Panties for Sale (40 page)

Chieko slowly stepped out of the elevator on the fourth
floor with a shiver.
 
Buildings in Japan
don’t usually have a ‘fourth’ floor.
 
The
word ‘four’ in Japanese, sounds too close to the word ‘death’.
 
Chieko jangled her lucky charms on her key
chain and walked down the corridor.
 

The door to room 404 was open a crack.
 
She checked her appointment book again:
King Edward Hotel.
 
Room 404.
 
4 pm.
 
Why didn’t she know the
clients name?
 
That wasn’t right, Dora
always left a name.
  
As she pushed open
the door, Chieko’s heart sank.
 
“Damé,”
she muttered.
 

“I see you,” Saul was sitting in a high backed chair facing
the door.
 
“Please come in.” He stared at
her with dark piercing eyes.
 
“Do you
remember what to do?”

Chieko nodded and slowly began to remove her clothes.
 
She shivered as she dropped her clothes.
 
Biting her lip nervously, she walked to the
middle of the room to stand infront of Saul.
 
His fingers reached out to touch her, caressing the back of her
legs.
 

“Come closer,” he murmured pulling her hips towards him and
pushing her back down so her arms dangled in front of her.
 
He kept a firm grip on her left hip as he
caressed her backside with his free hand, slowly trailing his fingers up her
legs and over her buttocks.
  
The
sensation was soothing and although she didn’t want to, Chieko began to feel
her body respond to his soft touch.
  
Her
head began to feel heavy and as she closed her eyes she wished she was lying
down on a comfortable bed.
 

“Ohma!”
 
Chieko
gasped as she felt Saul’s hot breath between her legs.

“Quiet,” Saul slapped the back of Chieko’s leg, “This is
for my pleasure, not yours.”
 

Chieko covered her mouth with her hands as she groaned
feeling waves of pleasure wash over her body as Saul buried his face deep
inside her, pleasuring her with both his tongue and fingers.
 

“Ah, you slut,” Saul laughed, “You like that don’t
you?
 
How about this?”
 
He grabbed her skin and bit her with his
teeth, sucking hard on her skin.
 
Chieko
screamed and tried to push him away, but Saul held tight, biting into her soft
skin until he drew blood.

When Saul finally let go, Chieko jumped away from him.
 
She tried to turn around to face him, but had
to reach out to balance herself against the wall as her legs were shaking
uncontrollably.
 

“Whore,” he sneered, “All women are whores.
 
That is all you want.
 
Sex and my money.
 
Nothing else is worth anything to you.
 
Look at you.
 
I put my finger deep in you, deep inside your most precious private
place and who am I?
 
Do you know who I
am?
 
No.
 
And you let me.
 
Why?
 
Because I give you money.”
 
Saul reached into his pocket and pulled out a
stack of bills. “This is what you came for, not me.
 
This is want you want.
 
Well then, whore,” Saul held out the money to
Chieko.
  

Chieko hesitated, wary of the anger flashing behind Saul’s
icy stare.
 
The air was silent and still,
as Chieko stared at Saul, like a surprised deer stares at hunter emerging from
the forest.
 

Saul shifted in his chair, and Chieko sensing a change in
the air, stepped forward to take the money but Saul flicked his wrist and the
money flew up into the air.

Chieko watched the bills flutter past her, falling all over
the floor.
 
She didn’t move.

“Pick them up!” Saul shouted.

Chieko jumped and then fell down to her knees, gathering up
the money as fast as she could.
 
She
crawled to the door, grabbed her clothes and pulled herself up.
  
Without looking back, she yanked the door
open and ran down the hall.
  
She tried
to cover herself as she ran until she was able to duck into the exit stairwell.
 
Shivering, Chieko tried to catch her breath
while she
got dressed.

Diary,

I’ve been thinking a lot
about this business.
 
And I think Luann
is right.
 
I mean, am I ok with doing
this?
 
I mean really?????
 

And is it ok to have this
business with my boys in the house?
 
I
don’t know. What about when they grow up?
 
Is it the right message?
 
But I
really can’t see anything wrong with it.
 
I mean, I know society hates it.
 
But why?
 
Fuck society.
  
I’m not hurting any one.
 
And that’s what Luann says is the most
important thing.
 
What did she say?
 
I have it written down somewhere.
 
Oh yes.
 
Do what one will, whatever one wants, as long as it is harms no
one.
 

Well, I do that.
 
So why do people think it’s wrong?
 
Well, I guess as a woman I can see why other
women don’t like us.
 
We make other women
feel insecure.
 
I know.
 
I thought the same thing when I was stressing
over my dick head husband.
 
Women get all
scared that maybe the other woman knows some secret sexual trick they don’t.
 
That’s what I thought.
 
What does she do to please him that I
don’t?
 
And believe me, I know all of
tricks.
 
And that is not what was
stealing my husband away.

It pisses me off though.
 
Why are women are so god damned afraid of
their sensuality?
 
Why does no one talk
about it?
 
No one looks at each other.
 
Women don’t want to talk about what they do
with their husbands.
 
Admit that they
even have sex.
 
No, that is behind closed
doors.
 
No wonder they are all so
terrified that they are not doing it right.
 
Or they are missing something.
 
Or
their husbands will find someone else, something else they like better.
 
God damnit, this society is repressed!
  
Jesus H. Christ, but we are missing the
whole god damned picture.
 

You know, women need to stop
and stand up for themselves and start talking this shit out.
 
That’s what I think. There is no reason for
women to hate us or fear us.
 
Because us
‘women of the night’ - us ‘whores’ - we know no more and no less than they
do.
 
Ok, maybe a few more tricks.
 
But it’s all the same damn thing. The stick
goes in the hole.
 
And repeat.

And really, wives, girlfriends,
they have so much more power than us, because they actually care. They give a
damn about their boyfriends, their husbands.
 
If I had a dime, no a penny, for every man that wished their wives would
just give them a chance.
 
Just let things
go.
 
Just relax and enjoy
themselves.
 
Enjoy sex.
 
The god, the bad, and even the ugly sex.
  
Damn, the ugly sex.
 
That’s the best, when its so damn good, you
lose all sense of everything.
 
And you
don’t give a shit.
 
God damn.
 
Women are crazy.
 
They don’t even know their own power.
 
The power of love.
 
When they have sex with their men, they are
in love.
 
They are creating acts of love.
 
We, us whores, we are not in love.
 
We are posers.
 
Pretending.
 
It’s an illusion of sex and sexiness.
 
An illusion of caring.
 
But all we
really care about is the money.
 
That’s
why guys come.
 
Because they know what to
expect.
 
They know they won’t hurt our
feelings if they don’t do it right or climax enough or stay hard enough.
 
Because we’re not going to turn over and say ‘is
that it?’
 
Is it because I don’t excite
you?
 
‘Do you think I’m too fat?’
  

What do I know.
 
Shit, I’m just babbling now.
 
But really, I was thinking about it.
 
What kind of fucked up society needs to have
wives and then whores to do what wives should be doing?
 

No.
 
I take that back.
  
I think whores are necessary.
 
Of course, I say that.
 
It’s my god damned job.
 
But yes, I think we are here for a
reason.
 
At least in today’s
society.
 
We can point out the
flaws.
 
In a relationship.
 
In society.
 
In marriage.
 
God damned
marriage.
 

People’s lives cannot be
governed by a piece of paper they signed on one day out of their 80 yearlong
lives.
 
Especially if it belongs to some
woman-hating oppressive church dogma crap.
 
Yet that is exactly what society demands of them.
  
Everyone must be in one monogamous
relationship.
 
Where the man is
king.
 
Under one roof.
 
Paying one family tax.
 
It’s easier to keep track of that way.
 
To control.
 
To monitor.
 
Damn.
 

That god damned Randolph
Strausberg was right.
 
God, he was such a
blowhard.
 
But you know what?
 
For all his PhD Philosophical Women’s Studies
University shit, he was right about one thing.
 
It is all about control.
 
We are
all controlled.
 
I can’t believe I
remembered his name.
 
I can’t believe I
thought of him.
 
What the hell would make
me think of him?
 

He was always going off about
his beloved philosopher, what was his name?
 
Freud?
 
No, not that sex
freak.
 
Kant.
 
That’s right.
 
It was Kant.
 
I remember, cause
when he said it, it always sounded like cunt.
 
Shit.
 
His ideas of people being
controlled, all this big brother shit.
 
But it makes perfect sense.
 

Of course marriage is a way
to control the world.
 
By controlling
sex.
 
Which you can’t.
 
That’s nature.
 
That’s uncontrollable.
 
But if you sign a contract saying you will
obey, you will follow the rules.
 
You
will go against your nature and only have sex with one person.
 
Wow. And then of course, add the temptation.
 
Add the easy women.
 
Make it tempting.
 
So then a man will want to dabble.
 
He will be almost forced to succumb.
 
So then he will feel guilty.
 
So you either self-discipline yourself and
are controlled.
 
Or you let loose and
visit a wanton women.
 
You think you are
letting go, breaking out of the chains of your daily life.
 
Ha!
 
And there you go, you just walk right into guilt, fear and even bigger
chains.
 
All because of one piece of
paper you signed on one day out of your life.
 

And the women!
 
What an easy way to pit women against each
other.
 
Make them feel insecure by the
threat of each other.
 
Shit.
 
They will become enemies of each other.
 
Over men.
 
Distracting them from their real lives.
 
From their real power,
 
just to
obsess about pleasing the men.
 
Clever
fucking genius!!!!
  
We have made
pleasing the man, pleasuring the man the shit.
 
The everything. The be all and end all.
 
And completely demeaned women.

On one hand we have the sex
of marriage.
 
A ritual.
 
Done behind closed doors where no one talks
about it.
 
Missionary, man on top, get it
over with because I want to watch T.V. position.
 
Restrained to the same day in and day out by
contract.
 
Signed for life.
 
And this is esteemed.
 

And on the other hand, the
sex with the whore.
 
Fun.
 
Wild.
 
Adventurous.
 
On top.
 
Behind.
 
Any way you want it.
 
And it is
scorned.
 

Jesus H. Christ!!!
 
Both ways the man wins.
 
And the woman is sacrificed.
 
Sent to the slaughter.
  

And the men!
 
They get it.
 
They use it, buggers.
 
Abuse
it.
 
No, I won’t touch you. Your pussy.
 
No, it’s dirty.
 
I won’t kiss it.
 
But you, woman, you are expected, hell
obliged, to lick their dicks.
 
And if you
won’t?
 
He’ll go find someone that
will.
  
God damned.
 
What a mess is this world we have
created.
 

Sex is like breathing.
 
It is completely natural.
 
It should be fun and simple.
 
And now, god damned, it is a holy mother of
god, big fucking mess.
 
Jesus, was
Randolph right!
 
I wish I had listened
more to what he had to say.
 
But, he
always had too much too say.
 
Who cared
about all that shit?
 
Not me, for
sure.
 
I was young.
 
I was after fun.
 
And money.
 
And, yeah, he was fun.
 
Damn, was
he fun!

He always thought I was in
love with him.
 
Conceited prick.
 
But then, maybe I was.
 
But I remember, he always told me, when I
fall in love, really fall in love, I would understand.
 
When I found true love, I would see it.
 
See what?
 
I got married I didn’t see shit.
 
I just saw another lonely hurt man who needed my help.
 

Or was I in love?
 
I don’t know.
 
It was different.
 
I didn’t
understand why he didn’t love me.
 
I waited
by the phone waiting for a call, a new booking, more appointments with
him.
 
Oh my god.
 
I used to get so excited on Thursdays.
 
My heart would race all day.
 
And the fantasies I had in my head.
 
Yes, if he had asked me to run away with
him.
 
I would have.
 
In a heartbeat.
 
But then he just left.
 
Disappeared.
 
One Thursday, he just wasn’t there anymore.
 
He didn’t switch girls.
 
I don’t think so.
 
My agency never heard from him again.
 
I cried over him.
 
Really cried.
 
Damn near broke my heart.
 
Oh, I
waited and hoped to hear from him again.
 
For months.
 
Years, I hoped he
would call.
 
I didn’t care about any of
my clients that way again.
 
Actually, I
didn’t even think about John that way.
 
It was gone.
 
That spark.
 
Naïve, I guess you’d call it.
 

No, with John it was quieter.
 
He needed help.
 
Oh, did he ever.
 
And his boys.
 
They needed me.
 
And he gave me a
home.
 
I needed a home.
 
And he made me feel safe.
  
Shit.
 
Shit.
 
Shit.
 
Why is life so damned complicated?
 
Love.
 
Why does love have to be so damned important?
 
Why does it even matter?
 
Where the fuck would I find love, now
anyways?
 
At my age?
 
No, maybe I don’t need love anymore.
 
To hell with love.