Witness Ch. 01

Chapter One - Cooch-Curtain Miniskirt

"Move to the left a little," the kid with the camera waved his hand accordingly.

His friend seemed to be cracking up. Something was hilarious anyway.

"Yeah that's it, I want you framed in the doorway," Poppy put out her hand to lean on the jamb of the battered door, her heels were killing her.

"Hurry up kid, you're scaring away the trade," Poppy lifted her foot and picked a cigarette butt off the bottom of her high heel.

The kid had paid her ten dollars just so he could take her picture. What the fuck? For ten dollars she'd have taken him back behind the dumpster and given him a hummer.

"Perfect!" the kid snatched the picture whilst his friend broke up with laughter.

"What the fuck?" Poppy glared at the two twenty-something out-of-towners.

'College kids,' she thought.

Now the kid with the camera began laughing too.

The kid with the camera pointed to the wall above the door. Painted on the peeling brickwork were the words 'All Deliveries Taken In Rear'.

"You fucking little punks," Poppy chased them halfway down the street.

When they turned the corner and ran towards downtown she stopped and threw her shoe after them.

"I gotta stop smoking," she wheezed as she hobbled on the pavement and picked up her shoe.

She looked at the bottom of her foot. The nylon was dirty, holed and soaked in street filth.

"Nothing beats a great pair of L'eggs," Poppy sighed pragmatically.

She'd change her hosiery in the alley next to her corner. Guys had a thing for her legs and she traded on it. She always wore micro-miniskirts or hotpants when she was working.

L'eggs pantyhose were sold on consignment and distributed by a fleet of drivers, the majority of them women, who stocked the tall displays in local stores and kept track of sales figures to maintain an accurate weekly inventory.

Except for Thelma Prentiss who sold Poppy a case of L'eggs every month at half price, but the transaction was never recorded.

Many of Poppy's regulars had leg or foot fetishes. They were good customers mostly because they didn't want to penetrate her, just jack off on her legs, feet or her ass. One guy liked her to cuddle him and stroke him until he came all over her thighs. He tried to explain to her that it had something to do with a fetish he developed because his mother used to cuddle him while she was dressed in lingerie and nylons or something but Poppy didn't give a shit.

Just give me the money honey. You want to keep those cum-soaked pantyhose... just give me the money honey. You want me to call you baby and cuddle you until you spatter me with your cum... just give me the money honey. You want me to stand over you while you look up my skirt while you whack off... just give me the money honey. You want to poke me doggy style while I'm still wearing my nylons... just give me the money honey.

Poppy prided herself on being a full-service convenience; there wasn't much she wouldn't do for money.

"What the fuck was that about?" Latisha Collins had just got back to the corner after servicing a john.

"Fucking kid offered me money to get my picture. Fucking mean streets or some shit... said he was writing a paper about life in the city. Fucking asshole! I'm going to end up a meme on a college frat house wall," Poppy hobbled back to her spot on the corner.

"I'm going behind the dumpster to change my nylons. Make sure no one else goes back there," Poppy rummaged in her purse for a package of nylons.

"You take guys around there all the time sugar. Half n' half up against the wall for those cheap white boys who can't afford a room," Latisha guffawed.

"Yes, but not when I'm getting practically naked so I can change my pantyhose," Poppy found the egg-shaped plastic package she was looking for.

"That's 'cause you take on those nasty fuckers. I only take on my regular niggers who can afford a room," Latisha fired back.

"Bullshit Latisha, you'd suck on a hobo if he gave you a twenty and also girl, you are a racist!" Poppy goaded her friend.

"I can use the word nigger cause of my fine black ass... you some fine skinny white pussy but you aint choosy," Latisha would not give Poppy the last word.

"But you not racist, I give you that girl. I seen you being triple screaming eagled by five black guys only last week. I hope you charged those boys double," Latisha baited her friend again.

"You know that's not possible right?" Poppy was undoing the button on her hotpants as she entered the alley.

Poppy stepped out of her remaining high heel, pulled down and kicked off her hotpants, hanging them on a convenient nail sticking out of the wall. She shimmied out of the ruined pantyhose and put on the fresh pair. In her profession panties were nonessential. She put on her hotpants and heels and threw the packaging and the ruined pantyhose into the dumpster.

When Poppy came back out of the alley, Latisha was talking to a nice looking guy in a suit. When he saw Poppy he abruptly ended his conversation with Latisha and sidled up to Poppy.

"Skinny white bitch stealing all my trade," Latisha huffed but she was pragmatic, business was booming.

The businessman gave Poppy the onceover, his eyes lingering on her legs and ass and then moved up her body past her fine rack to her pretty face. Unlike a lot of the girls, her skin was clear and smooth and her teeth were straight and white. She was wearing black velvet hotpants, a mauve satin blouse with a cheap imitation chinchilla fur coat to keep warm. Her blonde hair had blue and cerise highlights in it. Her makeup was heavy and she was wearing cheap cherry-red fuck-me shoes and the L'eggs Sheer Energy pantyhose that she had just put on.

"I like you, you got that whole Harley Quinn thing going on don't you?" the businessmen's eyes roamed greedily over her body.

"Who the fuck is Harley Quinn?" Poppy thought the john was insulting her.

"You don't read the comics?" the man said defensively, realising he had inadvertently slighted her.

"Yeah, well it's fifty for half n' half, twenty five for a BJ, thirty for a fuck, and if you want full service it's a hundred and we go to a room," Poppy rattled off her menu.

She wasn't worried about being pinched for solicitation by this rube; he was way too fresh to be cop. He looked like he was about to come in his pants.

"I want the full service. How many times can I cum?" the man grinned like an idiot.

"As many times as you can do it in an hour but I get to rest in between; I'm not sucking your diddle all night," Poppy winked at him.

The suburban businessmen types seemed to enjoy being talked down to by the street whores. It was all part of their fantasy. Take some skank up to a cheap hotel room and do all the things to her that his wife won't let him do, then go home to the burbs for his 'once a week' with Mrs Cotton Panties, lying on top of his wife, doing her missionary while she's still wearing her flannel nightie, all the time thinking of what he did to the hooker in the hotpants down on Canal Street.

"Let's go for the full enchilada," the man smiled, reaching for his wallet.

He thought he was being street smart.

"Not here you fucking zombie! Wait 'til we get to the room," Poppy took his hand and led him down the alley.

Latisha watched her go, regretting that she wasn't getting the hundred that Poppy would make, but she was soon approached by a small Asian man looking for some rough trade and she quickly forgot about Poppy.

The john signed in and paid ten dollars to Stanley, the bored concierge who sat in his little office behind the caged window. He had a dirty cigar sticking out of his mouth and was dressed in a filthy wife-beater and happy pants watching a porn movie on an old TV.

The Metropole Hotel was the type of establishment that rented rooms by the half-hour. There was only a top sheet on the bed which consisted of a boxspring and a plastic-covered mattress. There was a single chair and table, a wardrobe that contained faded and holed sheets and towels. But at least they were clean; it was up to the girls to change the sheet themselves.

The stained porcelain toilet and plastic shower cubicle were functional if not aesthetic, liquid soap was provided from a dispenser fastened to the grimy tiles wall.

"Ok big boy, you get undressed while I prepare our sumptuous abode," Poppy cracked a joke as she strode over to the wardrobe to get a clean sheet and towels.

She ripped the old sheet off the bed deliberately looking away from the stains and tossed it in a hamper in the corner. She and Latisha joked that there was enough cum in those hampers to impregnate half the female population of the USA.

She tossed two clean but mismatched towels on the bottom of the bed and turned back to her john.

Now that he was alone with her in the seedy hotel his bravado seemed to have left him. He stood naked with his cock standing out proud, ready to go.

"What are the rules?" the man croaked; his mouth dry.

"The rules?" Poppy stood with her hands on her hips appraising the man.

He was quite handsome and his body was toned, not from hard labour but from the gym. He looked to be in his late thirties and was quite affluent by the cut of his clothes, watch and ring, and his haircut. He would be a real sucker for some of the less scrupulous girls who would have stolen that watch or ring or both. What was he going to do about it? Tell the police a hooker stole his watch? She bet that his wedding ring was in his trouser pocket.

"I promised you full service which I rarely offer but you look clean and affable. Come over here," she beckoned him.

The man came over and stood meekly before her.

"Open your mouth," she said and the man looked quizzical.

"Open your mouth!" Poppy repeated herself and the man did as he was told.

She leaned in and sniffed his breath. Minty.

"Ok honey, you got nice fresh breath so you do get the full enchilada," Poppy put her handbag on the table.

There was nothing of value in it in case some purse snatcher grabbed it while she was on the street. It usually just contained her house keys, condoms, lubricant, a small cosmetics case, cheap perfume, spare pantyhose, tissues, a small roll of surgical tape, cigarettes, a lighter and Juicy Fruit... everything a working prostitute needed.

Her cash was secreted in a zippered pocket she had sewn into the ass of her hotpants. Her miniskirts had a similar modification.

"What's my breath got to do with it?" the john was puzzled.

"It means you can kiss me," Poppy was exasperated; it was like talking to a child.

She spat out her chewing gum and put it on the nightstand.

"It sorry honey but there is no way that I'm..." Poppy cut the man off.

She pounced on him and pressed her body against his, crushing her lips against his and slipping her tongue into his mouth. She kissed him passionately and the man, at first dumbfounded, responded accordingly and put his arms around her and returned the kiss. Poppy rubbed her leg up and down his bare thigh and pressed her tits into his chest. She bet that Mrs Cotton Panties hadn't kissed him like that in years.

Poppy preferred to go with married men. They were safer in that they were unlikely to take risks with STDs and they were less likely to be violent.

Poppy broke the kiss and gently pushed the john away from her.

"So it's a hundred dollars. You want me naked or you want me to leave something on?" Poppy was all business.

The man went to his wallet and counted out the bills and then turned to appraise Poppy. He held out the money.

"I'd like you leave on the nylons and heels," he said a little sheepishly.

Poppy dropped her shorts and put the money in the pocket and zipped it closed. She took off her faux fur and blouse and hung them on the hook on the back of the door. She unwrapped a condom, tearing the package with her teeth and put it on the bedside table with a tube of KY Jelly.

"You wanna take off my bra?" Poppy backed up the man and shoved her sweet ass into his groin and brought his hands around her torso and placed them on her breasts.

She heard the man gasp as he caressed her breasts through the cups of her lacy bra. Her nipples hardened when he pushed his cock into the crevice between her buttocks. The man unclasped her bra and hefted the weight of her breasts in his hands. He flicked her nipples and kissed her neck whilst grinding himself against her pantyhose-covered ass.

"No biting," Poppy whispered.

Poppy seldom enjoyed sex with the johns but when she landed a nice clean married businessman like this guy she let herself go. Perks of the job, she joked with Latisha.

Poppy spun around in the man's arms so she was facing him and he kissed her and pulled her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest, feeling her hard nipples rub on his pectorals.

Poppy let him kiss her like that for a while and let him put his cock between her thighs and rub it. She could feel the pre-ejaculate soaking into her nylons.

She eased herself out of his grasp and stood before him close enough for him to play with her nipples.

"Ok honey let me just get this sorted and we can get on the bed and get down to business," she looked at him coyly.

She put her hand down the front of her pantyhose and reached between her legs and tore away the surgical tape so that her penis could swing free from where it had been tucked against her perineum. She did a little shimmy and her testes descended from her inguinal canals and filled her scrotum.

"There, that's better," she smiled.

Poppy's cock was lying flat against her belly held there by her pantyhose. It was semi-tumescent and quite impressive.

She looked up at the john and the smile fell from her face when she saw the look of incredibility on his face.

"You didn't know?" she said flatly.

The man shook his head; he couldn't stop looking at her penis shrouded in the sheer nylon.

"Christ!" Poppy gave an irritated sigh.

"You want your money back?" she was pissed now.

She could have left this guy with Latisha and found a tranny chaser customer. She would not earn to her full capacity tonight wasting time with this john.

Her fears were abated when the john grabbed her and threw her on the bed and fell on top of her, kissing her passionately and rubbing his cock against hers.

"I've always wanted to try this," the john smiled down at her.

True to his word the john managed three orgasms but only because Poppy was generous and gave him fifteen minutes extra for free. It might have been his first time with a transgender but he knew how to use that big cock of his, Poppy had come twice herself. When they were finished, Poppy thought that Mrs Cotton Panties was missing out on some fine fucking.

As was often the case with married men, the john was feeling a little post coital regret and Poppy gave him some room while she cleaned up, fixed her makeup and dressed. The john took a long time in the shower washing off Poppy's lipstick and perfume and checking his body for any marks.

Poppy sat on the edge of the bed smoking, blowing plumes of smoke at the No Smoking sign on the wall.

"Come on honey we're already way over time, Stanley is going to come up here and demand more money," she called through the bathroom door.

She knew that Stanley was very unlikely to move his fat ass out of chair in the office, but he would ask for more money when they left.

The john came out of the shower naked and Poppy gave him the courtesy of looking away as he began to dress. It was often the case that the most passionate lovers in the bed were the most embarrassed and guilty about it afterwards.

Poppy heard a loud exchange of foul language from the room next door. Two men were arguing. This wasn't unusual at the Metropole, the rooms were not only used for illicit sex, there were drug deals, weapons sales and all sorts of nefarious transactions taking place.

The argument spilled out into the corridor and the voices became louder and angrier. Now it sounded like three men. Her john looked worried but Poppy just shrugged her shoulders and smoked her cigarette.

"I've got to get out of here. I'm meeting my wife for dinner at the Ritz," the john sounded anguished and Poppy rolled her eyes.

The john wasn't concerned about the time when he was banging her doggy style and giving her a reach around long after they should have checked out.

"I'll take a look," Poppy crushed out her cigarette.

The number one rule when you worked the streets was that you don't get involved in anyone else's business... period! But if the men were fighting down the end of the corridor away from the stairs, she and the john could slip out.

Poppy opened the door a crack and saw that the passageway to the stairs was clear.

"Let's get the fuck out of Dodge," she snickered and snatched up her handbag.

She had just got out into the corridor when the gunfire started. Poppy instinctively turned in its direction.

A big man in a black suit was holding a nickel-plated automatic. He shot a smaller man in a cream coloured suits twice in the face then he turned and shot another man wearing a brown suit three times in the belly. The men who had been shot fell to the floor in pools of their own blood. Poppy was so shocked that she just stood there with her mouth open, the john close behind her also frozen in fear.

The big man in the black suit leaned over the two men on the floor and put two more rounds each in their foreheads. The man turned and strode down the corridor towards the stairs, nonchalantly walking up to Poppy and putting the gun in her face.

He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Poppy couldn't move, she had lost her motility; she was rooted in place, incapable of any bodily function.

"Fuck!" the big man racked the action on the automatic and stuck the gun back into Poppy's face and pulled the trigger again.

Still nothing happened.

"Fuck this!" the man hissed.

He smashed the gun into the side of Poppy's head and ran down the stairs.

Poppy was stunned but still standing. She fell against the doorframe and slowly collapsed. The john stepped over her nimbly and ran down the stairs, wondering how he was going to explain to his wife why he had shit his pants.

Poppy heard more gunfire and police sirens in the distance before she passed out.

.....

Poppy came too in a hospital bed. Her head hurt and she sensed the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. She turned her head and saw a pitcher of water and two plastic cups on the bedside table and reached for the pitcher. Her hand only got a few inches from the edge of the bed and pulled up short. She felt the handcuff on her wrist.

Her other hand was free but there was nothing on that side of the bed except for her handbag sitting on the other bedside table.

"You weren't carrying any ID," a clipped voice carried to her.

She craned her neck and saw a man in a navy blue suit sitting in the visitor's chair.

"Can I have a cup of water?" Poppy asked, her throat was dry and itchy.

"Tell me who you are," the man got up out of the chair.

He was tall and rangy, his features handsome, his hair thick and glossy. He looked like an asshole to Poppy. He was obviously a cop.

"Tell me who you are," Poppy replied.

"I'm the one asking the questions," the man approached the bed.

"Am I under arrest?" Poppy asked.

Poppy had been pinched for solicitation a few times and she knew how the dance went. But this was different.

"Not yet but you're either a perp or a material witness," the man ensured that his coat opened enough so that Poppy could see the butt of his gun in its pancake holster.

"Water... please," Poppy smiled up at the man.

Poppy had been brought directly to the hospital from the crime scene and was still wearing her street makeup. She was already in bed when Detective Elliot Granger arrived at the hospital but looking at her hair and makeup and knowing where the crime had occurred, Elliot knew she was a pros.