole-in-the-wall pub, called Last Call and figured I’d be there til just that..Last Call.

The night before I had met a guy named Frank who kept buying me drinks and I felt obliged to go home with him. He promised to buy me dinner and a cab fare home and a few “extra dollars” because he “liked me so much.”

That’s not prostitution. Is it? Hell, I didn’t care anymore. Money is all green and it spends the same, no matter if I fuck my boss or fuck a bar stool friend, right? Oh good god, I’m a whore.

“Annie, you’ll never be anything. You will just be like your whore mama and have 17 illegitimate children who will most likely end up on welfare or in prison, just like the rest of you kids who dropped out of school. Nobodies.”

Fuck you, Aunt Carol, I said in my head and most likely out loud. That bitch never knew when to shut her pie hole except to chew her food. At least she gave us that.

So here I sat on the same stool as last evening nursing my scotch, extra neat.

Extra neat. What the fuck does that even mean?

A man sat two stools down and looked like an executive of sorts but to be honest he looked a little out of place here in this hole. Wondered if he was wandering around for some stray. Renting myself crossed my mind again but figured I’d call it a night after my “extra neat” scotch.

Feeling a bit buzzed from the alcohol, I sauntered over to Bill….that’s what I had named him in my head…. and asked him why was a good looking rich man like him doing slumming with the best of us downtowners.

Bill, as it turns out, was the brother of the bartender, and his name was actually Stephen. With a “ph.” How fancy.

So, Stephen and I struck up a conversation about the weather while I thought about how big his hands were and wondered if his dick held that same statistic.

Before I knew it, I had my hand on Stephen with a ph’s leg and was moving in. He kind of backed up sideways and peered at me and asked me what was I doing out alone.

He was no rocket scientist, that I could tell. Bill could tell I was a worthless whore like my Aunt Carol liked to tell me and pray to Jesus to help me turn my life around.