Free The Hooker: A Reprehensible Acts Story by Simon Wood Page B

to a dead end two hundred feet in.   Lance stopped half a car’s length from the
dead end, letting his high beams reflect off the concrete and back into the
Jeep’s interior.
    “Money
first,” she said.
    “This
one’s on me,” Lance said and handed her three twenties.
    She
slipped the cash into her bra.   “Don’t
look so nervous, baby.   Come here,” she
said to me.
    I
didn’t move.
    Lance
leered. “Batter up, pal.”  
    I
clambered into the backseat, next to Hope, and let her get to work.   She unbuckled my belt and unzipped my
pants.   Her hands delved inside my shorts
and she pulled out her prey.
    “Oh
my,” she said, massaging my dick.   “I
don’t think your little lady is going to be disappointed on her wedding night.”  
    If
it had come from Jane, my fiancée, or any other attractive woman, I would have
been as stiff as a board.   But Hope
didn’t summon up those impulses.   The
whole situation made me squirm.   This
wasn’t my thing for so many reasons.   “I
bet you say that to all the boys.”
    “No,”
she said matter-of-factly.   “But I do, do
this for all of them,” she said and descended into my crotch, swallowing my
shaft.
    “Oh,
you go girl,” Lance cackled.
    Even
if I was getting my whistle wetted, I wasn’t getting aroused.   I wish I could blame it on the booze but it
was more mental than physical.   My limp
libido was fueled by embarrassment and guilt.   Here I was less than forty-eight hours from a lifetime commitment of
marriage getting a blow job from a prostitute in front of my best friend.  
    She
stopped when she realized that in spite of all her hard work, nothing was
happening.   “Don't be shy.   Just lay back, close your eyes and let Hope
work her magic.”
    I
nodded.
    Her
mouth descended upon me again.   Our gazes
met and she winked.
    I
followed Hope’s instructions and let my head roll back and closed my eyes.   I detached myself from the situation,
imagining whose mouth I did want sucking on me.   Film stars and singers scampered across my mind, and things started
looking up.
    She
wanted me for Lance’s sixty bucks and I wanted her for her wet mouth.   Hope broke her hold for a moment to mutter a
couple of words of encouragement.   I
placed a helping hand on her head and guided her to a steady rhythm.   
    “Don’t
wear yourself out, Hope,” Lance said.   “Remember, you’ve got me to do next.”
    My
fingers weaved themselves into her hair.   I was getting close, climax was only moments away and my hand tightened
into a fist.   Hope bobbed down to swallow
me again.   This time, my guiding hand
didn’t keep time with Hope’s head and I felt her hair come away in my
hand.   Not just a few errant strands or
even a handful, but all of her hair, as if she had been on chemotherapy.
    “Oh,
fuck, man!”   Lance said then laughed.
    I
leaned forward, my eyes snapping open.   I
was holding a wig.   But that wasn’t what
caused my dick to shrivel.  
    Lance
burst into fits of laughter.   “Fuck, it’s
a dude!” Lance got out between laughs.  
    I
couldn’t speak.   My tongue clung to the
top of my mouth, unable to free itself.   Maybe I’d been too drunk to see.   Maybe Hope’s makeup was too thick.   I honestly hadn’t thought Hope was a guy, but I could see it now.   Without the wig, any feminine features
evaporated.   It was obvious Hope was a
guy, not a hint of doubt.   The worst
thing was I didn’t have a clue what to do.
    Hope
stared out from my groin with spittle-soaked lips.   Panic flashed across her…his…face.   The transgender remained stone still.   We all did.
    “Fan-fucking- tastic .   Christ, I
don’t know why I listen to you.”
    “Everybody
be cool.”
    “Be
cool?” Lance spat.   “You’re a fucking
guy.   You’ve just been sucking my man off
and you want us to be cool about it?”
    “Honey,”
she said to me, “look at it this way, a mouth is a mouth and a dick