Brooklyn Brothel (7 page)

When we made it to the room, he unbuckled his belt and dropped his baggy jeans to the floor. He wasn’t a bad lookin’ guy, but not true eye candy.

“So what’cha want?” I asked real confident. I’d gotten comfortable, even a bit cocky.

“I want it from the back,” he announced.

“Oh, that’ll cost you $350,” I countered.

“Bitch, you crazy. Give me the $150 type of fuck.”

I thought,
cheap bastard
. I knew I wasn’t even gonna get a tip. I commenced to fuckin’ him at top speed, with no foreplay, no extra shit, and no emotion at all. He got no sounds, and no extra rubs. Thug boy came after about five minutes, cleaned off with a soiled towel and left.

“Hey, where’s my damn money?” I shouted tryna slip my dress back on.

He neva answered me. He opened the door without a care in the world, and I ran out the room behind him with my dress half-way on.

“Hey, wait!” I shouted.

He kept walkin’. He pimped right out the door of 2C, down the stairs, and opened the front door. Betty came outta her office and pointed for the guy in the black suit to stop him. Before I knew it, the guy had given up the $150 and handed it to me. For the first time, I had admiration for Betty.
She did look out for us somewhat.

“Thanks,” I said, to the robotic guy in the black suit although he ignored me.

I marched back up the stairs and took a twenty minute break. Another guy walked in and requested me instantly. I was feelin’ good, extra special, and on cloud nine. Business was sorta slow, yet I had already snagged three guys. Damn, I was proud of myself. I tried not to grin too much, ’cause the otha girls were eyein’ me.

My new guy looked unkempt. He needed to shave, but at least he didn’t smell. He was a young, mixed guy, of South American decent. I wasn’t really sure about his nationality and he wouldn’t even give me his name. When we reached the room, my weird date told me not to look at him while he pulled his shorts down. I turned and said, “Fine with me.” I then asked what he was gettin’.

“What are your fees?”

His face crinkled when I rattled off the prices. He said he’d neva been in a brothel before, and thought the prices were high.

“Let’s go with flat sex,” I suggested.

He shook his head up and down rapidly like a retard. I handed him a condom, then slipped off my thongs. Once he moved closer, closin’ in on me, we fell onto the bed. Dude was a weirdo. He played around a bit lettin’ the condom on his dick move against my clit. Suddenly, he jammed his manhood inside of me. Felt like his fuckin’ nuts were inside of me, too. He pulled me close, on top of him, clutchin’ my ass like he was holdin’ on for dear life. His pubic hair felt real rough. Rough like it was cuttin’ my skin. I tried to pull away slightly, but he drilled into my vagina as much as he could, ’cause once again, I felt dry. It didn’t matter, ’cause he held on tighter, pound after pound. Thankfully, he came, and stood up askin’ if he could switch to another girl.

I held my hand out lettin’ him know to fork ova my damn money. He handed me $150 and a ten dollar tip. When we finally walked out, nobody was in the lounge but three girls, and they were all talkin’ to two Johns, I guess waitin’ for rooms. My weirdo friend jetted out the room still actin’ neurotic.

I laid on the couch happy to get a break. I spent the next few hours readin’ the Playboy magazines on the table, and talkin’ to any girl who would talk back to me. Time passed slowly, just like the amount of men who came in later in the night. I hadn’t reached my goal, but it was near ten, makin’ me realize the goal seemed far fetched.

I didn’t feel that great anyway. I needed a shower. While I sat on the couch, I kept itchin’, feelin’ like bugs were in the room. When eleven o’clock came, Serita came in releasin’ us early. She said it didn’t seem likely for anyone else to show up, but to stay on call for the next hour. She told us to pay up, and for some reason looked at me first.

I eventually paid the bitch, then rushed to our apartment, took a shower, and scrubbed myself like crazy. By the time I dried off, the lights had already been turned out except for the light in the bathroom. The quick lotion job did some good, but the itchin’ still remained.

I got in the bed, then got out several times, runnin’ back and forth to the bathroom. Eventually, I asked Darla for some alcohol, but she told me it was late, and to fuck off. Sasha had already said when I got in the shower that she was exhausted, so I didn’t bother Sleepin’ Beauty.

I rushed ova to Cinnamon who was asleep, too. She was always cheerful, even when she slept, so I shook her a few times. She opened her eyes sensin’ that somethin’ was wrong.

“What’s wrong, Co-Co,” she said softly.

“I don’t know. I keep itchin’.”

She sat up in her bed. “It could be a yeast infection.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve had one of those before. No, whateva this shit is it itches more on the outside.”

“Have you seen little spots of blood in your panties? Or maybe little brown spots?”

When I shook my head up and down, she laughed.

“Welcome to the hoe business girl ’cause you got crabs.”

I was speechless.

“Look, go to sleep,” Cinnamon instructed. “We’ll get some crab shampoo from the store in the morning. Ain’t no way I’m going no where tonight. I’m tired.” She laid back down and turned her back to me.

I was humiliated. Here I was a grown woman with crabs. I’d heard about the nasty mufuckas. Just neva thought it would be me. For at least ten minutes, I spent time playin’ with my pussy tryin’ to visually see one of the lil’ suckas. I couldn’t spot anything. I got back in the bed, hopin’ to get some sleep. Unfortunately, the tossin’ and turnin’ got the best of me. I flipped the sheets off of me, gazed down into the darkness, and searched for bugs once again.

Suddenly, I couldn’t take it anymore. I hopped up, threw on a baseball cap, and my old faithful sweat suit. I searched in the darkness for my money, ready to walk to the store. It didn’t matter that it was two a.m., I itched like crazy.

I grabbed the doorknob and slowly tried to turn it. I didn’t wanna wake the girls up, or Serita for that matter. When I realized the door wouldn’t open, I put a little more power into my wrist. Nothing happened. With each tug, the sounds of me shakin’ the door became louder. “The fuckin door won’t open,” I said under my breath. I tried again, then stood back gazin’ at the wooden door.

I kicked it with force causin’ a lil’ movement in the room. Still, most of the girls were sound asleep, except for
someone way across the room who said, “It’s locked, stupid. We’re locked in. Didn’t you know that shit?”

“Locked! Oh, hell no!” I covered my mouth, takin’ short, deep breaths. I couldn’t believe this was happenin’. All of a sudden I felt claustrophobic. My eyes searched the room like a visual tour. Everyone was sound asleep. I kneeled to the floor, and just laid in front of the door. I wanted to close my eyes and pray this was not true. Why would they lock us in? I cried quietly.

“What if there’s a fire?” I asked myself. “I have a son. And I got fuckin’ crabs!”

Chapter 5

Day three started
off rough. I ended up sleepin’ in front of the door, on the cold hardwood floor until Cinnamon woke me up a little after six a.m.

I lay on the floor squirmin’ and chantin’, “Please, just a little. I’m hungry,” I begged. “Just a piece of bread.”

I know Cinnamon thought I was crazy. She kept shakin’ me tryna get me to quiet down, but I couldn’t. My reoccurrin’ nightmare happened at least once a month. It seemed I would always have bad dreams and flashbacks about bein’ in foster homes. Of course, the worst experiences of all would repeat ova and ova again in my head. I guess because I hadn’t eaten much ova the past few days, my latest episode focused on Ms. Joy, an older woman who kept me for ova a year when I was twelve years old.

She made it clear that she was in it for the money, and her checks would not be spent on me, or any of the other children. Sadly, we didn’t have much food, so I went to bed hungry on countless occasions. It was weird because the other children would pray for their parents to come back and get them, but not me. My choice was to go hungry rather than to see Cynthia Ramey’s face again.

“Let’s go,” Cinnamon whispered.

At first I seemed a bit delirious, not sure what she meant. Then I felt my lil’ friends movin’ down below, which instantly brought me back to reality. The sun peeked through our room from the window lettin’ me know it was time to
make a move. Cinnamon helped me get off the floor, all the while keepin’ her finger pressed against her lips. I tried the door again, hopin’ last night had been a bad dream right along with the foster home one. Wrong! It was still locked.

I saw Cinnamon throwin’ a t-shirt on and grabbin’ her purse all within a matter of minutes. It prompted me to grab my money, too. All of it. I had made $750 the night before and couldn’t risk leavin’ it in the room. Nobody could be trusted; not even Sasha when it came to money.

I neva asked Cinnamon her plan for kickin’ the door down. I just trusted that she had a plan. When she tip-toed away from the door in the direction of my bed, my eyes grew to the size of a watermelon. “What the hell are you doin’?” I spat in a light whisper.

She pointed to the window next to my bed. Immediately, I rushed ova and looked down. I knew we were on the second floor which meant we had nothin’ to land on if we jumped. Cinnamon raised the window with ease like she’d done this somewhere before. I wanted to ask so many questions, but knew we needed to stay quiet.

The mornin’ air hit me in the face and brought some freshness into the stuffy room. My head was the first thing out the window, noticin’ we were about six feet off the ground. I got nervous, which made me jerk my body back inside.

“Do you wanna get rid of those crabs?” Cinnamon asked me with a critical look on her face. I’d neva seen her appear to be that serious before, so I told myself I had to go, too. After all, she was doin’ it all for me.

Cinnamon pointed to a ledge below just before I watched her climb out the window, holding on tightly to the pane. Finally, she jumped, landin’ onto the tiny ledge below, then jumped again onto the sidewalk. With my heart rate increasin’ by the minute, I took a chance and followed her every move. When I made it to the bottom, Cinnamon gave
me a pound and we laughed like crazy all the way to her Nissan Sentra. It was a ‘98’ but it got us to Duane Reade within minutes.

Call me triflin’, but I couldn’t wait to shampoo my coochie. So I went into a nearby McDonalds, filled a large cup with water, and shampooed my pussy three times right in the stall. It could’ve been psychological, but I felt better after the first wash. My baby wipes were comin’ in handy like a mufucka!

When me and Cinnamon made it back to Betty’s, we knew goin’ back in the way we came out wasn’t happenin’. It was way too early to go inside through the front door. We had at least two more hours before we’d see the girls comin’ and goin’ before bell time. We decided to park down the street, behind a green mini-van, close enough to keep a good eye on the house.

Cinnamon started tellin’ me all about how she started strippin’. I was shocked to know that she did have a few goals of her own. She had been in college, her first year, and was offered a job at a local strip club. Just tryin’ to make ends meet, she took it thinkin’ that it would be a part time gig just to help her get through school. Before she knew it, the money had gotten good, and her grades were falterin’.

Being as though she had no parental support ’cause both her parents were on drugs, she abandoned school and the rest was history. I was happy when she told me that within the next six months she was gonna dump her pimp and go back to school. She said her body already felt used and abused, and she was only twenty-one.

“What good is an old hoe?” she joked.

I enjoyed our conversation so much that time quickly passed without either of us noticin’. Eventually, I got comfortable enough to talk about my situation. I explained that Betty’s was a one-week only job for me, and that I’d neva
sold my body before. I had planned on using the money for a lawyer to get my son back. While I spilled my guts, for some strange reason, my vision focused in on a white male with a small physique taking pictures of the block. My first thought was that he was takin’ pictures of family members. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a white-t, mostly casual just like the otha people in the neighborhood.

There were a few older ladies out on their stoops, waterin’ flowers. Nevertheless, once he clipped on a long zoom lense and pointed it in the direction of Betty’s, I sat up, pushin’ myself closer to the dash. “Look at that shit, Cinnamon!”

She looked, then snickered. “Probably a disgruntled client,” she said. “The asshole wants a refund.”

“I don’t think so. Looks a lil’ suspect to me.” My eyes bulged.

Next thing I knew, he’d switched the direction of the camera, and snapped multiple pictures of the street signs and the opposite side of the block, too.

“See, you just paranoid,” Cinnamon told me. She shook her head like what I had suggested was nonsense.