Awkward (closed)

At 22 years old, Alison is almost ready to give up on men altogether. She moved in with a construction worker who had been working on her father's house when she was still in high school, and married him a few months after she graduated. everything was perfect until her 21st birthday. Starting the night with three Irish car bombs was probably a bad idea. Ending the night in bed with her brother-in-law was definitely a mistake. One that Tommy couldn't seem to forgive her for. They divorced a few months later.

She moved back into her father's house, and meekly started taking classes at the local community college, swearing never to drink again. A voluptuous redhead with full lips and sweet blue eyes, she has no trouble getting men's attention, but they seem to melt away as quickly as they come when they find out she's not that easy. It's been over a year since she had sex, and she's starting to think maybe she should just get plastered and let some stranger bang her in the bathroom of a bar, just so she can feel something.

Then a friend of hers suggested something radical. Escorting. At first, she can't believe that she would even think of it, but her friend explains. It's discreet, it's fun, it pays well, and it usually happens after hours, so she wouldn't even have to quit school. "Think of it as a date where you come home with five hundred bucks and you know you're getting laid." Put that way, the idea started to catch hold of her.

In the end, she decides to go for it. The agency gets her information and sets up a page for her, and in only a few days, her first assignment comes. A businessman looking for company at one of the hotels near the airport. She puts on a nice, tight black dress, hi heels and her sexiest lingerie, and is halfway to the hotel before she realizes that she's as excited as if she were going on a real date. Only this is simpler. No need to worry about small talk and getting to know him. The thought makes her even more aroused, and by the time she got in the elevator, with an attractive older man, it was all she could do not to jump him.

They exchanged smiles and glances, but he got off on 6 and her date was waiting on 11. Time crawled as the elevator went up, and when the doors finally opened, she practically jumped out. The hall was empty, and she found the door. After taking a moment to get herself together, she reached out and gently knocked. The door opened so quickly, she thought he must have been waiting, maybe even watching her through the peephole.

"Hi," she said, warmly, before she saw who had opened the door.

It was Tommy. He was still tall, still as ruggedly handsome as ever, but he had aged a lot in the year since she had last seen him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he had the sullen, foggy look of someone who has been trying hard to party themselves into an early grave.

"Jesus, Tommy," she whispered. "What are you doing to yourself?"

As frightening as the change was, though, she was still crazy in love with him. The realization hit her like a slap to the face, and she actually flinched back.

It had been about a year since his life went to hell. Since the cheating, the drama, the divorce. He had spent the better part of that year getting drunk, stoned, and high, trying desperately to push the memories away, but they only came back stronger.

The memory of his wife, drunk and naked, riding his own god damn brother in their own bed, would never go away.

Fucking slut.

Today was his birthday. The big 2-7, or something. To make up for ruining his life, his brother had taken him out to party at the casino, fed him drinks and supplied the illicit substances, paid for the hotel room atop the casino and even ordered a hooker.

Tommy had tried to tell him no to the whore, but Eddie insisted. Tommy had screwed enough sluts in the past year to figure out one thing: no one was ever going to be as good as Alison was.

He sat on the edge of the bed, bent over a hand mirror, snorted a line of coke. That woke him up. He took a long drink from a bottled beer. He sparked up the joint. He opened the window to blow the smoke away. He snorted another line. It was almost midnight. How long had he been going now? They'd started drinking at noon...

But he wasn't drunk. He'd need stronger spirits than beer for that. Then came the knock on the door. He set the smoking joint in the ashtray and went to the door. He hoped the hooker wouldn't want too much coke, but he would share if she was fun.

He opened the door.

His jaw dropped.

"Alison?" he muttered, disbelieving, a wave of paranoid thoughts racing through his brain. Anger welled up quickly. He hadn't seen her since that day in court.

"What the fuck? Is this some kind of sick joke? What the fuck are you doing here? Where's Eddie?" He pushed past her into the hallway, looking for his asshole brother. He turned to Alison.

"This isn't funny."

He was jumpy, abrupt, as pissed off as if the wound was still fresh, and when he pushed past her into the hall she nearly fell over. She stumbled back against the wall opposite his door and stared at him as he ranted about his brother. In the few moments that he stood in the hall, his head turning to look up and down like a bull about to charge, a lot of thoughts raced through her head.

First was anger. He had no right to practically knock her on her ass a year later. He had already divorced her and nearly ruined her life because of one stupid, drunk mistake. She knew it had been a terrible mistake, but she had given him everything. He had been the one who wouldn't forgive her. A year later, he was acting like it had just happened this minute.

Then came excitement. Despite everything, he was the only man she had ever really wanted. The real reason she hadn't been with anyone since was that none of them made her feel the same kind of reckless lust that he did, and she was feeling it right now.

Worry was hot on the heels of arousal. He looked like a train wreck, and the way he was acting was not right. As angry as he had been with her, he had never been violent with her. Whatever was happening with him, he wasn't the guy she knew, and she had a terrible awareness that she was the cause of the change.

The last thing, and the thing that she acted on, was the sick irony of what she had come here for. Her first client had ended up being her ex. God was a son-of-a-bitch with a cold sense of humor.

She laughed, though. A bitter, cold laugh. "You spent the last month we were together telling me I was a whore," she said. "And you were right. Now I am one." She looked away from him, feeling herself on the verge of tears all of a sudden, and then she pushed herself off the wall and put a hand on his neck.

"Tommy," she whispered. "I love you. You're the only man I ever wanted. You paid for someone to fuck and I'm here. Use me. Do all that shit you wanted to when we were married, that I was too scared to try. I don't care. I just want to make it up to you."

He couldn't believe what she was saying. He shut the door behind him as he stalked past her into the room, stopping short when she touched his neck.

Her words stung, it was true. He stepped away from her, in spite of his desperate longing for her touch, and turned away. His mind raced.

"Don't tell me you love me," he said. He closed his eyes, his thoughts racing through his coke-addled head in a blur. So much had changed in the past year; he was clearly not the same man he used to be.

"I have a hard time believing you could handle all the things I would want to do with a whore..." he said, trailing off, his mind wandering wildly through a thousand erotic thoughts.

Part of him wanted to push her away, make her leave, so she couldn't see him like this, so maybe he could one day forget that she now really was a fucking whore...

The dark part of him, the part he'd been feeding for the past year, wanted to pull her down to his level.

He shrugged, still facing away from her. "I don't know. Maybe you can. You're a big girl." He sniffed, a little remnant cocaine that was stuck in his nostril hitting his brain with a jolt of electricity.

"How long have you been doing this?"

She shook her head, seeing the mess that the room was, seeing the empty bottles everywhere and the coke on the mirror and biting her lip. She knew he had used drugs before they were married, but she had always thought of that as some other person. Now he was here, in her face, with his eyes wide and bloodshot, and nervous, twitchy energy boiling out of him, just a step away from violence.

"This is the first time," she said. She knew how unbelievable it sounded. The fact that it was true was almost irrelevant. "I was desperate. I've been so alone and money's so tight, I thought, you know ... two birds with one stone."

She took a step towards him. The truth was that this person in front of her frightened her. His anger had always been a little scary, and fueled on drugs and drink, it was a hundred times worse. She wanted to run away, get the hell out of there before he blew up, but she couldn't leave. She still wanted him. She still loved him.

At the time, she had screamed that it wasn't her fault, that he had gotten her drunk, that he was overreacting, that he should forgive her, that he had probably cheated on her. Now, standing in that room and seeing what had happened to him, what she had made him, she knew none of that really mattered. What mattered was that she had the chance to fix it.

"Tommy," she said. "I can handle it. Even if I can't, don't you think you deserve it?"

He raised an eyebrow when she said it was her first time. He wasn't sure he believed her, but he saw the look in her eyes, and knew she was being honest.

"Well, you're my first real whore, too," he said, scratching his head and looking at the ground. This was awkward.

And then she appealed to his selfish side, the dark side that he'd allowed to dominate his life ever since the divorce. She insisted she could handle it. His thoughts raced back to a time when they were married and he'd tried to coax her out of her shell, but the most adventurous thing they did in bed was the reverse cowgirl every once in a blue moon.

He'd stopped using any drugs when they got together, as she had never done them and had no interest in them. She had laughed and blushed at the proposition of going to a strip club together or even of her giving him a proper lap dance.

Nevermind the way she freaked out the one time he'd put his hand on her throat and squeezed a bit...

Her holier than thou life had clearly come crashing down around her, as she was now hooking. She definitely had the body to earn $500 a night... But she was going to be in for a world of surprises.

"You're right," he said, walking away from her again and back over to the smoking joint. He took a long drag off it, the smoke clouding his mind pleasantly. "I do deserve it. One night to do everything I ever wanted that you were too much of a prude to even try."

Okay, that was a bit harsh, but he couldn't take the words back once they were spoken. He turned to face her, and offered her the joint.

"Smoke it," he said.

She bit back a retort when he called her a real whore. She knew that he had said it to hurt her, and it had worked. At the same time, he was right. Not only had she cheated on him with his own brother, but she had come here to fuck a stranger for money and let him do god-knows-what to her, on the stupid assumption that nobody would ever find out. She could almost hear Eddie telling him "Get a whore that looks just like her, and then fuck the shit out of her til you're over it."

Well, he couldn't possibly find a whore that looked more like her. Shewatched him carefully as he lit the joint, wrinkling her nose as she caught a whiff of the sickly sweet smoke. He almost seemed to have forgotten she was there as he took a big hit, and then accepted her offer. Except when he said it, it felt more like a threat. Then he held the joint out to her, finally looking at her again, and told her to smoke it.

She stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened, but she took the joint. He knew she had always been against drugs, and in fact, she had insisted that he quit before she married him. She had suspected him of getting high behind her back a few times during their marriage, but she had never had proof. Now she had no choice but to smoke. She tried smoking it like a cigarette, instead of taking deep drags and holding them, but even so, she felt a fog settling down over her mind.

Then she started to think of all the things he might make her do, and she thought maybe it was a good thing. She realized that it had been getting fucked up that had fucked everything up in the first place, and thought how fucked up it was that she was trying to fix it by getting fucked up again. She started to giggle. At the same time, she felt herself getting warmer. In some weird way, putting herself at Tommy's mercy turned her on.

He watched her as she smoked the joint, and found himself enjoying the view. The tight little black dress she wore accentuated her womanly curves in the best way possible. His eyes lingered in her cleavage, plenty on view and enough to make him want to see a lot more, even if, technically speaking, he'd seen it all before countless times.

"Nice dress," he said.

But she was clearly a different woman now; the fact she was standing there, a whore, smoking a joint, was more than enough proof of that, and as he looked at her he felt the same excitement he felt whenever he was about to nail someone new to him.

Except this was, of course, quite different. He felt blood rushing to his loins as his desire for her built. Hadn't he been fantasizing about this for too long now? Having his way with her... punishing her for how she had hurt him?

She finished the joint and giggled; he could tell she was high already from her half-closed eyelids and bloodshot eyes. She'd admitted she was lonely, and desperate for sex, which was why she'd started hooking.

He wasn't about to give her what she wanted so quickly though. He was definitely going to make her work for it. He wanted to make sure she reslly felt like a whore first.

"You know, I've always heard that one of the most amazing feelings in the world happens when a whore snorts a line of cocaine off your dick," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Come here. Get down on your knees."

He unfastened his belt and jeans, and pulled them down, along with his briefs, exposing his long, thick, semi-stiff cock to her. He carefully raked out a fat line of coke on the mirror, scooped it onto a credit card, and then laid it out along the top of his dick. He offered her a short plastic straw.

"All good whores love themselves some coke."