Photo Story No. 9

I didn’t realize when I responded to a post on Craigslist for a nude model that I would end up a tabletop piece in a call girl’s hotel room. A hundred in cash per night for three hours work. I thought I would be sitting for an artist or a class, maybe even serving as a sushi platter at a party. Instead, I found myself lying with my face toward the action breathing in sweat and the thick scent of body fluids mixing.

I did it a few nights, just to make some easy extra cash. What I told myself was the last night really was my last night, but not because I put my foot down and told her not to contact me again.

That night, at the climax of her first customer, I watched him writhe under her before wrenching his hands around her throat. I thought it was part of the play until I saw her hands lashing at his to pry them off. He squeezed so hard it forced her tongue from her mouth and saliva ran down her chin. His back arched higher and his eyes rolled back into his head, releasing a guttural noise that sounded like his last breath escaping. His hands tightened once more and a material sounding snap made me jump and shake the table I was on. I initially wanted the sound to be a bed post splintering under the weight of the commotion. The noise came from her neck snapping though, and when he pulled his fat fingers from around her swollen throat, her head fell back loose and hung from the bed. Her wide eyes looked dead at mine, and I felt her asking why I hadn’t helped.

Fatso stood from the bed and wiped himself clean with her blouse, then dropped a hundo on her chest. He waddled my way, ding a ling bouncing between his stark white thighs, and tucked three more bills between my toes. “Now that’s what a woman should be. Smart and silent. Thanks for not fucking that up by interrupting. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay just like that until I’m good and gone.”

I swallowed so many pills that night I wasn’t sure I’d wake up the next morning. When I did, I made coffee, scrambled eggs, and watched the morning news. Like nothing happened, I watched the morning fucking news.




Copyright WB Welch – All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

To see the photo that originally inspired this story, visit the Instagram link below.

Photo Story No. 9


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