Caricature
Leanne crossed herself as she crossed the threshold to the motel. It wasn’t very pretty, hell, it wasn’t even very sanitary, but it was the unappealing qualities that brought her here. She brushed her khaki skirt with her hand and then tugged on the collar of her green sweater, staring at the walls of the building. Yellowed with grime, Leanne could swear that she smelled the asbestos in the walls, and was that the smell of a funeral home? Formaldehyde?
She grimaced nervously at the other patron in the lobby, a mildly obese Asian woman in a very short skirt, tight tank-top, and a pair of uncomfortable looking heels. Leanne wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw track marks running up her arm as well. She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Virgin Mother; she didn’t want to be like that, which is why she was here.
Her stomach grumbled and she pointedly ignored it. Rent was due, so she had to make the choice of a roof and food, she’d chosen the roof. But that was why she was here. That was why she was doing this.
She tugged her backpack close to her and started slowly walking up to the motel’s counter, which featured a very obese, hairy, and sweaty white man reading a porno mag behind bars. The bars opened up into a small slot. She unconsciously fingered the rosary in her sweater as she approached.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. The man didn’t even seem to notice.
“Excuse me,” she said, louder now, and not a little bit frustrated. The man slowly looked up from his porno mag and snorted when he spotted Leanne.
“You lost little lady?” he asked her.
“No, I need a room,” she said.
“Pretty thing like you,” he said, chuckling, “Gettin’ a room in a place like this?”
It was obvious that he didn’t actually expect an answer to his question, so Leanne just kept quiet, nervously glancing about her. The man chuckled again and turned around, grabbing a key from the rack behind him.
“Twenty bucks for the next four hours,” he said, waiting for her.
She nodded; this was why she’d skipped food for a little while. She pulled out the money from the cleavage of her sweater. The man ogled her obviously as she did so. She slid the twenty through the slot in the bars, and the man grunted, sliding her key through.
She grabbed it hurriedly and dashed up the stairs. The key read room 204. She ducked into the room quickly and pulled out her cell phone. Room 204, motel on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street. She sent that in a text message to the number he’d given her.
That out of the way she started scanning the room around her. It wasn’t any better than the motel lobby. She grimaced and started undressing. She’d bought a pair of sexy lingerie from Frederick’s of Hollywood, scarlet red like she’d heard he liked. She tucked her rosary in the lingerie. She pulled a pair of heels from the bag and then sat on the bed.
When she heard the footsteps approaching the door she got up on the bed, on her knees, and pouted at the door. It crept open and he stepped through the door. A handsome man wearing an expensive power suit, he radiated confidence. He flashed a grin of pearly white teeth at her and started making his way to the bed, undressing as he did so.
When he made it to the bed he was in a pair of black silk boxers.
“You look stunning,” he told her, “Love the underwear. Don’t worry; it’ll only hurt a little.”
With that and little more he undressed her, and did what it was they came here to do. He was wrong, it didn’t hurt a little, it hurt a lot. And when he finished she felt extremely dirty. He’d made her keep the rosary on the whole time, and she thought that was almost the worst part of it.
As he got dressed he flashed her a grin.
“You start on Monday,” he said.
She nodded, and when he left she burst into tears.
About me
This is primarily a fiction blog. With some rants thrown in there.
