plump head oozing with precum. “You have the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen.”
“Then lick it, bitch,” he said, palming the back of my head.
“Like this?” I said, twirling my tongue around his balls. “Or like this?” I asked, slowly trailing a line of spit up his shaft. Desperately I wanted to snatch that bag off his damn head so I could see his face. I lowered my mouth over his head, sucking gently, then harder, then a lot harder.
“You want it rough and fast or slow and succulent?”
Before he answered, I eased my mouth over his entire shaft and swallowed hard several times.
“Oh, shit! Bitch, you making me cum without my permission. Back the fuck up.”
Tightening my throat, I lifted my head, drawing all the cum out of him. His body shivered. I trickled his sperms back onto his dick as I continued stroking him.
“You taste so good,” I lied. “Relax, you’ll get your money’s worth. I’ll get him back up in a few minutes with this,” I said, placing his hand on my bare pussy.
Making my way to the bathroom to spit out the sperms that didn’t make it to my stomach, I heard him say, “Damn, baby, you’ve learned a lot.”
CHAPTER 6
Sunny
What started out six months ago as a brilliant get-rich-quick scheme unexpectedly transitioned into the worst decision of my life! An epiphany, a paradigm shift—I didn’t care what one called it, I wanted to quit! Who in the hell did I fuck last night? That bothered me all day because obviously he knew me.
What in the world was I thinking?
Voluntarily putting my pussy on auction to the highest bidder left me feeling slimier than a green snail crawling on its belly.
Preparing for another night of prostitution in the glitzy and oh-so-seemingly glamorous city of Las Vegas, I sat in front of my designated vanity—surrounded by lights and cameras—incapacitated by depression. Fear weighed so heavily on my neck and shoulders that my head practically hung in my lap. I wanted to lift my eyelids but I couldn’t. What if I gazed into the mirror of my soul? What would I see? Who would I see? Definitely not the sweet, innocent little girl I…I paused, then exhaled.
The men I had sex with, like the one last night, never saw my inner beauty. All they wanted was “Action!” And as long as I was the center of attention, I allowed those men to do whatever they wanted, including making me feel worthless.
Take one! Take two! Cut! Action! Sunny, that’s my girl, one more time, from the top. Move your ass. Let’s go! Action, baby, action! You’re a keeper, doll.
Yeah, but for how long?
Willingly I played the leading role, the fool, some may say, but they don’t know me! I’m a good girl. Maybe too good.
Slowly I swiveled my vanity chair one hundred eighty degrees. I lifted my head, but I couldn’t dare face the mirror ’cause I knew he was there. Not physically. Not visibly on my shoulder with a red pitchfork. His presence was mental. Ready and waiting to intimidate me once more. So instead of finding the courage to face my fears and quit what I never should’ve started, I listened to his haunting voice resounding in my ear.
Imagining how Valentino set his prices, the auctioneer inside my head shouted, “Can I get ten…ten…can I get fifteen for this fine specimen of a woman?…Fifteen to the gentleman in the corner…twenty up front…can I get twenty-five for a night of unforgettable pleasure?…Twenty-five to the man right here…can I get thirty if she gets real dirty?…Thirty to the distinguished man in the blue tailor-made suit…can I get thirty-five?…Thirty going once, going twice, sold, to the gentleman in the blue tailor-made suit for thirty thousand dollars!”
The john’s filthy-rich salty spit licked onto my grimy skin burning my self-esteem into green mush forcing me to crawl back into my shell. Forget him. Tonight this wasn’t about him or them. It was about me.
Pivoting in my chair, I stared at the black-tinted windows surrounding the dressing room. I couldn’t see a thing. No one could see in. None of us could see out. I was tired of this shit, knowing something was wrong when Lace hadn’t shown up at the casino to meet us or at Valentino’s mansion to do her job. I knew she couldn’t be trusted. No one in this type of business can be trusted.
I whispered, “I hate myself.” Refusing to do another inspection, I said to the group, “Y’all get dressed.”
Why did I think I knew it all? Right now, I could’ve been at home in my room watching my favorite TV show, Project Runway, fixing my favorite cereal, Cocoa Puffs, waiting for the milk to turn chocolatey while chatting on the phone with Sapphire, or relaxing rereading my favorite book, So You Call Yourself a Man, by Carl Weber.
Why didn’t I listen to my mother and stay home like my twin sister until I graduated from college? No, I had to open my big mouth. “Mom, you’re too old to understand my generation. Things are different for us. We don’t go to church three times a week. I got this. I can make it on my own…besides, I’m grown. Mom, please stop telling me what to do.”
Dangling my red leather strapless diamond-heel stiletto on my French-pedicured toe, I laughed inside to keep from crying. Nodding, I thought, You had to be a smart ass, didn’t cha? I’m entitled to make mistakes, aren’t I? Right now all I want is to call my mommy and say, “I’m sorry.” Oh my God, what if my dad answers the phone instead?
Retrieving my hot-pink cell phone from underneath the gold thong I was wearing, I watched them get ready, including my best friends, Onyx and Starlet. Everyone was oblivious of my “I can’t do this anymore” attitude. Eleven drop-dead-gorgeous females scurried around the dressing room fussing over which high-priced outfits to wear.
I don’t wanna be wifee anymore. Where’s Lace? Where’s my madam?
Discreetly, using my camera phone, I snapped a few pictures of the girls getting dressed. I sent Sapphire a quick text: My place at 6 a.m. Then I took pictures of the room and a few of myself sitting in front the bright mirror. This was my finale.
“I got myself into this mess. Surely I’m slick enough to get out.” Quietly I reprimanded myself. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Not so long ago someone cared about more than my wicked tongue, my beautiful spirit, and my exotic looks. I’d heard them say, “Is she black? Is she white? Man, with an ass like that she’s gotta be Brazilian.” Who honestly cared? My high school sweetheart, that’s who. But his menial busboy income, ordinary looks, down-to-earth western drawl, and laid-back personality weren’t enough for a girl like me who was told every single day, “Wow! You’re gorgeous.”
I wanted more out of life than a thirty-dollar date—more money, more clothes, more fun, and more drugs. Actually, I needed more and more XTC to get me through the night, nights of not so pleasant pleasantry. Tossing my head back, I swallowed two small pills.
Lost and confused, I hopelessly stood on an invisible auction block. No one made me stay, yet I couldn’t take the necessary two steps down to walk away and leave this lifestyle forever.
What was I afraid of? Better question, who?
Hiding the metallic phone between my palms, I felt the mental shackles weighing heavily on my spirit. Incarcerated, held prisoner in my mind, all because Lace introduced me via a conference call to a man who’d told me he could show me how to make a quick dollar, quote unquote, some real money, utilizing the best asset God gave me: pussy, one of the few commodities I could simultaneously sell and maintain possession of my entire life.
Objectively I agreed but subjectively Sapphire was right. Why was I selling my pussy to make money for a man? A man I didn’t know, hadn’t seen, didn’t love, and recently hated with such passion that vomit percolated in my throat like hot lava. During my initial telephone interview, that man, Valentino James, and that woman, Lace, whom I’d grown to like, failed to highlight my intellect, my