The Table of Truth - Chapter Two, Part 1f

But the top of the stairs opened up to the look of a fancy hotel. Dim lighting revealed ivory tables, marble floors, and gold-plated frames. Someone with taste decorated this place.
A man in an expensive suit was helping a customer choose among a line of girls dressed like they belonged on a Catholic school yard. The light hit their bodies but avoided their faces. They each stood at attention, their arms behind their backs. The man in the suit was courteous, speaking softly as though they were in a sacred hall. The customer, dressed in blue jeans and a brown jacket, swayed a little as he studied each one. The manager expressed the qualities of several of the girls as he led the man down the line.
When they reached the end, the man in the brown jacket looked back at them. Focused on their breasts. He reached out for one of them and she pulled back.
“Ah, ah,” the gentleman in the suit said. “No touching the merchandise until you've bought it.”
The man in the jacket nodded. Then studied a moment longer. At last he pointed at one of them.
“Great choice,” the manager said. He snapped and the other girls left. “Right this way,” he said, pointing to one of the rooms. And they approached it. But before they could enter, the manager stepped up next to him. Clearing his throat, he held out his hand.
The man in the brown jacket pulled out his thick wallet. From it he removed a large wad of bills. The kind of rolled up wad Diego used to carry. He handed a portion of it to the manager.
“Enjoy,” the manager said, patting him on the back, and they disappeared together, closing the door behind them.
I met the manager at the desk as he put the money away. His attitude changed dramatically as soon as he saw I wasn't a customer. “What do you want? A job?”
“Yes,” I said. “Can you tell me what you do here?”
“Do? You satisfy customers. Whatever they want. You have to work it out with them, of course. The more you do for them, the more they'll give to you. Turn around.”
“What?”
He leaned over the desk impatiently. “Turn around.”
I stared at him a moment longer, then, timidly, turned in place.
“Hmm. That's a nice ass. We could probably make something off that. Come here.”
He motioned to one of the rooms that was open. I watched him nervously. I think I took a step forward before I heard a yelp from one of the rooms. It sounded like a yelp of pain. I couldn't be sure.
“That's Maria. She makes a lot for what she does. Come in here.”
I felt cold, as though the chill air outside had followed me. I continued to hear the woman screaming. It didn't sound like pleasure. But it was rhythmic. I walked into the dark room. He closed the door. Turned on the overhead. It was blinding after getting used to the dimness of the entry.
“Take off your pants,” he ordered. I didn't move for a moment. “You want to work in here or you want to go back out to the street. I said take off your pants!” I quickly unbuckled my pants and let them drop to the ground. I held my chest as if it was exposed and I closed my eyes. “And your underwear,” I heard him say. This was not the warm manager that had talked to the man in the blue jeans. I looked at him questioningly. “I've got to make sure you're not a guy.”
I grasped my underwear and pulled it forward to show my vagina to him. I could hear the screams in the other room getting louder as he yanked my panties further and looked down into them. “That's a nice pussy,” he said. He looked into my eyes. The charm began to appear in his face. “Real nice.” His hand reached down into my crotch and the charm disappeared, replaced by a scowl of greed. I didn't know what to do as I felt him fingering me. I grasped my breasts again and held in my tears. He didn't notice. He didn't care. He just felt around a moment. “Any diseases?” I shook my head. “We'll have to have you checked. Listen.” His finger pressed inside me several times while he gave me instructions. “When you get in the room, you start off giving him a massage and you listen to what the guy wants. If you can do it, you do it. If you can't, you don't. It's as simple as that. But if the customer gets angry, decides to leave, you don't get paid shit. Understand? So the advice I give you, suck his dick, let him ride you every which way, let him spray all over your face, let him touch you, let him lick you... You let that mother fucker fuck you six ways from Sunday and you enjoy every moment. You do that, sweetheart, and you'll fit in nice.”
He pulled out his finger and spanked my bottom. “Now put your pants back on. We'll give you an outfit and you can pay us back.”
As I put my pants back on I stammered with my words, but I had to say them. “Can... Can I start right now?”
He looked me over, thinking. “What size are you?
“Two.”
He thought a moment. “I've got a size one. You can squeeze into that until we get something else.”
It was funny to dress up as a Catholic school girl as I was neither Catholic, nor had I finished school.
I was in the next lineup. I was hoping to get picked, if, for no other reason, than just so I could take the tight clothes off. I wasn't. I quickly learned the worst part of this job. It's not the sex. It's waiting to be picked for the sex.
When at last someone picked me, a cold chill ran through my body. I felt both relieved and scared to death. I went to the room with him. Luckily, he was as inexperienced as me, and he was waiting for me to start everything. So I began with a massage before I even brought up the subject of doing something more. I didn't ask him what he wanted. I thought that if I led with a suggestion, I might be able to control the situation better. “You want...” I made a stroking gesture with my hand. “From my hand?” I had said it in English. It was hardly what Father had intended when he taught me the language, but it was coming in handy.
He nodded excitedly. He seemed relieved that I was leading. It was my first lesson in learning that they are as nervous about me as I am about them. More so, even. I never feared another customer after that. Except the ones that got violent.
He turned over and I pulled down his pants. He was so nervous and excited that he climaxed before he thought to ask me to do anything more. The next several visits were the same. I had only seen three penises before in my life. And now I was seeing dozens of them. I was fascinated with the way they looked. I began categorizing them in my head. There's straight as a board, crescent shaped, flat or wide, long and thin, I call these the ticklers. Some of them have strange little ridges. Others ripple down like wax dripping off a candle. They're hard to grasp.
I was giving a job to a “hook” penis, as I called it, the kind that almost rolls back on itself, when the man gasped, “Climb on.” I hesitated. “I'll pay you,” he said. “Twenty bucks.”
I knew the ladies here got paid at least fifty, probably more. “Eighty,” I said.
“Eighty?” he asked outraged. I stroked just under the soft pink portion, the area I knew that turned Diego on. This seemed to be a universal spot for men. And it was with this one. “Okay! Eighty. I'll get it from my wallet in a minute. Just climb on.”
I looked at his wallet. It was thick enough. He had the money. I looked back down at the hook. It wouldn't be a problem. But I knew that what I was about to do I could never take back. Perhaps it would be wrong for me to ever enter a church again. But the church was not feeding my children.
I pulled out the condom and wrapped his penis in it. I placed his thing between my legs. I had to search for a moment to make it fit. Then I lowered on it slowly. He didn't wait. He grabbed my arm and thrust into me. It hurt... like sandpaper was being rubbed inside me. I called out like I had heard the other women calling out and knew it wasn't all from pleasure.
But then it did begin to feel better. I loosened up and started to enjoy it. I had never known any man like this except Diego, and nothing could be harsher than his cave man thrusts. This man called me beautiful. He called me a goddess. Then he said a word in English I did not understand. “Gorgeous.” I thought he had said the Spanish word “Gorga,” which means “fat.” I looked at him, shocked. Perhaps it was the alcohol I had drunk, or maybe I had had enough, but I did something I couldn't believe I did. I slapped him. A moment after I had, I calmed enough to realize what terrible trouble I was in.
But he didn't get angry. He looked at me. Shocked. Then, oddly, a smile crossed his lips. “Do that again!” he told me.
“What, this?” I tapped my hand against his cheek.
“No! Slap me! Really mean it!”
I slapped him again.
“Oh yes!” he cried out. “Harder!”
I began slapping him harder with both hands. He thrust into me and I screamed as I hit him. We were both screaming and fucking and slapping and enjoying it. Then he turned his face and was met by one of my hands. It cracked him directly in the nose, and blood poured out. He screamed in agony and grasped his face. Blood was oozing through it.
I yanked away from him. He stumbled off the bed. Unable to see, he crashed around the room. Blood was getting all over him. All over the room. He screamed. I screamed. I wrapped the bed sheet around me and ran out of the room, still screaming.
That was the last time I worked there. I didn't even get paid for the job. I needed something else to bring in the money. On the street I looked at the line of brothels. Across from the massage parlor was Chicas, the place my sisters had “recommended.” I stood before the curtain considering. The music pulsated outside. The men on the stools stared at me. I could feel their eyes looking up and down my body. I could feel them undressing me with their minds. I had done it once... twice if you counted the tattoo man. “How much do I get per trick?” I asked one of the men. He pointed at a man with a mustache, the manager. “You charge sixty bucks. They pay eleven for the room. You keep thirty.”
“Forty,” I said, giving my best poker face.
He shook his head. “This is non-negotiable.”
I hesitated a moment, hoping he'd fold before I did. He didn't. Men were coming and he was about to switch his attention. “Okay,” I said.
“You've got to get completely naked and give them a blow job,” he told me seriously.
I took in a breath and blew it out. “Okay.”
“Fine. Come back when you're ready to start work.”
“I'm ready now.”
“No one's going to hire you dressed like that.”
The men stepped past me. The manager checked their IDs. I looked at the sleeves of my shirt. Then tore them off. The manager looked at me and saw what I was doing. He stared a moment. Then pointed at the top of his shirt. I got the hint. I ripped the top of my shirt down to my breasts. It wasn't pretty, but it was revealing. He looked me over one more time, then motioned his head to the curtain.
My eyes had to adjust to the darkness inside. There was a stage in the middle. Would I have to dance, too? When I was a little girl, my mother had sent me to ballet. I don't think she intended it to be used like this.
Among a crowd of women I saw a familiar face. Barbara. The most popular girl in school. She had had a child while in high school, and I heard that she had two more afterward. I had also heard that her boyfriend skipped town. She was probably there for the same reason I was. I rushed to her hoping she could help me.
She looked at me. I smiled. The moment she recognized me, she walked away. I tried to follow, but she stopped. “Don't come near me,” she said sternly, then continued away. I was alone.
I went to a corner and stood awkwardly. Held myself for comfort. I saw many of the women trying to entice the men. Walking to them. Smiling. Rubbing their fingers over their shoulders. Clicking their tongues. I would rather the men come to me.
One woman kept looking at me. Her hair was short, her skin dark. She looked like an Egyptian. She didn't say anything, just stared at me with a look that said she realized I was new. I felt relieved when a man came and took her upstairs, but when she returned she walked up closer and kept staring at me. I knew she was waiting to make fun of me. I held my head up with pride and tried to look away from her.
“You'll want to wear something more revealing,” she said.