A Thousand Lovers

Dexter didn't care if I did drugs or not for the days we worked on the story, only that I might have enough flashes of lucidity to give him the real, truthful day by day account of my struggles on the street as a hooker.

The deal was that I would use at least some of the money to support my habit so that I would not have to be prostituting myself for at least a week.

Dexter's sister was out of town on vacation and she had agreed to let me stay at her place for a full seven days. Dexter had said that the interviews with me were going to take at least that long. I didn't see the reason why until Dexter began to talk about the parameters of what the mag story might entail. He wanted to know everything, where I was born, how I grew up, where I went to school, what my favorite subjects were, what any boyfriends I might have had were like, what my parents were like, how they felt about me being on the street, what were some of my fellow hookers like, what were the johns I had like, how often and why I got beaten, what kinds of drugs I took, how much they cost, if I'd ever been arrested, if I'd ever been gang raped, if I'd ever caught any diseases, what kinds of sex did I have to perform and how often? Was I always hungry? Where did I live? How did I live? What were my dreams and aspirations? Did I have any plans to get off the street?

The questions were as varied and detailed as they were numerous. Still, talking about my life was somewhat therapeutic, and a damn sight better than trying to pick up Johns, then fuck them!

He had taken me at the beginning of the seven days to my supplier, allowing me to purchase a one week supply so that I would not have to go back to the damn dealer for the entire week.

Just lounging around the upscale condo, dressing scantily, while keeping cozy and warm, watching TV, eating good food and getting high, was like a dream come true. Not having to beg men for money for sex was quite a great feeling, still, I was used to having sex constantly, and by the third day of chatting with Dexter about my life on the street, I began to get really horny. For one thing, he was tall, and I loved tall men. For another, he was muscular and really buff looking, and beefcakes always turned me on. For yet another thing, he was humorous and kept me laughing. It felt good having fun for a change. And finally, he was not judgemental. He never seemed to be looking down at me or making me feel small or dirty. As well, he had begun to really start to stare, his eyes widening and his mouth drooling when I wore a skimpy see through top from his sister's closet and a tight fitting, impossibly short skirt from my own devious wardrobe.

I assumed his attraction to me was purely physical, but I was like a drowning woman, grasping at straws. Any kind of love being tossed my way was to be both cherished and devoured by my mind, heart soul and body.

The only thing I wanted to be certain of, before I got involved with him, was that he was single. I had fucked enough married men in my life as it was. Having sex with a married man always made me feel dirtier. Most hookers will lie about it, but there definitely is a sense of bad karma infiltrating your mind any time you hold a married man in your arms. For one thing, you're helping him act out a fantasy that he wasn't entitled to in the first place. Secondly, you're leading him further and further away from his wife. Instead of patching things up at home, all his energies are being devoted to finding and fucking a hooker. It also used to bother me in the sense that some of these guys really couldn't afford it financially. I mean you would see them in their bargain clothes and hear them cringe when you gave then a price. The money in their pockets was supposed to be that birthday present for their little girl, or that Christmas dinner for their family, or that well deserved night out with the wife. Instead, that cash went straight into my arm.

"You're not married, are you?" I asked, my giant firm breasts pressing teasingly against the stretching, tight, almost see through top.

"Why would you ask that?" he replied, a sudden dash of panic beginning to creep across his face. That meant only one of two things, either he was married and he was thinking about simply lying about it, or his workplace had warned him not to become sexually involved with the women he interviewed.

Since he wasn't answering me directly, I glanced at his ring finger. It had no wedding band on it, neither any tell-tale indentation from where it might have once been. I decided that if he did say he was single, he was probably telling the truth.

"I asked you that," I said. "Because I'm high, and horny and you're very attractive. You're a very nice guy. I haven't had sex with a man for the last three years unless it was for money. So, if you and I were to get together, I would have to call it making love as opposed to merely having sex."

"You're making me nervous," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'm not married, but my work place frowns upon me getting involved with those I interview."

"Who's going to tell them?" I whispered back, rising out of my chair and pulling the top off over my head.

I walked towards him seductively, my hands on my hips and my nipples stiffening in the air.

I suppose most women reading this would probably be very judgemental and disgusted, but for me, it was a chance at normalcy for a change. In a few days, when the interviews had ended, and the money gone, I would be back out onto the street, fighting for my life in an alley stinking of garbage, vermin and snoring winos. Here, I was some guy's fantasy come true, and a princess to be adored and pampered as opposed to a piece of meat, dangling on a hook.

He froze, and was actually trembling.

"Don't be so shy," I said. "I know you were thinking about it."

"Yeah, sure, I was thinking about it alright. But it feels like somehow I'd be taking advantage of you."

"Not if I'm the one initiating it," I whispered in his ear, pressing my boobs to his chest as I straddled both sides of his narrow chair to sit on his lap.

I kiss mouth softly at first, and then passionately, finally pressing my tongue past his quivering lips.

I took the condom out of my hair that I had planted there earlier. I unzipped him, rolling it over him as he stiffened in my hand.

"I tend to fall in love very easily," he said. "Be careful you're not getting more than you bargained for. You're quite the black Goddess."

His words were unexpected, and they totally turned me on, bringing both excitement and arousal. Some men in his position might have found the advances of a hooker dirty or unwelcome. But he was using phrases like 'falling in love' and 'black Goddess."

I glided over top of his cock and let it reach all the way inside of me, continuing to kiss his mouth.

Using my legs for leverage, and my hands on the chair for support, I rose and fell up and down the length of his white cock, pulling away my mouth so he could suck and kiss my dangling breasts.

I assumed he wouldn't last longer after he reached orgasm in about fifteen minutes or so. But he surprised me by continuing to stay hard, and gripping my hips to help me pump up and down for another hour. After that he had to go to the washroom and pee.

He came back and sat me onto the dining room table, lifting my legs up over his shoulders, and entering me without a condom on. In all the excitement and lust, I supposed he just hadn't remembered to put on a new one. I stopped him immediately, and ran to get one, as I had more in my purse. After rolling it on, the new position was causing his cock to rub against my clitoris each time it re-entered me. I was heading for my second orgasm with him and we both groaned as we came together, shivering in ecstasy, and rubbing each other's bodies as though we were newlyweds.

He lifted me back onto the couch, resting me in his lap and kissing my face, neck and breasts as though I was the last woman on earth. Then he let his sensual fingertips roam the length of my body as his kisses intensified, wanting to give me a prolonged and 'feel good' afterglow. No man had made such a gesture before and it was right then and there that I was determined to make him my rescuer of sorts. He seemed to really like me, as I did him, and I wondered if there was a chance that, if I were to come off of drugs, that he and I might have a shot at building a relationship together. Stranger things had happened, and I knew that having a chance at a normal life, might just be the incentive I needed to get off of drugs.

The very next day I went down to the hospital rehab clinic. The waiting list was full, but a five hundred dollar bribe to the intake clerk got my name bumped up to a week from Wednesday.

We made love every day, and I used less and less heroin, making it stretch until it was finally done when the Wednesday rolled around.

"I've got what I need for the story, but I really don't want to stop seeing you," he said. "And the thought of you going back out into the streets is just tearing me up inside."

His sister seemed nervous that I had overstayed my welcome at her place by a full four days.

Dexter was adamant that I not go back to my raunchy drug and rat infested motel.

"I want you to come live with me," he begged. "I really want you to stay in my life."

I asked him if he were sure and he took me in his arms. A tear trickled down his cheek. "Let me help you kick your drug habit," he pleaded.

"I thought you'd say that," I whispered triumphantly, planting a moist kiss onto his mouth. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but tomorrow I go back to the clinic. It's a government funded project to help get hookers off the street. I was in it twice before. Once I quit before the rehab was up, and once I completed the program, but just couldn't resist the allure of drugs, and was right back out onto the streets a month later."

"With me in your corner," he said. "I know you can make it this time."

XXX

My whole body felt numb and nauseous. Plus I had the shakes bad, real bad! Dexter held my hand, and my dad fluffed my pillow, watching my eyes as they danced frantically, hopeful of a fix.

The clinic's methadone mixed with orange juice had dulled the ferocious need somewhat, but my craving for heroin was still so strong I was out of my mind, tying to formulate some crazy scheme that might see me leap out of some window or overpower some security guards. Still, having my family present, really did help, particularly my dad, who kept feeding me chocolate bars and washing my bedside with his tears. I could tell he was very grateful for Dexter, viewing him as a powerful lifeline which was not available to me the last two times I had valiantly tried to get clean.

It was soon three in the morning and my dad gone off to the little café down the street, catching a well-deserved meal and cup of coffee. Dexter had driven my mother home and then was going back to his condo for a few hours of shut eye before coming back to see me early the next day.

The leather straps running across my body were a mere precaution to keep me in the bed until my dad or other family members might come back. Most of us recovering junkies would flee if we were left unmonitored and not tied down somehow.

I suppose when I first saw Arnie the pimp standing there, I thought it was a bad dream, but as he came forward, stepping out of the shadows, I realized that it was not some bad dream after all, but rather some catastrophic nightmare. He must have heard that I had gone back into rehab and was probably upset over losing a grand a week in drug sales.

He took my hand and gently rubbed my forehead, kissing my cheek. "It's getting harder and harder to sneak into this place," he said. "But I'm here because we missed not having you around," Arnie said. "A thousand a week in drug sales and another five hundred a week for the room at my motel, that's six thousand a month less. Maybe, if you had a taste of the real thing, you could get the fuck out of here and get back to your productive life on the strip," he said, pulling out a small plastic pack of heroin and holding it close to my trembling face.

"You got the shakes bad, baby. Let me give you some help."

"No," I shouted, knowing he was going to try and shoot me up to destroy what fragile progress I had made so far.

Tears flooded my eyes as he shoved a handkerchief in my mouth, then closed the room door and locked it, drawing the small curtains across the door window. He didn't want anyone to see what he was doing.

Then he took out a rubber piece of tube and tied my arm with it, tapping the flesh till he found a good vien.

"This shit is really strong, babe," he teased. It's a new special concoction that will have you flying real high babe. You'll see, real damn high."

A part of me wanted it, but a part of me wanted to get clean and I struggled against the straps, but simply could not break free.

He poured the powder into a spoon then lit his lighter underneath it, hypnotizing me with the melting liquid so close to my frightened eyes. I suddenly became tame, knowing there was nothing I could do but simply lay back and enjoy the injection he was about to give me.

Once the powder was completely melted, he soaked it up into the syringe, then fired it into my arm.

The effect was immediate and heavenly, saturating my being with both relief and a pleasure so strong, I was heading for another planet. The room began to spin ever so sweetly, and I made no shouts of anguish.

He quickly fumbled through the locker in my room, getting my clothes and dressing me quickly. Then he snuck me out the back door, pretending to take garbage out to the dumpster to where he had his van stashed.

XXX

I had supposed, on my long ride with Arnie that he would be taking me back to my corner, but he had other ideas. Not only was he smart enough to know that Dexter would have come there to rescue me again, but he was also smart enough to know that kidnapping was a crime. I would be far better to keep me squirreled away, forcing me to make money for him in secret, which is exactly what he did.

He had one of his goons keep me stashed inside a nice hotel room. I always had lots to eat, and so much top grade heroin to use I was flying high night and day without interruption. Almost immediately upon our arrival, he started sending me Johns who had paid him for 'special' sex. Some had fetishes that were mild but still risky STD wise, such as swallowing their cum. Some wanted me to simply put them over my knee, letting them suck my boobs while I 'spanked' them until their bums were raw and bleeding. I thought it was pretty weird, but it really turned the guys on, even making then shoot their loads without me even touching them. Some guys just had a 'big boobs' fetish, and wanted me to let them spend hours with their cocks between my breasts. At least once a day there would be some kind of gangbang, ranging anywhere from three to ten guys at once. Sometimes it could get pretty rough, but I always did my best to give each and every one of them a good time, letting them wear out my body and my mind. I brought Arnie a lot of repeat business.

One thing that had become increasing apparent, though, was that my heart ached badly each day over Dexter. I realized I had somehow fallen in love with the journalist and I kept wishing I could get him back into my life. A part of me, however, dreaded what he might think of me even if I could have escaped. The weeks had turned to months and the months into over a year. Arnie was sending me so many clients that my pussy was about the size of the damn grand canyon now with all the usage it was getting, and the heavy activity on my boobs was really starting to make them sag. Add to that, the fact that my mouth would sometimes break out in horrible blisters from some kind of bastard STD, and I was starting to get into really rough shape. I needed help, and the only one willing to help me before, was Dexter. But how to escape and get back to him? He had proclaimed his love for me once, so the question was, did Dexter still feel the same way about me? I was now desperate to escape and find out. If I could get out of the hotel room, then I could get back to Dexter. The problem for me was that the damn goon Arnie had assigned to guard me stayed glued to the fucking front door, and had installed some fancy lock so that you needed a key to get out as well as a key to get in. And then, one day as the maid dropped off the fresh sheets and linen at the door, a brainstorm hit me hard. And I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. The bed sheets! The fucking, damn beautiful bed sheets! If I could accumulate enough of them, then I could tear them and tie them together, then stash them onto the balcony. Then, at night, I could simply sneak out onto the balcony, tie the sheets to the rail, and slide down the four floors to freedom.

It took me a week of keeping back one bed sheet a day, until I had enough stashed, torn, and tied together. I kept then hid under my bed.

I then snuck them out when the guard was in the washroom and tied one end to the rail, then I snuck back in and drew the drapes partially across the walkout glass doors, obscuring the view. Then I packed a bag, careful to include a one month's supply of heroin and some tip money some of the guys had given me.

Later that night, after a particularly brutal gang bang by a dozen rough and tumble construction workers, I snuck out onto the balcony and tossed the sheets over the side.

I slid down the sheet and made it to the ground below.

I managed to hail a cab and took it straight to Dexter's house. I cried endlessly on his shoulder, afraid he wouldn't want me in the used and abused shape I was in. I told him everything that had happened to me and he wanted to go kill that damn Arnie, or at the very least, have him arrested.

I begged him not to think along those lines, letting him know that Arnie had eyes and ears everywhere. If we were to fuck with him we would both end up dead. At the very least, Arnie would want to torture the both of us first, then ask questions later, after we had stopped breathing! I told Dexter, that if he wanted to help me, then we would have to get out of town fast, and stay out of town.

The magazine Dexter worked for had some pretty decent world-wide circulation, with offices throughout the States. For some time they had been asking him to re-locate to their Cleveland office. It wasn't easy for them to find people wanting to leave New York or Los Angeles to go to Cleveland. So when Dexter called up out of the blue, saying he would like to be transferred immediately to their Cleveland office, they readily agreed.

XXX

It's been six months since Dexter and I have been living in Cleveland as an interracial married couple. Kicking the habit at first was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Desperation has a way of making people accomplish great things.

Dexter has turned out to be a really great guy. My blisters have all cleared up since getting some shots and I'm really starting to look a lot better now. I used the ten thousand that guys had been tossing me over twelve months as tip money, to get some cosmetic surgery. My boobs don't sag anymore and my face lift left me looking fresh and stunning.

Dexter is happy all day long, smothering me with kisses and love, especially since he just learned we are expecting our first child. Dexter says that because it is mixed it will be the most beautiful baby on the planet.

My parents come to visit often, and are thrilled at the news they are going to be grandparents for the very first time.

My dad is up to his old tricks again, crying his eyes out, only now they are tears of joy as opposed to tears of anguish and grief!