Chapter V: Room 127
Reasoning her way out of depression was like trying to blow her face off with an unloaded weapon. Usually, it was a waste of time, but every now and then she got a surprise.
Night finally fell on Sunday. It'd been a long, long day, and none of it had been fun. The attention-stealing skirt and blouse, the heels and hose she wore that night were new. Her hair was an ebony that would no longer wash out. The darker, wetter red lipstick that promised not to fade didn't make the smile her lips wore any more real. She'd obeyed the urge to get rid of the two-sixty she'd made the night before, but had gotten no pleasure from roaming the huge downtown mall.
The thoughts that haunted her as she stalked the nearly empty Sunday night streets were much the same as the ones that'd been with her all day. Being with the few other girls desperate enough to waste their time on the deserted streets just emphasized them.
She'd tried to do the right thing all her life. More than anything, she'd wanted to be a good girl, to live by the rules that guaranteed happiness. That's the way They said it worked. She'd tried to make Tommy stop. She'd really done everything a naive, panicked twelve year old could. But she'd thought she was in love with the fucker. Her crush on him was years old. And her body had betrayed her.
She'd always been a highly sexual girl. From the age of nine, before her first period, she'd had an almost perpetual case of the warm fuzzies. Hugging kittens and puppies and dolls made her feel kind of tingly. She had strange, troubling, happy dreams she didn't understand. And nobody was willing to explain her feelings to her.
The big people who had all the answers shunned her questions, or sternly told her she shouldn't feel that way, or laughed nervously and ignored her. She learned not to ask. She learned that sex was bad. She learned that she was bad. So she tried even harder to be as pure and good as They told her she should be.
And failed horribly, of course. It was inevitable. She was totally unprepared for life. Their evasions and lies had left her utterly helpless, unable to cope with the reality of passion. She'd had that fucking, puny little orgasm, and never told. She made herself forget the badness, but was branded a whore anyway by everyone who mattered. It was crazy. Were They all insane?
They'd sure as fuck made her that way. She'd violently suppressed every natural urge that had arisen. For almost ten years, she'd interpreted even the most innocent sexual dream as a full-blown nightmare. The slightest twinge of physical attraction had been something to be ashamed of, demanding repentance. Madness. Pure, certifiable insanity.
She paused in front of a closed porn theater, lit a cigarette, let the fitful breeze probe beneath the tight little neon blue skirt, lick her sleek, pantiless, moist little cunt. She gave an interested slow cruiser the benefit of her freshly manicured middle finger. That was the fourth or fifth trick she'd turned down. She hadn't come here to fuck. She was here to escape the oppressiveness of her apartment. The streets felt more like home than anywhere she could think of. She walked on, listening to the thin click of her spike heels on the concrete.
This was where she belonged now. Even if she never again let anyone pick her up and use her, this was where she wanted to be. Like Wilson, for all the wrong reasons, she'd done all the right things.
That realization amused her, curled her heavily painted lips into an ironic smile. Barney had been right. She was growing sane. She'd had to discover that her pussy was attached to the rest of her, find out the hard way that she was a highly desirable woman. She dropped her cigarette butt onto the sidewalk, delicately ground its red-tipped filter under the toe of her six inch pump.
Her true home wasn't really the streets. It was inside her long trained, long denied body. It was supple and hard and juicy, filled with vitality and strength and desire. All these years, it had waited for the rest of her to catch up with what it already knew. It was the source of the impulses that had guided her to this point. Now, it was doing its damnedest to make up for lost time.
She paused before the reflective plate glass of a barred pawnshop. Today was the first since the fateful Saturday night after the party that she hadn't given it - and the rest of her - at least one orgasm. All day, now that she thought back, it'd been on a low simmer, tingeing the threshold of her gloom with rosy hues. The urge had been with her throughout the depression. It had picked out the clothes she bought, dictated the face she painted, chosen the street she now strolled. While her conscious brain had been chasing itself in pointless, pained circles, the urge had taken charge.
She fluffed her midnight black hair, felt it tug through her hooked, mandarin red nails. It'd done a pretty fucking great job, too. It'd achieved the same youthfulness of the night before, but spared the jadedness. She looked more sultry than sleazy. The tight little black lace bra, visible through her sheer blue blouse, compressed her tits to adolescent size, but pushed them up proudly, left them bare to her aureoles. Easy, but sweet, too.
The eyes, glittering with metallic green color, grew moist. Such a sad little girl. Smart and pretty, she deserved a hell of a lot better than she'd gotten. They'd stolen everything joyous and bright from her left her only fear and pain.
Lisa tenderly blotted away her tears, sniffed back those that wanted to follow. It's okay now, she promised. We'll get back everything They took. It's not too late.
Really, she thought, studying her pert, sexy pose, I guess I ought to be grateful to the fuckers. Convincing me that I was a whore was a blessing. They created the problem, and at the same time gave me the solution. As soon as I quit fighting myself, the hurt went away. Maybe They made me miserable to start with, but it was me who perpetuated the crime. For years, I've been the only one making me suffer.
She leaned closer to the window, rubbed delicately at the faint smudges at the corners of the black frames of her eyes, erased the only traces of her day of distress and tears. It was getting late. She had to clean out her desk at the old precinct early enough to get downtown by ten. She was tired. Most of her restlessness had been walked off. Time to turn that sweet, hot ass home and tuck it in bed. She wanted to look fine her first day in Vice. She wanted to make a good impression.
She was halfway back to her car when the white sedan that had just passed made a u-turn and slowly came back. She had lots of time to prepare a rejection. But when the window slid down, and two smiling faces raked her with their eyes, the hollow excitement ballooned inside, blocked her throat. The fantasy in the shower. All those men.
Was she interested in trading a hundred and fifty of their dollars for a nice, cozy three-way? The hand raising the cigarette to her suddenly heavy lips shook slightly. As she shifted her hips, she was maddeningly aware of the tickle of the tight skirt on her thigh.
It wasn't all that late. And these two sailors looked like they might be a good time. Her words were as thick as her lips. "For that much, I'd be tempted to watch the clock. For twice that, I could relax and we could all have more fun."
They settled on two and a quarter. One, towering over her, all hard muscles and leer, stepped from the car. She slid in, trying to even out her breathing.
But she didn't want to do it in the car. Sitting between them, letting them grope her however they wanted to, bringing her back to life, was exquisite, but too cramped for what she had in mind.
"There's a motel," she purred as one set of hands fought another for her cunt, her tits. "I've got a room there. One of you can fuck my mouth and the other my cunt. You can have me any way you want me, without being crowded."
