“I never said you were hot,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.

It was all I could do to keep from slapping him. I turned abruptly and started walking towards my car when I felt his hand stop me.

“Do not touch me!” I knew I had said it a little louder than I should have. This guy really didn’t deserve the wrath I was dishing out, and he seemed sincere in his attempt to make amends. But after the night I had and the morning now too, I was at the end of my rope.

“Sorry. Jesus, I was just going to ask for my driver back.”

Not realizing I still had it in my hand along with my blanket, I shoved it out in front of me for him to take. He approached me carefully and grabbed it quickly.

“Laura, I’m sorry. It’s just I had a bad night… Fuck it.” I walked off without further explanation. I owed him nothing and I could care less what he thought. I was now three hours and thirty minutes from my shift and I knew there was no way I was getting any sleep. Still, I had to try. Not bothering to leave the park, I climbed into my backseat and actually managed to doze off. I heard my pager go off, minutes I thought, after I had finally found my slumber.

I quickly realized that it was dark out.

“Shit!”

I read the message: 911. It was the bar.

I got in the car and sped down the highway, sliding on my work tee and putting on what makeup I could around my swollen lips. I was almost two hours late and this was not going to be pretty. It took me ten minutes to get there and another ten to find parking. I walked in expecting to find my boss, Gary, pissed and ready to send me home.

“Laura, what the hell happened to you?”

“I was hit by a…Chris.” I was so going to pay for that lie.

“That little mutha—”‘

“I’m fine, really, I am. It took a long time to stop the bleeding, but I didn’t want to call in on you. It was really bad, but trust me, I have it under control and it’s over.”

“Sure, babe, whatever you need. I’ll have Callie take the late shift so you can go home early.”

“NO!” I screamed out of desperation. “No really, I’m fine. I want to work it.”

Shocked and almost looking annoyed at this point, probably from trying to be nice, he muttered, “Okay.”

“Thanks, Gary, and I am sorry for being late.” I walked quickly behind the bar and shoved my purse underneath and grabbed my tiny black apron. It was pointless to be a bartender with an apron, and I had explained that numerous times. But, if that’s what Gary wants, then that better be what Gary gets. He owned the bar, and didn’t have a problem micro-managing it down to the smallest detail, including where the damn straws went in the bar cubbies. It was nice to see a tender side of him for a change. As long as I did what I was supposed to and my drawer was never short, we had no problems. And I looked forward to the one hundred plus I made a night working at the Lemon. It was super easy to walk away with tired feet with that much cash in hand. Usually, I would take the hundred and stash it away for bills and spend the chump change on my drug of choice for the evening, but now I needed every spare dime I had to get my own place.

How quickly things could change, I thought, as I counted my till. Please let tonight be better than the last. My silent prayer was accompanied by a long sigh. I was resigned that this thing with Chris really was for the best. It still stung that he could cheat, but I was no angel, and being faithful to him had been a complete waste of my time. I had the long shift, meaning I was there until at least 2 A.M. That didn’t bother me, besides my lack of sleep, and I was actually beginning to get excited about the idea of having my freedom again. I mean sure the sex was good. He was never stingy with the drugs, even though he did way more than I would ever do. But other than that, Chris was useless to me. He did nothing for me and never went out his way to make me feel special. It was as if I was living with a friend that I screwed for two years. A shiver ran through me when I thought of how stupid I was to have stayed for so long. Well there’s my first lesson. I was twenty-one years old and not at all interested in a long-term anything anymore. Thanks for that, Chris.

“Two Foster’s, please.”

“Draft or can?” I asked without looking for the source of the voice who ordered.

“Draft.”

I reached into the cooler and grabbed the last two glasses, and was immediately pissed. The glasses weren’t stocked from the previous shift and I was stuck, as usual, doing some other shithead’s work. I tilted the first glass into the draft and barked “six” at the guy who ordered them when I caught his eyes. His beautiful green eyes were studying me in amusement.

PURCHASE YOUR COPY OF ROOM 212 HERE.

I was a thief of men … a whore.

Not the conventional type that got paid for sex. I was the girl you talked about in your sad inner circle. The girl you shielded your boyfriend from as you cleverly covered him with your body when I came near.

I was a threat to you. I dressed like sex. I knew how to get the attention of any wandering eye. I saw how hard you tried to keep his eyes from me. But they were … on me, filled with longing and curiosity. Keeping him safe in your grasp was smart. I would happily sleep with him if given the chance. It’s not that I wanted to out of spite to hurt you. Half of you would not ever know my motive or catch on. It’s that I needed to do it. I needed to see that want in his eyes—the kind of lust and need you only see in a man’s eyes the first time they had you. It was perfection. It was lust. It had nothing to do with love. It was animalistic and I made sure they brought their A-game.

Every.

Single.

Time.

It would never be better than the first time. No, I didn’t have daddy issues. I loved my father, though he was no saint himself. He showed me the ropes. I took my best cues from him, though he was unaware. It was simple. I loved sex and I loved men. It wasn’t an addiction. It wasn’t a hobby. I wanted what wasn’t mine. No, I wanted to borrow what wasn’t mine. I gave him back to you and you were never the wiser. I was that whore.

If your man glanced my way, I was going to thank him with my own personal brand of gratitude. I would let him take me the way he wanted. When he was done, I gladly returned him to you. He may have asked to see me again, but I would never do it.

They all came to me willingly.

Every.

Single.

One.

I simply extended the invitation.

***

Summer 2005

I had just spent the last few minutes scoping out my next invitation at the laundry-mat. He had been begging for any crumb of attention his object of affection would show him. He was hungry. I could tell by the way he was groping his girlfriend and looked at her as she playfully ignored him as she tended to her clothes. His eyes roamed her body with longing. She was petite with perfectly cropped brown hair and matching brown eyes. He slid his hands around her waist and she gave him a quick smile, then scolded him and removed his hands before resuming her duties. He was tall with dark blond hair and eyes I could not tell the color of, a jock’s build with half hidden tattoos under his white t-shirt. He was hungry … and he needed my help. His hair was longer than business cut and it turned me on like no other. He attempted again to ease her into him with his hands on her shoulders and she once again refused his advances.