Heart of Gold

He rolled up on the hooker. In a model’s pose, her yellow leathers gleamed in the shower of the streetlamp. He rolled down the window. She leaned in.

“What’ll it be?” she asked.

“Do you have a heart of gold?” he asked. “A heart of gold to match your outfit?”

“I got a mouth that can do a lot of things,” she said. “Twenty bucks.”

“I need a whore with a heart of gold,” he said. “Is that you?”

“I got a tight pussy and asshole,” she said. “But that’ll cost you more.”

The window crept up. She told him to wait.

“I’ve got a heart of gold too,” she assured him.

“Really?”

“Sure,” she said. “But finding it’s gonna cost you. I’m sorry, but I gotta make a living.”

“How much?”

“A hundred bucks.”

He unlocked her door. Her knee-high leather boot and black stockinged thigh came in first, followed by her tiny ass pinched inside the tiny yellow miniskirt. With the matching leather jacket, she glowed like a bishop in an icon painting.

She got in and settling in the seat. He wasn’t sure how to play it so as not to blow the illusion. So he sat there, waiting for her to take command.

She said, “I’ve had it rough. Rough. Terrible childhood. And it’s rough out here on the streets. Sometimes I barely feel like the mother and daughter I am. Sometimes I barely feel like the same person that was once an innocent little girl.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yes. I can tell you are.”

“I just want to help you,” he said. “I don’t want anything more. I don’t need the other stuff. I just want to make your life better.”

“Thank you for not exploiting me,” she said. “You’re like a guardian angel.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“I can already tell you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. I can tell you’re a sympathetic man. I can tell you have a tender heart. I can read people. I read people all day long, so you can believe it.”

“Yes,” he said. “I do have a tender heart.”

His breath quickened. She looked at his hand. There was no wedding band.

“And I can tell you love your mamma, even though it’s hard to show her and tell her.”

“My mother’s dead,” he said.

“I can tell you loved your mamma, even though it was hard to show and tell her.”

“Yes,” he said. “I loved her very much. But she never understood.”

“I’m sure she felt the same way about you.”

She looked between his legs. The lump in his pants was large.

“Yes,” he said. “It was very difficult. It was always messy.”

“And your father, you loved him too,” she said.

“I never knew my father,” he said.

“But you wanted to know him. And love him. And you would have. You’d have loved him and cared for him as any good son would have. You’d have been a wonderful son to him.”

“Yes,” he said ecstatically.

“He’d have been proud,” she said.

He went to a fortune teller once, with his mother. Much like this whore, the fortune teller was gaudily attired and spoke in a similar comforting tone. The fortune teller popped up in his mind but he switched it off quick. Then his childhood pastor flashed in his mind, which he extinguished with a flick of the same switch that created it.

“And I can tell you’re not a coward,” the prostitute said.

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

She looked between his legs again. It had grown. And there was a wet spot the size of a dime.

“You’re not a physical or emotional coward. You’re just cautious.”

His breathing grew full and rapid.

“Practical and logical,” he said. “And cautious. And courageous.”

She whispered, “Don’t cum.”

He whispered, “Okay.”

She nodded. She paused. She stared into the silence of the street.

“What?” he asked.

Pretending not to hear, she whispered, “Your turn.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

His mind raced with what to do. He reached for her hand.

“No,” she whispered.

He leaned in to kiss her.

“No,” she repeated gently. “But close.”

He clutched the steering wheel.

“Relax,” she said. “Take a moment. Breathe.”

He took a deep breath and relaxed his grip.

“You’re more than a whore,” he said. “A lot more.”

“I’m a loving mother,” she said. “And a loving sister. And a loving daughter. I’m a gentle, kind and caring soul. I was going to be a nurse before my life fell apart.”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course you are. And a poor victim of circumstance. I victim of this cold, cruel world of ours. Just like me. It’s tragic.”

Up ahead, a car tuned the corner, making its way toward them. She recognized it from a few minutes earlier.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go,” she said.

He saw the car too.

“Okay,” he said. “But I haven’t payed you anything.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll get it straight next time. I can tell you’re a good and honest man. I know you’d never rip me off. You’d never abuse my trust like that.”

“You truly are an angel,” he said. “You can see straight into my heart.”

“Like your mother never could? Like no wife or girlfriend ever has? Like your kids never have?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank heavens I’ve found you. It’s a blessing.”

“You’re an angel too,” she said. “You are like my savior. But I gotta go.”

She jumped out of his car and waddled down the sidewalk toward the other car.

As it got close, she waved it down. She went up to the window, just like with him, and stuck her head inside.

He watched as she opened the door and got in. She waved as she slid her ass inside.

“Who’s that?” her new john asked.

“Just some lonely guy,” she said.

“Aren’t we all lonely?”

“I suppose,” she said. “I can’t tell if he’s nice or a creep. I suppose I ought to know. But I know for sure he’s lonely.”

“What’s he wanna do, piss on you?”

“No,” she said. “He’s looking to buy a heart of gold.”

“Sounds weird,” the john said. “Maybe he is a creep.”

“He seems nice.”

“Buy a heart of gold? Off you?” the john asked. “He might get a mouth like silk, but a heart of gold?”

“I provide a service,” she said. “I try to give you all whatever you need.”

“You know what I need?”

“Pull into that parking lot,” she said. “Over in the corner where it’s dark.”

They parked in the dark corner of the lot and she gave him what he needed too.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.