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As I drew closer to him, I smelled something rancid. He led me back to the suede couch where he had sat on my face months prior and we chatted, I’m not sure what about.His musky underarms combined with the smell of feet, urine, cum, a day of hard work at the office, and god knows what else. I asked him vague questions about his business trip and how he had been. I swallowed hard, clinked my glass to his, and said, “Well, cheers to that,” and opened my painted lips like a broken toy doll. I held my breath to avoid inhaling too much of the scent that my memory had done such a good job of suppressing until now. Wordlessly I unbuckled the straps of my favorite sandals, shimmied out of my skirt, and took off my sweater. Staring like a hungry wolf, he sat opposite me, wet circles of sweat swelling beneath the armpits of his dress shirt.I didn’t think today was a day I would lose my life, and had I been at real risk of being murdered, I thought to myself, the situation and the risks incurred by my potential resistance would carry a far different weight.I remembered the expressions on the faces of the doormen as I entered.Without pause I hopped off the bed and flew as quickly and gracefully as possible into the bathroom to wash myself off.“Wow, that felt great,” he exhaled into the comforter.In a feeble, but valiant attempt to hold back my disgust, I traced the surface of his crinkled khakis. I giggled at the right times and smiled at others, trying to hold eye contact without collapsing like a house of cards. He said none of that mattered now, that this was his last stop, and that he had been looking forward to seeing me for months. He pushed the hair out of my face and informed me that we were going to the bedroom. I thought about the money at the other end of this, grabbed his hand, and with put-on girlish excitement, skipped to the bedroom, his sloth-like body in tow. My eyes met his, his pupils dilated, his hairy arm snaked across the firm mattress, and with two stubby fingers he pushed my sternum backwards into the gilded Egyptian cotton.

“This cannot happen without a condom.” I spoke as if I was scolding a small child. I tumbled onto a heap of butt plugs that he had bought just for the occasion. The long, yellowing nails of his hobbit fingers gripped my waistline, pulling me closer to his body, dragging my back into his sweating, hog-like body in hollow claps of slapping flesh. I knew I could get him on his back and even probably choke him if necessary.I told him I was extremely open, but for now the most important thing for him to know was that I needed him to use a condom when we had sex. I made some jokes and made him laugh because I knew the show wasn’t anywhere near being over yet. I arched my back into the mattress and opened up my legs, scanning down my naked body to the bedside table, where I’d conveniently placed several condoms in varying sizes.“Well, as we explore the world of BDSM together, we’ll see what your limits really are and if I can convince you otherwise.” A chill went down my spine, but I left the hotel room that day in one piece, with several hundred dollars extra in my pocket. He brought out a huge Hitachi magic wand and buzzed its circular surface up and down my pelvic bone, where he seemed to think my clit was located. “Oh, he’s getting excited now,” my client said, stroking the bulge buried in his gray boxer briefs. He started humping me, holding my knees into my chest.If I fought, he could retaliate and rape again, or worse.If I fought and ran into the streets, soaked by green beer, I could be followed by civilians seeking to save me from sex-trafficking, or worse, vigilante justice seekers looking to avenge my John for his injuries. New York state laws explicitly exclude prostitution from rape protection laws.

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