The Story of a Sex Worker

December 07, 2004


Far Out was sitting in Bernard's living room when I arrived. I hadn't seen her since she moved out. When I walked up to her, I saw horror. There were gray circles around her eyes, as heavy as make-up. They weren't bruises from hitting, they seemed like the bruises from her violently trying to keep her eyes open. Her face was worn and pale, usually one that radiated a cheerleader glow, Chastity the cheerleader slut. All she radiated now was the hard glow of fear.

"Are you sick, Cindy?" I asked.

"No, why, do I look sick?" she said.

"Actually, you look like shit."

She slowly turned her neck and looked at me hatefully.

"You could say I was sick," she said.

I looked down at her arms. There were track marks at the crooks of her elbows.

"Did you get into smack?" I said.

Her hand went to her arm. She smiled weakly and said, "Yeah."

"It hasn't been more than a month since I saw you last."

"A month? I thought it was longer."


She shut her eyes. "Have you ever tried smack, Shirl?" she said, eyes still closed.

"A couple of times."

"It's a good thing, isn't it? Your life might suck like it always has and you can do smack and it won't suck anymore. Can you think of anything better than that?"

I couldn't answer.

"It's like fucking but a thousand times more powerful and it lasts longer."

I sat down on the coffee table and leaned towards her like I had when she was at my apartment crying over her boyfriend.

"How'd you get into this?" I said.

"Kirk showed me about it," she said. She scratched and massaged her head for too long. "He got back into it while I was gone. He had done it before, he'd been really into it, you know, but he hadn't done any since I met him. He got back into it when I was gone."

"Where is he now?"

"Kirk? I don't know. He kicked me out."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He said I was taking all his junk. I mean, shit, it was mine. I paid for it. I whored with a couple of his friends and then he wouldn't let me have it. He called me a vacuum and kicked me out."

"Jesus. So where are you living?"

"In my car."

"In your car?" I shrieked. A stranger's face peeked his head around the corner and went back again.

"It's right outside," Far Out said. "I can go anywhere in it. I came here to get some work but Bernard said he wouldn't give me any looking like I do. I thought I looked fine. Nobody cared when I was whoring. I can't believe it's only been a month. It feels like longer. I don't think Bernard's going to give me a job ever again. He said he didn't hire junkies."

I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. I wouldn't have hired her either.

She reached down to her feet and picked up a plastic handbag covered with pink flowers. She unzipped it and pulled out a needle and a small green-plastic bag.

"I'm not as good at this as Kirk," she said.

"Dammit," I said and grabbed for the bag. She pulled away quickly before I could get it. It was the fastest I'd seen her move since I sat down.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said.

"You don't need this."

"What do you know? You don't know what I need. I'll do it somewhere else."

She got up and headed for the door.

"Come on, Far Out," I said.

I ran to her and pulled her by the shoulder.

She turned and looked at me like the Exorcist girl. "Fuck off. Go fuck yourself," she said.

She opened the front door and ran to her car, a small brown and white two-door, rusted at the tires. She got in, started the car, and drove off before I could stop her. She hit the curb of a mansion's driveway and a trash can before making it all the way down the street.

I tried reaching Far Out later but couldn't. I called Kirk over and over again but he never answered. Finally he did and he said he didn't know where "that cunt" was. Bernard didn't know either. And I didn't know how to go about tracking down a person who lived in her car.

I thought Far Out was an omen. It wasn't that I feared I'd turn out like Far Out. I didn't say to myself, she tried the best of both worlds and ended up with the worst of all. What I thought was, I've got to be on the level because being beneath it is ugly and wrong. Seeing Far Out's sallow eyes and bitterness carved out of a swan's character, I realized I couldn't lie to Andrew anymore. Lying was wrong and I didn't want to witness any more wrong. Lying was something Al Harvey would do, what Far Out was doing to herself.


  • At 9:05 PM, Blogger Simoney said…

    Honesty is the best policy. Sometimes painful, yea... but I'd rather hear the sorta painful truth then a pretty lie and have to hear the truth anyway later.

  • At 9:22 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    We are living in a cruel heaven.
    I hope,you don't loose your smile,
    and i fight for it,too.
    (Excuse my bad English.)
    Greetings from Germany,

  • At 9:52 PM, Blogger Cigarette Smoking Man from the X-Files said…

    Wow. This was the best post yet.

    Junkies can't be porn stars, that's for sure. It's also inconvenient if the porn star wannabe didn't bother to get a babysitter before showing up to the shoot. It's even more inconvenient when nobody buys memberships to the website. I'm out of the business now, about $5K poorer after the investment flopped. I guess I don't have what it takes to be a "Bernard".

  • At 8:53 PM, Blogger sanjana said…

    so far out's name is cindy? u slipped didn't u?

  • At 3:09 PM, Blogger dave bones said…

    a beautiful story. thankyou.


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