Girls Girls Girls

Cady Vishniac
| Fiction

Her first appointment is one of the new clients, so she makes him show her his ID. He says no way, but then he stops and says, “Fuck it,” and reaches into his pocket.

He pulls off his belt and lets his pants fall to the floor and holds his surprisingly long dick in his fist. He asks her what a nice girl like her is doing in a place like this, and she says, “I like to pay bills for my mom. She can’t work since my grandma had a stroke. Plus, I’m in school.”

He ejaculates immediately. She gets him some water from the hotel room’s kitchenette and talks more about college, because that’s clearly what he’s into. “I’m pre-med,” she says. “I’m an honors student.”

The second time around is more successful, with Elkie on top. The man grits his teeth to keep from coming again. Elkie makes up a story about sleeping with one of her TAs, a lesbian tryst, in exchange for an A. The man calls her his little slut.

“Was your mom a little slut, too?” he asks. “I bet you come from a long line of nymphos.”

Elkie keeps moving up and down on him in steady rhythm. Her thighs are cramping, so she leans forward to grab the headboard. She doesn’t want to talk about her mother this way, so she says, “Could be. I could inherit a vulnerability for addiction in general, which could be expressed as sex addiction. If my mom acted on a sex addiction, then a theoretical addiction gene, or really it’s genes, would be more likely expressed in her, and therefore more likely passed on to me. That would fall under environmental impact, I think. I’m taking a class that’s sort of about this.”

At first she feels like she’s blown it with the mini-lecture, but the guy pumps his hips faster. Without warning, he reaches up an arm and wraps his hand around her neck. Tighter and tighter. He makes eye contact the whole time, the way Don would when Elkie was on top. Only Don never strangled her. Only Don’s eyes were a piercing green, and this man’s eyes are a boring grey. Elkie doesn’t let herself cough or gasp or even look surprised.

“Smart girl,” he groans as he comes again, “teaching me like this.”

He leaves five minutes early. She uses the extra time to hop in the shower, then she turns her phone back on. Her next appointment has already texted asking for the room number, so she texts it back to him. Then she goes back to her conversation with Don’s wife:

    Don:         Were you having an affair with my husband?
    Crystal:     It’s more like he was helping me. He found me in a bad
                    situation and he showed me how to do something else.
    Don:         What was the situation?
    Crystal:     I had a job but I didn’t like it. He showed me how to find a
                    better job.

Cady Vishniac studies Yiddish and Hebrew at the University of Michigan. Her work has won the contests at New Letters, Mid-American Review, Greensboro Review, and Ninth Letter, and is forthcoming in Glimmer Train.

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