“What’s the name?
“Anita, what do you want?”
Clearly this was a case of young-man-state-your-business
“How much would it cost to take you home with me?”
“I don’t go to people’s houses; you would have to lodge in a hotel.”
“Interesting, so how much?”
My jaw dropped; did she want me to price? Did she hike the price because my moon walker boots gave me the works-on-the-rig look? If all clients paid twenty, surely she shouldn’t be standing on the streets
“Well, I watch you most nights; you are very beautiful with the best boobs I have ever seen. Now I know your fee, would save up.” I flashed a smile and walked away, now I had a name for the beautiful prostitute I always looked forward to seeing on my way home from work. The one I had fantasies of falling in love with and rescuing from the life.
The next evening, I walked up to her again, determined to tell her my own name and maintain conversation
“Good evening, my name is Victor.”
“Hi Victor,” she said sharply cutting me off, “what do you want?”
She didn’t remember me, I was disappointed. Apparently my compliment didn’t stick, how could it? I am sure men told her such things and more on a daily basis.
“What is your name?” I asked her, playing at being a stranger.
“Stephanie.” She said with a shy smile, just then she looked the proper maiden. Before I could react to say another word, she tugged at her bra and winked at me.
“Still saving?” She asked then she walked away before I could retort, my eyes following her swaying gown. I felt a presence tell me “Pull her back, tell her you love her.” I didn’t obey, at least not today.
And so our game began, whenever I met her, I would ask for her name and she would give a different one and ask how much I had saved.