by Danyl A. Doyle<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>The wealthy folks of Delta put their noses in the air and snubbed us poor people, especially me, when they discovered I was making a living on my back. I was as disgusted at myself as they were, but I had no choice since my Honda Civic\u2019s motor had exploded and I couldn\u2019t get to work. I couldn\u2019t get a new job because I had no phone or internet to fill out the online applications. Although I have a degree in accounting and I\u2019m computer proficient, I could barely afford to rent a shabby trailer house in an embarrassing trailer park. People blame us as if we were druggies and alcoholics. I don\u2019t know anyone in the small trailer park who uses drugs; instead they sip on a gallon jug of cheap wine. They didn\u2019t party all night, instead they got up and worked long hours at a low-paying job.<\/p>\n Wished I could.<\/p>\n These days, I couldn\u2019t walk downtown without hearing catcalls and jeers from teens as they drove past, mooning me, flipping me off, and yelling, \u201cThere\u2019s that trailer park Mexican whore!\u201d<\/p>\n That pissed me off! I wasn\u2019t a Mexican. I was a Texan. I was born in America like my parents and grandparents, but I sure was a god-damned<\/em> whore.<\/p>\n Saturday night, I walked down the lonely, empty main street of Delta, my black and very tight miniskirt with sequins flashing, my shapely muscular legs beckoning with a black blouse open to reveal my breasts. I was a thirty-year-old, allegedly pretty sex worker, carrying a shopping bag. I wore a black coat that I slipped off when I saw a truck coming because cars were often driven by females.<\/p>\n This wasn\u2019t me.<\/p>\n The black Ford stopped.<\/p>\n I floated above my muscular body, alone and afraid because I needed money to feed my child. We bargained, then I stepped sensually into the truck, my black dress hitching up with a hint of my perfume, Tabu, trailing. He paid so I sucked the guy, and survived one more horribly painful weekend. My child, Paloma, tears in her empty stomach, yearned to attend elementary school in the sunshine-filled morning for a nourishing breakfast and knowledge.<\/p>\n One Saturday night I was dropped off by some man at my ugly white trailer. A monogrammed and expensive dark red envelope sat in the crack of my door. The silver initials were CA, no return address. The handwriting was careful and precise, suggesting an education and discipline. It spoke of watching me on Sundays at the Catholic Church as I sat in the back pew, my head down in shame. It said, \u201cI pray that someday you will look into my eyes to let me see the color of yours. I\u2019m sure you have a beautiful, pure, and innocent spirit, and I\u2019d love to get to know you. If you are as strong and courageous as I think you are, I could love you. Is it possible you could also love me?\u201d<\/p>\n A part of me leaped with hope, another part thought, What man would want to marry me?<\/em><\/p>\n He included a USB with a song by Bread, \u201cI\u2019d like to make it with you.\u201d<\/p>\n Shit! I couldn\u2019t stop my tears from wrecking my whore makeup. Running into the dank restroom, I bawled.<\/p>\n Paloma woke up to my dismay. \u201cMommy, what happened?\u201d She hugged me hard. \u201cDid you get hit again?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo sweetie-pie, I\u2019m just emotional.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy Mommy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. I just am.\u201d<\/p>\n She led me to our ratty couch and held me close. I thought, God, what would I do without this precious child?<\/em><\/p>\n I wondered who had written this lovely missive, a note of desire and yearning. He must be a Catholic. I mentally scanned the men who attended mass regularly. There was only one man within my age bracket, but his family was quite wealthy. He owned a large ranch north of Cedaredge. His mother was a large woman who utterly despised me. Last Sunday as we were walking out from mass, she said, \u201cCoco Mendoza, get out of this sacred space. You\u2019re a whore!\u201d She shoved me.<\/p>\n My skinny ass hit the hard stone floor of the vestibule. I sat in shock, my buttocks hurting, and my ashamed, frightened eyes on the floor. They all knew what I was. Swallowing pain, I suppressed tears of guilt and shame. No way would I let this rich bitch know how much she\u2019d hurt me, but I couldn\u2019t stand with people swirling to each side, afraid of Lysander Austin.<\/p>\n No one said a thing.<\/p>\n Carefully avoiding anyone\u2019s eyes, a nice older man helped me up and got me turned toward the door.<\/p>\n In defiance, I attended mass every chance, sitting in the back, my eyes on the floor. This note must be from one of the widowers. Maybe the man who had helped me up? I wasn\u2019t interested because I wanted a large Catholic family \u2013 he was in his eighties like many other men who attended mass.<\/p>\n I forgot about the monogrammed letter.<\/p>\n I was in City Market paying with food stamps when I looked up at the person behind me. To my shock, Lysandra Austin spit a goober in my face. Thick yellow fluid dripped from my nose onto my white blouse bought from Goodwill an hour back.<\/p>\n The checker backed up and stared, her mouth open. The grocery store quietened.<\/p>\n I gasped for air as I dropped my eyes to the shiny concrete floor. My right hand wiped the yellow gob off my face passively as I floated out of my body, my eyes staring furiously at her diamond-choked neck. The cops would arrest me<\/em>, not her<\/em>, saying I must have provoked the nasty thing who sat on the Town Council and donated thousands to local charities. My face blistering hot, I walked out, clutching a small bag of food, my stomach roiling like a maddened sea. I was a tramp, not a lady.<\/p>\n Like her.<\/p>\n However, I was respectful and polite. I\u2019d never<\/em> spit in someone\u2019s face. Such shame the world would never know.<\/p>\n I was born poor.<\/p>\n My mother was deceased and my alcoholic father incompetent in his grief, yet I was a highly trained accountant having received a full ride scholarship to Texas Tech. Thinking it should be legal to give a girl a chance to get on her feet, the hell if I wanted to do sex work. I felt oily and dirty afterwards \u2013 quickly douching, then showering as I\u00a0 shuddered. I had no choice: otherwise my child and I would be swallowed by the fog of starvation, drowning mercilessly, no one noticing me or my beautiful child who loved science.<\/p>\n No help from the churches. They were busy collecting money for the glory of God, the Almighty.<\/p>\n Where was He?<\/p>\n Saturday evening, someone driving a new silver Ford truck with red stripes and red dual wheels stopped. A younger man pushed the passenger door open. \u201cCare for a lift? It\u2019s cold out.\u201d<\/p>\n Cautiously, I crawled in since some men like to hurt women. I checked the cab for handcuffs, ropes, and whips before I let the door swing shut. His aftershave was soft and light \u2013 an expensive brand. He was handsome with blonde hair and blue eyes. I recognized him from Sunday mass. He was always there with his parents \u2013 his mother had shoved me to the church floor and spit on me at the market. My heart rate jumped. Did she send her son to run me out of town?<\/p>\n \u201cIts safe, and I\u2019m honorable.\u201d Blue eyes warm, he said, \u201cMy name is Charley Austin.\u201d A warm smile. \u201cCoco, I\u2019d like to get to know you. Can we drive out into the country and talk? I won\u2019t ask you to do anything but talk, and I\u2019ll pay for your time.\u201d He turned on his phone Bluetooth. \u201cI\u2019d like to make it with you,\u201d by Bread sang its soft love into the warm cab.<\/p>\n I grabbed the door handle. It was locked or I would have bailed out. I knew he had a big ranch north of Cedaredge at the foot of Grand Mesa. Why would he be interested in me? Revenge against his horrid mother who ordered everyone around? A desire to fuck the girl that Mommy despised, to spite her? A set-up and he\u2019d beat me to a pulp under Mommy\u2019s orders? My guts spun into a tight knot.<\/p>\n The big fellow slowly pulled from the curb outside the US Bank unlike most men who burned rubber, afraid to be seen with me. \u201cI\u2019ve watched you in church. You always sit in back, keeping your eyes down. You are beautiful and pure and I break my neck trying to get a look at your eyes.\u201d He took a long, deep breath. \u201cNow I have \u2013 they are dark brown and deep. They\u2019re lovely and they snap, showing the fire of your spirit.\u201d His soft smile lit the night.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m anything but pure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour heart is. I know a lot about you. All the men around town want you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey want my body, not my love.\u201d I had lost count of how many men wanted me. A child wept for her mother, trapped in a damp cave, slowly dying alone, dehydrated, and terrified. The Devil reached for her hand\u2026 He was a handsome man like this one with blond hair and warm blue eyes.<\/p>\n The fellow handed me a dark red envelope with his monogrammed initials, CA.<\/p>\n I dropped it on the floorboards, fearing it held a drug that would knock me out.<\/p>\n He drove smoothly from town.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is your name again?\u201d When nervous, I spoke formally. I wondered what he wanted with a poor whore? Likely it was bondage and humiliation. My right palm sweated as it held onto the door handle; I was ready to jump if he struck me like a fellow did last week. Still had a bruised cheek my makeup could not<\/em> hide.<\/p>\n \u201cAustin, Charley Aaron – the Third, after my grandfather. He was a cattle rancher from Texas, moved up here for the water. I have a small place north of Cedaredge.\u201d He extended his hand.<\/p>\n Cautiously, I took it.<\/p>\n His grip was warm, loving, and tender.<\/p>\n He casually let my hand drop as if I were his friend, but he wanted something. Did he want to interview a streetwalker for an article he was writing? I\u2019d tell him nothing. The teenager inside me threw her fists and stomped, saying, \u201cI have no choice. I\u2019m not<\/em> a whore!\u201d<\/p>\n We drove along graveled roads, slowly sharing \u2013 him friendly and making light jokes; me, reluctantly answering his questions until midnight, my usual quitting time. He liked that I was from Lubbock, Texas, saying that\u2019s where his grandfather had left with only a dollar in his pocket.<\/p>\n I looked up at him. \u201cMy family in Texas is poor, my family here is poor, and I\u2019m desperately<\/em> poor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCoco, I\u2019m quite well off but I\u2019m very lonely. My family is poor in spirit, and I need a friend.\u201d Tentatively, he touched the back of my hand. \u201cWould you be my friend?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou want a street walker<\/em> to be your friend?\u201d I huffed. \u201cI doubt it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI want you, Coco, to be my friend.\u201d His blue eyes were sincere.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t believe him.<\/p>\n This was confusing. The only thing I had to offer was my body and he could have it for as long as he wanted. He probably knew my prices because the men told their buddies, bragging about getting my tight wet one.<\/p>\n \u201cI mean it, Coco; I want a good Catholic girl who is as brave as Joan of Arc.\u201d His right index finger lightly touched the back of my hand again. \u201cYou\u2019ve shown courage by continuing to come to Mass despite my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n I saw moisture in his soft warm eyes. I was as confused as a golden aspen leaf floating in circles above a roaring campfire.<\/p>\n This was impossible!<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not a good Catholic girl anymore.\u201d My head dropped in shame. I worked the streets on Saturdays since I was occupied during the week walking around town asking for work. I mopped, swept, and washed windows for a little cash, wondering why I could not<\/em> get a job as a certified public account.<\/p>\n He didn\u2019t try anything so I slid next to him, pretending he was my boyfriend. He gave me a soft smile. My heart melted and I slipped my left hand onto his leg.<\/p>\n He took it with his right hand and drove on. A couple of miles went by, then Charley leaned to sniff my hair. He softly kissed the top of my head, melting my emotions a touch. \u201cI\u2019m sure I could love you, Coco. Think you could love me?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked up with moisture in my eyes, so friggin\u2019 close to crying that my chin trembled. \u201cIf you are as honest and honorable as you claim, yes, I could love you, and I would be courageous and loyal.\u201d I thought of how I was staying alive. I hated this work. \u201cI\u2019d do any and everything to make you proud of me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am<\/em> an honest and honorable man. I\u2019ll prove it to you, Coco. And,\u201d he looked at me over his shoulder and took my eyes into his, \u201cYou won\u2019t believe me, but I am proud<\/em> of you. It takes courage to do what you\u2019re doing. I need a very<\/em> strong woman because my mother drives away every female I\u2019ve tried to date.\u201d His chin quivered. \u201cI\u2019m 38 and still unmarried because of my controlling mother. She owns me \u2013 she owns my heart, my body, and my soul. She will never let me go.\u201d He gritted his teeth. \u201cI can\u2019t wait to see her arrogant face frowning from a coffin.\u201d His tone softened, \u201cWe won\u2019t kiss until you love me, but I\u2019ll pay for your time.\u201d<\/p>\n We were at my embarrassing white and slanting trailer. He opened a thick billfold for me to see inside. \u201cHow much do you charge an hour?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c20 for oral, 50 for the rest, one hundred for a girlfriend experience. Its 500 for the night but you must leave before my daughter wakes up, and you must<\/em> wear a condom and lube me.\u201d<\/p>\n He handed me ten one hundreds. \u201cThis is for spending time with me.\u201d<\/p>\n I pushed it back. \u201cNo, please, that\u2019s far<\/em> too much. We didn\u2019t do anything other than talk. I charge ten an hour for that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou should triple your rates. Thank you sincerely<\/em> for these precious hours of getting to know you. I know you\u2019re scared, but I\u2019ll earn your trust with every word and every act, or Jesus will take my life. I solemnly vowed to give you all that you need the Sunday my horrible mother shoved you down to the floor after Mass.\u201d He mumbled, \u201cI know what it feels like.\u201d<\/p>\n A moment passed. He tipped my chin up as if to kiss me and looked into my shocked eyes. \u201cI hope you decide you can love me because I know<\/em>,\u201d he drew the word out, \u201cI can love you.\u201d His pupils were dilated. \u201cCoco, you are the<\/em> woman I\u2019ve been looking for. I\u2019m lonely and I\u2019ve been seeking you in my dreams and prayers before the altar candles. Finally<\/em>, I\u2019ve met you, and at last, I know the color of your eyes.\u201d His blue eyes were warm and kind, holding back moisture.<\/p>\n I couldn\u2019t stop the twin tears raced down my cheeks to drip into my black, open blouse and bare breasts. Fuck! I was a whore and I looked like one, yet this gorgeous wealthy man was saying he could love me!<\/p>\n Hope took me into her arms.<\/p>\n My neck burned with terrified desire. I could definitely love this kind and honorable man.<\/p>\n The back of his fingers gently wiped my hot tears away. Again, a near kiss. He smiled. \u201cWhen you know you can love me, we\u2019ll kiss, but we won\u2019t have sex. I promised my mother I\u2019d be a virgin on my wedding day and cannot, dare not, break it.\u201d<\/p>\n My mouth fell open. \u201cHow in the world would she know?\u201d<\/p>\n A slight exhalation. \u201cShe spies on me.\u201d He pointed out my window. \u201cThere\u2019s a woman in that black car over there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh my goodness.\u201d I was suddenly afraid and he sensed it; he warmed me with his big, strong, and protective arms. My heart and my body longed, no, it yearned<\/em> for this kind man. Yes, yes, I could love you, Charley<\/em>, but I dared not say it, not yet, not until I knew if he\u2026 if he was playing games.<\/p>\n He walked me to the door and bowed as he kissed the back of my hand. We looked into one another\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n It was wonderful until I remembered the spy in the black car. I looked directly at the lady. Charley pulled my chin back to him. \u201cIgnore her. Otherwise, I\u2019ll have no freedom. My mother will read me the riot act after Mass tomorrow. I\u2019ll\u00a0 listen and nod like I\u2019m agreeing with her that I shouldn\u2019t be seen you.\u201d<\/p>\n He had rescued the letter from the pickup\u2019s floorboards and pushed the dark red monogrammed envelope into my hands. A friendly wave goodbye, \u201cSee you at Sunday Mass.\u201d He hesitated. \u201cMay I sit beside you?\u201d<\/p>\n It came out too loud, too forcefully, \u201cYes, please!\u201d I wouldn\u2019t feel so isolated. The good Catholics avoided being anywhere near me because of his dreadful mother.<\/p>\n Inside my embarrassing camper trailer, I pressed his monogrammed envelope to my chest and then smelled it. It held notes of green leaves, apples, and water lotus, creating a crisp, fresh scent. It was an expensive aftershave called Nautica Voyage, speaking of a honeymoon cruise. I fought against the tears of hope that rose from deep inside my empty chest. Could I again love?<\/p>\n It struck me that Charlie cared enough about me to risk his domineering mother\u2019s wrath. For a moment I was proud of him, but would he be able to stay strong. He\u2019d said she ran off every woman he had ever dated. My womanhood quickly went dry.<\/p>\n As I lay on my tossed-out, found by a mailbox, lumpy mattress, I felt tonight was a dream. I reached for the scented envelope, his<\/em> man scent, and pressed it to my nose once more. No, this paper was real. Was he? Charley seemed sincere, but had he told me the truth? I wept with tears of surprised joy. Jesus had answered my desperate prayers!<\/p>\n But I was in danger. There might be in an unforeseen accident if his mother had her way. Was he worth it? I had a child to worry about. I carefully opened the dark red envelop, fearful of damaging the note inside.<\/p>\n It said, \u201cPlease Coco, trust me.\u201d<\/p>\n The poem was from Ovid:<\/p>\n Exert those rosy fingers, rein in awhile.<\/p>\n Seamen out in deep water, eyes fixed on the constellations,<\/p>\n Steer closer before your rising, don\u2019t yaw off course.<\/p>\n Even the weariest traveler\u2019s out to greet you<\/p>\n To offer you love as I do too.<\/p>\n \n It meant too<\/em> much. Trust is the basis of a good relationship, without it, love and sex mean nothing. Yet, I had sworn to never trust a man.<\/p>\n I cried and cried.<\/p>\n I could not<\/em> sleep and in the morning, I was very tired, but extremely excited and confused. I dressed my lovely innocent daughter, then fed her cold, cheap cereal without milk and helped her climb the stairs into the big yellow Delta County school bus.<\/p>\n I was invisible as was my bright child who made straight A\u2019s. She had been twice promoted and at eight, was in the 5th<\/sup> grade. Maybe she\u2019d get a scholarship. She wanted to be an electrical engineer. She had rewired and repaired an old vacuum cleaner with my patient help.<\/p>\n I was craving and desperate, my needs exceeding all expectations. Broke and not desiring, I fucked my customers senseless and sensually \u2013 screaming and pounding men\u2019s backs.<\/p>\n They loved me for it.<\/p>\n Tips for the dramatic play.<\/p>\n I was defiled, sour milk running from me, soiling my sheets and men\u2019s truck seats, loathsome. As polluted as my body, I washed my dirty bedding in bleached hot water. Nothing felt clean.<\/p>\n His gift meant I could pretend to be respectable for a week and pay some of the back bills for propane, electricity, and rent. He had saved me a hundred shamed heartaches. Yes, Charley, once I trust you, I will love you with all of my heart, body, and soul<\/p>\n Forever\u2026.<\/p>\n \n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Danyl A. Doyle \u00a0The wealthy folks of Delta put their noses in the air and snubbed us poor people, especially me, when they discovered I was making a living on my back. I was as disgusted at myself as they were, but I had no choice since my Honda Civic\u2019s motor had exploded and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1872,77],"tags":[1761,1873,1123],"class_list":["post-16364","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-89-90","category-english","tag-danyl-a-doyle","tag-egophobia-89-90","tag-english"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-4fW","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16364","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16364"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16364\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16365,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16364\/revisions\/16365"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16364"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16364"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16364"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}