They Tell Me You Are Wicked

A man falling head over heels in love with one of Mattie Silk's whores wasn't the most unusual thing in the world. The fact of the matter was that it was something that happened to most men who walked through the door of her whorehouse, as predictable as a pair of crooked dice coming up seven in a craps game. The only problem was that someone forgot to explain those odds to Reverend Albert Bell.

That morning Reverend Bell kissed his wife and seven children goodbye, left his house, paid his five-cent fare, and hopped on the elevated train headed for the notorious South Dearborn street in downtown Chicago.

It was 1906, and Chicago boasted a self-image of American industrial optimism. The windy city was awash in technological marvels: electric dishwashers and automobiles to fluorescent lamps and Ferris wheels. But this image was just a facade.

The city had been in the throes of an unprecedented crime wave: a burglary every three hours, a mugging every six hours, and at least one murder every day. But as far as the Reverend was concerned, strong-armed crimes like that were matters for the police to handle. Bell considered himself placed on earth for a higher calling, something more like a prophet than a run-of-the-mill Sunday preacher.

To him, the true enemy to civilized society wasn't thieves and murderers. The real culprits were the madames and harlots (and their lack of Christian values), who plied their trade in the red light district. The red-light community was where God-fearing men and women needed to wage war. He intended to bring the battle personally to every last prostitute, criminal hotel, dive, saloon, and dance hall littered the area.

Bell preached a sermon to his spellbound flock on the exact subject a week prior. Wailing to the heavens with righteous anger, he said:

"Women are a thousand times safer if no such Hell as South Dearborn street exists. To not be allowed to manufacture degenerates. And men who consort with vile women lose their respect for all women."

His train came to its stop. He exited the platform and lost himself in the late morning crowd, marching with the fierce determination of a knight off to do battle in the crusades. The holy bible was his weapon of choice, and he carried it the same way a hardened gangster packed a loaded revolver.

He shuddered at the abject filth that lined the street as he strode down the sidewalk. The smell, a toxic blend of piss, horse manure, and puddles of day-old vomit, made his stomach want to bring up his morning toast and hard-boiled egg. If anyone needed Jesus, he thought, it was the residents of this squalid district. After turning onto South Dearborn street, he searched for number 441, the sporting house owned by Mattie Silks, the most well-known madame on the block.

It was already 11 am when a series of deep thunderous booms woke the Dearborn street madame from her catatonic stupor. Only six hours ago, she and her girls had crawled underneath the warm covers of their soft and inviting beds after a long night's work catering to every kink and perversion imaginable. Now some ignorant son of a bitch was waking her up from her only pleasure in life.

Mattie cursed like a drunken sailor as she tossed the blankets off her naked body. She threw on her butterfly embroidered kimono and stormed down the mirror-lined hallway to answer the door.

The overworked madame was still half asleep as she peeked her tired eyes through a slit in the velvet front window curtains. Albert stood on the front stoop, clutching his bible and prayer tracts to his chest, waiting patiently for someone to answer the door. In his head, he rehearsed the speech he had prepared for the fifteenth time since catching his train into this heart of darkness. The Reverend stood up straight as the sound of unfastening chains and deadbolts filled his ear. The moment of truth had arrived.

The heavy mahogany door swung open. Mattie Silks stood there, disheveled and falling out of her robe. She was a large woman with a rambling body that went on for miles, flesh bulging in all the wrong places. Albert was suddenly tongue-tied, his entire spiel vanishing like a silver dollar in a magic trick.

Neither one spoke a word as their eyes locked, sizing each other up like two prizefighters about to go twelve rounds. The Reverend lowered his eyes, looking at his shoes instead of the well-fed woman standing before him.

Mattie's temper flared as Albert began glowing beet red before her.

"Well! Spit it out, buster. No need to be shy with any gal at this house. Besides, It's cold as a witch's tit out here, and you're letting all the heat out," she said.

"I-I-I'm Reverend Albert Bell, and I've c-c-come to s-speak to Mattie Silks," he sputtered, breaking his awkward silence.

In a flash, Mattie's demeanor changed from heated hussy to syrupy southern belle. A broad smile gripped her face, revealing a row of teeth fit with inlaid diamonds gleaming in her mouth. She might have been tacky, uneducated, and unrefined. Still, God blessed her with enough natural charm to melt the stiffest prude like a pat of butter on a hot July afternoon.

"You're looking at her sport," the madame said in a thick Georgia accent, "but we don't start receiving gentlemen here until later this evening. Me and my girls are still getting our beauty sleep, sugar."

She gave the Reverend a lascivious wink as she tightened up the belt on her robe to keep her boobs from falling out. If the stranger wanted to see some titties, then he'd have to pay for it like all the rest. She wasn't about to give him a free show.

Albert continued to stand silently in front of the bosomy madame, shifting uncomfortably about in his brown patent leather shoes. Her uncouth manner had knocked the wind from him.

He took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to speak. If he were planning to walk down the mean streets of Sodom to spread the word of Jesus Christ, his Lord and Savior, then he would have to strengthen his moral fortitude. He'd have to stand tall and proud, not whimper away like a kicked dog before this scantily clad harlot. He opened up his mouth and let the words whoosh out:

"The wage of sin is death. We earn wages. We sin, and we earn death. But life is a gift. Eternal life is a gift from God, but only if we leave our sin and come to him. They shall bring the girl to the doorway of her father's house so the men of her city can stone her to death for committing an act of folly in Israel by playing the harlot in her father's house. Thus, you shall purge the evil from among you. Prostitutes are in no danger of finding their present life so satisfactory that they can't turn to God. Only the proud, greedy, and self-righteous are in that danger."

Albert handed her a three-fold pamphlet highlighting the thrills and chills of a syphilis infection to push home further his point. The brochure explained that God didn't want any members of his flock to suffer the horrors of an STD. It went on to say that even a fallen woman could join the congregation of Heaven upon renouncing their wicked, wicked ways.

Mattie took the pamphlet, reading over it carefully while examining a gory picture of genital warts. She handed him back his pamphlet, saying:

"They might call what we do an act of folly in Israel, but here in Chicago, we call it old-fashioned hospitality. You run the madames out of business, and you'll have a street full of hungry whores peddling their asses out in public. Stomping out every last cockroach in Chicago would be an easier thing to do than stomping out every last whore working this neighborhood, even for Jesus," she said.

Bell clutched at the bible he held in his hands until his fingers began to cramp. He was at a loss for words. He countered Mattie's argument with a verse of scripture.

"Corinthians 6:15-16!" Albert bellowed, waving his finger in the air like a symphony conductor waving their baton: "Don't you realize that your bodies are parts of Christ? Should a man take his body, which is part of Christ, and join it to a prostitute? Never! And don't you realize that if a man joins himself to a prostitute, he becomes one body with her? For the Scriptures say, 'The two are united into one.'"

Mattie slumped her shoulders, let out a loud, exasperated sigh, and said:

"You aren't going to leave my porch until you get to tell me about how wicked I am, are you? Well, don't just stand there freezing your ass off. You can save no souls if you're dead from hypothermia. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. Every other man in this city has, so why not you? Just because this is a sporting house doesn't mean that whores don't stand for decency and uplift."

With a slow-motion wave of her arm, she stepped aside, welcoming the Reverend Bell to continue the conversation inside of her gaudy wonderland.

Albert sat in a chair in the front parlor, staring in disbelief at all the erotic art crammed onto the parlor's walls. It was filled with oil paintings full of naked bodies contorted and having sex in the most unhuman positions imaginable.

The smell inside was almost unbearable, a heady mixture of incense, gin, and cheap perfume. It was beginning to make the Reverend want to retch.

Mattie flitted around the room as he spoke, tidying up the half-full tumblers of liquor and pouring the remains into one large glass. As Albert's stomach turned from the smell, he continued to explain, in great detail, how every whore in Chicago's soul was doomed. How they were going to burn for eternity if they didn't renounce their animalistic ways.

The Reverend's preaching was fraying Mattie's nerves, and she needed a stiff drink. She placed the concoction of liquid swill she had collected up to her lips and swallowed the drink in one long gulp, as quickly as a child guzzling a glass of milk. She saw the look of haughty disdain in the Reverend's eyes as she wiped her mouth clean, suddenly becoming embarrassed at her lack of refinement.

"Long night Reverend. Need a little hair of the dog," she said with a sheepish smile. Mattie pointed to the bottles of expensive liquor that adorned the well-stocked bar.

"Would you care for a drink? I never met a priest that didn't go in for a tipple now and then."

"No. Thank you," Albert said indignantly. "I wouldn't allow a thief into my mouth to steal my brains and good sense. The works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God."

A man never knows the exact second that he'll fall in love at first sight. But, it was then and there, at Mattie Silks whorehouse, that cupid came down from Mount Olympus to strike the Reverend Bell with one of his poison arrows.

As Albert went on with his rant about the evils of prostitution, his lofty words suddenly tripped over his tongue, leaving him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Like a biblical miracle, a vision from Heaven strolled into the room. A Lilly-white angel with long blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders to the curve of her back. She was the most luscious collage of curves, hair, and glistening lips that a man could ever hope to see.

She strolled into the room without saying a word, stifling a yawn from her tiny, adorable mouth. Like a cat lying in the sun, she stretched her nubile body until she was on her tip-ties, trying in vain to touch the ceiling with her red painted fingernails. The hem of her lingerie grazed the top of her thighs, giving Albert a close-up view of the delicate wisps of blonde pubic hair growing on her mound.

A grin spread over Mattie Silks' face as she saw the Reverend go into a trance. His eyeballs glazed over like an opium addict's, staring intently, studying every yellow thread that was between the young girl's legs with a peculiar intensity. The madame had seen this look in many men's eyes before after getting a look at one of her girls, and it never failed to amuse her.

"Virginia, say hello to our guest, Reverend Bell," said Mattie.

The petite blonde minx was still half asleep and gave the Reverend a sleepy grin. Her smile almost made him melt with excitement. With the reflexes of an athlete, he jumped up from his chair, extending his hand to the girl.

'I-I'm Albert. Albert Bell. R-R-Reverend Albert Bell! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

A jolt of electricity surged through his body as Virginia took his sweaty palm in her delicate hand and shook it. Her fingers were so dainty and petite that it was almost like shaking hands with a doll, a living breathing doll. His mind spun in circles, wracking his brain for something witty or clever to say. He'd seen pretty girls before but never one so beautiful. He was entranced.

"You woke up just in time, Virginia. The Reverend Bell has come here to save us! Save us from the wickedness harboring between these walls." said Mattie, waving her hand around the room.

"Oh, brother!" Virginia sighed, "Not another one." She plopped down in the chair across from Albert. Her nightie slipped down her shoulder, revealing a small, pink nippled breast hiding underneath the soft silk.

The Reverend Bell felt his loins stirring, the crotch of his pants getting tighter by the second as his cock began to swell, getting stiffer than a railroad spike.

"How come every man alive either wants to screw me or save me?" Virginia complained. "The only ones that don't are either pimps or queers."

Albert felt like a man lost at sea, clinging to his bible tighter and tighter, too afraid to let go, as if it were the only thing keeping him from drowning in the young girl's vulgar charms.

Take control of yourself, Albert! God is watching your every move," he thought. Show strength! Don't let earthly weakness beat you down in front of this harlot. Don't succumb to her temptations. Remember, you have a wife and seven children at home. Remember, you wouldn't just disappoint God, but your family as well.

But the pep talk the Reverend gave himself crumbled as he saw Virginia fling her creamy legs over the armrest of her chair, taunting him. They were as smooth as a polished floor. Not one speck of stubbled hair grazed her skin. He let out a loud gulp that made his Adam's apple bobble.

He compared her glossy legs dangling over the chair with those of his wife. Hers were rough and bristly like the tongue of the family cat, not shaved to perfection like a work of art.

"Sweet baby Jesus," Albert muttered as his mouth began to fill with saliva. His stiff pecker was going to burst through his pants like a medieval battering ram at any second. He was losing his battle with temptation and starting not to give a damn. He forced his eyes away from Virginia's creamy thighs to the bottle of whiskey on the bar. He wasn't a man who believed in imbibing, but if ever he needed a drink, that time was now. The Reverend had come to Mattie Silks' house with the best of intentions. But like all good intentions, they paved the way to hell.

"If it's alright with you, miss Silks, I think I'll take that drink of whiskey now."

For a brief, fleeting moment, the madam felt a twinge of guilt sweep over her heart. One look at his face, and she knew that Albert's soul had crossed the Rubicon, from pious preacher to slobbering animal. She knew he was hooked and that Virginia's young pussy had him by the balls.

Mattie rose from her seat and poured herself and the tormented Reverend three fingers worth of her finest whiskey. With trembling hands, Albert took the glass from her. The madame raised her glass in the air and proposed a toast: "To wives and sweethearts, may they never meet!"

She and Virginia loudly cackled as Mattie tossed the whiskey down her eager gullet. Albert took one last lingering look at his sweet little angel's legs and drank his liquor in one gulp. He started to gag, slapping his palm over his lips, desperate not to spit out the whiskey all over the Persian carpet beneath his feet. It burned worse than fire and brimstone as it ran down his throat.

Without saying a word, Albert rose from his chair, walked down the mirrored hallway to the front door, opened it, and left, back into the freezing streets of the red light district with barely a shred of his dignity still intact. He went so fast he didn't even bother to close the door behind him.

Mattie and Virginia stood shivering in the entryway, watching the Reverend high tail it down the street like a hell hound was nipping at his heels.

"Where'd he go?' asked Virginia. "He left so fast he forgot his bible."

"That reverend is so hot and bothered right now that he'll need two cold showers before he even realizes he forgot it," said Mattie. "But don't you worry, sweetie. He'll come back. And when he does, it ain't gonna be for no bible."

Times had changed, but the appetites of men hadn't. The morning light had given way to darkness, and now Dearborn street was in full swing. When nighttime fell upon the city, every man with lust in their heart found their way to Mattie Silks brothel. They all crawled out from underneath their rocks, hungry to sample her smorgasbord of sin.

The sweet, musky smell of incense perfumed the house as Mattie's

platoon of prostitutes navigated clusters of laughing men clad in evening dress. Half-naked girls went softly to and fro as the sound of champagne corks popping like fireworks filled the house.

One drunken gentleman spotted Mattie and stumbled his flabby body over to her. He pinned her against the upright piano as he slurred his words, making his handlebar mustache quiver.

"Virginia? Where's Virginia?" the man asked with a sad pleading in his voice. "I must, must see Virginia!"

Mattie gently pushed the walrus-looking man away from her, his rancid breath fresh in her nose.

"Sorry sport," she said with a heavy dose of pity, "but Virginia is otherwise engaged for the evening." She softly chuckled to herself as she flitted away.

If there was one thing that Mattie knew better than whores it was men. She studied them, their whims, wildest fantasies, and basest desires until she could play them as skillfully as a game of chess. Mattie considered herself as all-powerful as the queen and the men her willing pawns that she could move around the board. And right now, the Reverend Albert Bell was upstairs with Virginia, about to get checkmated.

Just like Mattie had predicted, the Reverend had returned, and with a pocket full of cash burning a hole through his trousers. He was willing to pay, and pay dearly, for Virginia's flesh to experience Heaven on earth.

The blonde-haired girl floated across the room to him. He stared at her glorious body, her two firm small breasts jutting out from the thin fabric of her negligee. She twirled around to give him a better view of her pinchable ass, wiggling it like a bunny rabbit twitching its nose.

Albert's cock had been hard all day just thinking about seeing Virginia's supple again. His mind kept wandering, imagining how tight her pussy would be wrapped around his prick, how she would sound moaning as he pounded her deep and hard.

But now, he didn't have to imagine. He only had to keep himself from stripping Virginia naked and fucking her right away. She was all his until the money ran out, and he was determined to stretch his meager dollars to the breaking point.

The young harlot got on all fours and crawled around the room like an animal ready to pounce. Her lingerie was a farce, so short it barely covered her breasts and panties. He lay on the bed waiting in anticipation, never having remembered seeing such a beautiful sight in his life. If this was hell, then God could keep Heaven.

"I've been waiting for you," she cooed.