What a wonky way to start my next fucking day in Hell.
Aubree stepped into the shadowed entrance of the shop to look for her father.
30 minutes earlier he had pulled in and parked, said to her he’d be gone a couple of minutes, and told her to wait. The parking lot had a sign pole with five faded company names but it was old, dirty, and so faded in the evening light that Aubree couldn’t even guess what was in the store. To keep from staring at the graffiti-enhanced cement block building through a rain-splatted windshield, she set the stopwatch on the smartphone. She wanted to see just how long his ‘couple of minutes’ would last. Aubree fiddled with the Bluetooth radio and her smartphone but got quickly bored. When the digital display on her phone screen announced ‘30:00 minutes’ she threw open the car door and trod through a couple of fresh mud puddles as she went to find her father.
She stepped into a spot of light just inside the front door, a customer coming into the shop would be seen in the light and the assistants could assist. Aubree squinted into the dimmed atmosphere of the shop, she couldn’t see her father immediately but her curiosity was stirring quickly, trying to figure out what she was looking at.
Directly in front of Aubree was a glass-top counter, a cash register, and a young woman. The counter displays included a grab rack of condoms and a sign that advertised generic Viagra and was filled with baubles, gewgaws, and trinkets that were hard to identify from where she stood. The girl was dressed in a snug red velvet skirt, white spike heels that were taller than the skirt was long, and a black satin tie top. Her stomach and left leg were covered with weird multicolored tattoos and a blue crystal hung from her navel, “May I help you?” the welcome lady asked. Who in the hell wears velvet skirts?
Aubree looked around the room, there were shelves stocked and stacked with things the girl had never seen before. She’d heard rumors and she was old enough to guess what she was looking at, so it took the girl less than an eye blink to realize she was in an adult toy store. As a junior in high school, she was aware enough to recognize the displays in front of her, but in her life, she never thought that the variety of stuff in front of her could be classified under one umbrella: seX-Toys, as the big sign over the counter proclaimed. Her father had left her sitting in a dark muddy parking lot, under a dripping-wet sky while he sneaked into an adult store. What the fucking hell? Aubree looked around the room but still didn’t see her parent. The painted lady came around the end of the counter, “Excuse me, but I don’t believe you should be in here.”
“What? Why not, I’m 18 (she rounded up) and I’m only looking for someone, I’m not gonna buy shit.”
“As you can see, there is just me and Ralph over there, nobody else. Maybe he went to another store. Please, you’re not allowed in here unless you prove you’re 18, do you have an ID?”
“Fuck the ID. No, he walked right through that door a half hour ago, I’ve been sitting on my ass, shivering in the fucking rain, watching that ugly fucking door, waiting for him to come out. You got a back door?”
“Always locked.”
“Then where in this little playland is my father?”
Just then ‘nobody else’ drew a plastic draw aside and stepped into the room. I hadn’t noticed the fake door before, it looked like part of a bedroom display. He pulled the curtain closed, said something to the man at the other end of the counter then paused to ask me as he walked out, “Are you going to be here next time I come in?”
I turned to the girl, “What’s back there, is that where he went?”
“You do need to leave, please, show me some ID or I may have to call security.” Ralph didn’t look like a security kind of guy so I thought she may be bluffing, but she wouldn’t need security, not against me. I turned and shoved open the door then slammed it shut behind me. I stood on the stoop. My dad was somewhere in the bowels of an adult store and I was standing on the outside. It was intolerable! I was on the wrong side of the wall, but I wanted to know what was going on in the hidden room of that shop.
Just as I started to move under some cover, the asshole from the backroom stopped his car next to me, “You know, if you want to interview for a job there, I’m a regular, I could give you a good recommendation, after you demonstrate your skills.”
“Jack off dipshit, I’m not your kinda girl.”
The last thing he said before closing the window was, “Bitch, if you got a pussy, you’re my kind of girl.”
I stood under the roof overhang watching raindrops trouble puddles of water wondering how in hell I was going to get into the store. The painted tart looked like she was a lot more experienced in kicking someone’s ass than me, so going back in the front was not an option.
I don’t know if anybody was watching me but I really didn’t give a fuck. I walked to the end of the strip mall, three units away. The was an alley around the building so I shrugged my collar a little higher against the rain then stepped off into a rivulet toward the rear of the building. I counted down three rear exits until I knew I was behind the sex shop. I tried to open the door but it was locked. At least the troll didn’t lie about that. There were no security cameras in the alley or on the building so I felt free to snoop. I ran my hands around the door sill and kicked over a couple of rocks, maybe somebody hung on to the good ole ways and kept a key lying around. No luck.
There were two blacked-out windows but I caught a hint of glow from the corner of one glass pane. I pressed my eyes to the small paint scrape and immediately knew what the hell was going on with my father.
He was letting off pressure. Blowing steam, bringing relief to his aching balls. My dad was fucking some nasty-looking skag who looked like a sister to the unrefined lady on the front counter. Only this one wasn’t wearing a short velvet skirt. In fact, she wasn’t wearing anything below her bra and my father was hammering her as if he had a time limit. I’ve been on a couple of cocks since I found out my pussy is a good source of favors and influence, but the sight of my father’s ass and his swinging nuts as he banged the bitch drove spikes of nausea directly to my stomach.
I pulled away from the window and then stood quiet, I was puzzled, not upset or mad. I mean, I couldn’t be mad because he needed to empty his nuts and took a side trip on the way home. But what could make me mad was that he made me wait in the fucking rain, in the fucking cold car, and ruin my fucking shoes. I was standing in the relentless drizzle while he was nice and dry, getting his rocks off. That’s what was pissing me off.
I calmly opened the shop door again, stuck my head into the spotlight then requested of Ms. Tattoos, “My father is back there getting screwed by your sister. Please tell him to get off and get out, his daughter is waiting. I closed the door and then went back to the car to wait. I’d never seen a velvet skirt before.
Three minutes later my contrite parent slipped quietly into the car to continue to my version of Hell. I didn’t challenge or question him, but I did ask, “Feel better?” He didn’t answer but started the car and then backed away from the storefront.
I hated living on the third floor of the apartment building. The elevator was usually jammed by some impatient asshole who wanted to keep it on an upper floor so I had to go up the cement stairs that had no step backing or walls. Anyone behind or below the stairs could watch someone walk up the stairs. It wasn’t uncommon that Wally Osmmit would stand under the stairs when I came home so he could see up my skirt as I went up the first flight. Even if I had pants on, he stared. I hated that punk asshole; it was probably him who jammed the elevator. I hated the dump we lived in, but it was better than the last. The best memory I had of that place is when my mother would take umbrage with something I did and beat my ass black and bruised a few times. One icy morning when mom was taking me to school, some fucked up crackhead tried to outrun the cops. Didn’t make it. The druggie went to a halfway house for three weeks, Mom went to heaven, I had a pleasant visit at the health factory, and my dad slept inside a bottle until we were kicked out of the old apartment for not paying up. As I walked through the front door, I thought the newer place was at least an upgrade, barely.
I went in to change into house duds and start dinner. My dad went to his adjoining bathroom to shower away his afternoon delight. It wasn’t until we cleaned up after dinner that I asked, “How often? When?”
My father and I had been talking shorthand ever since I could talk, “A couple of times a month, about a year after your mother died.”
So, my dad had been buying relief for over a year? “And you pay?”
Dad looked at me directly for the first time since we got home, he deflated as he admitted, “Yeah, I don’t have time or energy to start dating and dancing around hints and promises. At my age handing over a few dollars once in a while is a lot quicker and more convenient.”
“Is that why we got kicked out of the last place, the rent money was collected by a condom?”
He frowned, “No, I can afford to get screwed occasionally.” That short assertion was the last said about my father’s spending habits.
I have a part-time job after school and on Sundays. Saturdays are mine. I’m saving to buy a car but my savings account is kind of tidal, rising one day, receding the next. Dad can’t help, his job keeps us afloat but we won’t be going to Cancun for a vacation anytime soon. One night I was lying in my room agonizing over the withdrawal of $24 from my savings when I recalled the day my dad paid to get laid. How fucking much did he hand over? I’m struggling just to keep lunch money and my dad is cashing his paycheck for his dick? Where’s his loyalty? To his daughter, or to what’s hanging between his legs? And what was his Sex Budget? I intended to ask both questions and just then was the right time. I got off my bed then went to my dad’s bedroom and clicked my nails on the door, “Dad? You awake?”
“Mmm? What? Something wrong?”
I sat on the end of the bed facing him, ankles crossed with my nightgown pressed between my legs by my hands which were laced together by the fingers resting between my knees, “How much and how often?
“What the hell?”
“How often do you run to the ghetto to buy some cheap ass? How cheap is that ass?”
“What the fuck time is it?”
“Time we talked about your hobby.”
“Goddammit girl, I gotta get up in the morning, get the fuck out of here.”
It wasn’t warm in the room so I pulled the blanket up and unfolded my legs to lie under it. I lay next to my father and pulled the blanket to my armpit, “Tell me.”
He was lying on his side facing me, “You’re not gonna let go of this are you?”
“Nope. How much do you pay and how often do you pay for it?”
“$100.”
“For what? Straight fuck? Suck? Both? Is there a time limit?” I was curious, being a whore wasn’t high on my list of careers to research so I didn’t know much.
My father pulled his head back and looked at me, “What the hell have you been smoking? Those are some pretty fucking adult questions?”
A year earlier my dad caught Todd Albright in bed with me on a night when he was supposed to be somewhere else. That was a lot of fun for about 30 seconds. After a long night of old-time inquisition, Dad knew a lot about my embryonic sex life. He knew I wasn’t Daddy’s Little Princess, “Come on Dad, we don’t have secrets, not now, and I’m just a tiny bit pissed off because I’m digging nickels out of the bottom of my purse while you're plugging holes with big notes. Why can’t I get an allowance raise or something?”
“How much do you get?”
“I get the same every month as I did five years ago. You leave $20 on my dresser but never ask if it is enough. That doesn’t even cover school lunches anymore. Right now, most of the extra money I get is whatever I can pick out of your wallet on Saturday mornings. Saturdays are good because half the time you don’t remember what you spent money on the night before. If you weren’t getting screwed, I might be able to buy a fucking banana split once in a while. Dad, I could use a boost in allowance. Why don’t you cut down to once a month or get used to some old-school self-abuse? I need a raise.”
My dear loving, caring, parent looked up at me, “I’m tired, I have to work in the morning,” then rolled away. I was too cold and tired to go back to my room so I pulled the quilt to my ears, rolled away from Dad, and slept. When I woke up, I was lying on my side with a full profile view of my father, naked, in the adjoining bathroom, standing in front of the sink, shaving. I groaned enough he turned his head, said good morning then turned around to piss. What a wonky fucking way to start my next day in Hell.
Well, we didn’t talk about an increase in my revenue, and our lives quickly resumed the dull plod through each day. That normalcy lasted until the next weekend. I was getting ready for a date and my father was lounging in front of the TV when he said, “Aubree, when will you be home?
I checked my phone, “I don’t know dad, this is our second date so he will still be unsure of where to put his hands so I expect to be home before midnight.”
“I might still be awake then, let’s get buzzed when you come home.” There was a day I used to sneak hits off Dad’s bong. I was pleasantly stoned one night and kind of forgot I had the fucking pipe in my bedroom. That was the night Dad caught me. I was terrified I was gonna get beat but he didn’t chastise me, he invited me to sit on our two-chair balcony and get stoned with him. Since then, we’ve puffed away a few ounces of grass.
“Sure, a rush would feel good.”
It was about 12:30 when I came home from my platonic date and changed into comfy night clothes then I joined my dad in front of the TV. With no conversation, but mutual understanding, he lit his bong and then passed it to me. I sat next to my father watching mindless crap on TV and got high. I settled into a cozy comfort zone and then zoned out until my dad said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day, about the money I spend for getting happy.”
That got my attention, “So, do I get a raise?”
He dodged an answer, “When I was in the Army, I’d go downtown almost every weekend, usually for a blowjob, but once in a while, I’d take a girl somewhere for a whole weekend. Those were the best sex, the weekend women. For some reason being away from the grind of a night's work with ten cocks or so, let them relax and like getting fucked. I’m sure some faked, but most enjoyed that I did the work for two nights.”
“So, you’ve been doing pay-for-lay since before you met mom?”
“Before, never after. Until now.”
“What do you think of those girls Dad?”
“How do you mean? Are they criminals? No. Are they baseless, immoral creatures that survive on the outer edges of society? Some maybe, but most not. Some women who sell are wives and mothers. Some have to whore to help the family survive, but others are in it for fun and tips. I’d bet the first on-the-job tool women ever used was their pussy, and I’m pretty sure that even a million years ago, girls your age knew you had something of value, something to trade and how to barter.”
“Girls my age would have been already well experienced, probably knocked up a few times. What are you saying?”
“Maybe you should relearn some ancient skills, you should learn how to barter; then you could be in a better position to purchase your car.”
I may be crude, I may be hostile to most authority, and I may hate my current station in life, but I am not stupid. “Are you suggesting that I go into the pleasure business? I should join your girlfriend in that cunt shop?”
Dad smiled and took a hit off the bong, “Not necessarily there, but don’t rule out that kind of work.”
That was enough conversation for the night, “I got to go to bed.” I wasn’t mad or upset but I needed some Me Time. I kissed my father on the cheek, “Good night you nasty old fuck, love you.” He stroked my ass as I walked away.
When I got to my room, I found a wrap of pink paper lying on my pillow. When I unfolded it, a hundred-dollar bill fell to the bed. The note was upside down so I turned it over and read, “Ready to barter?” As I said, I’m not stupid: My father just propositioned me to fuck him for money. I carefully laid the note on the bed then stepped back and stared at the money on the pillow. Man, I could use some cash, and it was just lying there tempting my morals. I could keep it, ignore the note, and go on as if I’d never seen it, or I could take it back to Dad and politely turn him down. Maybe I could take it as a loan, no collateral, just an unleveraged loan.
As I stood next to my bed and weighed options, I realized I wasn’t shocked, upset, raging, or terrified that my dad was willing to pay me, -- for me. And even less shocking was that I wasn’t thinking of how to turn him down, I had already spent the money. The only thing I was wondering was if I should take it as a loan, a gift, or a payment for Services.
Ah fuck it, fuck me, fuck him, now what? It took maybe four seconds to redirect my thoughts about my cunt as a job site tool: Undercover Services were a new and unexplored career option and I shouldn’t deny a chance to investigate a new direction.
I stripped naked and then went to take a quick shower, I didn’t want my father to think I wasn’t clean. After I patted myself dry and powdered my pussy, I slipped on a satin shorty with briefer briefs and then went to dabble in a woman’s true profession. As I suspected, he was in bed when I came from my room. I stepped in with no words, pulled the blanket up, and slipped in next to my father. He was waiting, he was nude, he had an erection. I looked at him from eyes to hard-on then asked, “What the hell would you do with that if I just returned the money?”
“I have a no-return policy, sorry dear,” he warned, “and I’m collecting all the IOUs tonight.” Dad put a hand on my stomach and pressed up, under the top to my breasts. He played, pressed, tweaked, and pinched my breasts and nipples just long enough to get them stiff. He pulled my panties off, pushed my left leg wide, then pressed his cock between my thighs where I took over and helped him find a home. It was happening quickly; he was in a hurry to get fucked so I didn’t get a chance to look at him. I didn’t see his erection, but I sure as hell felt it. It felt long and solid when I held him to my cunt, and I could feel the thickness and slickness of it as he slipped in until his pubic hair brushed mine. He pulled out to get comfortable so I took the opportunity to grip and fondle his cock. As I held my beginnings, I realized my father was hung, this could be fun. Dad fumbled a condom from his nightstand then after I rolled it up his stiff cock, he and I commenced to barter; me for his money and he for my body.
First-time sex is always a bit of a rush, the feelings are new and how it happens is always an experiment. My father rolled over me reached between his legs hefted his large erection and pressed it home. I fucked a BBC a couple of times and I knew immediately my father was more impressive. I turned my head to the alarm clock and began the countdown. It took him just over six minutes to get off. He pushed up full on his arms, his legs began to shake then I could feel him convulsing as he pumped the condom full. When Dad was done moving, he was still over me, the only connection was his cock in my cunt. He opened his eyes, smiled, and said, “Best fucking money I ever spent, those girls are going to miss me.” He flopped to his side, pulled the rubber off, threw it to the floor then stretched and yawned. He fingered his cock and adjusted his balls until he was comfy, “Good night, Aubree, I got to sleep.”
At first, I was a little upset that he could just fucking go to sleep immediately after he got off, but then rationalized; he paid me. I can’t expect flowers and music when he pays for it. I rolled over and kissed my dad on the cheek, “Love you, you nasty old fuck, good night.” He mumbled incoherently as I left his room.
In the 42 minutes from when the money fell to my blanket until the man fell asleep, I made $100. I sat on my bed to open my tablet but leaned back and thought about what I had done. I sold myself. I sold myself to my father, and the tax man didn’t know. I didn’t feel guilt, weird, depraved, evil, unhealthy, immoral, suicidal, or mentally screwed up. I felt screwed, I got fucked, and I didn’t mind. I got fucked, and I took the money, and I didn’t mind. If I were to tell it, I was inwardly delighted at how easy it was. I just lay on my back and opened up for him. He did the work: how fucking cool was that?
That night, the first of many nights my father paid me for his use, I fired up my computer, opened the search engine, and started looking for a career. Murder may be the only human occupation older than screwing for gain, so it shouldn’t be hard to find facts, figures, and job applications for a sexual profession. I don’t want to be an assassin, but how bad can selling it be?
Later, as I snuggled into my pillow, I wondered how much my father would pay for a full swallow.