Job with-out benefits

Job With-out Benefits.

She looks through the mirror as she applied her make-up, only half
conscious that it was really her that was moving the hand and applying
the mascara. Auto-pilot rules. Pink to make the boys wink, she thinks,
as she finishes applying her lipstick. The almost human thought invades
her mind, but quickly she returned to the zombie-like state and
methodically prepared herself. Starting to hum, she turns to her
wardrobe. Empty, save for two designer dresses - one red, the other
white - with complimenting pairs of worn high heels filling the expanse
at the bottom. A smile rises on her face, she decides whether to be
devilish brazen in red, or sweet virginal in white. Leaving the
wardrobe door open, she moves over to the shabby chest-of-drawers
covered in her make-up tools and the biro'd graffiti of previous
occupants. Looking into the mirror, (that serves the room like the
C.C.T.V serves the city and records the depraved depths the human being
can easily sink to in the name of Saturday night), she makes her mind
up : 'white now, red later', gesturing to an imaginary companion. The
mirror is as naked as herself, a little makeup on otherwise bare walls.
She opens a drawer and careful not to ladder, puts on a pair of white
stockings, ever mindful that she'd rather not spend her hard earned
cash on another pair. She feels ready to return to the wardrobe to
complete herself . She squeezes into the dress that is one size too
small for her, bought when times were better, much better, then slips
into her heels. She is ready for business. With one last stare in the
mirror, she smoothes down her dress, concealing her laced stocking tops
and moves towards the door, smirking, as she always does at the Fire
notice.
The door opens on to a hallway full of identical white doors. Only one
of the overhead fluorescent lights works, leaving darkness at each end.
She reminds herself which door leads to the bathroom, again
familiarising herself with her new surroundings, aware that all too
soon they might be changing. She focuses on the door that leads to the
stairs and down to the waiting world. Her walk way to the waiting
public. She closes the door to her room, as she's closed many a door
throughout her life. She glides in her high heels, trying to adopt that
catwalk float, wishing that she had the power to change places.
Cackling to herself, she adds to her wish list, 'That's what the
Charities and Lotteries should offer, life re-runs'. She gracefully
makes her way down the stairs as if watched by a hidden camera, passing
another floor full of white doors that provide temporary sanctuary for
their occupants.
At ground zero, three corridors face her. One corridor leads past a
young woman drooling spittle into a pay phone, to a sentinel like front
door. Another corridor leads to stairs that descend further into the
depths of the building, and the last abruptly ends in another white
door. This door distinguishes itself from its compatriots by displaying
a montage of signs. The most prominent of which, hanging beneath a
Smiley Face sticker, boldly announces the room's purpose - STAFF -
PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING. She nervously smiles at the phone girl,
who speaks to her in a slow drawl, " He's been waitin' ootside for ten
minutes, ken". The phone girl pauses to stare blankly, and slowly lolls
her head so that it hangs between her shoulders before, continuing her
robotic monotone, " She's been on the prowl?.. and mind my fiver, ken".
The phone girl nods vacantly towards the door, then returns her head to
its bobbing position. Standing in the hallway she pauses for a moment
as if she were a computer processing some new and alien information,
then strides to the front door marked by a locked mail box, bolts and a
multitude of used and unused Yale locks. Behind her the phone girl
rises, knocking on the distinguished door and enters the staff room
saying , "Mind if I talk to you, Miss".
The staff room door closes, she takes her opportunity and unbolts the
Yale locks. She looks out to the darkness beyond. Almost instinctively
she squeezes her nipples to make them erect; Johnny would be proud of
that, she muses. A round faced, over weight man stands dragging the
last embers of his fag. He starts to speak, but she quickly quietens
him with a "SSssh !", and motions for him to enter. Mesmerised by the
angelic form about to satisfy his physical needs, he enters. He drools
a little as she raises her painted finger nail to her pink lips. She
motions him to the staircase and together they stride towards it and
start to ascend.
Neither makes a noise or acknowledges the other. He gently squeezes
her bony arse, after they pass the first corridor of white door. They
mount the next set of stairs and hastily alight at her door. He
whimsically thinks of escalators and she thinks of his money. With keys
concealed in the palm of her hand, she deftly unlocks the door and with
a semi-theatrical bow, shows him her humble compartment. He enters with
a new found swagger and she asks him, " How's the wife keepin' ?",
knowing this'll add to the guilt and make it all the quicker, and then?
the, 'Piece de Resistance', Steve would say, bringing the punter back
to the business at hand, "What it'll be , Bob ?".
Bob's swagger disappears and the meek balding man that he is returns,
too embarrassed to answer her question. After a brief pause in which
Bob admires her waif-like form, imagining her to be an elfin goddess
from another planet who has arrived to make his every desire come true.
Bob notices her rising impatience and breaks the silence with a hiss
that represents his wants,
"A blow job??? and the usual like, Hen",
"That'll be forty like", she replies to complete the formalities.
Bob sits on the bed with a smile from ear to ear and starts to
unbutton his techni-colour stained shirt. " Wait !", she cautions Bob
and strides from her hips towards Bob, " You know I like to work for
tips". Purring as seductively as she can, she adds, "Especially for
you, Bobbie". She bends, parting his legs and completes the unbuttoning
he has started.
"Mmmn, Bobbie what do we have here ?", she murmurs as she unbuttons his
trousers and wrestles his erect penis from the constraints of his,
'six-for-a-fiver', pants. With another swift movement she envelops it
in her lips and it's Bobbie's turn to purr.
"Me?..ahhhh?.. wife nev..ahh-er dou.ooes thiiis", he gasps as he lies
back into the bed. She goes into overdrive trying to forget where and
who she is, while Bobbie groans away to himself. She follows his legs
with her lips and tongue as she removes his trousers and pants to his
ankles, before returning to his penis to slip on a flavoured Johnny.
Closing her eyes she grasps his penis and imagines that it is her
favourite ice cream, Rum 'n Raisin. Licking madly she devours it
afresh, whilst quickly moistening her own vagina with her free hand.
Five minutes later, oblivious to Bobbie and the world, she lifts her
dress up, and mounts him. To the groans of Bobbie, she sees only the
adulating crowd, a crowd that is beginning to appreciate her
performance. She closes her eyes again, as Bobbie grasps her breasts,
she moves further into her trance. Bobbie's groans move slowly into the
background, with each forward thrust of her pelvis they quieten in her
mind. Her mind wanders. Roaming, zooming she enters her unconscious,
partly to protect herself and partly to keep her dreams alive. She is
now the actress taking centre stage. She visualises her audience and
inwardly smiles confidently at them. With every outward thrust and
groan, she hears a rapturous cry from the imaginary spectators. Bobbie
is immaterial, a mere gateway, an object to be used. She now visualises
a spike, regulates her groans and thrusts. Rhythmically she milks her
crowd.
The event over, the performance finished she dismounts. Gently she
bows for one final encore from her audience. She disengages herself
from the bed and blurts out,
"Money !".
Bobbie lies unmoving in his ecstasy, smiling to the world, like a young
boy showing his mother the picture he painted for her at school.
"Money !", she demands, forcing him to return to reality, cutting short
his contentment.
"Okay?Okay", he stutters as he starts to stir. Leaving behind his
dreams he scrambles to clothe himself and find his money. Struggling as
if it's a weight too heavy to locate and lift, he produces his wallet.
He ponders as he attempts to show his power, he wafts his thick wallet
in the air and flicks through the multitude of notes. He picks out two
crisp twenty pound notes as if they were nothing. He moves towards her
purposely and, as he hands them to her, he kisses her cheek. She lets
his snake-like tongue sliver across her cheek, almost choking on the
stench of his unclean breath. Quietly she congratulates herself for not
gagging and thinks of her man languishing in his prison cell.
He strides, slam dunking his used Johnny into the black bag lined bin,
like he's just hit double top to win the local's yearly dart
competition, towards the door and halts only when she purrs hopefully,
"Ta, ?.the tip ?", longingly adding, "Bobbie !",
"Oh, yer??you were nay bad, I suppose?.?Here's the missus' tablets",
making the most of his turn to milk her, he ends by tossing a medicine
bottle at her, they jangle musically to her ears as she plucks,
silencing them from the air. Smiling with new found vigour, she
replies, "You're nay bad either, now piss off back ta ya cab, Bob". The
door closes.
She ponders, then struts to the wardrobe. Opening it she slips out of
her shoes and drags her dress off. She plucks out the red dress, lays
it gently on the bed and walks to the mirror to grab a handful of
tissues. She cleans her vagina methodically. She returns to the mirror
and tissues to wipe off her lipstick. Then she returns to the red dress
and enrobes. She returns to the mirror for a final time to pick up her
red lipstick and applies it in a single motion, "A girl's always got to
look her best", she says aloud to no-one. She puckers her lips and
kisses a tissue and returns to the bed for a final visit. Dropping to
her knees she reaches below the bed and drags out a pair of sparkling
red panted Adidas trainers and a black leather duffel bag. She puts one
of the twenties into the bag; the other is neatly slipped into her
bosom. Almost ready, she ties the trainers' strings into pretty bows.
She leaves the room, nonchalantly throwing the bag over her shoulders,
and wanders down to the waiting world. Whilst on the stairs she pours
five of the medicine bottle's pills into her hands and cups it beside
her.
At the bottom of the stairs the phone girl is holding an animated
conversion on the phone, gesturing to an imaginary spectator. She
pauses briefly, holds her hand out and spits out, "Fiver !". To this
she smiles, flashing her teeth like a tigress, and pushes a handful of
tablets into her hand, muttering, "Dumb", under her breath. She then
struts to the main door and exits the building.
Outside the wind is blowing a gale Taxis pass with their headlights on
full, barely cutting through the night's darkness. She huddles next to
the wall, as she cautiously makes her way towards the city below.
Smirking to herself she thinks, 'How easy it is to walk down to the
city, yet it's always such a struggle back up the hill to this place'.
She passes strangers and even stranger couples. The dwellers of the
ghetto going about their business, aware of watching eyes, looking over
their shoulders to check whether it's a friend or a foe hovering at the
corner. She starts to hurry like the dark autumn gusts. She emerges on
the edges of the city centre. Familiar shops smile at her, slowly
relaxing they help her to leave behind the hostel and that part of her
life and focus on the task at hand. Softly she mumbles, "Tam better be
there".
A couple of young guys cross from a dimly lit alley, "Shit !", she
mutters.
"Looking lost, Hen", one shouts to her, "Needing to be looked after,
eh?Steve's nah use ta ya now", the other continues. "Yer nah a bad
looker fae yer age. If yer need a lookin' after, just come ta Toomy an'
us", the first guy counters, continuing their much rehearsed double
act. "Fuck off ya pricks I'm nah on the game any mere, and I don't need
no fucking Laurel and Hardy". With this she brushes them aside and
rages, "Fuck off, I wish you'd all Fuck off, who needs your floppy
pricks anyway". They back off to avoid her spittle and she swivels her
hips and gallops away, leaving them in her wake.
She enters the pubs and clubs part of the town. Like a shadow she
drifts past the yuppie, then student pubs with all their false
hoarding, bright lights and glaring music. A lump of, 'if onlys', rises
in her throat, a tear swells to her forgotten family. Her mind quickly
returns to onward movement. A subtle, 'get out of my face', ventures
her past the tawdry glitter and anyone who gets in her way. Finally
with a sigh, she sees her destination.
A blue sign and metallic steps beckons her in. The Techno pumps from
deeper. She winks at the bouncer standing guard, smiles at the door
girl at the bottom of the stairs. She contemplates the rewards of
giving the right person their first decent blow job, and moves into the
main bar.
With fingers crossed, her eyes flicker round the room mentally
acknowledging each face, scanning she falls onto her quarry - quite
literally in some respects. Out of breath she goes for the customary
hug and squeeze, the oh-so-gentle pelvic thrust to signify that she
wants, needs, something from her prey. "Tam you holding", she whispers
into his ear, as he squeezes her arse. "Might be darling, you'll have
to alight to me office to see if it's to your liking", Tam replies in
what he would like described as a hunky John Travolta drawl. "Well
let's make haste to the ladies", she asserts theatrically back. "Still
got aspirations above you're station?.. woman - move", is his rasping
retort.
As if like two ballroom dancers they move cheek to cheek towards their
stage exit and into the toilets. They find an empty cubicle. Once
within, she flashes her twenty. He says, "Thank you", and like a shoe
salesman trying to sell Nu-buk protector, adds, "Not much of the batch
left, never know what will come up next". Trying to keep up his sharp
bastard reputation he raps, "I'd get yer greasy paws on some more
baws". Chuckling, he hands her a folded packet of brown powder and an
insulin needle, then leaves reminiscing and smiling towards the
bar.
"Yes ! ", she screams to herself, her thoughts turn once more to her
man. Travelling in time in her mind she thinks of her Steve, how he
showed her the world. How he gave her, her first fuck, her first hit,
took her away from them, taught her the way of the streets, how to
survive and work the pathetic male for easy money. A Wank here, a Lick
there, Thank you man for Forty quid - Dough for me and Steve. In her
mind she sees movies, Steve plays Warren Beatty to her Faye Dunaway.
The days they spent watching that movie. She gasps, as she relives
being held in the Police cell waiting for Steve. There was no heroic
last stand, only the Pigs and their bastard plans. The threats that
entrapped my Steve. He ended up going down for eighteen months, taking
the rap to save his princess. Now, as Steve said, "It's up to you to
look after business and pleasure". She pulls a spoon and matches out of
her bag?.. "Business done, now for my little bit of pleasure???"