Chapter 18

All that time with college boys was enough to last any girl a lifetime. I may have continued on, if only because I didn’t have a plan to do anything else, but after the experience with Ken and Alice at the drug house you could say I was scared straight. All the fun of hanging out with guys and playing with their dicks had disappeared. My numb and cynical self turned dark.

Okay. I didn’t turn darker so much as more uncaring. I used to get off on sex, that and the occasional toke or drink being the only thing that really interested me. There was something about the inherent violence of sex, of a guy impaling me on his dick and fucking me over and over, then pumping me full of his poisonous seed while thinking he had dibs on me for any future needs. I got off on that, but then that summer at Ken’s and everything just took it all a little too far.

After Alice filled me in on what she had to go through after being kidnapped for a month, locked up and used as a walking titty show and cum bucket by a bunch of men, I turned away from guys and leaned on alcohol for a while. I suppose having Alice turn away from me also hurt so much I gave up and gave in.

Didn’t totally give up sex. Sometimes the right guy or the right bottle would catch my eye, but then I’d wake up in a strange bedroom with a strange guy or two and feel nothing but disappointment in myself. That’s when I took the great leap. I got a real job, rented a crappy apartment of my own, and pretended I was a fully functioning adult. I say pretended because inside I was still kind of numb. I’d smile, laugh, go out with a few choice friends, but back at home I’d still sit and stare at the wall. Cut back on the drinking but that didn’t make the wall look any better.

Then the nice guy walked back into my life. Jer. Jerome, Jerry, Jer. One of my first serious guys from Ken’s poolside slut service. I was waitressing a no-name café when he walked in. Stayed until I was off and took me out for a walk. Just a walk and talk instead of a fuck and suck. A real nice change from the usual. Don’t want to get into any of the many details. Let’s just say that by the end of the next month, I’d moved in with him and felt some real happiness in my heart. Can’t say love was in the air, but when I woke up in the morning I felt like hugging and kissing the man next to me. Hadn’t been able to say that for a long time. The darkness began to dissipate.

So, six months of the good life. Then came the inevitable. Had to switch birth control regimes (guys will never know what girls/women go through to keep all those damned spermies from taking over our bodies). One of my eggs didn’t get the memo and wound up in bed with one of Jer’s motile warriors. Hell, knowing my body the egg probably held a party and made out with a few dozen of the things. A month later I knew myself to be in trouble. It took another month for me to know for sure and finally admit the fact to Jer.

At first he seemed fine, but the days turned into weeks and he turned into Mr. Hyde. He started bringing up my past, what he knew I’d done by Ken’s pool, and then even began accusing me of doing guys behind his back. I moved out and back in with my family, head hanging low and feeling nothing but despair. I was being so good, doing all the right things, and had come so close to happiness, only to wind up back in a bedroom with my sister.

Good things happened, though. My sister was a bitch, my father openly disappointed, but my mother took me into her arms and loved me like she never had before. The birth of my daughter was the most joyous thing in my life. Nothing has changed that. I’ll just refer to her as Joy. She was and remains my Joy.

With my daughter nearing one year in age, I went back to work (waitressing, of course) and found myself a crappy house in a bad part of town. It was perfect. Turned down guys and dates and spent all of my alcohol allowance on diapers and kids books. I was happy, though in a measured sort of way.

Problem was that even though my little home was on the wrong side of the crosstown freeway, it still took a full-time job to pay the rent. Amazing how many bills the average American has to pay every month. No cable, Cheapest phone plan. Junk car. Only watered a small garden because they charged by the gallon there. I still found it hard to meet rent. Looked into moving back into an apartment but prices had risen and it wasn’t worth the move. I was stuck between a rock and another rock, until of course the ogre down the street offered me a way out.

The landlord came by in the middle of the month, knocking on the door and politely asking why it was taking so long to pay the full amount owed. I apologized, explained that work was slow and tips bad and that my daughter had been sick and my mother unable to sit for me.

I was completely unprepared for his last few words as he rose to leave, saying simply, “May, you’re one of the most beautiful women in my life. Really, and I’m sorry you’re in this mess. But you’ve got to make up the missing rent somehow. I’m sure you’ll figure something out before the end of the week. The answer is right in front of you. When it comes to you, call me. Otherwise I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

The real weight of the words didn’t hit me until later that night, keeping me awake well past midnight, wondering at what he meant, what he wanted, what he would accept, and at what cost to me.

For all its glaring wrongness, the man’s vague yet crystal clear offer was nothing new to young women like me. I knew others, even myself from time to time, who strayed across the border and exchanged a part of themselves for other things. But those things were usually for a night, for a fling, for a laugh, not for a relationship of the unmentionable sort.

I knew a woman who offered an afternoon to a neighbor in exchange for work on her car, and another acquaintance who took a guy up on an offer to see the Bahamas for a few days in winter. That’s fun stuff to admit only when drunk and then denied later in the week. It happened.

This offer by my landlord wasn’t the kind of thing that could be laughed about while sharing a drink with friends; it was of the sort that everybody knew happened but could never admit to. In my long sordid past I was always capable of saying no and walking away. Now I was trapped, the weight of the world sitting on my shoulders, the happiness of my daughter in my hands, and I felt that I was being forced to make a decision no woman should ever be faced with.

I was still thinking about it the next day when the landlord called, asking if I had thought about how to pay for what I was missing in rent monies. Before I could say anything he went ahead and said that he would be over on Saturday to work on the bathroom sink, not that there was anything wrong with the bathroom sink. After a few seconds of silence he asked if Saturday would work for me and with the sound of my heart pounding loud in my ears I heard myself say, “Yes. Saturday about noon would be fine.”

I dropped Joy off at my mother’s and “prepared” myself for the landlord. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d seen everything in my short life, done almost everything possible with both man and woman, bottle and beast, so that didn’t worry me. I mostly felt angry that I had to give myself over to a man who had the power to throw me onto the street. My pussy had been unceremoniously plundered and defiled by drunk and lusty dudes, but those were always temporary situations I’d willingly placed myself in. This was different.

Robbie, the landlord, arrived on time and with a toolbox in hand. Without a word I followed him back to my bedroom where we stared at each other until I began to cry and looked at the floor. I was angry and disgusted, yet also touched and felt some relief when he began slowly taking my clothes off. Slowly, with a kiss to every inch of my flesh. No ripping or insults or demands. Just a slow disrobing until he lowered me onto the bed.

His touches were soft, his kisses sweet, but his sex was pretty standard. Not on top, just to the side, one of my legs pulled over his hips as he glided his erection into me. Slow, careful, tenuous, and his fingers actually shook as he pulled me in close. The actual act only lasted five minutes, the man groaning, his grasp on my breasts tensing as he released his masculine essence into me. Another few minutes of post-coital thrusting and touching, and it was over.

Robbie pulled out, or rather softened and slid out of me, and he pulled me up for us to be face to face. With a hand cupping my vulva and all my cum-filled twat, he kissed my cheek and said, “May. I’m so sorry, and yet this was so wonderful. It’s been so long and I’ve been so lonely. So alone, rather. It’s such a wonder to hold and love a woman again.”

I was surprised to hear him say this, knowing that he was married and with grown children. Even more surprising was that tears accompanied his words, a wetness I could feel as he hugged me from the rear.

“Maybe not such a dirty old monster after all,” I thought and held his hand close to my breasts. I was easily half his age, barely just legal enough to buy a bottle of wine, but just then it didn’t seem so bad to be in his embrace.

I thought of getting up to take a shower, but then felt the man trying to hump my ass. The nice old man had suddenly turned into a randy old centaur, my predicament and nakedness obviously being seen by him as his to make use of. There was a moment there where I could have rolled off the bed, but then he used his size and weight to hold me down and roll on top for a much harder and longer use of my vaginal sheath.

The kind old man had quickly turned back into ogre and I swore at myself for falling for his feelings. He might indeed be alone and without love from his wife, but half of all married men could have said the same thing. Not my problem, until, of course, I was behind on the rent.

The fuck lasted a good ten minutes, ploughing hard into my ass, pawing every part of my body until he groaned with the effort of emptying his remaining lusty fluids into me. Would have been okay if he hadn’t put an arm under my throat, constricting my breath with a tight embrace until he was finished with me. I was just conscious enough to hear him whisper about how he’d always wanted to fuck a Chinese girl. Then he showered, told me he’d return in a week for another installment of rent, and walked out the door with a light step.

At least Robbie inquired about birth control. Maybe one in ten guys in my past ever brought it up. He was very happy to hear that I’d had my tubes tied just after giving birth to Joy. Until Robbie unsnapped my jeans and pushed a hand into my twat, I hadn’t thought of ever screwing another live dick for the rest of my life. Now, just for the sake of having a home I was once again expected to provide a warm and welcome place for a man’s most cherished organ.

This went on for quite some time. I was able to keep on at the restaurant as a part-time waitress and spend more time with my daughter. Every Saturday or sometimes in mid-week I’d welcome Robbie into my bedroom for an hour or so and provide the man what only a woman could. My anger and distrust softened and he often stayed to talk about life, trying to get to know me and perhaps become more than just a friend. I think he really wanted me to become his lover, his mistress, his kept woman, but that I couldn’t do.

I didn’t hate him, didn’t resent my life and circumstances, but I’d never be able to love the man. Robbie’s soft kisses and kind words and physical skills were appreciated, but like most men he had a rough side, some choking and slapping of my ass and of course reference to me as a “hot Chinese sexpot” being a common thing.

Besides, every shiver of excitement I felt from his touch, every cry of joy and wet orgasm I ever let loose on my bed or couch, was always resented by me. Yes, from his touch, from his cock and balls and body, but I always considered such transcendent feelings as being stolen from me. He may have been responsible for my moan of delight and shivering climax, but Robbie still had no right to them.

Fine. Did that for far too long but there’s no need to get into that in any more detail. More important was a woman who came to influence my life in far greater ways. A friend at work, another part-time waitress, but one who obviously had done well for herself. She drove a nice car, had a new phone, dressed well, and didn’t mind when the manager cut her hours. Something else was going on and I made the mistake of asking. As the saying goes: If you’re not ready for the answer, don’t ask the question. I asked.

Of course I expected her answer to involve an inheritance, alimony, death benefits, or perhaps lottery winnings. Maybe even a sugar-daddy. It all happened, though always to other people. She was more vague and far more accommodating, telling me I could have it all too. All I had to do is join her.

“Nice car Jasmine,” I said, joining her for a break. “You obviously can’t afford that on what you earn here. You have a second job or something.”

“Yeah. Kind of like that. Sort of under the table, though, and this helps when it comes to tax season. And the food here is better than what I can cook. It all adds up to allowing me a few perks like a convertible and a home of my own.”

“I’m envious. Don’t need to tell you what it takes to keep a landlord off my back.”

I almost choked on those words. Didn’t know I’d said them until they were in the air. Thankfully Jasmine didn’t buy into their full meaning.

“Well, I may be saying too much, but I’ll put it out there. I’m going to a party Saturday night. Some men there you may want to get to know. One may wind up being your knight in shining armor. If nothing else, I can promise you’ll have some fun. It’s kind of a stag affair, only a few chosen women being invited to hand out drinks and stuff to a group of select men. Not a lot different from what we do here, but with much better men and much better benefits when the right man walks around. If you’re interested let me know and I’ll wrangle you an invitation.”

She tossed her cigarette and returned to work, leaving me more confused than ever. I knew what Jasmine was insinuating and yet couldn’t believe what she said. My brain told me to shut up and go home, but a couple hours later as we walked out the back door I cornered her again and asked point blank what the hell she was saying.

“I get what you’re saying about the party, Jasmine, but it’s been a while and my head can’t quite understand the hidden meaning. Give it up. Just what are you expected to do at this party of yours?”

Jasmine laughed, looked around, and became much more blunt.

“You’re a hot little girl, May. Stacked, like with curves in all the right places. Cute, Asian, petite, and probably with more experience between your legs than you’ve led us to believe. Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong. I’ve seen how men follow you around with their eyes and I’m betting you’ve gotten that every day since you hit your teens. I’ll come right out and tell you, but no turning traitor on me. Don’t spread this around. You understand?”

“What the fuck?” I thought, but just nodded.

“It’s like this. You dress up, heels and all that with an emphasis on all your womanly wares. You get me? You’re a hot little hourglass in a Chinese teacup, so show it off. Come to the party, hang out, maybe work with a bartender, maybe help hand out some snacks, but its not like there’s a sit down meal or anything. This is all for fun. You talk, you connect, you smile. That’s it.”

“Doesn’t sound so different from all the other parties I’ve gone to in the last couple of years. You’re hiding something. Spill it.”

“These gatherings are supposed to be so people in power can connect and talk in an informal setting, but we all know what makes the world go round. Another reason for these meet-ups is for the guys to find a woman they like and hook up with on a very temporary basis. Maybe ten minutes, maybe a week. The many men may know each other, and there’s always some serious group of guys in the corner taking care of business, but the main meal is going to be you.

“We girls hang out for a couple of hours and then provide services to the guys. Some have already made specific requests for girls. I’m taken. Guy knows I’ll be leaving with him. If I can get you in, you’ll be one of the free girls. Meaning, you’re up for grabs. Maybe a guy, maybe a group of guys with other girls. That’s the gist. You in or out?”

My head was doing summersaults, fully understanding what Jasmine was talking about yet giving few details on. I felt my cheeks flush. Not from what Jasmine said so much as connecting her words to things I’d already done in my past.

Shaking my head, trying to imagine what Jasmine meant for me to do, I said, “Um. This is all weird. Haven’t done anything like this since high school.”

“High school? Damn. All I did in high school is the occasional blow.”

“Yeah. Well, I dated a lot of college guys. Some wild parties.”

“Here. Let me get a photo of you. Take off the work apron. Turn a bit. Cheese. Great. I’ll send this in for the decision makers and you think about it.”