I NEVER WOKE up before noon. Maybe every once in a while when I had to go see a doctor or pay my electricity bill before they’d shut it off, but most of the time my life didn’t start until a quarter to one. My internal clock was all fucked up, had been that way since I was a kid. Nights had gone from something to fear to something profitably required.
I had left home at the tender age of sixteen. I decided sleeping on my friends’ couches or the cold vacant sidewalks under shabby chunks of cardboard for heat had to be better than dealing with the drunken rage of my parents. My mom was unrelenting when she’d drink and unfortunately for me, she was drunk more times than she was sober. A couple of sips from a half-empty whiskey bottle and within minutes she’d have the courage to mercilessly beat the sin out of me. When I was done being the brunt of my mother’s burdens, I decided I had to leave, I had to get out.
I didn’t start selling my body until I was seventeen. I had just been kicked out of my friend Jean’s house. I guess helping myself to her parents’ little stash of pot wasn’t acceptable. Hell, I just had wanted to get high and pretend I was someone else; that my life had meant something more than another mouth to feed. All hell had broken loose; Jean had tried to take the blame, but I couldn’t let her do that for me. I grabbed my backpack, everything I owned, and I left. It had been the first night I had sold myself for some fast food and twenty bucks.
I watch this older blond-haired guy park up behind the Chick-N-Flips. He gets out of one of those older Mustangs, a red one with heavy doors and a canvas black top. He seems nervous, but familiarly comfortable as he approaches me.
“You waiting for someone?” he asks, his blue eyes twinkle matching his smile.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am and they should be here any minute,” I answer as I balance on the balls of my feet on the edge of the curb.
I watch him as he sizes me up; he can tell I’m high and takes the opportunity to get me to talk.
“OK, you just look a little hungry.”
Our eyes meet for a moment before I answer him.
“Yeah, I’m hungry. Didn’t eat much today.” I feel a chill build at the base of my spine.
“Well, why don’t I get you something to eat?”
And even though I’m starving and pangs of hunger twist in my gut, I give him the answer I think will curb his attention.
“No, I’m cool, I had a banana earlier, and my friend should be here any minute.”
“Nobody can survive on just a banana. How about I buy you something to eat?”
You so perfect, little sunshine. We gonna take care of my sickness now . . .
“Thanks mister, but I can’t pay you back.”
He slips his finger under my chin and pulls my face up so I’m looking into his ravenous eyes.
“Don’t worry about it, we can work something out. People barter in all different kinds of ways. Use what you have to get what you need.” His words linger in my head longer than any other useless conversation I have had today. Suddenly, it’s as if I know what I need to do. Maybe if I wasn’t so hungry I could have walked away. If I had some sort of credibility to work at a job, but I’m seventeen with no home, no work experience, and nowhere else to go. I know what he’s implying, I’m hungry and at this point I have no other choice.
I follow him into the men’s restroom of the Chick-N-Flips. We go into a stall and he drops his pants and I give my first blowjob. When we are done, he buys me a chicken sandwich, curly fries and a strawberry milkshake. Before he leaves he hands me twenty bucks, starts his car and off he goes. The twist in my stomach never goes away, but I’m fed and have some money in my pocket.