Wherever the Dandelion Falls (7 page)

"Not much more to tell," I shrugged.

I didn't want her to know that Dr. Turner had given me money for sleeping with him. She'd make me feel worse than Dr. Turner had, and I'd lose all the satisfaction I'd gained with my groceries and loan payment.

I glued my eyes to the TV and tried to appear indifferent to Justine's prodding. I watched the actors as they staged reenactments on the History Channel. The documentary we were watching was about a famous outlaw during Gold Rush. When the show made a comment in a copacetically coy voice about this outlaw's affinity for saloon women, I glanced over at Justine. What did
she
think of prostitutes?

Justine may have been opinionated and sassy, but above all, I loved and respected her. What would she think of what I had done? Did she think prostitutes were empowered, as I had felt in my own way as I spent Dr. Turner's – no,
my
— money, or did she view them with disgust, as I had been taught to?

"What do you think of these saloon ladies?" I asked, tipping my chin toward the screen.

"What do you mean?" Justine frowned.

It hinted at disapproval, which frightened me. I just wanted her political opinion, sans emotion.

"Prostitutes," I said. "What do you think?"

Justine frowned at the screen for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. Then she let out a weary sigh. "People care way too much about women's bodies."

"Yeah?" I asked, encouraged.

Justine nodded. "If we're not sex objects, we're political objects. If women want to prostitute themselves, more power to them. As long as it's their choice.”

I nodded and kept my eyes on the screen. But inside, I was delighted. Justine wouldn't be angry if she found out. Even though I had no plans to tell her about my foray into prostitution, I was relieved.

After Justine went to bed that night, I checked the message Dr. Turner had left. He was mumbling a bit, and I wondered if he'd been drinking. His deep, husky voice went straight to the point: he wanted to see me again. And although I didn't call him back until the following day after I'd poked around on some escort message boards, I never thought twice about it.

When I saw him the following weekend, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would he bother with the pretense of dinner? Acknowledge that he'd paid me for sex? Feel entitled to more this time? I braced myself, which must have come across as rigidity.

"You okay?" he asked after I'd been in his apartment for less than a minute and realized we were not going out to dinner.

That did nothing but increase my anxiety. But I surprised myself with my forwardness.

"If we're gonna do this, I need to set some ground rules.”

He looked surprised, but not offended. Then he gestured to the couch. "By all means."

I sat, though still upright and guarded.

"Can I get you a drink?" he offered.

I shook my head. "No." One of my rules was that I was never going to drink before sleeping with him. I wanted to be clear-headed.

"I'm going to grab a beer," he said, going into the kitchen. I heard him open the refrigerator and pop the top off a bottle. He came back into the living room and sat in his easy chair, bending forward with his elbows on his knees. "So lay it out for me," he said, gesturing with his hands.

I took a breath. I knew from the forums I'd looked at that setting rules now was easier than trying to enforce them without telling him, and certainly easier than making them up as I went.

"First of all, I guess... I..." I was stumbling and cringing at how amateur I sounded. "I need to know what you're looking for."

Dr. Turner gave me a sniff of a smile. "No strings," he said. "I don't want to meet friends or parents or celebrate anniversaries or anything. The money is in place of that."

I nodded, even though I was still unclear. There was no time like the present to ask. "Are you wanting to date, or just have sex?"

Dr. Turner looked to the side. It was the first time I'd seen him uncertain, and I almost felt bad for him. He didn't know what he wanted, other than to get off. But I knew better than to think that a dating-and-prostitution arrangement could be uncomplicated.

"I can do no-strings sex, but I don't want to date."

Dr. Turner looked down at his beer bottle and nodded. I detected a hint of shame, but since weren't dating, neither of us was obligated to discuss feelings.

"I want to get some clarity on a few things. Are you paying me for my time or for something else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like the quality of the experience or the investment I put into making it pleasurable."

"I don't know," Dr. Turner said, scratching the back of his neck. "Whatever I think is adequate."

I bristled at that. It sounded too subjective to work out in my favor. So I laid out my rate for him, which I knew wasn't that high for what I was offering.

"Six hundred per hour, minimum. Whatever you want to tag onto that is up to you. Cash only."

"
Six
hundred?"

"Minimum," I reiterated.

Dr. Turner rubbed the back of his neck, then let his eyes swoop over my legs up to my breasts before giving a stiff nod. "Six hundred minimum," he mumbled.

"There are certain things I don't do," I said.

He straightened up as though he were sitting around a negotiating table.

"I don't do anything on camera, I don't do anal, I don't do bareback, and I don't swallow."

Dr. Turner shifted in his seat, eyebrow quirking for a minute as he realized that I was serious about setting limits. "Fine by me.”

"I also want you to get screened for STIs and provide me with a written medical summary. I'll do the same for you."

Dr. Turner pursed his lips and frowned. "But if we're using condoms..."

"I don't care," I said, crossing my arms.

Dr. Turner looked down again, then gave a nod. "Okay."

"I don't do any kind of bondage, knife play, gun play, blood play, breath play, or anything that leaves a mark on my body."

Dr. Turner looked startled at my open discussion of specific kinks. "I'm not into any of that."

"And I don't do threesomes," I said, covering my bases.

Dr. Turner sighed, as though my list of demands was tiring him. "Anything else?"

Knowing I was testing his patience with my rules, I backed down. I was being paid to be a fantasy object, and fantasy objects weren't supposed to be tough negotiators. So, for the first time in my life, I consciously slipped into being Violet. My smile grew coy and I leaned toward him, pressing my arms into my torso so they accentuated my cleavage.

"Yeah," I hummed, making my voice airier. "When do you want to start?"

We made it a few blocks down the street, successfully dodging all the wedges of pavement that threatened to trip drunk idiots like us. Faye halted in front of a metal gate and wrestled around in her bag before she produced her keys. She opened the gate, then the door, keys noisy as she leaned forward too far. The door banged against the wall as it flew open.

She ushered me up a long, narrow staircase and into an equally narrow hallway. From there we walked down the corridor until we reached apartment 206. She unlocked the door to her apartment and then paused with it cracked open. "It's kinda messy."

"It's okay," I said, peering into a tiny studio cluttered with piles of laundry, towers of books, and stacks of dishes in the sink.

"Here, just-" Faye held her hand up, preventing me from coming in. "Hold on."

She walked in and shut the door, leaving me in the hall. As I stood listening to Faye shuffling and bumping around, I felt myself rock to the side. I steadied myself on the wall and blinked, then opened my eyes wide to try to sober up. I had to keep my shit together if I was going to be any good for Faye.

After a few minutes the door flew open again.

“
Sorry 'bout that,” Faye said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Come in.”

I entered and saw that Faye had strategically grouped the laundry and shoved some of it under the bed and into a doorless closet. The dishes were stacked slightly less haphazardly and the curtains had been closed. The queen bed was the biggest thing in the room, with a desk and a chair and a bookshelf paneling one wall, the kitchenette with its mini-fridge, standard sink and hotplate in a nook next to the bathroom. Despite Faye's efforts, the place was a mess.

"S'nice," I said. "I like your pictures." I pointed to a row of framed photos on a shelf.

"Oh," Faye said, seeming embarrassed. "Those are old. Can I get you a drink?"

"Water."

"Good idea." Faye walked over to the sink and took out a glass, inspecting it to make sure it was clean before filling it from the tap. She took out another glass and filled it before carrying both over to me.

When I had drained the glass, I looked up and watched as Faye drank her water. She drank so beautifully. Her throat moved in graceful pulses with each swallow. She had a nice throat. Her skin was so smooth and soft, and I was sure it would taste good...

As soon as Faye lowered the glass, we locked eyes.

Her lips were so beautiful and full and water from the glass was making them glisten. I stepped forward and paused just long enough for Faye to move before lowering my lips to hers.

It felt like a giant exhale. Hours of drinking and talking and flirting and trying to say the right thing had led up to this. We both wanted this. I had to remind myself not to undress immediately, I was so eager to feel close to this beautiful girl.

But then it was
her
pushing me towards the bed. I tried not to stumble as I walked backwards, my calves hitting the bed frame. I bent backwards, Faye's sloppy kisses pressing my neck back. I arched my eyebrows, happy and surprised at her enthusiasm.

Faye pulled away for a moment. "This okay?" she gasped, looking at me hungrily. It was as if something had come uncorked from her and now all her lust was tumbling out.

"Yeah," I gasped back, grasping at Faye's back.

Faye attached her mouth to mine again and we toppled onto the bed. The comforter folded under my back, creating a ridge, but I ignored it as I adjusted to Faye's weight on top of me. Her lips were so delicious and soft and wet and they were all over my neck and jaw. I hadn't even gotten my bearings when I felt Faye's hand sliding up my shirt. I surged with excitement.

I followed suit, snaking my hand down Faye's thigh to the hem of her dress. I felt around, teasing, trying to appreciate the newness of her body through my haze. I slid the material up, pushing against its elasticity, and found Faye was wearing silk panties.

Faye pulled her head up from my neck, jerking a bit as she pulled strands of hair out of her mouth. She grinned and dropped her head again, rocking into my hand and against my thigh as she started sucking.

I gasped as Faye fixed her lips to just the right spot and cupped my breast over my bra. Combined with the alcohol and the smell of Faye's skin, I was overwhelmed.

I knew my best defense was to fight fire with fire. I gave Faye's ass a squeeze and rocked up, putting pressure between her legs. She moaned into my neck, but kept her suction.

"Fuck, let's do this," Faye said, sitting up abruptly. She pulled her dress over her head and unsnapped her red lace bra, revealing her round, perky breasts.

I took my clothes off in a frenzy, all too eager to be with her. Her skin was so soft and electric, but the current was dulled by the alcohol swirling through me, like putting a barrier of coarse cotton between me and everything around me, muting every sensation.

Limbs and hair tangled together as our lips mashed. Her hand slipped between my legs and I gasped, wishing I could feel everything with sober sharpness. Halfway through, I started spinning too fast and had to pull away, steadying myself with my hands against the headboard. Faye, though still drunk, noticed my alarm and paused. "You okay?" she panted, her rocking slowing and coming to a halt.

"Yeah..." I mumbled, shutting my eyes for a moment. "Just give me a second."

As I lay there, feeling as though the whole city were spinning around me, I tried to rally myself, reminding myself that
this girl was beautiful and hot and attentive and that I really wanted to be naked with her, even if I was getting dizzy and overwhelmed.

I took several deep breaths before opening my eyes. Faye looked down at me, eager to continue. "Sure you're okay?"

I paused for a moment before I nodded. Faye looked doubtful, but to prove my point, I rallied my strength and flipped her over, earning a delighted shriek and a gasp as I slid my fingers inside her, determined to make her come first.

Watching Faye writhe beneath me was worth the mental pep talk I'd given myself. I watched as her mouth fell open and her brow creased, shoulders pushing against the mattress as she seized, air stuck in her throat for a few seconds before she cried out and gripped my shoulders for support. I felt powerful.

I was panting in sympathy, the muscles in my right arm sore from pumping. All too soonI was on my back again as Faye ravished me.

I had always found it difficult to let go when I was drunk. The dizziness and the numbness and the bloating made everything feel less good. The looseness in my limbs felt a little too loose, as though I were a gangly fawn tripping over my own legs. But Faye was assertive and in control, so I closed my eyes and focused on the sensation of our bodies pressed together, the feel of Faye's breasts on mine, and the determined jabbing between my legs that was quickly bringing my pulse up to a level of frantic exertion.

And then I felt myself plateau. I panicked for a moment, wondering if I'd be able to let go when I was tingling all over from the booze. I hovered in uncertainty for a moment until I felt Faye's tongue trace the rim of my ear. I shuddered and sucked in air, preparing. After a few more pumps, I felt myself start to free-fall, and was flooded with the relief that I'd been able to come.

Faye kept pumping, increasing her movements as I strained beneath her, teeth clenched and lungs rigid. It felt amazing.

When my breath broke and I settled back into the bed, I heard a satisfied chuckle next to my ear as she stilled her hand.

There was a moment of quiet and I felt as though I were a feather or piece of tissue paper suspended in the air, aimless and light and euphoric, yet inevitably destined for the ground. Whether sleep or sobriety or regret would seize me first was the only question.

It seemed sleep was the first bidder because next thing I knew, I woke in a blindingly bright room that smelled faintly of sex but mostly of fabric softener.

Then I realized that I was lying in bed next to a beautiful girl I'd slept with in a moment of drunken impulsiveness. I wondered if I should sneak back home and hope Faye didn't come into the bar again. I was halfway through routing the best way to retrieve my clothing and leave without waking Faye, still not sure such a rude exit was warranted, when I felt her stirring behind me.

"Oh... shit," Faye groaned.

I wondered if she was referring to our liaison, the alcohol-induced headache, or something else. I tried to lay still, pretending to be asleep.

Faye rolled over abruptly, sucking in air in a gasp as she took in my back. The sound made me even more tense, and unsure of my next move.

There was a moment of excruciating silence before Faye hissed, "Are you awake?"

I swallowed before I said, "Yeah."

"Shit..." I felt her moving on the bed behind me, but didn't dare to look. I knew she was as naked as I was, and without the gauzy effect of the alcohol, I didn't feel ready to expose myself, nor privy to look at Faye.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?"

That was my cue to leave. She wanted me out as soon as possible, dumped out like the dregs of beer in the bar glasses, eager to be washed and set out anew.

"Uh, no, I can walk," I said, clutching a pilled cotton-poly sheet to my chest.

"You live nearby?" Faye asked, surprised.

Obviously Faye did not remember me telling her I lived down the street. Our patchwork memory didn't bode well for a smooth morning.

"Yeah.”

I heard Faye yawn. "Oh," she said, the word garbled as she rubbed her face. "Shit, I gotta go.”

I felt the mattress shift as she got up. The swishing of fabric indicated Faye was getting dressed. As I waited for her to cover herself, I decided to make polite conversation. "Your apartment smells good.”

"It's the laundromat downstairs.”

There was more awkward silence as my gaze bore into the wall as I made an effort not to turn and see Faye naked. The noises behind me became less discernible and I wondered if it would be okay to turn around yet. Then Faye came into view, walking alongside the bed in a striped shirt and worn blue jeans. She placed a glass of water on the table next to me, setting two aspirin next to it. "There you go," she said. "Hope it's not too bad."

I was grateful for the gesture, but couldn't help but assume it was code for "take this and get out."

While Faye was in the bathroom, I tried to figure out how to exit gracefully. Leaving while Faye was in the bathroom would be the most non-confrontational, but would convey that I regretted sleeping with her and wanted as little to do with her as possible. I didn't want to incite that kind of assumption. I didn't regret it. I just felt awkward because I didn't know how Faye felt.

I quickly got dressed. I didn't think putting on my panties would be quite sanitary, so I stuffed them in the inside pocket of my purse. Feeling the loose stickiness of going commando, I surveyed my surroundings. How could I leave without making a negative statement? I heard the toilet flush and realized I didn't have much time to decide. As the sink turned on and the soothing static of running water filling the room, I wrote my name and number on a piece of paper on her desk. That way, Faye had my number — and name, if she'd forgotten it — but no obligation to call.

I set down the pencil just as the bathroom door opened. Faye seemed surprised that I was still there, as though going into the bathroom had been her way of giving me an opportunity to leave.

"Hey," she said, avoiding eye contact. "Sorry I have to run. There's a brunch thing this morning for Claire I'm supposed to be at."

"Yeah, no problem," I said, keeping my voice light.

I didn't know if Faye was telling the truth or making an excuse to leave her apartment.

"I had good time last night," I said, hoping Faye would agree with me.

This seemed to only fluster Faye more. "Yeah, it was good," she said.

She bent to put on her flats, falling forward a few inches onto the desk, catching herself as she slid the shoe over her heel. "I gotta go, I'm already late," she said as she grabbed a jacket and her purse from the back of the chair. "But I'll, uh, catch you later."

I realized that I was expected to leave before Faye. I slid into my shoes and grabbed my purse, pulling my hair into a messy ponytail and ducking out the door in front of her.