Love doesn't exist. There's no such thing. There. I said it. Now you don't need to ask me why I am doing this, this, doesn't mean anything to me. It shouldn't, anyway. This isn't really anyone else's business apart from my own.
As I clench my trench coat closer to my body I breathed heavily, feeling nervous and anxious. I can do this, I can do this I kept telling myself. This is the only way I'll get money.
Being by myself since 18, I have somehow gotten myself into a shitload of debt that my jobs could never help me pay off. As a waitress, a sales assistant, a tutor and an assistant at a chemist, you would think my wage would be huge. Sadly no. My timetable needs organisation and until the day I can get my shit together, my money problems will remain as they are. Problems.
As I walked alone in the cold streets of Manhattan, I turn a corner to, the corner. The corner that women so proudly sell themselves and a little piece of self respect each time a car would pull up against the dirty curb. The corner where the policemen and policewomen of New York would practically turn their shoulder and ignore gladly, not wantng to be involved with such a matter. Some see this little corner as a disgusting location. Others argue and just consider it their work place.
The gorvernment already deals with daily murder sprees within this city alone, and with that being said they barely have an interest in something trivial such as this.
They consider it better than having to deal with people jabbing needles in their arms and other parts of their body and men raping women. With these methods both parties get what they want- a good fuck, and no one to rat them out on it.
I don't know whether to think the maker of this lifestyle is a genius or a madman. Maybe both.
I spot three prostitutes talking together and laughing. One of them had bleach blonde hair, the other was dyed red and the last one was a brunette. They were all dressed in little clothing, sad to say even I found them attractive dressed like that. They looked to be about in their mid or late twenties and it saddened me that such beautiful people like themselves are doing what they are doing. I watched in irrtation as the blonde took a drag from her ciggarette. Ignoring my craving for a fag I walk up to them nervously and gave them a small smile. "Hi...can you help me?" I ask one of the prostitutes. They all look at me with shock as they immediately stop talking. Maybe it was because I looked a bit young, my hieght plays a huge role in that asumption. "What do you need Hun?" one asks as she leans down and puts her hand on my shoulder, as if I were a lost child. Although I did look young I was turning 23 soon, Jesus. People these days. "I need help...I'm not sure I fully understand how this whole thing...works. Do you guys mind if I like...join you tonight?" They shared confused glances with each other.
Of course I didn't want to be a single hooker, I would look pathetic; at least if I was in a small group I would maybe have a little self-respect in myself. "Honey I don't know if you can han-" "I can. I need the money." I interrupt the tall blonde talking. She makes a face to the ground as if saying she gave up. "Alright doll, we'll help ya. But we work for a brothel, this isn't really something we do regularly." "So why are you doing it tonight?" "Because we're bored." They laugh. "First night?" The red head asked. I nodded unsurely. Not because of the question but in reference to this decision. "Are you a..." She trailed off and I already knew what she was refurring to. I nodded shyly. "How old are you sweetie?" The blonde asked. "22..." I trailed off awkwardly. "No kidding?" She says in surprise. I nod in confusion. "You look fifeteen mate," She grinned. I don't know if that was an insult or a compliment so I just gave her a shrug. "Don't worry, guys dig that."
"Just be careful." The brunette said from behind the red head. "Why?" With a 'job' like this what's the point? You're going to sleep with a stranger at the end of the night, what else should be taken into consideration? "Lot of creepers out there, you can just tell." The blonde said. She finished her fag and threw it to the ground before stepping on it with her black stillheto. "You don't want to get killed on the job or get an STI, you always gotta watch yourself when you pick your clients." I gave the three of them a nervous stare.
YOU ARE READING
This is life.
RomanceBritney Patterson was always known for being advanced. In everything from her academics, to her looks. She was fairly intelligent, scoring an IQ of 138 and heading to college as she had just turned 17. She was also young and utterly as well as unden...