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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
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The Streetwalker
by Kade Hansson (address withheld)

***

A woman becomes a prostitute by choice for the fun and 
excitement and the money. (M+/F, prost)

***

I was surrounded by steam. My body glistened as I 
gently slid the shower door open. A cold draft blew on 
my smooth skin and I shivered. As my long legs 
gracefully stepped out into the bathroom, I grabbed a 
towel and gently rubbed my large breasts. I dried my 
stomach and buttocks, and then my crotch. Oooh! That 
felt wonderful. I longed for sex. I wanted a male body 
so badly that I would have lunged upon any man that 
entered the room at that moment. I ran the towel up and 
down my thighs, and imagined it was a man, about to 
fulfill my need.

I let the towel drop to the floor, fully exposing my 
silky feminine form. I pranced over to the mirror and 
smiled deviously. I plugged in the hair dryer and 
switched it on. As it blew my long blond hair in its 
warm wind, I dreamed that the warm hands of a lover 
were massaging my head. Eventually, bored with my 
fantasy, I turned the dryer off and brushed my golden 
locks until they were as silky as my skin.

I took a perfume spray and allowed the minuscule 
droplets to fall on every curve and crevasse of my 
body. My skin was tingling and cool as it soaked up the 
droplets, and the sweet aroma filled the room. I 
replaced the pack and put my hand behind my head and 
pursed my lips. I looked at my reflection in the mirror 
and giggled.

I rolled some black sheer pantyhose onto my feet. I 
pulled them up, around my knees and onto my thighs. 
Finally I pulled them up around my waist. I gave them a 
swift jerk and they rode up into my crotch. I hoped 
that my smooth dark grey legs looked inviting.

I threaded my legs through a black lycra leotard and 
stretched it over my shoulders, pushing my arms into 
the sleeves. It was very tight, and followed every 
contour of my upper body, exaggerating my breasts. 
Finally, I pulled on some highly polished black 
stiletto heeled shoes and sat down at the mirror.

I took some powder and carefully patted it onto my 
face, bleaching the colour away. I applied some blue 
eye shadow to my eyelids and outlined my eyes with dark 
blue lines, striving for perfection. I blinked and 
smiled. My eyes no longer belonged to me. I took the 
lip gloss and painted my lips until they were bright 
red, with a lustre that would put sterling silver to 
shame. As I fastened some gold earrings to my ear 
lobes, I stared at myself in the mirror. How could a 
man turn me down, I asked myself. I stood up and 
admired myself further.

From my golden hair, down to my polished shoes, I was 
as sexy as a woman could be. I was going to have sex, 
and I was going to enjoy it. Maybe even make some bucks 
at the same time. I put my handbag over my shoulder and 
stepped out of the room.

***

It was cold on the street, and I had to try very hard 
to stop myself from shivering. I wasn't alone. Others 
lined the shadows, with much more experience than me. 
They wore very little, as did I. But they seemed much 
more resilient to the cold night air.

I put a cigarette to my mouth and inhaled the fumes, 
hoping it would make me look more professional. A woman 
dressed in a short red dress across the street looked 
accusingly at me and I blew smoke in her general 
direction. She didn't see me. A man in a grey trench 
coat walked up to her and she smiled as she looked up 
at him. After a short discussion, the man put his arm 
around the woman and they walked back up the street 
from where the man had come.

I puffed on my cigarette again, and blew the smoke out 
my nostrils. The cold wind made my legs feel numb, 
almost like metal rods. Another man walked past me, and 
stopped a little way down from me. He had found another 
hooker in the darkness. As they walked back past me, I 
took one last desperate breath through my almost 
exhausted cigarette, before dropping it on the ground.

As I twisted my foot on the butt, another man walked up 
and stood about ten metres from me. He looked at me up 
and down. I managed a smile. He frowned and turned and 
walked away. I began to feel unwanted and ugly. Cold 
and alone.

I took another cigarette from my handbag and lit it. I 
began to feel better after I put it to my mouth and 
took a long drag through it. Eventually, it too was 
exhausted, and took its place beside the first on the 
pavement. I was about to begin the cycle again when 
something warm touched me on the shoulder. I turned 
quickly and was greeted by the silhouette of a tall 
man. Somehow, as I studied him in the dim light, he 
didn't seem like the kind of guy you'd expect to find 
late at night in this part of town.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said, gently.

"It wasn't your fault," I said, awkwardly. I looked 
into his eyes and tried to see who was behind them. 
They were sad eyes. Worried eyes. I looked to the 
ground, and we didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"I...I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do." he said, 
nervously.

"Why don't you take me to your place, sir." I 
suggested, resting my head on his chest. He put his arm 
around me and shook his head.

"I can't. Is there somewhere else we can go?" he asked 
shyly.

"My place," I replied, leaving his embrace and walking 
back up the street. The man didn't move for a while. I 
turned back. He was looking at the ground. Ashamed? He 
looked up with his sad face and I smiled thoughtfully. 
Without changing expression he walked up beside me and 
put his arm around me again.

"Lead the way," he said, solemnly. We plodded off into 
the darkness.

***

I pushed my apartment door open and walked inside. It 
was warm, and quite homely. I began to wonder why I had 
left it that night. Dim green light filtered in from 
one of the front windows. It was from a large neon sign 
outside the window. I paused on the way to the bedroom. 
I turned and saw the man taking off his coat and 
folding it over the back of a chair. He was a big man, 
and very sexy.

I began to remember why I had gone out on the street. I 
had gone out, not as a lonely girl looking for some 
company, but a whore looking for a man to go to bed 
with. I felt guilty, but another part of my mind urged 
me to continue to live out my fantasy. I had always 
wanted to have a one night stand. To simply make love. 
To forget about the complexities of relationships.

Continuing into the dark bedroom, I threw my handbag on 
a chair and pulled my arms out of the sleeves of the 
leotard. I slid it off my body, kicking off my high-
heels. My breasts had escaped their cruel envelope, and 
I began to feel less constricted and more free to move. 
As I was carefully removing the pantyhose, the man 
entered the room. 

He was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest. I 
smiled at him and got into bed. I lay there, with my 
hands folded on the covers as I watched him pull down 
his trousers. It all seemed to be progressing 
unbearably slowly. I continued to watch him remove his 
shoes and socks, and finally pull down his underpants. 
I grinned broadly and gestured for him to come to me. 
He reluctantly moved forward. I could see this wasn't 
going to be easy.

I threw the sheets back and stood up on the bed, and 
started to sway my hips. I pursed my lips and blew him 
a kiss. He smiled cautiously and got up on the bed with 
me. I had no time for his reluctance, so I pulled him 
down on me and squeezed him against my breasts. He 
groaned and I gasped. His penis began to stiffen and I 
began to feel light-headed. He started kissing me from 
head to toe and I began to feel wanted again.

The time came, and I felt his penis plunge deeply into 
my vagina. In one swift, powerful stroke, I knew the 
fantasy was real. It was absolutely and utterly 
wonderful. I felt as if my consciousness had been flung 
into the furthest reaches of the universe. His semen 
flooded into my undulating body. I closed my eyes, my 
other senses immediately becoming intensely acute. Time 
stood still, and we moaned and groaned happily until 
exhaustion would not allow our mutual joy to continue. 
He slowly withdrew his penis and I began to relax my 
tired muscles. He rolled onto the bed beside me and I 
snuggled up against him.

Part of me felt better. The urges that had haunted me 
for months were beginning to ebb away. As I lay there, 
I began to feel happy for the first time in ages. I 
began to wonder whether I was now destined to become a 
streetwalker for life. I had no financial reason to be, 
although some extra money never hurt anyone. Then 
again, I imagined that I could make more money as a 
whore than as a doctor's receptionist.

Originally, I wanted just to have a one night stand -- 
once. But, I had enjoyed myself so much that I was 
seriously contemplating doing it regularly. But what if 
someone found out about my secret life? I'd lose my 
job. My friends. My family. My conscience began to 
argue.

Was there something wrong with me? Is it wrong to have 
sex outside of well established relationships? To go a 
step further, and make money from it? A moral dilemma. 
Perhaps, already, I was hooked on being a hooker. With 
that thought, I drifted off to sleep.

***

I awoke to find two hundred dollars on the pillow 
beside me. The man had gone. I didn't even know his 
name. Guilt and anger began to overcome me. I got up 
and hastily stuffed the money in my purse and lit a 
cigarette. As I smoked it, I looked out the window at 
the street below. It seemed empty and quiet. For a 
second, I thought that perhaps I was the only one that 
existed.

A knock on the door startled me. I swung round and 
called out, "Just a minute." I quickly slipped into a 
nightie and wrapped myself in a dressing gown. Moving 
over to the door, I opened it. It was Michelle, a 
girlfriend who lived downstairs from me.

"Hi, Angie," she said briskly, coming in and sitting at 
the dining table. I shut the door behind her.

"Hi, Michelle," I said groggily, puffing on my 
cigarette. I went over to the bench and turned the 
kettle on. I got out the cups and shovelled some coffee 
and sugar into them.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"Who is who?"

"The guy who came out a few minutes ago. Who is he?"

I hesitated. I was to ashamed to tell the truth. Maybe 
I could dodge it.

"Just a friend," I said coolly, putting the cigarette 
to my mouth. I watched a grin form on her face.

"Yeah, right. What did you two get up to last night?" 
asked Michelle.

I quickly looked away and took another breath through 
my cigarette.

"This and that," I replied. The kettle began whistling 
and I promptly turned it off.

"Oh I see..." said Michelle. I went to get the milk 
from the refrigerator. "So how was he?"

It was plain that she knew what happened. She could 
read me like a book. It scared me. Perhaps she knew 
about the whole affair, but just wanted to hear it from 
me. I could tell her a partial truth. After all, she 
was a good friend.

"He was all right," I replied, with a smile. I poured 
the coffee and brought the cups to the table.

"All Right?" she enquired, raising an eyebrow. She took 
a sip of her coffee. I took a final puff of my 
cigarette and butted it in the ashtray.

"Okay. He was terrific," I confessed. There was no 
keeping feelings from Michelle. I held the coffee cup 
to my mouth.

"Terrific, eh? So who is he, really?"

"Er.... Simon. We're old friends," I replied hastily.

"Old friends, indeed. Tell me the truth, Angela," said 
Michelle. She was losing her patience. The smile had 
disappeared from her face. I put both hands around my 
mug and put it to my face, letting the steam warm my 
face.

"Okay," I finally conceded. "I don't even know the 
guy."

Michelle looked shocked, but she seemed much less 
shocked than I expected. She must have already guessed. 
"You're kidding."

"Not at all. A one night stand. I don't even know his 
name."

There was silence for a few minutes. Michelle stared 
into her coffee, periodically sipping it. Well, I'd 
told her most of the truth now. But, she could go 
deeper yet. I lit another cigarette.

"You're becoming a chain-smoker. You know that?" said 
Michelle quietly. She didn't look at me. I took a long 
breath through the cigarette and turned to blow the 
smoke away from Michelle. She despised smoking.

"Yeah. Things are getting me down." Michelle looked up 
at me. She stared at me, as if trying to find out what 
I was thinking.

"Getting you down enough to turn you into a slut?"

"I am not a slut!" I exclaimed, defensively.

"Whore. Streetwalker. Hooker. Call it what you will. I 
saw you leave last night, Angie." I finished my coffee 
and took another puff on my cigarette. I stared at the 
table.

"You don't understand. I only wanted someone to keep me 
warm."

"Bullshit. Face it, Angela Harper, you wanted sex so 
bad you went out on the streets to get it," yelled 
Michelle, angrily. My guilt began to swell. Tears 
formed in my eyes and I put the cigarette to my mouth 
again.

"My life's a bore, Michelle. A fucking bore!" I cried. 
Michelle got up and walked over to me. She put her arm 
around me.

"It is not a bore. You just made a mistake, that's all. 
Things got on top of you," she said softly.

"Was it a mistake, Michelle? You know what?" I asked, 
puffing on my cigarette. "I enjoyed myself so much, I'm 
seriously thinking of taking up prostitution full-
time."

Michelle stood up and stared accusingly at me. "You've 
changed, Angie. What happened to the kind and happy 
girl I used to know?"

"The kind and happy girl got sick and tired of being 
kind and happy, and boring. There's more to life than 
being a fucking receptionist."

"And there's more to life than being a fucking whore. 
At least being a receptionist is respectable. How many 
respectable prostitutes have you heard of, eh?"

"All Right, All Right! I won't become a prostitute," I 
sobbed. "But I enjoyed it, Michelle."

"I probably would've too. But it's not... well, it's 
not right." I butted the cigarette and looked up at 
Michelle and sighed.

"I know its not. But last night was so... wonderful, I 
can't help feeling regretful that it was probably the 
first and last time I'll ever have sex," I said.

"The first time?" asked Michelle. "You mean you haven't 
been to bed with a guy before. You're almost 28, 
Angie!"

"I was desperate. I was beginning to think there was 
something wrong with me. Nobody has ever even asked me 
out, let alone invited me to bed," I explained. 
Michelle looked stunned. She sat back in her chair.

"I had no idea," said Michelle. "Why didn't you tell 
me?"

"Why should I tell you? My private life is really none 
of your business."

"And it's none of your business either, by the sound of 
it," she commented. She paused. "Perhaps you should see 
a shrink."

"What on earth for?"

"You're contemplating being a full-time prostitute."

"I wouldn't really."

"You sounded pretty sure a minute ago."

I looked out the window. "Well, I'm not. I'm confused. 
I want sex, Michelle. Is that wrong."

"Not at all. Everyone wants sex. But, going to the 
streets to get it is wrong."

"Why? People have done it for centuries."

"Exactly. People also kept slaves for centuries. We 
were treated like dirt for centuries. Don't you see?"

"But that doesn't make prostitution wrong, does it?"

"I think you're talking yourself back into it."

I turned back to Michelle. "Don't you want sex?"

"Yes. But not for the sake of it. I want someone to be 
with, not just to have sex with and forget about it."

"Come with me. I'll show you what it's like," I 
suggested.

Michelle looked appalled. "You've got to be joking. I 
thought I'd gotten through!"

I slammed my fists on the table. "You're not seeing it 
from my perspective," I yelled. "Come with me next 
Saturday, and you'll find out just how wonderful sex 
without obligation is."

Michelle turned away. What was going through her mind. 
Would she give me a chance? Perhaps I really was losing 
my sanity. It was several minutes later that Michelle 
finally spoke.

"I'll do it," she said, quietly. "But for you. Not for 
me."

"Oh, there'll be something in it for you. And not only 
a man either," I said, taking the two hundred dollars 
and waving it in the air.

"For one night?" she asked.

"For one night," I replied. I smiled and Michelle 
managed a half-smile.

***

I admired Michelle in the mirror. Her long black hair 
came down past her shoulders, and the exceedingly short 
red dress followed her body as close at the black one I 
wore followed mine. We both wore red lip gloss, purple 
eye shadow and black mascara. Michelle fastened her 
diamond earrings as I put her pearl necklace around her 
neck.

"I'm not sure about this," said Michelle, threading her 
belt round her waist. I smiled.

"Don't worry, Michelle. I'll be with you," I said, as 
she buckled the belt. I felt like I was doing the right 
thing. But, perhaps I shouldn't bring Michelle into my 
fantasy world.

Michelle smiled at the mirror as she put her hands on 
her hips. "What do you think?"

"Not bad."

"Not bad? Who could resist me?" laughed Michelle.

"Many people. It's a jungle out there, Michelle."

"Look, Angie. If you can get laid, so can I," she 
retorted.

"That's the spirit. Now tonight, I'm taking a jacket," 
I said, walking into my bedroom.

"You better get one for me too," called Michelle. I 
picked two jackets out of the wardrobe. When I 
returned, Michelle was shaking at the front door. I put 
the jacket around her and then put mine on.

"A bit cold is it? Wait 'til were outside."

"But we shouldn't be cold for long should we?" asked 
Michelle, with a wry grin. I opened the door and 
Michelle stepped out. I followed and shut the door 
behind her.

"I don't know. Business may be slow tonight," I 
chuckled. We made our way down the stairs and into the 
street. In a few minutes, the cold air had numbed my 
legs again. The sheer pantyhose offered almost no 
protection to the cold night air.

"You're n-not wrong about the c-c-cold," commented 
Michelle as we plodded down the street. "What if 
someone picks you up first?"

"I'll make him go with you," I replied. We walked 
several blocks before Michelle spoke again.

"You know what, Angie?"

"What?"

"I'm a bit excited."

"Really?" I asked, knowingly. We laughed as we walked 
into the night. I began to feel a little better. Maybe 
Michelle was beginning to see things my way.

Finally, we reached our destination. Once again, I was 
amongst professionals. Michelle and I found a wall in 
the shadows to lean against. I pulled out a cigarette 
and lit it. As I took the first puff, Michelle gave a 
sigh. I guessed she was disapproving of my habit again.

"What's it really like?" asked Michelle. I inhaled 
another breath through my cigarette. The end glowed as 
the oxygen aided the combustion.

"You'll find out. But, I'll say this -- it's 
addictive," I laughed, blowing smoke through my red 
lips. Michelle gave a chuckle too. We didn't say 
anything else for several minutes. I took a last drag 
on my cigarette and tossed it on the ground, stepping 
on it with my foot.

"It's not rough is it?" asked Michelle, worriedly.

"We'll it wasn't for me. But, hey. Getting it rough is 
probably a bit more fun."

"I don't know, Angie."

Michelle was having second thoughts. The sooner a guy 
showed up, the better. As if answering a prayer, a man 
walked up to us. He examined us, as if we were a 
commodity. In a way I suppose we were. He smiled at 
Michelle, and Michelle smiled back. But her smile 
seemed somewhat fraudulent. She was hiding her 
feelings.

"How much, babe?" he asked, leaning against a pole. 
Michelle hesitated.

"Two hundred."

The guy whistled in amazement. "A bit steep. But, I'm 
sure we can negotiate. What do you say?"

Michelle smiled, for real this time. She snuggled up to 
him. He put his arm around her and walked off into the 
darkness. She was gone. I began to feel guilty again. I 
had turned my best friend into a hooker. I began to 
question whether I had done the right thing. I lit 
another cigarette and waited.

***

I awoke early the next morning, still in the black 
dress. The night had been miserable. I had stood in the 
cold until just after 2am, before making my way home. 
Every muscle ached and I felt stiff and nauseous as I 
lay on my bed, sun shining in my eyes. No-one had taken 
me home. No-one had made love to me. I sat up and 
immediately felt worse. A sickening feeling welled up 
from my stomach, and I quickly ran to the toilet.

I vomited for several minutes, and an awful taste 
filled in my mouth. I flushed the toilet and got 
shakily to my feet. I wasn't feeling well at all. I 
changed into my nightie and got back into bed. I was 
about to light a cigarette when someone bashed on my 
door.

I moaned, got up and put my dressing gown on. As I 
walked to the door, I almost felt like collapsing. I 
managed to stay upright and I collected myself to open 
the door. It was Michelle. She looked terrible. She 
stumbled into my apartment and slumped face-down onto 
the couch. I shut the door and went over too her.

I rolled her limp body over. She still wore her red 
dress, but it was

torn. She had two black-eyes and had deep cuts and dark 
bruises all

over her arms and legs and face. I gaped in amazement 
for a few

minutes, forgetting my own pain. Hurriedly, I went and 
got a

first-aid kit and made some coffee

I came back and began cleaning up her wounds. After a 
few minutes she came around. She half-opened her eyes 
and managed a small smile. She shut her eyes again.

"Hi Angie," she croaked.

"Here. Have some coffee," I said, giving her a mug. She 
shook her head gently and put it back on the floor.

"What happened?" I asked softly.

"He raped me, Angie," she whispered. I had guessed as 
much. It horrified me what had happened to her. I felt 
responsible. It was my fault. I got her into this.

"Who did?" I asked. "Was it the man who took you last 
night?" She nodded.

"He bashed me. He threw me around. Then he'd play 
with..." she explained, quietly. She started to cry. I 
put my arm around her.

"It's all right. He's gone now. I'm here."

"It hurts, Angie. It hurts everywhere. Everywhere!" she 
sobbed. Tears began to form in my eyes. What had I 
done? I lifted her up and carried her to my bed. I lay 
her down on her side and unzipped her dress. As I 
pulled it off I cried even more. She was right. There 
were wounds all over her. She was bruised from head to 
toe. Her dress was soaked in blood. I gulped and tried 
to find some words.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed to say.

"It's not your fault. I should have known better," she 
said, weakly.

"Get an ambulance." I ran to the phone and dialled 
emergency.

"Ambulance. My friend's hurt pretty bad," I sobbed. 
"She's been cut up and bruised and... and raped." I 
quickly lit a cigarette and took a deep breath through 
it. The woman at the other end paused before asking 
where I was. "Apartment 3B, 145 Bandmostle Street," I 
replied. I hung up and went back to the bedroom.

I sat on the bed beside Michelle and stared at the 
wall. I didn't want to look at her. I began to feel 
sick again. I puffed on the cigarette.

"You were right," I said. I turned to Michelle and 
looked at her staring at the ceiling. She was tensed 
up, as if holding back her pain.

"It was terrible, Angie. He made me do it all night. If 
I wouldn't do it, he'd throw me around or cut me with 
his knife," she whispered, staring glassy-eyed at the 
ceiling. "And when I did give in he poked his finger in 
and wiggled it. Then he said, 'Let's see if two will 
fit.' He cut the skin and pushed two in. Then he 
tried..." sobbed Michelle, shaking. I shuddered as I 
imagined how it must've felt. I took another breath of 
cigarette smoke.

"It is my fault, Michelle. I did this to you."

"No you didn't. I wanted sex. It's my fault, and I'm 
going to pay for it."

"The doctor'll fix you up. I'll help you get over it," 
I promised, wiping the tears from my eyes and turning 
to face her.

"You don't understand. I'm finished. I'm ruined. 
There's no point..." Michelle closed her eyes and 
relaxed herself. Her abused body looked beyond repair. 
Her mutilated breasts were stained, and a pool of blood 
surrounded her genitals. I crawled over to her and 
lifted her hand and pressed it in mine.

"You can't die Michelle. You can't," I cried. I checked 
for a pulse. It was still there, but it was faint. I 
heard sirens in the street below. I ran to the window 
and looked down into the street. An ambulance was 
parking at the side of the road. I watched as the 
attendants lifted a stretcher out of the back and 
disappear into the building. I took another breath 
through my cigarette and butted it in the ashtray on 
the bedside table. I ran to the apartment door and 
stepped into the corridor. The attendants appeared at 
the top of the stairs and I called to them. Then 
everything went black. I had passed out.

***

I awoke to find myself in a hospital bed. A police 
officer was sitting on a chair across from me. I sat up 
and began to feel ill. "I'm afraid I've got some bad 
news," said the officer, solemnly.

Tears welled up in my eyes and my stomach turned.

"She's dead?" I asked quietly. The officer nodded.

"I'm afraid so. Do you know what happened to her?"

Tears ran down my cheeks. I felt guilty. It was all my 
fault. "She was raped."

"Do you know who did it?"

I gave a description of the man.

"Was she a hooker?"

"No," I quickly replied. I hesitated before adding, 
"Well, she wasn't before last night. It was all my 
fault, officer. I took her out..." I broke off and 
closed my eyes. I still felt sick.

"Maybe I should come back later," he said. I nodded 
weakly and he got up and left the room. I was about to 
doze off when the doctor came in.

"Hello Angela. I'm very sorry about your friend," he 
said solemnly. It was Doctor North, the doctor whom I 
worked for. He sat in the chair the officer had dragged 
up.

"I suppose you aren't ready to talk about that, though. 
So, I've got some good news for you instead." Good 
news? What could possibly be good about that day?

"Huh?" I grunted, puzzled.

"You're suffering from morning sickness, Angela. You're 
pregnant." I lay there shocked. I didn't even know the 
father. I began to feel even more guilt.

"No. There must be a mistake. I don't want a child," I 
cried. The doctor frowned.

"Well, it's your decision. But, as your friend, I think 
you should go full-term. There are many people who do 
want children, but can't have them, you know. Hey, you 
may even decide to keep it."

It was all too much to take. I closed my eyes and 
slipped into unconsciousness.

***

I lay in my bed, staring mindlessly at the ceiling, 
periodically taking a breath through my cigarette. I 
had never felt worse in my life. I had killed my best 
friend. But, she hadn't just been shot in the head. She 
had been hideously tortured. Piles of ash lay on the 
sheet around me, and the ashtray beside me was 
overflowing with cigarette butts. My eyes were sore and 
bloodshot, and large purple bags had formed under them. 
My cheeks were tear-stained. I wondered whether I'd 
ever get over Michelle's tragic death.

Then there was that illegitimate child starting to grow 
in my womb. "Simon's" child. I didn't even know its 
father. All because of a hot one-night stand. All 
because I wanted to have sex.

"I'm sorry, Michelle," I sobbed as I butted yet another 
cigarette in the ashtray. I just kept saying it over 
and over. I hoped it might do some good. But the more I 
said it the more meagre my apology seemed. Especially 
since there was no-one around to hear it but me. Little 
old hot-to-trot me. Suddenly the phone rang, and I sat 
up in surprise, throwing the piles of ash onto the 
floor. I reached over and picked up the receiver, 
sniffed and held it to my mouth.

"Angela Harper," I said quietly.

"Jeremy Miles."

"I'm sorry. Have we met?" I asked. I started to blink 
my eyes in an effort to dry them.

"You could say that, Angela. You invited me around to 
your place Saturday night, week before last," came the 
reply. "I want to see you again."

"Oh," I said quietly. I paused as I began to feel a 
little guilty. "Why?" I asked. I had already guessed he 
wanted another night of unbridled passion. He 
hesitated, as if he was scared of me.

"I really like you, Angela. I'd like to go out with you 
sometime.

Dinner perhaps?"

"You mean like a date?" I asked, surprised. "That's 
all?"

"Look, if you don't believe in getting romantically 
involved," he replied.

"I'd love to."

"Pardon?" he asked, taken aback.

"I said, I'd love to go out with you."

He gave a muted chuckle of delight. "When would be best 
for you?"

"Tonight," I replied. I smiled briefly, but guilt soon 
made it vanish. "There's something I need to tell you, 
Jeremy wasn't it?"

"Yes, that's right. Go right ahead," he said. He 
sounded so polite and refined. It was hard to believe 
he was the man I had picked up on the street only a few 
nights before. I gulped. How could I tell him?

"I'm pregnant," I finally muttered. I almost cringed as 
I waited for the reply.

"Are you sure it's mine?" he asked after a long pause. 
It was a reasonable question. For all he knew, I was a 
professional prostitute.

"Look, I'm going to level with you. You are the only 
man I have ever made love to. I'm afraid there's no 
question."

A slight pause. "I had no idea it was your first time. 
You seemed so, experienced."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Of course. Well, I guess we'd better have this date 
and work things out. How about I pick you up around 
eight?" he asked. "By the way, I don't think the 
restaurant finds leotards appropriate dress," he added, 
managing a small chuckle. But his voice was a little 
worried.

"Eight would be fine," I told him. I wiped the tears 
from my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Great. See you then," he said.

"Yeah. See you," I said, hanging up the phone. Part of 
me was happy, but another part of me was guilty. Very 
guilty. I sat there for half-an-hour, deciding whether 
I was doing the right thing. But I had that damned 
child to think of. I had always wanted children, but 
not like this. I started to clean up the disgusting 
mess that filled my apartment.

***

There came a knock at the door, and I immediately 
opened it. I had been standing there waiting. It wasn't 
even eight o'clock, but I had been waiting. Jeremy was 
surprised by my quick response. I probably seemed 
overly anxious. He quickly composed himself and 
presented me with some flowers he was holding behind 
him.

"Flowers? Thank you," I said, as I took them. I was 
staring at him, as if I were trying to reinforce the 
fuzzy image of a face I had been remembering for days. 
He smiled.

"Roses, actually. Is something wrong?" he asked. I 
turned away and walked back into my apartment.

"No. Nothing's wrong. Please, come in," I said, 
gesturing to the couch. I heard his footsteps behind 
me. I felt his hands touch on my shoulders as I put the 
flowers in a vase. I shrank away, and the vase fell 
onto the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.

"I'm sorry," he said, as I turned back to face him. His 
face seemed gentle and caring. I began to look at it as 
if it held a personality. I managed a small smile.

"No. It's not your fault," I said apologetically. I 
paused. "I'm just a little tense, that's all."

He frowned, as he knelt on the floor and gathered the 
pieces of the vase. "I suppose I am too," he said, 
shyly. I knelt down and helped him. We looked at each 
other, and stared into each others eyes.

"Why do you like me?" I asked, in a trance. He took my 
hand and held it gently.

"I don't know. I just do. You seemed so real -- not 
like I imagined a prostitute. But then, you're not. I 
had suspected. No, I hoped you weren't."

"Then you don't just like me because of my looks?" I 
asked. Great-now he knew I was immodest. He gave me a 
half-smile.

"Not now. But still, I don't know much about what's on 
the inside," he said, gathering the pieces he had 
found. He picked them up and I stood up. I quickly 
collected together the pieces I had found and stood up 
before him.

"Where do you want these?" he asked. I walked over to 
the garbage bin and pushed my foot down on the pedal. 
The lid sprang up and I realised that it was filled 
with cigarette butts and ash. I dropped the pieces of 
the vase in and tried to cover it. But he was right 
behind me, and must've seen the unsightly refuse. He 
sighed and dropped his significantly more sizable 
collection of fragments of porcelain in, and I released 
the pedal. The lid fell back down and I turned back to 
face him.

"So, where are we going?" I asked quickly, trying 
desperately to make sure that he didn't have the chance 
to say anything about smoking.

"You'll see. It's a surprise," he replied. "Angela, 
what's making you tense? Look, if you don't want to go 
out, I'll understand."

"Look, I'm fine," I snapped. A lump formed in my throat 
as I thought of Michelle. I shuddered and tears began 
to form in my eyes again. I stepped quickly over to my 
handbag sitting on the bench. I pulled a cigarette from 
the packet and held it between my fingers as I fumbled 
to find my lighter. I found myself looking at Jeremy 
again. He watched me worriedly.

"Maybe I should go," he said.

"No. Don't go. Please, don't leave," I pleaded, 
dropping the cigarette on the floor. My hand was 
shaking.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" I snapped, defensively. He walked over to 
the table and sat down. He sat back in the chair and 
glanced towards me.

"I'm sorry I got you pregnant. I should've been more 
careful. But, I'm willing to help," he said.

"It's not that," I said, bending over to pick up the 
cigarette. I stood back up and looked at him. "Well, 
it's part of it," I added, dryly. I shakily put the 
cigarette between my lips and lit it. I closed my eyes 
as I took a deep breath through it. I opened my eyes 
and slowly let the smoke filter out of my nostrils. 
Jeremy looked down at the table.

"Level with me, Angela," he ordered, his voice a little 
more forceful.

"I want to help."

"Do you?" I cried, walking to the table. "You're all 
the same. All you care about is yourself. You just want 
to get into bed with me again." I started sobbing as 
sat at the table.

"I do care, Angela. I really do," he said softly, as he 
looked up at me and put his hand on mine. I took 
another puff of my cigarette. I tried to calm myself as 
I gradually exhaled.

"I had a friend called Michelle. She died on Sunday," I 
whispered, trying desperately not to breakdown.

"I'm sorry," he said, clasping my hand more tightly. 
Maybe he did care. But, I wasn't convinced.

"Yeah, so am I. Especially since it was all my fucking 
fault," I told him. I glared into his kind eyes for a 
second before looking away.

"How could it have been your fault?" he asked.

"Because, I took her out on the streets with me. Some 
bastard picked her up," I said, but I lost my composure 
and I clamped my mouth shut as tears rolled down my 
cheeks. I felt sick. "He raped her. Sunday morning she 
came in here, bleeding all over the place," I rasped, 
before taking another breath through my cigarette. I 
looked back at him to see his expression. It was that 
of horror. We remained silent, as I continued smoking 
my cigarette.

"It could've happened to anyone," he finally managed to 
say.

"Bullshit," I yelled. "It could only happen to a 
fucking whore. It should've been me."

"It shouldn't have been anyone. Have they got this 
bastard yet?" he asked, quietly.

"No," I said. There was another break in conversation. 
I finished off my cigarette and butted it in the clean 
ashtray in the middle of the table.

"You can't keep blaming yourself. If any one is to 
blame it's the bastard who raped her."

"He could've taken me, you know. If he had, she'd still 
be alive. If I hadn't talked her into tasting life as a 
hooker, she'd still be here. It was my fucking fault."

"I've got this friend," he said after a short pause. 
"He's a psychiatrist."

"I'm not gonna see no shrink," I snapped.

"I think you should. And I'll come too. We've got to 
work through this," he said, kindly, gripping my hand 
again. His hand was warm, and so was his voice. I 
smiled dully at him.

"What the hell was a guy like you doing looking for 
love on the street?" I asked, looking up into his eyes. 
How could a man be so kind and understanding? I was 
beginning to think that I was dreaming.

"A long story... May I use your phone?" he asked.

"Go for your life," I said. "Can you get my handbag for 
me."

"Another cigarette? They'll kill you, you know," he 
said, standing up and walking over to the bench.

"Spoken like a true non-smoker. When you're hooked, 
you're hooked." He threw my handbag over to me. I 
reached in and took another cigarette from the pack and 
lit it.

As I took the first drag, Jeremy said, "They don't do 
babies much good either, from what I've heard." He 
sighed again and picked up the phone and punched in a 
number.

"You're not pregnant. You're not a smoker," I pointed 
out.

He gave a half smile as he cancelled a reservation at 
the restaurant. Then he called for a pizza. As he hung 
up the phone, I admired him walking towards me. My mind 
flashed back to how good he was in bed, I shook my head 
and then tried to dismiss the thought. There was no 
room for pleasure. I had killed my best friend. I took 
a deep breath through my cigarette and blew the smoke 
down at the table as Jeremy sat back down.

"I've ordered pizza. I hope you don't mind."

"No," I said quietly, aware that his eyes were watching 
me smoke my cigarette.

He looked down at the table and scratched his head. "I 
was a virgin until I met you, you know." I looked up at 
him, surprised.

"You too?" I finally asked. His eyes looked up into 
mine. He seemed as bewildered as I.

"So, I had sex with a virgin prostitute, and she got 
pregnant." he observed. He chuckled.

"Why were you out looking for a whore?" I said, 
continuing to smoke despite Jeremy's obvious 
disapproval.

"I told a friend of mine I was a virgin, and he talked 
me into going looking for a hooker. He said I wouldn't 
like being in a restrictive long term relationship, and 
that I was better off with a fling. But, I wasn't so 
sure. That night with you -- well, it was just so 
wonderful. I fell in love. Well, at least I think it's 
love."

My mouth was open wide. "That's incredible. I wanted a 
lover so bad I went on the street to find one. I got 
sick of everyone going on about their new boyfriends 
and how good they were in bed. I just had to know what 
it was like -- I had to. And then, that night with you, 
it just.... well, it really hooked me."

"Was it me or the sex?"

"I don't know. But then, we were the sex, weren't we."

"I guess so. Look, I know this rape thing must be 
really hurting. I really do want to help, you know."

He had reminded me. I became fully aware of what I had 
done again, and I started to sob. I dropped my 
cigarette on the floor and hid my face in my arms on 
the table. I felt Jeremy hug me from behind, but I 
didn't flinch. I was convinced he did care.

"It's all right, Angela. Sh," he whispered quietly in 
my ear. He pecked me on the cheek and rested his head 
beside mine. "Come on. We'll go and sit on the couch." 
I stood up slowly and Jeremy lead me over to the couch. 
We sat down and he put his arms around me and put his 
head against mine again. He was just so warm and sweet 
that I became quiet, although tears still streamed down 
my cheeks. We rocked gently.

"I killed her," I whispered.

"No you didn't. He did. At any rate, it was ultimately 
her decision to go out with you," he said quietly in a 
soothing voice. I felt almost as if I were in my 
daddy's arms once more, and I was a little girl who 
just had a terrible nightmare.

"But, I talked her into it."

"It wasn't your fault. That bastard raped her. He 
killed her. Him and him alone," he said. I began to 
realise he was right. I was blaming myself to too 
greater extent. I had played only a very small part in 
Michelle's death -- another man and she might've even 
had a good time. Now, I was starting to feel loved. 
Jeremy was incredible. Where had he been all my life?

"I love you," I said. I didn't really plan to say it. 
It just came out. But, I guess that just made it more 
truthful.

"I love you too."

We held each other for a long while. We were warm and I 
was almost contented. I no longer regretted being 
pregnant. The baby had a father, a father I was certain 
was not about to dodge his responsibility to it. Then 
it suddenly dawned on me. I was going to be a mother. I 
was going to raise a kid into adulthood. Nappies. 
Primary school. The terrible teenage years. It was then 
that I became joyous.

There was a knock at the door. Jeremy slowly prised 
himself away from me, giving me a loving kiss before he 
went to answer it. I could tell it was loving -- it 
meant something to me.

He returned with a pizza. He put it on the coffee table 
and turned on the TV with the remote. He sat beside me, 
and put his arm around me and waved a slice of pizza 
under my nose. I took a bite and looked at him. He had 
the most beautiful smile. I smiled back as I picked a 
string of cheese out of my teeth and pushed it into my 
mouth. He took a bite and we finished the slice in 
similar fashion.

"Do you have a TV guide?"

"Under your cute butt," I said, pinching it on the 
side. He chuckled and pulled a small booklet from under 
the cushion. One of his hands went under my dress and 
tickled my stomach. I writhed and giggled as I pushed 
his hand away. He studied the guide briefly and then 
picked up the remote and changed channel. An old black 
and white film was on. He watched for a while and then 
reached for the pizza. He gave me a bite and then took 
one himself, as he put his feet up on the coffee table.

"It just started. It's a favourite of mine. I hope you 
don't mind black and white."

"It's romantic."

"More romantic with the lights off," he said, handing 
me his slice of pizza before going to turn the light 
out. When he returned we snuggled up to each other and 
finished the pizza, with a lot of giggling, pinching 
and tickling. We watched the film for a while. He 
turned to me and smiled. "You'll like the next scene."

"Oh will I?" I asked, with a grin. I turned back to the 
TV and crossed my arms.

A line of train carriages reflected the flood lights. A 
woman dressed in a full length white dress was holding 
both hands of a man in a suit with an old fashioned 
bowler hat and a cane.

"You can't go. You can't. I will miss you so, Gerard," 
said the woman.

"Oh, Phillipa. I shall miss you too. But I must go. I 
will be back.

You must not fret for me," came Gerard's reply.

"I love you," she said, releasing his hands. Her eyes 
were sad.

"I love you also, my dear. On my return, and I promise 
that I will return, will you be my wife?" he asked, 
taking one of her hands and kneeling before her.

She smiled and held his hand with both of hers. She 
shook it. "Of course. I will. I would love to marry 
you." He returned her smile and got back up. He held 
his arms out and she fell into them. They embraced each 
other and kissed. I felt so warm and happy, almost 
forgetting that it was fiction. I smiled and turned to 
Jeremy. He had been watching my expression. He was 
smiling. He put his other arm around me and I put mine 
around him. We pulled close together. Our lips met and 
we kissed. We kissed for a long time. I felt so glad 
that I almost completely forgot Michelle.

"Will you marry me?" It took a while to sink in. When I 
finally realised what he was asking, it was too late.

"Of course. I will. I would love to marry you," I said, 
reciting Phillipa's line. But I didn't want to retract 
my acceptance. It was almost as if I couldn't say no to 
this wonderful man. I had been completely swept off my 
feet.

We hugged and kissed for a while before we went to bed. 
Then we kissed some more before I drifted off to sleep. 
It had been a long day and a wonderful night.

***

I let my teeth sink down into a Tim Tam and allowed the 
sweet taste to fill my mouth. I lay sprawled out on the 
couch, rather miserable and still in my T-shirt 
nightie. My hand rested on my bulging lower abdomen as 
I digested the plot of a late afternoon soap. I was 
eight months and two weeks pregnant, and Jeremy hadn't 
let me do anything strenuous for several months.

Not that I felt like doing anything. Moving around was 
slow and difficult, and I often had to hold my stiff 
back as a hobbled around our apartment.

Suddenly I was in agony as a sharp pain ripped through 
my lower abdomen. It was one of those uterine 
contractions they had talked about in pre-natal 
classes. I attempted to regulate my breathing as we had 
been taught, but it didn't seem as easy now. As I tried 
to get up I glanced at my watch. Quarter past five. 
Where was he? I felt another sharp pang and lay on the 
couch. I was reaching for the phone when I heard the 
door open. Jeremy came in carrying a bag of groceries.

"It's coming, Jeremy," I said slowly, as I got up and 
moved over to him. Suddenly another jab and I almost 
collapsed, but Jeremy caught me.

He said quickly, "We'd better get you to hospital. Can 
you make it down the stairs, Angie?"

"I hope so," I rasped as he led me to the door. We made 
our way down the stairs. At the bottom I felt my uterus 
contract again, and I thought the baby was kicking, but 
I was starting to pass out. We made it to the car and 
Jeremy lay me in the back seat. I felt terrible, but 
somehow I was feeling happy at the same time, though I 
wasn't smiling. Jeremy pulled out from the curb and we 
were on our way.

***

I was propped up on a bed in the delivery room, and I 
think I was surrounded by doctors and nurses. Jeremy 
stood beside me and held my hand. I tried to 
concentrate on the warmth of his hand as an attempted 
avoidance of the pain of the birth. I was beginning to 
regret my refusal of the offering of pain killers as 
the dreaded word was once more uttered amongst the 
monotone of the doctor's assurances-"Push."

I closed my eyes, and felt a drop of perspiration roll 
down a closed lid. I took a deep breath and then a 
natural reflex movement followed. With it came 
excruciating pain, as I imagined the baby lodging 
itself in its tunnel to the outside world. I opened my 
eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath, before 
closing my eyes and pushing once more.

I lost count of how many times I went through the whole 
sequence, but I do remember what came of it all. The 
final effort released me from the ordeal, as I felt 
little Michelle's head pass the point of no return. For 
a brief moment, as I felt the rest of her body exit 
from mine, I was very disturbed, as though I was losing 
a part of me. But when I heard her cries and found her 
in my arms, I was overjoyed.

My daughter, beautiful little Michelle, was a new life 
-- one that Jeremy and I had created. It seemed so 
amazing. I was mesmerized by the wondrous miracle of 
life that I was holding. It was only then that I 
stopped blaming myself for her namesake's death. The 
life I had created had taught me to tolerate death. 
Death may be an end, but new life is a beginning.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 53