Thursday, 11 March 2010
AN APPRAISAL by Robert Crisman
The hourly rate wasn’t bad, even if it did seem like lifetimes.
Roanne and Michelle had doubled that night with George at a place by the airport. George wanted the girls to bump pussies and then suck him off. It was Michelle’s first time in the trenches and George was a slug, so Roanne gave her head to the cause. George blew like right now, and soon after the girls were out of that room with 500 bucks in their kick. Not bad for 22 minutes.
Admittedly, some of those minutes were lo-o-ong…
Back in town they dropped off at the 13 Coins Restaurant on Denny. In the booth sipping coffee, Roanne said, “Hey, girl, how are you doing?”
Michelle said, “Alright…” She grinned and shuddered. “Unngghh! What a warthog!” They laughed. “God, Roanne! It was like, I swear to God, he opened the door and—I don’t know, I—“
“You were scared shitless.”
Michelle, 22, a suburban princess gone wrong, had indeed been scared shitless. Roanne let Michelle know that it was expected the first time around. Nearing 30, Roanne was an olive-skinned queen, eyes lit with hard wisdom. Michelle paid attention.
“Well—yes,” Michelle said, “I guess. God, he… And then, we go in and he—it was like, he thought we were going to, like, steal his bedsheets or something. Goddamn, Roanne, I swear. And then, when we were, you know, on the bed and he’s—“
Roanne laughed. “That was so funny!”
“Funny?” Michelle screwed her face. Then, she had to laugh too. “God, I could just—there you are, and he’s all pressed up, like, humping the both of us, and his hands are—“
“Believe me, girl, he had at least eight of the fuckers. I know.”
“And then, he grabs my hand and puts his fucking cock in it, and—God!”
Roanne started laughing again, as much at Michelle as at George.
“It was a firehose, Roanne! God! And he’s humping my hand and—I don’t know how you…” The visual took over. Michelle blinked.
Roanne was still laughing. “I had to get you out of your predicament.”
“I can’t thank you enough but—yuck! What did you… I mean, I know what you did but…”
“I had a rubber.”
“You had a rubber?”
“In my mouth.”
“You—I don’t get it.”
“When I went down on him, I had the rubber in my mouth and, you know, I just slipped it on there and did him that way.”
Roanne laughed. “God, girl, you should see yourself.”
“It’s just, you know, something you learn. You know, it’s just—“
“A real taste treat.” Michelle giggled.
Roanne laughed. “Scrumptious, honey!”
“Bleaugghh! Oh well…” Michelle slumped in her seat. “At least it’s over. God. I thought we were going to be there forever.”
“God, Michelle. How long do you think we were there?”
“I have no idea. Eight months.”
“Twenty minutes? Really?”
“Yup, twenty minutes.” Roanne laughed. “And we spent half of that in the bathroom.”
“He’s just lucky we didn’t just lock ourselves in there!” Michelle giggled. “I could just see it. We’re in there, you know, and then, panting and moaning, and he—“ She started laughing, “he’s beating his meat and drooling all over the door—“ They both whooped at that one. “And then, when we finally come out he just pays us, you know? He got what he came for, so, sayonara, you know?”
“Really, girl, it was almost that easy. I told you he was a mouse.”
“With a hog.”
“Yes, wasn’t it…” Roanne laughed. “He came in two minutes.”
“Two minutes? He fucked my hand for a day-and-a-half!”
“No, dear. Two minutes.” Roanne rolled and then batted her eyes. “I knew it wouldn’t take long. He just—I knew. We came out of the bathroom, old George was ready. And then, God—we’re there on the bed and he’s—I thought he was going to cum on my back.”
“On my hand.”
Roanne laughed. “Yeah. Anyway, soon as I, uh, took him in hand, I knew. He was just about ready to spit, girl, and—“
“Oh god, stop. Anyway, Jesus, twenty minutes. It sure seemed longer.”
“Twenty minutes. Two-fifty a pop for the both of us, girl, and that’s $750 an hour, less commission, which knocks it down to $375—“
“The service takes half?”
“Yeah, I told you.”
“Jesus, I must have missed that.”
“Well, dear, you were loaded and—“
“God, I guess.” Michelle shook her head, grinned.
“Yeah, so anyway, $375. That’s still not bad, eh? Let’s see, $187.50 for each of us and—“
“It sure beats working at Denny’s. Or, being a bar-r-rista at fucking Starbucks for six bucks an hour plus tips.”
“Indeed yes it does,” Roanne said. “And it happens, too.”
“Us getting out of there early. You notice, our little mouse, after he, uh, spritzed, he just, he wasn’t much for small talk and stuff. He just wanted us gone.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did notice that. Poor man, he seemed, what do they call that…?”
“Post-coital depression. And that’s exactly what it was too. All he wanted to do after we left was jump into his bottle of bourbon or whatever and get drunk. I think if we’d’ve, you know, lingered, he’d’ve started gnashing his teeth or something like that. I mean, he was just, Please go away! He didn’t even want to look at us. I said, Goodbye, George, and he’s just, like, unh or something and nods his head and gives me this look out of the corner of his eye and goes back to looking out the window.”
“I know,” Michelle said. That’s so weird. Men, I swear. It’s like, as long as their dick’s hard they’ll kiss your ass. But once that’s over it’s, well, fuck you, bitch, and goodbye.”
“Yeah, well, that’s alright, dear, they can pay for the privilege. Five hundred for twenty minutes’ work. I’ll take that every time. And some guys give you a bonus too, so… He didn’t, but—“
Roanne laughed. “Maybe next time.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Uh huh. Yeah…” Roanne said. “I figure, six more months.” She took on a musing sort of a tone. “Six more months. A year, maybe, I’ll have enough saved and then, kiss this shit goodbye. Get back into school. Do that, come out, open my shop, and I’ll be set…” Her tone darkened. “I can do what I want then, and the world can go kiss my ass.”
“Yeah…” Michelle looked for a moment as if she was afraid of being left behind.
Roanne caught it. “I’ll take you with me, girl.” She laughed. “And in the meantime I’ll teach you the trick with the rubbers.”
“Yuck.” Michelle rolled her eyes. “Oh well. I want cherry-flavored. Then, maybe.”
Michelle sat back in her seat. First date down. Michelle thought, not too bad… She remembered dates back in high school. Those times with some pimply-faced doofus with change for the bus and that’s it, who’d keep sliding his hand up her dress till she slapped him or something.
At least with old George she got paid.
Robert Crisman knew Eddies and learned early on that they'd die for nothing. He wanted to live so he cut them loose. He tries to bring them alive in his stories, however, through acid-noir looks at the way they did business. He loves Dashiell Hammett, who also knew Eddies, and thinks Raymond Chandler is bullshit.