Panties for Sale (35 page)

It had been months, almost a year, since Chieko had seen
John.
 
Since that awful night.
 
He had come home smelling of alcohol and
marijuana and another girl and she had locked the bedroom door.
 
He had kicked in the TV and she had flushed
his precious plastic bags down the toilet.
 
He had slapped her and kicked her in the stomach and forced himself on
her.
 
To have sex with him.
 
After her.
 
After another girl.
 
He didn’t
even know the other girl.
 
He said he
didn’t care.
 
She was hot. He could do
what he wanted.
 
Then he had passed
out.
 
She had grabbed all his money and
left.
 

Chieko got a good look at John’s backside as he strolled
through the crowd.
 
He looked like
hell.
 
His hair was long and
scruffy.
 
His clothes were filthy.
 
He was fat.
 
Was he growing a beard?
 
Chieko
felt sick.
 
How could she have ever been
stupid enough to think she was in love with that?
 
He was gross.

And who was that girl he was with?
 
She looked like a slut. Her hair was
greasy.
 
Her high heels were cheap.
 
Cheap low cut jeans. They were too low and
too tight.
 
Her flabby stomach hung out
over the waist band and her tacky tank top was too short to cover it. Chieko
watched as the girl leaned over and whispered something in John’s ear.
 
Chieko gnawed on her lip but couldn’t take
her eyes off of the pair as the girl dug her hand deep into the back pocket of
John’s jeans, then leaned over and kissed him.
 
Chieko stared as their tongues met and circled each other.

Suddenly, the crowd swelled and Chieko was jostled in a
mass of hurried commuters that came rushing out of Dundas station.
 
Chieko spun around frantically, jumping up to
look over the throng of heads, wildly searching for the couple, but they were
gone.
 
Damé.
 
She had no idea where they went, what they
were doing or where they were going.
 
How
could she?
 

Her heart sank.
 
She
couldn’t move. Her legs felt like lead.
 
Her stomach ached.
 
It felt like
someone had just punched her in the stomach, knocked the wind right out of
her.
 
She could feel it.
 
The wind rushing out through her ears as the
shopping mall closed in on her.
 
Feebly,
she shuffled over to an empty bench and sat down.

Tears streamed down her face.
 
He was supposed to love me.
 
He was supposed to take care of me.
 
He said he would.
 

Dear Diary,

Fine.
 
Fine.
 
I haven’t wanted to get into this.
 
Why?
 
The past is past, right?
 
But I’ve been thinking.
 
If it helps, it helps.
 
And so far, Luann seems to know me better
than myself.
 
So who I am not to trust
her?
  
So, here goes.

My 3 defining moments are:
Well, I don’t know.
 
I can’t say that I
had an awful childhood.
 
We were poor,
but nobody beat me up.
 
Nothing like
that.
 
My parents were ok.
 
They drank a lot.
 
They smoked a lot.
 
A lot of pot.
 
My parents were good though.
 
They
cared for me.
 

Ok, shit.
 
I guess my first defining moment was the loss
of my virginity. Yes, that’s defining moment one.
 
My father’s friends were always trying to
touch me when they came to visit.
 
And I
liked the attention.
 
And then well, one
of them, oh shit, that’s so goddamned cliché.
 
But yeah.
 
He took me outside.

Don’t get me wrong though. He
didn’t rape me.
 
I was 13.
 
I knew what I was doing.
 
I liked it.
 
I liked him touching me.
 
That’s
why I wore the short skirts.
 
He knew
that.
 
He told me that’s how he knew I
wanted him.
 
And I did. I don’t know why.
 
He was so strong.
 
His big hands were so warm.
 
He used to follow me with his eyes every
day.
 
I didn’t masturbate or anything
before.
 
I never touched myself.
 
But maybe I should of.
 
Maybe somebody should have sat down with me
and told me it was ok to get excited.
 
I
had no idea what I was doing.
 
Just that
I got so crazy excited when he came to visit.
 
I couldn’t sit still.
 
And made
all kinds of excuses to come out of my room to where he and my dad and the
others were drinking and smoking.
 

That day, I remember it like
yesterday.
 
I didn’t even wear
underwear.
 
I wore my new yellow
skirt.
 
I pulled it up too.
 
Oh, I was brazen.
 
Why?
 
I
decided to give everyone a coke while they were playing cards.
 
And I bent over to reach across the table
right in front of my dad’s friend.
 
Shit.
 
I can’t even remember his
name.
 
What was his name?
 
Anyways, he could see my bare ass.
 
My shirt was really tight too.
 
And I didn’t wear a bra.
 
My father barely looked at me.
 
He said something about my skirt.
 
Asked what happened to it.
 
Did it shrink in the dryer?
 
Or was I growing that god damned fast.
 
Everyone laughed.
 

It didn’t shrink.
 
I cut it.
 
I wanted it short.
 
I had nice
legs.
 
I watched him.
 
That guy.
 
And I waited till he went outside for a smoke. And I followed him.
 
Pretended I had to pick out the weeds in the
garden or something.
 
I didn’t have to
say much.
 
He followed me to the back
yard and grabbed me.
 
Kissed me hard on
the lips.
 
And it was good.
 
He touched me.
 
And he kissed me.
 
All over.
 
God.
 
It scared me how good it
felt.
 
It was so, well, shit it was
nothing like I had ever felt before.
 
And
damn, once you have a man’s hands run over your skin, you know a real man with
big warm hands that know what they want, once he grabbed my tits and took off
my clothes and licked me inside, well that was it.
 
My mind and my body were officially blown.
 
Addicted.
 
Shit.
 
He gave me an orgasm.
 
Heaven, right there in my back yard.
 
Under the stars.
 
Goddamned poetic.
 

So that was my first.
 
You know it barely even hurt.
 
It was worth it.
 
So I guess that was a big defining moment.
 
You could probably say, that’s when I
discovered the ways of men.
 
After that,
he came to visit my dad lots.
 
And
me.
 
And he gave me things.
 
Presents.
 
Money.
 
Usually money as time went
on.
 
That’s what I needed.
 
I think I learnt something else though
too.
 
That with men, there is no beating
around the bush.
 
Be up front with what
you want.
 
Tell them you want one hundred
dollars.
 
Show them the goods. And then
you get two hundred.
 
And then let them fuck
you.
 
Good lesson for a thirteen year old
right?

So then, I, well, shit, that
was my path.
 
I needed money.
 
And it was easy to get.
 
I didn’t even bother with the boys at
school.
 
Boys were useless.
 
Sniffing around, nervous, jumpy, horny, zit
covered boys.
 
They were no good
either.
 
They didn’t know what they were
doing.
 
Sure they needed someone to teach
them, but it wasn’t going to be me.
 
I
couldn’t be bothered.
 

I quit high school.
 
School was hard.
 
I didn’t like it.
 
I didn’t fit in.
 
I didn’t have a boyfriend.
 
And the girls my age were just dumb.
 
They only wanted to talk about clothes and
kissing the dumb boys.
 
Man, if they knew
what I was doing at night, maybe even with their fathers.
 
I didn’t have to look too far or furious for
my boyfriends.
 
My dad’s friend took care
of that.
 
He put the word out.
 
Soon I had a few sugar daddies that liked to
touch me in the back seat of their car.
 
I didn’t want to work as a waitress.
 
What a waste of time.
 
My father
never even knew.
 
They didn’t come over
for his pot.
 
Not really.
 
Sure they smoked with him.
 
But he was so stoned he never knew.
 
And my mother never cared.
 

So I guess, my second
defining moment was that god awful client.
 
That story I tell new girls that no one knows if it is true or not.
 
Yes, it’s the god damned truth.
 
I can’t make shit like that up.
 
That stupid prick raped me.
 
Out of the blue.
 
Scared the shit out of me. I had never even
been hit before.
 
I was so naïve.
 
I had heard stories, but I thought it
wouldn’t happen to me.
 
Why?
 
I was a nice person.
 
I never hurt anyone.
 
I was just giving pleasure.
 

Yes, that bastard scared me
and hurt me.
 
Bad.
 
I still have nightmares about that.
 
And sure, that’s why I started my own
company.
 
Makes for a good story.
 
But that all took time.
 
I had to get over that.
 
I quit escorting for a long time.
 
A long time I didn’t get out of bed.
 
And then I tried to get another job.
 
As a waitress.
 
As an office girl.
 
A secretary.
 
That life was hard.
 
And I barely
made enough for rent.
 

I tried to go on
welfare.
 
That was fucking
humiliating.
  
I couldn’t believe
it.
 
But my rent was too expensive.
 
Dumb government bitch said if I wanted to go
on welfare, I’d have to move in with a roommate and cut my expenses in
half.
 
Damnit.
 
I tried so hard to be straight.
 
I did.
 
I was terrified to go back to that life.
 

But then I got
transferred.
 
Cause I bitched so much, I
got transferred to the welfare supervisor.
 
And that man, that bloody welfare counselor, he thought I was cute.
 
Lucky me, right?
 
He told me I was nuts looking for
welfare.
 
He said I could make a lot of
money under the table.
 
Told me he could
help me.
 
Said he knew a good place for
me to go.
 
All I had to do was to show
him what I could do.
 
Yeah.
 
Oh man, sleazy men are everywhere.
 
Just because I was pretty.
 
And ok, maybe I had my shirt unbuttoned a
bit.
 
Can I help it if I have godamn hot
tits?
 
Damn pervert couldn’t keep his
eyes off of them.
 
I thought they might
help me get more money from welfare.
 
Not
that.
 

And so I paused.
 
And I thought about it.
 
Now, this man was gross.
 
Sleazy.
 
And I could just imagine where he would be taking me and what I would
have to do for his help.
 
And I
thought.
 
Is this it?
 
This the road available to girls?
 
This is shit.
 
No one is looking out for anyone.
 
No one gives a damn.
 
And why
would I trust one other person?
  
No, if
that was it, if this is my path, then so help me, I’ll do it myself.
 

I met Dora that day.
 
That exact day.
 
It was funny really.
 
She was in the welfare office too.
 
And she was waiting to meet that creep.
 
And when she saw me come out of his
office.
 
I must have looked like
hell.
 
I can’t remember but I think I was
crying.
 
And she followed me.
 
Walked out of the office and took me to Tim
Hortons.
 
I don’t why she did that but
she sat me down and I told her everything.
 
Smart woman that Dora.
 
She said I
had a good head on my shoulders. And I was hot as hell.
 
And she said, if I wanted to make it work,
she would help me.
 
She said she already
knew a few girls that were looking for good work too, that were pretty enough
and they were on welfare.
  
And she knew
she could find some more.
 
And that was
that.
 
So then, is meeting Dora my last
defining moment?
 
My rock.
 
My god damned brick wall.
 
Really that lady is the best.
 
Really, she is my best friend.
 
And we share the same vision.
 
To make life easier for girls who don’t want
to be screwed by the system.
 
Using our
girl power right?
 
Go whores!

I guess, one might think that
my third moment should be my marriage.
 
Aging escort finds true love on the job.
 
But I wasn’t fooling myself.
 
I
knew it wasn’t true love.
 
He was a nice
man.
 
But he cried at my first
appointment with him.
 
He just lay there
and cried in my arms.
 
So, I guess I
tried to help him.
 
Right?
 
Be that mother- love.
 
Channeling in the whores of old.
 
Whatever.
 
My life didn’t change much.
 
No,
he made this nice office up here.
 
Well,
no at first this was our bedroom.
 
Our
little oasis.
 
Hot tub, sun room, bed in
the middle with the mirror on the ceiling.
 
Yeah.
 
That didn’t last long.
 
But it’s a great idea. And it makes for a
damn fine office.
 
I can even use the bed
for photo shoots.
 
So it’s perfect.
 
Funny, my bedroom design lasted longer than
my god damned marriage.