Spit

I

On the corner of 11th Street and 1st Avenue, blending with commuters doing the post work bustle but not one of them, Amy is tuned to a specific frequency. She scans the faces of passers by for any glance or gesture betraying the need for release.

She sees him. Pretending he’s stopped to light a cigarette. He looks at her. They agree. She crosses the road, he follows. She leads him half a block east and into an alcove.

How much?

Twenty.

He hands her the money.

She grabs his belt buckle.

He stops her.

I want you to play with your tits.

She grins and leans against the wall.

And make a sound like you’re spitting.

She does it.

He fumbles his fly open and starts jerking off.

She makes guttural sounds and squeezes her breasts.

He comes. Zips his fly. Looks at her intently.

Why do you like it?

When I was a boy I lived in an orphanage. There were homeless men outside. Are you always there?

There or close by.

Do you do coke?

Sure.

See you tomorrow.

 

II

She waits on the busy corner, focused on whether or not it’s him. Ignoring other potential tricks. It gets dark. He doesn’t come.

 

III

He surprises her, she assumed he wasn’t coming back.

Hi.

He offers her a cigarette. She takes it and accepts his light.

Good to see you.

How’s your day?

It’s been okay. You?

Busy. I’m organising a photo shoot.

She motions in the direction of where they went before. They walk side by side.

You have a pretty face.

Thanks.

He unzips his fly.

Have you been photographed?

Sure.

Much?

Not much. A little.

Do it.

She hacks and makes sounds like she’s spitting up phlegm.

Squeeze them harder.

In minutes it’s over. He looks at her.

I want you in my photo shoot.

What would I have to do?

No-one will recognise you.

When?

This weekend.

Maybe.

Best coke you’ve ever had.

Maybe.

They walk back to the corner where they met. He hands her a small bag of coke and leans in to whisper.

Think about it. 

Okay.

 

IV

She’s wearing lipstick and keeping watch. She used the coke he gave her and he was right, it was good. She wants more.

He’s behind her.

Hi.

Hi.

They take the route down 11th Street and occupy the alcove like they own it.

Did you like the coke?

I did.

He stubs his cigarette on the ground and grabs his cock. She holds her breasts upwards and squeezes them, hacking as if making a ball of spit.

Where’s the shoot?

Downtown… harder.

She pinches and strangles her boobs until they hurt. He comes.

A studio in Tribeca.

What’s involved?

Nobody will know who you are, they won’t see your face. You’ll wear a latex nun’s habit with holes cut out for your tits.

Seriously?

It’s an S&M type shoot.

What’s the concept?

There’ll be a few nuns, a priest and a boy.

What’s the boy doing?

He’s not doing anything. We’re going to cut off his penis.

She looks at him.

He doesn’t matter. Just a kid whose parents don’t care. There’s a teacher upstate, makes friends with the kids who hang around after school, no-one to go home to. 

I don’t know.

When they trust her, she drugs them and brings them down.

Beat.

Best coke you’ve ever had. Tons of it.