The road they traveled, she and her ‘John’, was semi-dark.
Occasional headlights from an approaching car, or two, lit briefly its dividing lines.
Seneca disengaged her view from their bright yellowness.
She strained her already tired eyes and peered into the darkness, trying to see the house, it’s barren front yard.
She remembered its brick exterior~dingy, dirty, uninviting.
A water stain on it’s left side made it almost as hideous as a B rated horror movie character’s face.
Cracked granite steps worn down by too many footsteps added to its lack luster appearance.
Even still it was the house where she took her many ‘Johns’.
It was the house where they made her feel good, and where she did her best to please them.
“Pull to the left here.”
‘John’ nodded to show he understood.
“Is this the place?”
“Yeah, this is it. Home sweet home.”
Seneca briefly let a giggle escape her lips and then became poised again.
‘John’ slowed the blue Chevrolet Malibu and veered to the left, leaving the road. The car coasted to a stop under a tree in front of the house.
“Should I give you the money now?”
Seneca rolled her eyes upward and then looked at ‘John.’ Sometimes ‘John’ got so nervous he forgot the conversation by phone, the fake words she drew him in with, the ones she said to make him think he knew her, knew what she wanted, knew what she needed. Somehow ’John’ always forgot you never talk money before you get into the room.
Seneca slid nearer to ‘John’ and placed her hand on his thigh. She rubbed it softly back and forth from the knee to his groin almost. She teased him, provoking a reaction with each stroke. As she caressed his thigh, she darted her tongue swiftly into his right ear and then out. ‘John’ sighed heavily, opened his legs wider and hoped her hand would find its way to his belt buckle. Her hand left his thigh momentarily then deliberately sought it out again and squeezed it.
“Are you ready to go in?”
“I’m ready, baby!” Her ‘John’ breathed heavily like a panting dog.
With a final caress of his crotch, Seneca removed her hand, scooted back to the passenger side of the car and opened her door. ‘John’ was ready and she was too; ready to see the night over with so as to relax and think of ways to spend the donation he’d leave her.
Out of the Malibu, the pair made their way to the trodden steps and up them to the door. Seneca inserted her key, effortlessly letting herself in. She stepped inside and turned to her ’John’.
“This way, hun.”
She led him down a dark hallway to a dimly lit room. The light came from a cheap Family Dollar store lamp she’d liked, and was a dark brick red. An elongated, circular shadow fell over the dresser’s edge. Parallel to the dresser and a few feet away sat her bed. A flowery, chintzy bedspread donned the used mattress. Flattened pillows in flowery pillowcases sat near the dark plywood that substituted for a headboard. Despite its cheap feel, the room was warm. Seneca hated 'mingling' in a cold room.
“You can put the money on the dresser now.”
Seneca watched as ‘John’ walked over to the dresser from where he stood by the door. One, two, three, four crisp $100 bills were placed on the dresser’s top, fan-like.
“That make you happy, baby?’ ‘John’ asked.
He turned to face her from the dresser. The light fell eerily on his white shirt, projecting his 6′ 3″ frame onto the wall.
"Yes, very happy, baby. Very happy."
Copyright © 2010 Satice James, All Rights Reserved.