A Hooker’s Heart

The available light from the bedside wall sconce bathed the cheap motel room in the glow of anticipation, as he closed the door and latched the privacy hook.

“Honestly, I must tell you, you are the first one-legged prostitute I’ve ever met.” He sat on the bed, but at a point as far from her as possible.

She didn’t mind his admission. In fact, his words bolstered her. His naiveté added a little sweetness to his demeanor, a commodity in short supply for most of her johns. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, judging from the peach fuzz masquerading as a moustache above his upper lip.

“Well, when you think about it, my job performance skills are little affected by the absence of a leg. So, if you can get your mind around my body as a whole, the aesthetic values aside, I think you’ll find the experience worth your time—and investment. I’m willing to bet you double or nothing that I’m the only hooker you’ve ever met. Am I right?”

“Huh? Oh, p—pshaw… no… I’ve been with lots of hookers. I’ve hooked it with ladies lots of times, even with some who weren’t prostitutes. In fact, most of ‘em weren’t…” His voice trailed off as if realizing he wasn’t very convincing.

“Oh, you’ve ‘hooked’ it before, eh? Yea… okay.” She walked over to the bed and pulled her skirt up, revealing her prosthesis. Sitting back down, she began to unbutton her blouse. “So, Mr. World Traveler, what services will you be requiring of me this evening?”

The boy said nothing, as if he didn’t understand the question. Slowly, he extended his arms as he began to speak. “Oh, you know… just the usual stuff.”

“Oooooohhhh…” she said, shaking her head affirmatively and smiling at him, “the ‘usual’ stuff, is it?” Tracing his crotch lightly with her fingers, she whispered in his ear, "I see someone else is happy to see me, too." Slowly and sensually, she un-strapped her prosthesis and stood it upright against the wall, a silent sentinel of the proceedings.

Folding his arms across his chest, he grinned back, suddenly pleased with her understanding of his great worldliness.

“Well, then, how much of ‘the usual stuff’ would you like?” Pulling one arm out of her blouse, she allowed him to view her exposed right breast before playfully sliding the fabric back over it. “How much fun are we going to be having during our little party tonight?”

“Well, ma’am,” he stammered, “I don’t know about you, but I intend to have a shit load!” Suddenly realizing that he’d just sworn, he covered his mouth momentarily before continuing. “I’m sorry… pardon my French.”

“Pardon your French? Honey, I’d welcome some of your French.”

His stupid, lop-sided grin spoke volumes in his silence as panic turned his ears bright red, looking for an avenue of escape.

“Okay, Pierre…” she replied, her tone dipped in exasperation, “how do you want to fuck me and for how long? See, that determines how much you pay.”

The demeanor didn’t change. The lights were on, but apparently nobody was home.

“You do want some pussy, right?”

Now he uncrossed his arms and put his hands on the bed, his eyes staring at one corner of the ceiling away from her gaze. “Well…” he said, his voice timid and barely audible, “if that’s how you want to put it, yes. I guess that’s what I came here to do.”

Obvious, also, to the one-legged prostitute known as Tish, was the absolute lead-pipe cinch that this boy was a virgin. Crossing her arms against her chest, she grinned innocently at him and intoned, “But…” elongating the word to make it last three or four seconds before once again turning the room silent.

“Well, I guess I’ve just never heard a lady use those words before”, he admitted, lowering his eyes as though ashamed of his innocence.

Now she had to turn her head and bite her hand to keep from laughing out loud. Slowly, Tish, the one-legged prostitute, buttoned her blouse and reattached her leg before sitting close to him on the bed.

“Listen carefully,” she began, putting one hand behind his head and the other flat onto his chest, “as much as I’d like to take your money tonight, after looking at that bulge in your levis, I think you’re too much man for me… I’m afraid I just wouldn’t be able to handle manhood like you possess. How about if we just call this whole thing off and I walk out that door? I promise I’ll tell tales of your skill and expertise to all your friends. Meanwhile, you’ll have some time to think about this evening and how one look at your package intimidated a hooker, and maybe even spend a little time just impressing some of the local girls in town. Then, when you’re ready, you come back and I’ll try to find a way to accommodate your massive man-meat. I won’t even charge you. How’s that sound? Would that be all right?”

Relief poured out of every pore of the boy’s skin. Shaking his head ‘yes’, he managed a faint grin.

Bringing her face very close to his, she stared into his eyes before kissing him softly on the lips. “But next time you come back, be warned. Real women aren’t afraid to let you know what they want—in terms you may find shocking. The world’s changing, my young friend, and sometimes a woman just needs a good fu--" Lowering her head, she paused before continuing, "Well, you know... when you can handle it, come back. I promise you’ll leave very happy.”

Then, blowing him a soft kiss, Tish, the one-legged prostitute walked out of the room, leaving one very relieved minister’s son to collect his thoughts and re-evaluate his place in the world.