These Words Are My Heart and Soul

To celebrate the end of things, a few days later, we went out. No, we didn’t drink cheap champagne (that would be rather predictable, no?). But only it wasn’t just me and Cariad and the three guys; Mikey had gone and invited the three girls from school and Gerard had brought Ray along. Matt, to my happiness (I didn’t like him much) was away somewhere.

So it was the… nine of us? Yeah. Cariad was surgically attached to Mikey at the waist and fingers, and Frank had me on a short leash. I know it seems it should have been the other way round, but I felt it best. I’d… acquired business, per se, in this bar before, in my times of hardship.

There were so many people. I don't know how I breathed, but I had my arms linked with Cariad's and Jess' for comfort. Hopefully, I wouldn't get lost. 5' 3" is kind of short, after all. Even Frank towered over me and he was almost classed as a midget.

Did I forget to mention? I got my period. A few days after the fight, which meant it was finished just in time to go out. Which means I wasn’t pregnant. Which meant I was lucky; it also meant I could drink.

“Two vodka and cokes, please,” Frank smiled at the barman.

I smiled at him and snuggled closer, pulling his arm round my shoulder and kissing his knuckles. He laughed at me and kissed that place on my head that he loved kissing so much; our relationship had progressed to the kissing stage again. There wouldn’t be any sex (much to my displeasure at my own rules) for a few weeks yet.

Cariad and Mikey got their drinks - a Bud for Mikey and a glass of three shots of Malibu for Cariad - and wandered to a table in the corner, still holding hands and giving the impression of being attached at the hip. I was glad they were okay, and back together; they made such a beautiful couple.

Frank and I went to a table too, one secluded away from everyone and everything. But we could see everything; well I could. Frank more or less had his back to it all. I got more comfortable in my seat, that was the comfy one bolted to the wall and floor, and put my feet up.

Me being me, I’d worn as nice an outfit as possible (which, in my words, meant as whore like and revealing as feasible). Thus, I was wearing: a black lacy ballet skirt that would barely qualify as a skirt; over the knee fishnet stockings; black ‘fuck-me’ heeled boots (meaning I was a good three and a half inches taller than Frank) that came to just bellow my knees; a top that was low collar and high hemmed, so it showed most skin between my belt and my ribs and most of my cleavage; and an unfastened hoody that clung tightly to my arms.

I’d chosen to wear these clothes on purpose, for the sole reason to drive Frank crazy. And of course, because I never committed to anything, to break my own stinking no sex for a while rule.

Fiddling with my zip, I purposely made it look like skillful pornography; it was seeable in Frank’s face that he was dieing to just rip our clothes off and ‘do it’ right there. But he did have some morals. My eyes drifted past him and I caught sight of Gerard watching from where he was sitting. His mouth was agape and his eyes were open. The color was increasing in his cheeks like the bulge in his pants.

It surprised me slightly that I still turned him on, and I smirked and ran a hand through my hair, looking up at them both with big eyes and sexy pout. Frank’s mouth was open now, and his legs were crossed. Smirking wider, I stood up and grabbed his collar.

I dragged him all the way to the girls bathroom, all the while moving myself against him and kissing his neck softly. One of his hands collided lightly with my ass and moved back and forth against my hip. I pulled him into the bathroom, pulling his arms round my waist and dragging him towards the sinks, where I sat in between two.

Spreading my legs slightly, I pulled him closer to me and kissed him roughly. He groaned and kissed back fiercely, smoothing his hands round my butt and pulling me closer to him. Wrapping my legs round him, I pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders; he aided it by shrugging it off. Frank pulled off my hoody and dropped it casually on top of his jacket, before pushing his hands all the way up my top, which made me squeak happily. His rock hard bulge pressed against me; he was all ready and set to go.

Just ‘cause because, I shoved him away, crossing my legs and folding my arms. He looked at me in disbelief, his eyes moving from me to his pants a few times, before starting to protest.

“That’s just not right! You don’t get a guy going and then leave him hanging! It hurts! You got me all worked up for nothing and now I’m so hard it hurts! Come ooooooooon!” he whined.

I raised an eyebrow and rolled my ankle slightly. He pouted, and I just smirked and shook my head. He looked at me as if asking what the hell he was supposed to do now, and I pointed lamely at the cubicles behind him. He scowled and wandered into one of them, unbuckling his belt.

It was a whole thirty seconds before I gave in. I hopped down off the sinks and clip-clopped over to the one Frank had disappeared into moments before. I knocked lightly and a still rather grumpy yet shocked looking Frankie opened the cubical door.

“Changed my mind,” I snickered, forcing my lips onto him and pushing him back into the cubical.

Locking it behind me, of course.

The only other people who came into the bathroom were people throwing up, women topping up make-up and other people doing what we were doing. When he was spent (and I mean that in the most respectable way possible J) we walked out, kissing happily. I adjusted my underwear and skirt, whilst Frank untwisted his shirt and zipped up his pants.

A lady, looking in her mid-thirties, frowned disapprovingly, but I just entwined mine and Frank’s fingers and beamed happily. Her expression softened and she smiled back, before going back to reapplying her lipstick. Frank bent down to pick up our jackets but I kissed him, and his hand slowly came to my waist. I pulled away and looked at him smiling. He smiled back and picked up our jackets. He pulled his own on then held mine up. I grinned and turned round, sliding my arms in and shrugging it upwards. He ran his hands down my shoulders and he kissed my neck. I closed my eyes and smiled to myself.

After that perfect moment, we left the bathroom holding hands and smiling. All the others had crowded round the table we’d left our drinks and my bag on; something told me it was Gerard’s idea. Seeing as he was the one who’d been watching us so intently.

I sat down between Gerard and Mikey and they both gave me identical smiles. I hated the way they both had the same look in their eyes, even when Mikey had his arm round a talkative Cariad’s shoulder, and Gerard was steadily growing into a deep conversation with Ellee. There was definitely something between them; I’m just not sure if they could see it yet.

“Another round?” Gerard asked rather squeakily.

I laughed at him and ended up snorting the last of my JD. My face morphed into a look that was a cross between horror, pain and shock. It made me sneeze, and drops of JD went everywhere and some dribbled out my nose. Everyone was pissing themselves laughing, so I just huffed, folding my arms and sinking into the chair.

“Aww!” Gerard and Mikey awed in unison.

With that, both their arms wrapped round me. I coughed from being squished and because I was feeling claustrophobic. They laughed and let me go, and my eyes strayed to Frank. He looked a little put out, so I climbed over the table, trying not to knock the last remaining dribbles of alcohol over, and fell comfortably into his lap. He just smiled and kissed me happily.

I don’t remember much else from that night. I swear I had a skin-full of alcohol, whether it have been JD’s or vodka and cokes, or Carling. But I know I was drunk as hell, and me and Frank sexed at home until we passed out from sexual exhaustion.

***
I felt incredibly lonely. Gerard had left me months ago, my baby was long gone and my mom was neglecting me for some bloke she met in a club. I was so alone in the world. So, in an attempt to drug myself and find a new sense of solace, I dressed up like a slut and stole my moms car, driving to the nearest club.

Fluttering my eyelashes a bit and lifting my skirt to show lacy panties, the bouncers let me in and I got served all the alcohol I wanted. A few quickies in the boys bathroom bought me enough alcohol to leave me almost getting a DUI from the fuzz, and ended up with me collapsed in a lonely bed with whatever fuck ugly twat I woke up to next to that Monday morning.

After that, there was no going back from prostitution . It started out as just an occasional thing. But, me being me, it got worse. It became more and more frequent, soon becoming every week, or twice a week. Until whoredom got the best of me.

Every night I’d steal the car keys from my mother and drive into town, flirting with the door jockeys to get inside and putting out freely, before coming home at three am and waking up for school at six the next morning, with a hairy arm belonging to a snoring ugly fuck wrapped round my waist.

I grew drained and exhausted, yet still passing my exams with flying colors. I didn’t record the times I got laid, obviously hardly enjoying most of them, and always used protection. Being pregnant once at sixteen was enough to scare me off for life.

My rates increased by the month, growing from five dollars a go to twenty, but somehow, guys felt it worth it. Like I had some sort of sex appeal or something, they’d give me a run for their money and be left feeling incredulously satisfied, like I was worth the twenty bucks a fuck.

So it began.

Eventually it escalated into them taking me home, and me charging fifty an hour, which usually resulted in between a hundred or five hundred, depending on how long the client was willing to keep paying for my… rather unorthodox services. I earned myself enough money to finally tell my mother I was moving out, at sixteen and a half, and find a whole new place in the bad side of New Jersey, somehow becoming the number one whorehouse in the state.

I sure as hell made a damn good living. At fifty an hour, I was able to get a big screen with a deluxe video player, a pool table, a pool itself, a whole new slutty wardrobe and employ other sluts (who, in the end, didn’t need paying because they earned their own living; that’s how I first and briefly met Cariad, incidentally). I was trash and I knew it, but at least I got paid for receiving abuse now.

But just how worth it was it?
***