Streets
It was a tough life, I knew that.
No one but the people who had lived through it understood.
Everyone watched the mini interviews people posted on YouTube and TikTok of the hookers and the druggies and the losers but they would never actually understand.
Fuck, I didn't. Not until It was my last option.
You did what you had to do to survive, everyone out here knew that. Chicago was tough as nails, old as hell and dangerous.
Shootings, stabbings, muggings, rapes. You name it, we had it.
“Emily!" A soft voice called out. I turned, grinning as Arnya walked up to me. She was the first person I met out here, the first girl like me.
Arnya was Russian, pretty and skinny with a single tattoo of a red rose on her arm. She got it so if she ever disappeared and a body was found, she could be identified.
That was the problem with our line of work, so many girls disappearing only to be found days later hacked up into pieces.
“Arnya!" I called out in a similar tone. Her heels clacked against the sidewalk as she came to my side, linking her arm through mine as we walked. She had on a red one piece lingerie dress and her heels were huge, like 7 inches tall.
“How are you, my sweet?" She asked me. Her accent was thick but it definitely had a twing of American added to it now.
“Fine, looking. How about you?"
“Fine, fine. Had a run in with Carlos again. That fucking idiot dumbed me out of twenty dollars. Never again. His penis smells of gasoline anyways." She laughed, deep. I followed along, giggling at her statement.
It was true, he did smell like gasoline.
"Had any luck?" She asked me. Her heels still made sounds as we turned down our alley, making our way to our tents.
I shook my head, feeling the hair on my head shake as we came to our makeshift home. Arnya entered first, slipping her arm out of mine and intwining our fingers pulling me behind her. It wasn't much but it was enough. Kept us out of the rain, snow and away from the weirdos that lived around us. I sat down, watching as she dug through her bag. She pulled out a Snickers bar, moving it around in front of my face. My mouth filled with saliva.
"I know these are your favorite, my sweet." She said. She tore open the wrapping, ripping it in half and handing me one part. I pushed it into my mouth, biting into the chocolatey sweetness. My tooth cried in pain but I ignored it. Cavities had no place on the streets of Chicago.
“I'll work tonight," I told her. "You can sleep if you'd like." Arnya nodded and laid back, slipping her feet out of her heels and tossing them into the corner. We had a small collection we shared. Heels, outfits, earrings, makeup. Pretty much anything we had, we shared.
The streets were rough but they were manageable if you could find a sister. Someone who watched after you and reported you missing to the local police if you disappeared. Someone who looked for you themself when the police deemed you "no humans involved."
It fell to night soon, Arnya was passed out and I got dressed. I put on a pink slip lingerie dress and short pink heels to match. I rubbed on pink eyeshadow to finish the look along with a pink gloss Arnya had found in one of her john's cars.
Crawling out of the tent, I made sure the flap was completely shut so if someone tried to come in, it would wake Arnya. We had tied some empty cans with strings to the inside, a makeshift booby trap if you could call it that. A noise maker so if someone tried to invade us we'd know. Arnya kept a collection of pocket knives under our outfits, concealing them so if someone did unfortunately enter, she could do to them as she pleased.
It was chilly outside, the moon high in the sky as traffic moved along the road. Honking and tires screeching over the asphalt. My heels made clicks against the hard ground as I walked toward the road. It was a busy one, but far enough from the police station that you didn't have to worry about being picked up for hooking all the time. Still, be weary but you could let your guard down just a hair.
I walked along the road, my arms down by my side so passerby's could see my cleavage that dared to spill from the slip. The sexier you look, the more potential john's, Arnya taught me that. Plus, I was 20 and most men are disgusting so they love a good young looking girl.
The first car pulled up next to me, a red truck with a busted taillight. The man rolled down the window. He was about 40, long brown beard and no hair on his head. He had a small tattoo of a dream catcher on his hand.
Identifying mark.
"How much, darlin'?" He asked, flicking a cigarette out of the drivers side window. God, I hated the smell of cigs. They stunk so bad and seemed into the outfits.
"Depends," I said. "What're you looking for?"
He shrugged his shoulders, relaxing into his seat. "Maybe just a blowie?"
"That'll run you about twenty." I stated. "Thirty if you push my head." This made him laugh.
"I like you already, darlin'. Deal."
He slid over, opening the passenger door so I could climb inside. It smelt like nicotine and a thick layer of smoke covered the dash but other than that it was quite clean other than a can of Coke sitting in the cup holder beside him.
"Do I pick the place or do you?" He asked, turning back onto the road and driving slow.
"I will," I said. I pointed to a right turn. "Take that there." He nodded, turning the wheel one hand over another as we ventured down the dark road. He pulled into an old parking lot, concealing his car behind the dumpster. He turned his lights off, laying back in his seat and unbuckling his belt.
"Take as long as you need, baby." He whispered. I leaned over, rearranging my body on the passenger side so I was leaning over him. I pulled down his jeans, then his boxers until his penis plopped out of them. He moaned as I took it in my mouth, sliding up and down with my tongue.
He didn't last long, finishing on my chest before readjusting himself. He handed me a couple napkins, watching as I wiped his semen off of me.
"I think you just earned yourself a loyal customer, darlin'." He said. "Want a ride back?" He pulled a twenty and a five out of his wallet, placing them on my thigh before turning his truck back on.
"That would be mighty fine, thanks." I said. I sat back, watching out the window as he turned back onto the street, taking a left toward my corner. His turn signal beeped as he switched lanes and stopped next to the sidewalk. I thanked him for the tip as I got out of the car, pulling the slip down a bit and walking on down the road again.
Twenty five wasn't a bad way to start off the night, it was only around 9 pm and I had already gotten lucky.
I had a few more john's throughout the evening, all of them being somewhat respectable except one guy who asked me if he could call me his daughter's name. If I didn't need them for the money, I would gut them and walk the other way. Maybe be a reincarnated Aileen Wuornos.
I was walking back to Arnya and I's tent when a beat up old Camaro pulled next to me. The window rolled down and a somewhat decent looking man appeared from behind the tinted glass. His mustache was long and he had a small mole by his cheek.
Identifying mark.
"Hello." He said, a smile playing on his lips.
"Hi." I responded.
"You hooking?" He asked.
"What does it look like to you?" I shot back. I stepped toward the window, placing my fingers on it as he dropped his grin.
"You look mighty young to be running these streets so late at night. How old are you?"
"Why do you care?" I grunted. "Into age play or something?"
He shook his head. "I'm not perverted. You just look so innocent out here with all these sluts."
I gasped. "Sluts? Don't call them that. Some of these women are my friends, very respectable ladies."
"I don't think respectable is opening your legs for any ugly fool who offers you some change." He sneered. I pulled my hands off his window, turning to walk away. He threw his car in reverse, following slowly beside me against the sidewalk.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He said. "I don't want sex from you. I do have money though."
I stopped. "What is it you want? I'm not into chains and I'll only kick your balls if you pay well. I don't like listening to the screams and whines."
He laughed. "Nah, none of that. Just want to talk."
I had had john's like him before. One's who hated our work, hated us but used us as ghetto therapists. Oftentimes it was to talk about their failing career, or sad marriage or their inability to get it up.
"Fine," I said. "We can talk." He opened up his passenger door, allowing me to slide into it.
"Do I pick the place or?" He questioned.
"No, I do. Take this right."
He listened, gripping his wheel and turning into the parking lot.
"Park behind the dumpster." I said. He listened again, pulling the hunk of junk by the dumpster and putting it in park.
"I want to talk," He said, tapping his finger against his chin in thought. "About you."
"What about me?" I asked.
"Why are you on the streets?"
"That's kind of personal." I scoffed.
"Fine, let's play a game." He insisted.
"I hate games."
"It's a simple game. You ask me a question and I ask you one. Give me a few minutes of your time and then I'll pay you and drop you back off."
"Fine. How much?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. He pulled his wallet out of his glove box, holding it open and showing me the bills inside.
"Seventy sound good?" He asked, pulling three twenties and a ten from the leather pouch.
I gasped again, this time in shock. "Seventy dollars? Actual dollars for questions?"
He nodded, laying the money on the dashboard and leaning back. "You can go first so you get comfortable."
I bit my lip. "Okay... How old are you?"
"31." He said. "My turn. How old are you?"
"I'm 20." I answered.
"So young." He whispered. "Your turn, then."
"Do you pay many girls to play this game?"
"No, only the pretty ones." He responded.
"Oh. Well then. Your go."
"Why are you on the streets?" He inquired. His eyes were on mine, not on my body. For the first time in two years I felt human in a john's eyes.
"I had a bad childhood. Foster home to foster home. My foster dad hurt me so I ran. Been out here since." I told him.
It was a painful memory but for seventy dollars I'd do just about anything, answer anything.
"I'm sorry. Some dad's suck. How did he hurt you?"
"Not your turn," I teased. "What's your story?"
"Live in Virginia. Run a farm with my family, raise livestock, sell it, crops, the works. It keeps their mouths fed and everyone happy so I'm happy. That's about it."
Simple life. Much nicer than my own at the moment.
"Wow," I breathed. "Farmer, huh? That's cool."
"I guess," He laughed. "It's pretty dirty work."
"Not dirtier than mine, I assure you." I laughed.
Nothing could compare to what I did and saw everyday. Nothing could compare to knowing just how devilish the human mind can be in sexually frustrated adults.
"My turn. How did he hurt you?" He asked again.
I took a deep breath. "He beat me, raped me, the works."
The man looked at me, his remorseful eyes on mine. "I'm sorry, girl. I understand you now."
"Understand me?" I asked.
He nodded, pulling the money off the dashboard and handing it to me. He didn't say another word, just put the car in gear and turned out onto the road.
