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Frank Grimes answered the door. She was a nice girl, the one who’d just rang the doorbell. Thin, hourglass figure. His eyes had landed first on her breasts, clearly fake. She had these large, constantly darting eyes, and this straw like blonde hair styled as nicely as she could muster, and despite the rogue strands that tried to escape, he appreciated the effort she had made. She didn’t look like a dirty girl at all, honestly. Even that tight, tacky leopard print dress looked modest on her.”Oh, haha, right, come in,” he said, realizing he’d just been staring.
“Can it wait?” she said. Her voice was mousy and soft.”Listen, lady, I uh, I don’t really have a lot of time. I have an incredibly tight and busy schedule and-“”You have a son.”Frank stiffened, tried to maintain his composure. “Since when?”“A long, long time ago. I’m sorry I’m just telling you now. I only found out today. We took a DNA test… he wants to meet you. He’s not here right now but… some other time… some other time I could try to bring him here.””Wow I… how- how old is he?”“About seven and a half years old.”Frank did the math in his head- he had been doing math for hours just prior to this, you see, and realized that would have meant this son came from one of those encounters he had as a teenager. Oh, God… he couldn’t say anything about that. Could he? Did she know? Like… what should he do in this situation? What COULD he do, even?“That’s… wow… I…”
“Can I confess to you a dark secret?”He grew unsteady. “S-sure.”“Truth be told Mr. Grimes I’ve seen you around a lot lately and told my son all about you.””Wait… you’ve been stalking me?””No, no, not quite stalking, no. Just happening upon you in the streets and curious about your life. I have so many clients, Mr. Grimes. They’re all very interesting, but you especially, you most of all. I’ve never seen someone whose life was so unhappy, so up against him.”“Please do come in,” said Frank, ushering her through the door. He was worried about the turn this conversation would take. He tried his best to stand still, keep a straight posture, hide all signs of worry, of panic. Did she know?!
“You know it’s funny I barely even recognize you,” he said.“Isn’t it?”“I’ve seen so many.””As have I, but the other way around.”“Sorry about the mess I uh. I was busy. Still am, technically, I just…””I know. All you do is study, work, and when you get the chance… find a release the only way you know how.””God it’s so disturbing how you know so much about me. Uh. You wanna cup of coffee or something?””No, no I don’t drink that. Not anymore.””You wanna have sex with me? I mean that’s what I’m paying for.””Well if you want.””Of course I want that!”Sex was awkward. I won’t describe it. Like just picture it, right? You know you did it with this woman when you were a minor- the math checks out. You don’t recognize her. And she’s on top of you, she’s touching you, you’re feeling her. You can’t focus like that, you can’t find a release like that. Frank Grimes still did, you know, release at the end of the session, but emotionally? Emotionally it was just a tiresome, strained, near nauseating experience. Emotionally he didn’t want to be there, about midway through he wasn’t there. He paid her, she left. He was alone with his thoughts.Checked the time. Only a few minutes and he’d have to study again. He sighed, ran his fingers against his temples, a bit harsh against the skin. “God…” he muttered.He didn’t know how he lived with himself after all this. Seeing hookers since he was fifteen and lying about his age- they believed him… somehow?! Did he mature that quickly? Was life going by so fast? It never felt fast. Even with all the work and feigned purpose it had, days went by like a slug in the sweltering summer heat, begging for it all to end.
Hookers felt good usually. Sex, masturbation. Porn, even, when he could get his hands on it. That’s something you can’t tell anyone, either. That you can’t find a woman so you do everything you can to simulate it.It’s not his fault. He can’t talk to people, women I mean, that much really with how he lives. The ones he does talk to ignore him, and the connections can’t be anything more than superficial as he chases a better future. Sometimes he felt like he was going insane. Being alone does that to you- chips away at the soul, mind and body. You’re not yourself anymore after you spend so many years on your own. You forget yourself. It’s all work and no play, if you don’t count this secret little hobby of yours. Is it even shameful to do this? Do most men do this? Surely it’s at least a little common what with how he’s heard women are sometimes. What he’s seen of them, too.