Tricks. Part 35

Refereeing, in fact.

No need to be rude to our guest. He's here by invitation. Understand?

"Invi-" Carl wants me to be with this creep?

What happened to our "exclusive relations.h.i.+p"?

"No, I don't understand."

With fine diamond clarity, Carl explains, I enjoy a bit of variety from time to time. I expect your whole- hearted partic.i.p.ation.

He pushes me, and not gently, toward Brett.

Now apologize to my friend as I hope you would apologize to me.

He Does Not Mean With words. And he doesn't exactly mean solo. They move in unison, and I am sandwiched between them, Carl behind me, moving sensuously, while Brett dares kiss me again. I hold my breath against the a.s.sault of gin at my back, tequila in my face. A strange tongue in my mouth. Now Brett rests his chin on my shoulder, and he and Carl are kissing.

It's a cobra dance, and despite what it means, I am charmed.

Seduced by sensual motion.

Behind me and in front of me, both men grow hard, and for some horrifying reason, I respond in like manner.

I Have Never Considered Three-way s.e.x. How would....?

Oh. No way will I let one of them take me like that.

Like Loren, Carl has always played the feminine role.

But unlike with Loren (who insisted on using condoms), with Carl (who refused to), I set limits-"Carl, you know the rule." My rule: hands or mouths only. He stops kissing Brett, but neither man quits moving, writhing like mating hooded serpents.

We're playing by my rules, remember? But don't worry.

I only expect you to give.

For now. From somewhere, he extracts a condom, hands it to me, keys to the kingdom.

Don't rush, he orders, and don't you dare close your eyes. I want to see how much you like it. He moves in front of me, strips Brett from the waist down, pushes him onto his hands and knees. Then he drops his own trousers.

Come on, he urges, positioning himself inches from Brett's face.

Shaking, I move behind Brett, grab his shoulders. Carl's hands cover mine. Brett moans as I ...

Oh my G.o.d! I am d.a.m.ned.

But I don't stop and I don't rush. Carl's eyes never once leave mine. Finally I beg his permission. "Now? Please?"

He nods and I do. We all do.

A Poem by Whitney Lang Don't Stop Don't look behind you.

Something is chasing you, and if you slow down, it will catch you. Run!

Faster! Through alleys.

Tunnels. Underground.

Down there in that dark place, fear is your friend for complacency kills down where instinct is survival.

Reach. Find your wings.

Fly away from the monsters, hard on your heels.

Don't stop. Only then can they win.

Run!

Whitney

Fighting "Night Time"

Pretty name for the hideous pukes and soaking sweats of withdrawal.

I understand I have to go through it.

Die if I don't. Maybe die if I do.

I don't want to die. Do I? f.u.c.k, what if it's better than living half in, half out of this world? G.o.dd.a.m.n Bryn!

b.a.s.t.a.r.d turned me into a zombie.

So why do I sit here, crying to see him? Why do I love him so much?

He cheats. Lies. Lied about everything, from start to now. I know it. Don't care.

I want to be with him. Want to make love with him. Even though that means waiting my turn. He has other girls.

Other zombies. Killing time in cheap rooms like this one. Sometimes he comes, rewards them like he rewards me, with junk and beautiful s.e.x. Sometimes other men come. That s.e.x is never beautiful. It is selfish. Needful.

Fueled by sick desire to get off. Get even. Get over someone who has hurt them by symbolically impaling someone else. So Bryn's zombie girls stay stoned. Out of our heads messed up. Eyes closed, we can be anywhere. Italy. France. Australia.

Jupiter. h.e.l.l. Doesn't matter, as long as we're not here. As long as we can pretend we're still pretty. As long as we can make believe Bryn still loves us, too.

I'm Not Stupid I know I'm addicted. d.a.m.n it all, despite the many promises I made to myself, I mainline now. A needle in the vein delivers Nirvana so quickly! And in those first few minutes, when all the pain is lifted, I see what Bryn saw in me that first day at the mall-naivete. I was stupid.

He knew it. I was crazy hungry to fall in love. He saw it in my eyes.

And then, when I called him, stinging at rejection, he so had me. He is very good at what he does. Recruiting girls, feeding them a steady diet of lies and drugs, then starving them until they submit to his demands.

He is a pimp, plain and simple.

A f.u.c.king gorgeous, sweet pimp, who I'd do anything for. Including advertising my body: For Sale. Cheap.

He'll come to me soon. I need the Lady bad and he knows it. Can't send me out on the streets like this. It isn't pretty.

Probably couldn't even give myself away.

When Bryn's Key Finally turns in the lock, I'm huddled in a corner, covered in goose b.u.mps, s.h.i.+vering through the sweat. At least I'm all puked out. He takes one look, nods. Poor baby. Don't worry. Daddy has presents for his beautiful little girl. He comes over, sits beside me. Pulls a dime bag from his pocket like it's made of gold.

Clean rigs, too. Let Daddy fix it for you. He cooks up a perfect spoon, loads it, plunges it between my toes.

Bryn gives me wings. The sting is luscious, the awful rush all I need.

No, not all. I need Bryn. And he's here, all mine right now. His lap is warm, inviting. I climb into it, slip my arms around his neck. Thank you. Better now.

Oh, so much better. Soaring. Up here in the clouds, the air is dry. I kiss him, suck his tongue into my mouth, seeking moisture. It curls over my own tongue, sensuous as smoke. Time slows.

Make it stop! Make it stop with me, here in Bryn's arms. I want him.

Want him to take me higher. Want s.e.x as it was meant to be, as only Bryn can ever give it to me. "Make love to me."

He pushes me to the floor. My head spins, dizzy with antic.i.p.ation. My brain screams, kiss me! Kiss all those special places, just like you used to. I know he will, but ... But what? Why is he stopping? He reaches into a back pocket. What is that?

A rubber? No. We don't need that.

I'm on the pill. It was one of the first things we did when we got to Vegas.

"N-no." Is there mud in my mouth?

I can barely cough out, "Why?"

He stops fiddling with the wrapper, but doesn't answer right away. Finally he says, Never know what kind of gift one of your customers might have left.

What? My face flushes, hot from the skag, hotter still with an overdose of anger. Always, with no exceptions, "My customers use condoms."

I Try to Push Him Away But even if I were perfectly straight, my stick-figure body would be no match for his toned physique. And I'm not straight.

My vision is blurred, like looking through a fishbowl, and my muscles feel like steel cables-much too heavy to drag around. And the weirdest thing about all that is how great it feels. I'll nod soon, and that's when the pain vanishes. So h.e.l.l, he can screw me, if that's all it means to him.

He boosts himself up over me.

Tries to look down into my eyes.

But I stare at the wall. Will myself to go limp. Familiar one-act play.

That's it, he soothes. No need to waste a perfectly good b.o.n.e.r.

In. Out. In. Out. I close my eyes.

Float. Pretend I'm with a john.

When I Surface From my lake of dreams, Bryn is gone. He left a note: Stashed the bag and fixings in the usual place. Same price. Tomorrow.

How have I fallen so low? I knew about junk, even told Bryn no way.

Then I let him talk me into it. Love is more than blind. It's brain-dead.

My brain screeches, Fix! Fix!

Quick, before I make you heave.

Quick, before I give you the runs.

Quick, before I start remembering.

Remembering I once had another life. Hated it then. Might still hate it now. But more than I hate this?

Hate what I've become? No matter.

This is all I've got. I cook up a spoon.

Oh yes. That's good. So good.

Clock. Where are you, clock?

There you are. Evening already?

The boys are out, scamming for play. Shower. Hurry. Night's tick-tocking away. And I've got bills. Same price. Tomorrow.

Skin Tight Men's Club Is hopping tonight. Boys go in.

Stay a while, watching pole dancers and c.o.c.ktail waitresses, shaking their b.o.o.bs for tips. Boys come out, h.o.r.n.y as h.e.l.l. Some go home to beat off or bug their wives.

Some look for girls like me, loitering in the shadows where, hopefully, cops cruising beats won't notice them. Bryn taught me the ropes. Act interested, but don't push. The girls who get busted are in-your-face.

Dress s.e.xy, but leave some up to the imagination. s.e.xy schoolgirl That's the look you want.

Ask what they want up front, and collect before you take 'em home. Wouldn't want to do all that work for nothing, and believe me, plenty of guys got nothing, especially if they overspent inside. And if some dude seems hinky, say no.

I've said no a couple of times.