Humpty Dumpy Sir.

On Survival Sexwork

The name was listed as “John” on the app - Seeking Arrangements. 

John had provided no picture on his profile. First because he didn’t have to, and secondly, because all of him was a reason not to do so. 

John wasn’t doing great visually; he walked around the world on thin legs, with too much stomach and no hair. 

He resembled an egg on stilts.

A real humpty dumpty sir. 

He had been some man that had nothing to do with me.

But I was feeling low about some things - most specifically about money. Very low on money, and apparently, this mister had a lot of it. 

My first thought when he pulled up, because of course I don’t drive, was that his car was busted. A husk on wheels. The car groaned, struggling in its efforts to advance to where I stood. 

I know that’s you, John. 

I said -

“Well, I see you’re a little early.”

Actually he was two minutes late. But expecting the bare minimum was the expectation with these people.

John was booking his head out the window and beckoning me inside with his frumpy hand. 

I sucked in my breath and almost wished I was dead. 

The expired skin. He looked spoiled. Like milk gone bad. 

John was smiling in spite of all of him. The very horror of him.

I smiled back.

“You can’t tell yet, but I’m not wearing any underwear.” 

I winked at him. The hope was that he would assume I was enjoying his company. 

“Ah ha ha-” John had that full fat man laugh - “Want to get in? It's warm inside.”

The edge of my skirt was rising, and I pulled the hem down before entering the passenger side of the vehicle. 

The car inside was clean, no trash cluttered the front side of the seats. The cold had presented itself on the chilled glass, hardening so that the car was coated in thin frozen ice. The windshield wipers did little to help, but they continued to scrape at the ice with a pathetic vigor.

“Yeah,” I paused. “I was hoping you had heating in there.” 

The air quality was stale. Almost as if he had never opened the windows. Or doors.

“I have heating.” He laughed a little. “So Sophie, you’re a lot prettier in real life than in those pictures. The pigtails are a nice touch.” 

“Thanks John.” 

The apartment where I lived could be seen at this angle.

And we were leaving it behind.

The car ride was unfortunate due to; John's presence, the bankrupt car, and John’s mouth, which he couldn’t stop from opening. 

John was fingering the car’s Bluetooth button. Trying to get it to work while I watched him.

He was really that old.

“Do you need help?” 

“No.” He snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

Thinking briefly, about the knife in my pocket, before submitting myself back into the car seat.

John managed to get the Bluetooth to work, wherein he presumed to play songs I didn’t know.

John proceeded to rub his hand against my thigh, as much as I already knew it was going to happen. The switch was turning off. This was unpleasant, and I wanted to stop. 

His hand rose to squeeze the place between my legs.

It was wet from discharge, he hadn’t said or done anything that helped aid in that regard. It just so happened that this occurred before every period cycle. Most women have discharge, and it doesn’t mean they’re wet. And yet, he seemed proud to have accomplished nothing. I let him feel accomplished, I could get more money out of him this way.

“It's a nice little room. You’re going to enjoy what I’ll do to you.”

How many women had he taken to a stinky hotel? Kissed him with his putrid mouth? All of that and he still thinks he’s doing me a favor? It isn’t a choice if you can't say no. 

I let the questions stay in the confines of my head. I dreamed of punching him, of grabbing the knife in my pocket and making use of it. If I had agency, I would rob him unconscious. Or demand that he let me leave the car. Something to put as much distance between us as possible. Before he continued to touch me. 

“That's the hotel right there -” 

The Motel 6 sign was highlighted in painfully white lights. 

We left his car parked. And the sign hovered above me like some sweating, hideous animal.

It would take less than fifty minutes, not even if this man could barely last ten. My roommate had said she had done it before, and that she had forgotten it as soon as she had done it. That four hundred dollars was worth the trouble, that lots of college girls did it. 

“Go in after me, but wait a bit.” He said. “It's a little suspicious if an Asian schoolgirl follows right away. Wouldn’t want them to think it's a bad situation.” 

Anyway, I’ve never been Asian but that's fine.

In the entrance of the Motel 6, I was finally alone and it felt like luxury. Being alone felt like a luxurious experience as I waited for John to text me his room number.

The feelings of otherness would not leave, even after I turned my face away from the entrance doors. Whose glass doors showcased the face of some unknown alien whore.

Where it was safe, in the heat of our small house up north where my mother lived. I wished I could go. In the morning when mom would cook us chorizo for breakfast and pull tortillas off the comal with her bare hands. 

She had been doing all of that, for seven human beings and much more. Working in these men’s factories. Always hurting, and always so tired.

Mom had done that for years. That had been the entirety of her life. The heat of closeted spaces and sixty hours. The prodding fingers of greedy men and their selfish, oblivious consumption.

It's a miracle that I am here, in college.

And it's a privilege that I now don’t have to live that way.