Chapter 4 - Candy

“I told you, we just need a little more money and we can get out of here.” Dylan looked at me, standing in the doorway of the bedroom with his hands on his hips and kind of a stern look on his face.

“Yeah, I know, but we’ve been doing this a long time already,” I said softly. “How come we don’t have enough yet?”

“Cause we have to buy food, pay the rent, buy your clothes, baby.”

Dylan walked into the room, moving behind me as I brushed my hair in the mirror. My boyfriend had turned me into a blonde because the customers liked it, or so he claimed. I wasn’t so sure and it wasn’t up to me anyway. I always ended up doing whatever he told me to and sometimes I didn’t like it, but what was I gonna do?

“I take care of you good,” he continued, staring into my reflected eyes. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, feeling his big black body against my back, the bulge of his cock against my butt as he hugged me.

He wore nothing but a pair of leopard print briefs that only barely contained his beautiful black prick. I could feel it through the baby blue short-shorts I wore. Dylan’s hands went up my bare tummy to the pink halter top I wore, finding my puffy nipples as they tried to poke through the cotton. He kissed my neck and hair, finding my left ear and nibbling on it gently while my cock grew hard in the pouch of my thong.

“You’re going to ruin my makeup,” I complained, tilting my head as I watched us in the mirror.

“Just a few more tricks, that’s all,” he said. “You ain’t gonna be a whore forever, I promise.”

“You’ve been saying that forever,” I told him with a roll of my dark, smokey eyes. “I wanna get out of here, that’s all. Please?”

“Don’t worry, I’m making some deals, baby.” He pinched my nipples through my top and rolled them around. “I’m gonna hook us up, you just gotta trust me.”

“I gotta get going,” I sighed, looking at my watch. It was small and pink, a little girl’s watch to go with my junk jewelry. I’d turned fifteen a week before, but I looked like a 13-year-old girl.

“Room 214,” he reminded me. “Make sure you get the money first.”

“Duh!” I giggled, but kind of unhappily. He’d been saying that same thing for the last nine months, ever since Dylan had started pimping me out.

“And it’s just a two hour gig, right?” he told me. “I got some shit lined up later, don’t be turning your phone off.”

“I know, you told me ten times already.”

“So, now I told you eleven times,” he said as I turned around. “Smile for me. Come on, show me some love, baby.”

“I love you,” I sighed. “I just don’t feel like smiling right now, alright? I gotta go.”

“Okay.” Dylan nodded, letting me slip out of his arms. “Be a good girl.”

“Yeah.” I made a face and I didn’t really like playing dress up for strangers, but a lot of my customers loved it.

I didn’t mind doing it for Dylan, you know? It was fun then, but doing it all the time sorta made me forget I was supposed to be a boy, as dumb as that sounds. Sometimes I wondered if I should have left St. Luke’s at all. I couldn’t even remember the reasons I’d wanted to run away, but that’s what we’d done and now I was paying for it. Literally. Dylan didn’t work, he just worked me. Setting me up with guys for sex and at first it had seemed kind of like a game, but after doing it for so long ... It was just work now. I went someplace, or let a guy pick me up off the street sometimes, did my job and gave Dylan the money. I never saw any of it again. He paid for everything, gave me what I needed, and was supposed to be saving up so we could go to California, but I had no idea how much we had.

A lot, I hoped. I made at least two hundred dollars a night, usually a lot more than that, and I’d been doing it for a lotta nights. Once in awhile I’d get a night off and Dylan would take me out and spoil me a little, but those occasions were getting to be rare. He even had me turning tricks on my birthday and I was still a little upset about that. This wasn’t the life I’d been expecting when we’d run away together, but maybe it should have been. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“Motel Eight,” I told the taxi driver. “By the airport.”

“Got it,” he replied, looking over his shoulder as I got in. “You want the meter or...”

“I can blow you,” I said with a small shrug of my pale shoulders beneath my pink leather jacket.

“Sounds cool,” he agreed, adjusting his rearview mirror so he could look at me while he drove.

He was a black guy and not as rough looking as a lot of taxi drivers I’d met. Most of them would be happy just to look to me, but every now and then I’d get one like this guy. Trading a blowjob for a thirty dollar cab ride wasn’t a great deal for me, but I really wanted to get out of that town.

Twenty minutes later I was squatting on the asphalt, leaning into the cab with the man’s chubby cock stretching my lips. He wasn’t that long and I’d quickly learned that all black men weren’t hung like horses, but he was nice and thick. I slid my pink lips down the shaft and felt his spongy meat filling my mouth completely. I used a lot of tongue and played nicely with his sweaty balls, wanting to bring him off as quickly as I could. He tasted pissy and slightly bitter, but I didn’t mind. I love men and especially their cocks, everything about them, and in that respect I had to admit I’d chosen the right career.

“Oh shit, you suck good,” he breathed, holding my head and playing with my bleached blonde hair as I bobbed up and down.

“Hmmph...” I appreciated the complimented and swallowed down our mixed spit and precum.

He didn’t take real long to cum, maybe five minutes or so, and I had time anyway. He’d driven us across town fairly quickly since he’d known what was waiting for him once we got to the motel. When he finally lost it, I swallowed easily, tasting his semen all bitter-sweet and salty. I enjoyed that too, the distinctive flavor and texture of a man’s orgasm, and I liked the way it filled my tummy. I didn’t spill very much at all and after thirty seconds of washing his dick clean, I sat up red faced and smiling, wiping around my mouth with my fingers.

“Here...” He found some McDonalds napkins on the dashboard.

I thanked him for that small favor as I cleaned the cum from my chin. He even let me use his mirror to fix my makeup. What a nice guy.

“Take one of my cards...”

“You have business cards?” I giggled as I stood there, feeling sort of high the way I did after sucking down a load of fresh sperm.

“ ... call me if you need a ride,” he continued. “Company cards, but my number’s on the back.”

“Bob Porter?” I read the back of the card and flicked it with my thumb as I looked at him.

“That’s me,” he grinned.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Thanks. You working all night?”

“Until sunrise,” Bob said. “How old are you anyway?”

“Too late to be asking me that!” I giggled. “Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s what I thought,” he sighed, teasing me with his warm brown eyes.

“Pick me up in two hours?” I asked, cocking my left eyebrow playfully.

“Right here?”

“Out in front,” I said, since we were around the side of the motel.

“I can do that,” he agreed. “You be careful, huh?”

“You’re worried about me now?” I giggled again. “Be careful, Bob. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You must be Candy,” a middle aged white man said as he opened the door. He looked pretty average in his suit trousers and t-shirt, half-dressed after a long day of doing whatever it was he did.

“I must be,” I said with a pretty smile, tossing my hair from one shoulder to the other as I looked around him. “Can I come in?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah,” he nodded, stepping out of the way. “Jesus. How old are you?”

“How old do you want me to be?” I asked, turning around as I dropped my butt onto the bed with a giggle. I crossed my legs and leaned back on my arms as we looked at each other.

“Eighteen would be nice.” He closed the door and locked it, but I didn’t believe him.

“Maybe you want my big sister instead,” I pouted. “She’s almost eighteen.”

“Almost?” He grinned at me. “Take off your jacket for me.”

“Mmmm...” I shook my head slowly. “Let’s take care of business first, okay? Two hundred?”

“Can I see what I’m getting first?” he asked, rubbing the lump in his trousers and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m sitting right here,” I told him. “You wanna fuck or just fuck around?”

“Oh, I wanna fuck,” he decided as he let his eyes roam over my body. “I just want to make sure. You’re gorgeous as hell, you know that?”

“Yeah. I get that a lot,” I said with a smile, uncrossing my legs and spreading my creamy thighs. “You really wanna see?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his eyes to my skirt as I pinched the hem between my thumb and finger.

I lifted it for him slowly, teasing the man as my pink thong was revealed and the pouch bulged with my trapped cock and balls. I hadn’t grown much taller over the last year, and I certainly hadn’t put on much more weight. I stood five-seven and a 112 pounds soaking wet, but my cock had enjoyed a nice little growth spurt and I packed a solid six inches when it was fully erect. Not huge maybe, or even large, but it looked bigger than it was on my slim, decidedly effeminate body.

“Okay,” the man nodded, pulling out his wallet and he didn’t need to see everything quite yet. “Two hundred?”

“Uh-huh,” I nodded, stroking the pink nylon with my pink fingernails. I liked pink a lot and it was my favorite color.

“You’re under arrest, Candy,” he said almost apologetically, holding up his wallet and it wasn’t a wallet at all, but a badge. “King County Sheriff’s Department. Put your hands on your head for me.”

“Aw fuck you!” I frowned as another cop came out of the bathroom with her gun out. She looked like a dyke.

“Not tonight, sweetie,” the man chuckled. “You’ve got a headache.”

“Get your hands up,” the woman told me. “Now, faggot!”

“I’m not gonna like you,” I said to her, putting my hands on my head. “I can tell.”

“You’ve got the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you ... blah blah blah”

“Name?” a bored looking cop dressed in shit brown asked me.

I sat next to his desk and the sheriff’s department was full of whores, most of them women, but a couple guys in drag too. Apparently there was a big sweep going on and I’d gotten caught up in it, but I’d never been arrested before or anything and being fifteen, I figured nothing would happen to me. I’d have to call Father John though and have him come down to get me and that would suck. He’d take me back to St. Luke’s or maybe send me somewhere else, I wasn’t sure. And did I really want to go back there?

“What’s your name?” he asked again. After emptying my pockets and purse on his desk, the cop didn’t have a clue. Beyond a birth certificate that I’d never seen, I didn’t have so much as a library card. So I guess being an orphan ain’t all bad.

“David Hathaway,” I replied. “H-A-T-”

“I got it,” he said. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I said and he stared at me. “What? I’m eighteen.”

“What’s your address?”

“I don’t have one,” I shrugged. “I just got into town. I needed some money, you know...”

“You got a pimp? What’s his name?” They knew I had a pimp because Dylan had set me up with the guy and I guess they figured he would have shown up with me, but he hadn’t.

“Dwayne something,” I shrugged. “I met him at the bus station. We’re not married or anything.”

“Right.” The cop chuckled. “Where’d you come from?”

“Vegas,” I said. “I wanted to be a showgirl, but they told me I was too short.”

“You got an address there?”

“Nope,” I shrugged. “Sorry.”

We went around like that for awhile and the cop didn’t really think I was eighteen, but he couldn’t prove I wasn’t. I didn’t have any ID or anything, just a lot of lip gloss, bubble gum, condoms, and crap like that. They had more prostitutes coming in too, so he didn’t fuck around too long. The cop filled out the forms, got me fingerprinted, photographed, and locked up in a twelve by twelve holding cell with a half dozen other guys dressed like women.

“Hey little girl,” a passable red head grinned at me. “They grab you for skipping school?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes and ignored the looks I was getting.

A couple of those guys looked pretty bad, definitely drag queens and one of them really needed a shave. But the red head looked good and except for his small Adam’s apple, it wasn’t at all obvious he wasn’t a woman. He dressed nice too, not slutty like me or whorish like the others, but more like a college girl out for a night on the town. He looked pretty classy, I thought, and I wondered where they’d busted him.

“Pull up a seat,” he said, patting the stainless steel bench beside him. “Where’d they get you?”

“Motel Eight.” I shrugged, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms over my flat chest. “How about you?”

“Marriott,” he replied. “My lawyers are going to have some fun with these bozos.”

“You’ve got lawyers?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“The service does,” he nodded. “Pacific Escorts? They arranged the contract, nothing illegal about it.”

“Then why’d they arrest you?”

“Because I asked him how generous he wanted to be with the tip,” he explained. “I never told him what I’d do for it though.”

“Is that important?” I wondered, remembering how I’d asked that stupid cock if he wanted to fuck or what.

“I’m just an escort,” he said. “We go out to dinner, go dancing or hit a party, whatever he needs, and it’s just like a date, you know?”

“So you don’t really have to fuck the guy?”

“Not unless I like him,” he told me. “And then it’s up to him how much he wants to tip me.”

“Really?”

“Well...” He laughed lightly and his voice was perfect, soft and feminine. “Theoretically.”

“Heh!” I giggled at that.

“How about you?”

“My boyfriend pimps me out,” I sighed. “I’m pretty tired of it though.”

“How old are you?”

“God!” I laughed. “Everybody’s been asking me that tonight.”

“Well, you look like you’re twelve or something.”

“I’m fifteen,” I whispered, glancing around. “But I told them I’m eighteen, you know.”

“Don’t want to go back?” he asked with a knowing look, and he didn’t have to know where I’d come from. Nobody becomes a whore in the middle of a happy childhood.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I’d rather go to jail.”

“Don’t say that,” he told me. “I’m Monica.”

“Candy,” I said, touching his fingers and sharing a smile. “You look really great.”

“Thank you.” He made a little face and the guy was definitely the best cross-dresser I’d ever seen in my life. “So do you. I wouldn’t have guessed you’re not a girl.”

“Yeah, well...” I shook my head. “Even if I dress normal, everybody wonders.”

“You sound like you don’t like it.”

“I just want to be me,” I said. “I dunno. How long are they going to keep us in here anyway?”