Free Matadora by Steve Perry

but she was tall and slim, and her breasts were already larger than her mother's or sister's. A lot of these men and women wanted her. One of them, a big brute wearing a freight handler's coverall, stared at her so hard that Dirisha imagined she could feel his touch. He sat with his legs spread wide, leaning back in a chair, drinking splash. When he saw Dirisha's glance, he reached down between his legs and stroked himself. The bulge there looked too big to be real; Dirisha hurriedly looked away, and back at Colin.
    To her right, she heard the freight handler laugh. The sound was coarse, and full of lust. The cold air suddenly felt too cold, and Dirisha shivered. She knew that kind of man all too well—she'd learned from her mother and sister what those men wanted. That one wouldn't be above rape, and hard rape, at that. Any orifice he wanted—likely all of them—and fists and feet added in for the fun of it. You could file a complaint with the Guild or if you were really stupid, you could call the cools, but it was part of the business on this world. There were two kinds of people in a stellar ship's port like Sawa Mji: users and used. Good timers got paid for it, but they got used, that was the thing.
    Dirisha looked back at the freight handler, who continued to stare at her.
    She suddenly felt as if her coverlittle covered nothing; as if the man could see her naked. He grinned.
    They reached a table. Dirisha sat first, a mistake. That put her looking at the freight handler. She pointedly looked away and at Colin, who was oblivious to all the byplay.
    There was no waiter working the floor and the com unit set into the scarred gray plastic table had long ago ceased to operate.
    "I'll get us something from the bar," Colin said. "What would you like?"
    "Splash'11 do it," she said. "But no hurry." She didn't want him to leave, for she was sure when he did, the big man eating her with his eyes would move on her. And that thought frightened her. She might be able to downtalk him, but maybe not. If the dork got physical, she couldn't handle that very well, and Colin wouldn't be much help.
    "I'll just be a minute," Colin said, as he stood to head for the bar.
    Oh, shit.
    Dirisha looked around. Six or eight pairs of eyes tried to forge a link with hers, including the handler's. No help from them, things went ugly. A short and smallish woman sat three tables down, snorting spirals of kick-dust; a few local good timers, men and women, cuddled up to clients. Hurry with the drinks, Colin, I'm alone here, really alone—
    The freighter handler stood, like some big beast awakening to feed. He padded toward her.
    Oh, shit! Colin, come on—!
    Up close, the man looked gross. He was dirty, his coverall stained with synlube and grime; he needed a depil wash and his breath stank. He leaned over almost to the point of touching Dirisha before he spoke.
    "What say we go someplace, dish? I got something special for you, a big surprise, you copy? Big."
    Dirisha shook her head, afraid. "I'm with somebody." She nodded toward the bar.
    Brute didn't bother to look toward the bar. "Kiddie brass won't fuss. He's uplevels, he's not gonna make ripples over the likes of you 'n' me. Come on."
    Dirisha felt her mouth go dry as the fear climbed higher in her. "N-no. I can't."
    "Am I gonna hafta tenderize you some, dish? I like it tender." He flexed the fingers of one big hand into a fist and held it under Dirisha's chin.
    Dirisha rode the edge of panic. He could hurt her, maybe real bad, before anybody could pull him off—assuming anybody wanted to bother trying.
    Dirisha swallowed dry-ness, and shook her head. "No. I'll go with you." She was so frightened she wanted to throw up, to pee, to scream and run. Maybe if she took good care of him, got him off fast and hard, he wouldn't beat her.
    That hope fell as she saw him grin and felt his fingers clamp onto her arm tightly enough to bruise.
    "What's happening here?"
    Colin! Dirisha felt a rush of relief.