Whatever It Takes Pt. 05 - Late Night Tuesday

"I need to talk to someone," she said as she sat beside me on the bed. She never looked at me, only stared at the wall opposite with one of those thousand-yard stares that communicate that the speaker's mind is someplace else.

"Randy and Jason wanted me to fuck a dog"

"Pardon?" was all I could say.

"You heard correctly. I am a near dog-fucker. Not once, but twice. Tonight. After I saw you, I serviced two more johns. Then Randy took me aside and told me that he had 'an opportunity' for me. If I accepted the offer, I would get two days taken off my sentence here. Two days is 40 fucks so, of course, I was interested. I even told him I would do 'anything.' I just never thought how much that 'anything' could cover. I was drunk, feeling no pain. Randy never explained what was going on, only gave me a little red pill and had me take it with two fingers of bourbon."

Danelle continued, "The next thing I knew, Jason and I were in the limo. Went only about two miles. It was another whore house that Patrick runs, but not as high class. Seems there are 'acts' at this place. Live sex on stage. Not like here where the action is usually hidden upstairs. Jason half carried me in to the place; I was feeling no pain and had no idea of what was going on. Animal put me on a stage and told me to strip. When I was slow to comply, he ripped my shirt off and pulled down my shorts. There were a lot of lights, but I could make out maybe 25 men with whores milling around beyond the lights. Then Jason came back on stage with a large dog, probably close to 100 pounds. It was a mutt with a short coat; the dog's name was Rambo."

I said nothing, could think of nothing to say. I only stared at her while she stared at the wall and continued.

"Bottom line is that the dog and I had two repeat shows. I was drugged, and the dog probably was too. We both would thrust at each other on stage. I would start to simulate an orgasm...'Give it to me Rambo! So good! So good! Fuck me, Boy! Fuck me!' Rambo even howled occasionally along with my fake orgiastic simulation. The audience was so drunk and/or drugged that they never knew that we the dog wrestled with me but did not fuck me."

She paused then and looked even more distraught. I thought maybe, just maybe, she remembered that it had not all been a simulation, that sometime amidst the performance the dog's random thrusts connected and the simulation was no long just a going through the motions.

Then she turned her head and looked at me. "Elaine, I participated in something so bizarre, so far beyond the pale."

I interrupted her," It had to have been the drug."

She looked back at the wall, "Could have been. But maybe this place is changing me. What if I can never go back? I am a normal person - or I was before I got here. How can I be a dog-fucker, even a simulated dog-fucker?"

I reached over and pulled her to me. She never stopped staring at the wall. "Elaine, the audience cheered. On the way back, Jason told me that 'next time, you will blow him.' I told his that 'I will not do that.' He only said, 'Yes. Yes you will.' Jason's right, you know, I am so fucked up and scared that I would probably give that dog a blow job on stage before a full house at Madison Square Garden."

I pulled her down on the bed. She lay with her back to me, still with that thousand yard stare looking at nothing tangible, just peering into her own soul. I held her until her breathing told me she was asleep.

The dog story pushed me over the edge. I was so scared. What did I have to do to save my life - my entire way of life, job, baby, husband, not just my physical life? Could I survive? Did I have the stamina to do what those Dutch girls did during World War II - imprisoned in a brothel, servicing client after client, until the War ended...and then making a life for themselves afterwards?

Would I ever have to tell my husband? How could I do that? What could I say? I visualized that conversation. "Paul, I spend most of the week in a whorehouse. I was a whore. Fifty or sixty men. Strangers. They did what they liked with me. A vicious man at the place said he would mutilate me if I did not...cooperate. I was scared. I thought they would kill me. I didn't want to die. I did not want my breasts sliced open. So...I fucked them." How would he react? I did not know and did not want to find out. I laughed bitterly to myself. Now Paul can have me anyway he wants. I can show him my newly-found whore's skills. Oral, anal, on-top, doggie style, photos in assorted poses. We could work on some variations - outdoor sex, beach sex, and car sex - all part of the new Elaine, the recently-minted sexual libertine.

Somewhere during my musings, Danelle stirred. I heard her leave, moving at the pace of the half dead, pondering the price of survival. Shortly thereafter, I felt her rise and leave my room. I hoped she could sleep deeply and forget much.

Then I fell into a sleep that was dark as death - and prayed there would be no dreams this night. But, like so many other things the last two days, no Divine Being bothered to answer my prayers.

I wanted oblivion, but God gave me night sweats and another dream. It was like being in a theater where several different movies were being shown at once. The world became chaotic with people moving in and out and all around. Continuity broke down, and reality mixed with fantasy. In my fantasy, yesterday - what I was and wanted to be - merged with today - acting as a debauched prostitute. Or at least I hoped that I was just acting. What if today is the new reality, and yesterday became only a memory?

Now onto my next dream...