TRIXIE'S DIARY - June 5, 1990

 

 

Fuck. Last night was horrible, Miss Diary. I don’t know who else I really feel comfortable talking to about this.

Took me forever to work up the nerve to try working the north side, and this is what I get for my bravery? And my fishnets are all torn now. Dammit! I hope Gwen has some clear polish to fix that.

Doesn’t look too different up there from what I’m used to. North Ozymandias Boulevard is a pretty long strip where the working girls gather. The buildings have fewer piss stains on them, and some of the cars that screech by are closer to Porsche than Pinto. It’s near the community college, too, so there were a lot of future frat-guy types wandering the streets on drunken adventures, ignoring me like I was triple invisible.

The competition up there seemed pretty fierce. Lots of beat-looking bitches, but they own those streets so I kept my opinion to myself. Don’t I always? Still, they all got picked up pretty quickly and I didn’t have to strut along Ozymandias too long. Some guy pulled up to me less than twenty minutes after I showed up! Should have known it was too good to be true. Always is.

He didn’t seem any more or less socially inept than any other johns I’ve “dated.” Didn’t say much aside from asking how much he was going to have to “donate.” Didn’t even offer his name. It’s not like I’m dying to socialize with these guys, but it at least makes me feel like half a human being when they try and ask my age or where I’m from or tell me I’m pretty. Something, anything, to at least pretend to be natural.

We went up to his hotel room, which I don’t usually like to do. Safer to be on my own turf. Granted, the north side was already far from anything remotely my turf. But he insisted, said he’d make it worth my while. Made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, which included a dose of Sweet Candy. Why am I such a sucker? We got up there and he dropped his pants and smirked like he was expecting me to get all giddy or whatever. Sorry, curlicue pubes and an uncircumcised prick don’t impress me much. He got closer to me and started panting. His breath smelled like pepperoni and garlic. I told him I was only available for head, no full service, and his expression changed. He started saying he knew how to fucking please a woman properly, and he’d fucking make sure to pay me well. Then things got really bad. That bastard grabbed my crotch! Zero warning, with fingers like little jackrabbits. No time to react.

Doesn’t matter that I was tucking like always. Dammit Gwen, your homemade gaffs suck so badly! This guy just knew something wasn’t right, and he knew what that something was. He sort of stood there, frozen like some hideous statue, his face twisted like he’d just consumed a pound of lemons.

I should have run when I had the chance.

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck is pretty much all I remember hearing for the next few seconds before I got cracked on the side of my head with his fist. Would have been nicer if I had actually seen stars or little tweeting birds like on Looney Tunes cartoons. Instead, it was more like quick flashes of darkness as he smacked me and I tried my best to defend myself. I started getting scared that it was going to stay dark permanently. It’s terrifying enough when an enraged 250-pound gorilla starts attacking you. It’s even worse when that gorilla is supposed to be a part of the human race.

In a perfect world, this guy would have been more understanding, just backed off, and we could have gone our separate ways. No harm, no foul. At worst he’d tell me sorry, baby, not my kinda thing. Is that so hard? I have thick enough skin at this point in my life to deal with that. The irony is that this scumbag wanted to take me in spite of not being “his thing.” But it wasn’t lustful. God, I wish it could have just been simple lust. That I could have dealt with. This was evil, dominance and rage all wrapped up in a big, greasy, stinky tortilla. I wasn’t asking for that. No woman wants that.

He was too huge for me to be able to fight back and have any shot at winning. He gripped my arms, threw me to the bed, flipped me on my stomach, pulled up my skirt and pressed all his weight on top of me before I had a chance to try and scratch his eyes out. It felt like I was trapped under a dozen sandbags. I started screaming and I felt another smack on the back of my head, this time with something that was definitely not his fist. He told me to fucking shut up, that it would be over quick. I could feel something with the weight and shape of a corn cob pressed up against the crack of my ass.

Lucky that I noticed my purse was within reach. Lucky that asshole was too busy trying to get inside me. Lucky I had the pepper spray I “borrowed” from Gwen, or I might have become just another statistic. I sure as hell believe in luck now. Luck was my lady tonight.

Didn’t tell Gwen about this, or anyone else. I don’t feel like even thinking about this anymore, much less talking or writing about it.

Did this really happen, or am I just trying to impress my diary with my creative juices? Maybe better if I pretend it’s fiction. Doesn’t matter I guess. You decide, dear Diary.