Escorting Lissa by E. Doyle-Gillespie

I listened with my head cocked lazily to the side. It swayed and bobbed against the upholstery with each jolt of the cab. The couple had left me pretty worn-out and sore; I didn't feel like talking or even being awake. On nights like that, counting the neon signs usually works, but during that trip, there was nothing but a blur . That night Roth was driving. Roth always drives too damn fast; it was all just a jumble. It had been raining, and a fine film of droplets decorated the window. The light beams broke into little prisms for split seconds as we crossed the bridge into Perchbach, heading for my place.

For some reason, my garter belt had become tight and constricting. I'd had the thing on most of the evening, but now it suddenly decided to rub and pinch. All I could imagine was that I put it back on wrong or something. The trick required "something black," so I'd gone with knee-high leather boots with fat, chunky heels, black stockings, a short, tight, black, velvet skirt. Sophie had talked me into the belt, saying it made the look complete. She had done couples and said that they always got off on garters and shit like that. The whole slut fantasy thing. "You should always look sluttier than the wife," she advised through a cloud of Turkish smoke.

She caught me while I was dressing and showed me how to put my panties on over the garters so that they could come off and still leave me as the picture they wanted.

The wife didn't seem to notice the whole garter-stocking affair; she just wanted me to keep the boots on and kiss her slowly. It was the husband who ran his hands over the straps, muttering "Nice..." under his breath.

Her lips were sleek with a coffee-and-cream lip gloss, and she played out each kiss, sucking my lips and cupping my face. Her kisses were wet and juicy; she played with my lips and tongue forever - savoring me. We made those soft, wet smacking sounds as she made love to my mouth, and the h usband's hands came to rest on my mound. As he began to squeeze, she guided my hands to the delicate curves of her breasts.

"Renatta," he whispered to his wife.

Her nipples were hard against my palms. She didn't look up.

"Renatta...."

She was shuddering, her breath coming in broken rhythms and heaving sighs against my face. Trembling, her lips still fought to knead and suck mine. When the fingers finally started to sink into me, she was already coming.

"So...uh, how was your night tonight, huh?" Roth asked over his shoulder from the front seat. The grimy bullet-proof plastic muted his voice, but I could still swim in his smooth, warm words. Roth had a voice like old brandy and paving stones.

"Not too bad. Didn't get much sleep before I went out tonight, so I'm kinda'..."

"Hey, you could lay down back there and I'll wake you when we get to your place."

"Naw. I'll be okay. I'm just..."

I looked back at the city lights whizzing by.

We remained silent for a time. I watched him thread the wheel through his huge, shapeless hands, bobbing his head rhythmically from side to side. Roth didn't need to drive. He didn't need to spend his nights in this cab or behind a bar like he had for two years before this. The guy had taught literature for so many years in the University, he could settle back on his nice little nest egg, write his book and talk to his dog. He could live in a better place than a two-room above Conway's and he could wear something better than the layers of castoffs he bought at the Goodwill.

"Used to take Tommy there on Saturdays, " he told me once. That conversation was also passed through the antiballistic glass of this cab. "The Goodwill ... and the Salvation Army...you can find fine old stuff there. I used to tell him 'Look before you judge, Tommy. This is good stuff.' You know, you should look for books there. You can get some great titles for..." a shrug, " twenty-five cents. Fifty. You can find a better selection at that, uh, Eaton's Books. Eaton's Used Books. But you can still get some good stuff at the Goodwill. I got Tommy his first chess set there. It was an old beaten-up thing. An old ... an old wooden set in a beaten up old wood box. The box was a mess." His laughter came up from the diaphragm. "The box was falling apart at the hinges so we put the pieces in his granddad's old humidor. An old cigar box. We kept them there. Of course, then, the whole thing smelled like tobacco." Roth's laughter. "I kind of like that though. Hey, Lissa, do you play chess?"

I told him that I didn't.

"Next time you come over to Conway's, you find me. I'll come down and teach you. It's a good game. A good time. You get a little wine, some good food and you just play with a friend for however long. It's a good time. I'll teach you."

Maybe I'll take him up on that someday.

As we came off of the bridge, and paused at a red, Roth began to sing. He reached down through all of this debris to find a lullaby voice from ages ago.

"And the h..i..ll..s echo-ed...

And the h...i...ll..s echo-ed...

And the h...i...ll...s echo-ed..."

At a long light, I had time to read the door of The Lounge. A GENTLEMAN'S CLUB. LIVE NUDE GIRLS. Why did I know this one?

As the cab began to move again, I remembered. This was where I met Mr. Call Me Phil on the Night of the Big, Rich Rumanian. Another couple. No. It was a group. It was a couple and their friend, and their friend's friend - all of them waiting for me in the back of The Lounge.

That was only my second trick after moving to this city. Sophie told me before I headed off to "Stay loose. That place is full of tops. Don't worry, you'll be okay. They'll probably meet you there, drink, then take you over to the Motel 21." Full of tops . Right. So, they phone-ordered me - a professional bottom - and we all went off to the Motel 21.

That was the night that the bulky, ring-wearing Eastern European who'd hired me told me to get on my knees and hold him in my mouth. I remember the thick girth of his uncut cock stretching my mouth wide and filling me all the way to the back of my throat as the woman - pearls and Obsession - bound me up in Japanese knots. I remember my arms going numb.

Roth leaned forward and squinted as the rain resumed. He still sang. He didn't tell me any more stories for the rest of the trip. Tommy was in Rolling Green, in a plot that Roth had been saving for himself, and Roth hadn't slept through a whole night in ten years.

And the h....i...i...ll..s echo-ed

And the h...i...i...ll...s echo-ed

And the h...i...i...ll...s echo-ed

He sang, and I watched Perchbach roll by in the rain. Things started to click, and I could pick out the tricks and the places from dozens of nights. I caught the smell of hot wax and saffron as we passed the apartment where that Alex guy burned me all night with a slowly-melting, scented candle. He told me to stay on all fours while he passed the hot dribbles up and down my spine. When I flinched, a wire hanger collided with my ass.

"Don't move!" He grabbed a handful of hair and snapped my head back. "It doesn't move!" The worst burns are up around my neck.

I was a foot stool for him later, when he tired of the candle and decided to watch t.v.

I let my head roll again, so that I could see Roth's profile.

"Hey, Roth," I said. He couldn't hear me below the engine, and his singing, and the rhythm of the rain.