Trina is a working girl, who hates her job. But it has its benefits.
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by Lisa McCourt Hollar
Trina stood on the street corner, eyeing the men that passed. Some of them stopped,, ogling her wares, but so far none had approached her. She knew it was only a matter of time. Her face and eyes were painted to stand out among the sea of ‘working girls’ that lined hell’s version of skid row. The bright glare from the neon signs that blared out their gaudy promises of ‘Nude Girls’ and ‘Live Fun’, bounced off her blond tresses, bathing her hair in shades of rainbow hues. The scum of the city came here to play. Trina’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the offending odor of the drunk that stumbled into her, his hands grasping at her small breasts, trying to cop a free feel.
“Hands off!” Trina snarled. She smacked the man away and he stumbled off, mumbling something about a dirty whore. Strong words coming from a man who, judging from the smell, hadn’t bathed more than a couple of times this year.
Trina watched him go, her skin crawling from his touch. She hated this racket and the type of low life it exposed her to. She would have to talk to Max about moving to another part of town, maybe uptown, where the richer, upper class hung out, She wasn’t unskilled, she was sure they could make a better living there; certainly a cleaner living.
“Hey, sweetie, how much do you charge…” a voice behind her asked. Trina turned to get a better look at the man, who smelled strongly of Old Spice. When he saw her face, he man’s voice faltered and his eyes widened.
“You’re just a child,” he said, shock registering in his voice.
“Take me into that alley over there,” Trina said, her voice low and seductive, “and I’ll show you just how much of a child I’m not.”
He looked around, uncertain and Trina almost laughed at his gaping mouth. She knew his type; he wore a business suit and a ring on his left finger. He probably lived on the other side of the city, working in the business district and had decided to come to Hooker Alley for a little fun. His wife probably had no idea he was a sleaze and he was looking for quick, discrete action that he couldn’t get at home. As Trina finished her analysis of the John she answered his unfinished question.
“Twenty-five to a hundred dollars, depending on what you’re asking.
“What?” The man sounded confused.
“Anything too kinky, rates are higher, depending on what you’re asking.” Trina knew his type, so she’d kept it low enough that he wouldn’t bolt, but high enough that he wouldn’t think her too low end. He had standards
Man, he was thick. Trina let the gaudy faux fur she was wearing fall open to reveal a little more skin. “You know, like maybe you might want me to wear braids and suck a lollypop….that might fall just at the edge of kinky.
The business man licked his lips, undecided. She couldn’t be more than 12 and somehow he thought she was younger. He had a daughter about her age, but she’d never talked like this. If she did, maybe he’d be quicker about getting home at night. His eyes roamed up and down the ‘child’s’ body. She bent over, her skirt hiking up a bit in the back. ‘Damn,’ he thought, he didn’t know anyone that young could be so seductive.
He looked around. No one seemed to be paying attention. He had a friend that had been busted once, picking up a prostitute that turned out to be a cop. The girl looked at him, smiling, her blond hair so much like his daughter’s. As though she could read his mind, her tongue flicked out, tracing her lips. She held out her hand. “Please daddy.” Swallowing, he took one last look around, then taking her hand, followed her into the alley.
Trina grimaced, feeling the man’s breath on her neck. They always fell for it, the sick pervs. She hated this life, but in a small way it was worth it. She’d taken only a quick peek into his mind, just enough to know what to say to push him across the line. She always felt contaminated after reading their thoughts.
She began unbuttoning his pants and he moaned as her fingers brushed against his erection. Running his fingers through her hair he whispered, “Jenny.”
Repulsed, Trina decided she needed to finish this quickly. Normally she would draw it out, make him suffer, the way her father had made her suffer. The injustice that men like this continued to live angered her so much. And she was hungry.
Reaching up, she pulled his face towards hers. He leaned in, eager for her young mouth. Just before their lips would have touched, Trina snarled, revealing sharp fangs. Alarmed, he tried to pull away, but Trina kept a grip on the back of his head, her fingers pushing into the skull. Moving her head to the side, she sank her teeth into his neck and greedily began to drink.
The man stiffened. She broke the skin and his blood spilled into her mouth. He struggled, but he was no match for her strength. His frightened heart pumped the blood through the wound faster, weakening him even more. He died as she drained him, licking the gash in his neck to get every trace of blood that she could.
Trina dropped his body. Pulling a wet wipe from her purse, she dabbed at her mouth, using a mirror to make sure she erased every trace of blood. She smiled at herself in the mirror, wondering why people thought vampires didn’t have reflections. She’d been 10 years old for 375 years now and that she had yet to figure that part of the myth out.
Shrugging, she dropped the mirror back in her purse, picked the John’s pocket and then hurried off to meet Max.