A March of Marys, day nine
This bus won’t crash because I can’t die. If I die the story will be over, and it doesn’t end yet.
It is day 9 of A March of Marys. Today’s installment is a continuation of the chapter from yesterday. If you missed yesterday’s post, please take a few minutes and read it here.
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*
We meet Bernard at his place in West Philly. He sat on his bed watching us with broken puzzle pieces in his eyes and rolled a blunt, studying the two of us together from his throw pillow throne.
‘You brought me a snow bunny,’ Bernard says. I am standing next to Rebekah like a child stands next to her mom in front of a stranger watching for guidance. I shift my weight and put my hand on my hip to keep my fingers from shaking.
‘How do you two know each other.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘She’s cool,’ Rebekah says. ‘We met at my new job.’
He laughs and points at me, says ‘come here,’ and hands me a gallon ziploc bag with fifty dubs tucked inside and explains how the payments and the split will work and I am trying to listen but all I can think is I wish I was better at listening to instructions or directions and wishing I had brought a notebook or something to write this down and I’m nodding my head and trying to follow but I keep staring at his moustache. He looks so serious. He stops talking and I stop nodding. I can’t tell if Bernard can’t take me seriously or if he thinks I’m cute.
‘Can I hit that,’ I say to Bernard, nodding my head sideways indicating the blunt.
‘Yeah, you can get it,’ Bernard says.
*
Flirtatious statement to address the callers, aggressive/hot remarks. Acknowledge, but then redirect.
<<I feel frisky, my neighbors in the upstairs apartment have been having sex for hours and I’ve been laying here playing with my clit and listening to them and now I’m dripping wet. Do you have noisy neighbors.>>
<<Your voice is putting me in a particular mood, it’s kind of like listening to Marvin Gaye. You know ‘let’s get it on…’ What kind of music puts you in the mood.>>
<<My nipples got so hard just when I first heard you speak. I just want to lick my fingers and give them a rub. Imagine your fingers rubbing my nipples for me. Do you like having your nipples sucked on or rubbed.>>
Is your pussy wet. <<Of course it is, you’ve got me going and I’m soaking wet, I’m in the mood… What do you like to do to get in the mood.>>
<<Are you always wild or are you romantic with other girls.>>
Let me hear you moan… <<Oh baby I would love to moan for you. I love it when I can satisfy my man and he can satisfy me. Tell me, are you always this wild or are you more of a romantic type.>>
I want you to get me off right now… <<Baby, I would be more than happy to do that, especially since you just seem so kinky. What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done.>>
*
Rebekah and I take the stuff back to my place and sit in the living room watching The Wire, hoping to learn some tips.
'How are we going to get customers,' I say. 'I mean, besides just telling my friends, what do I need to do.'
'There’s this house that is always throwing parties, I’m friends with one of the bouncers,' Rebekah says. I imagine us posted up inside a crumbling Victorian, sitting in a small alcove near the kitchen and drinking slowly. Waiting for business to come to us. It is a sexy idea.
Joan moved out a while ago with Carlo to do a study abroad or teach English somewhere and left me with a bunch of boys who say gross things to me about my outfit choices like ‘nice fuck me shorts’ and are otherwise not very friendly unless I am holding a blunt. They have asked me once in the past to not smoke cigarettes in the living room but I’m not trying to sit on the stoop because the neighborhood is sketchy and it’s already late and Rebekah and I are studying The Wire but it’s mostly me studying it because Rebekah has sold before with another friend who ended up not being very good at selling. I need to keep watching.
Smoking a cigarette won’t do any noticeable damage to a place that is already a dump. Smoking a few cigarettes or even a pack won’t change that the house is roach infested. The couch is coated in a film of body grease and bike grease and dried sweat and I just found out that the cat who doesn’t belong to anyone but lives in our house has fleas.
I light a parliament. I offer the box to Rebekah and she takes a cigarette out. My parents don’t know I have this new job, they really don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t either and I don’t want them to wonder how I’m able to pay rent so I’m pretending to look for a legit job, something at my school maybe.
Rebekah fingers a lock of my hair, still short, and brushes it behind my ear. 'You should buy newports next time,' she says.
I’m ambitious and clueless and I want to be like Omar.
*
What are you doing.
watching the sex tape I made last night
listening to my roommate and her boyfriend having sex next door
painting my nails and watching Girls Gone Wild and getting really horny.
trying on this new lingere set I bought yesterday. Let me tell you what it looks like.
laying on my bed, lightly fingering myself under my clothes. Let me tell you what I’m wearing.
Think two steps ahead. Part lover, part private investigator, part therapist.
Hot girl = 18 — 25
<<Are you horny. Me too, I’m so glad we have something in common.>>
Hot statements
I have a secret to tell you– I’m not wearing underwear.
I’m so glad you called because I’ve been laying here watching porn and I’m getting so horny. I haven’t had sexyet today and last night feels like forever ago. When was the last time you fucked a hot girl.
The air conditioner is on really high in my apartment and it’s making my nipples hard. Do you like hard nipples.
Redirect the conversation to something mundane, something that makes sense. What kind of girls do you like. What turns you on.
If a caller tries to give you his phone number, say <<Oh, I’m so flattered but my daddy would kill me. But let me give you my four digit private number so you can call me later.>>
*
Rebekah and I cut our hours at the call center. We’re making enough money going to parties and nightclubs a few nights a week and selling to our friends and people the bouncers send over to us.
We’re dipping into the supply. But we’re selling enough that it doesn’t matter. And no one has complained about the slightly short bags yet.
Rebekah sleeps over a lot. We share my twin bed and it’s like a sitcom scene the way we take turns rolling and squeezing in to get a spot not too lumpy and not touching the wall or falling off. We cuddle and spoon and I feel like a little cat, like a little pet, next to Rebekah. She is a real human and I am a cartoon, a silly thing that can’t possibly be real. We hold our bodies together and we kiss sometimes and I forget there is anything to come down to.
*
Inclusive statements (use the 5 senses)
Touch: Tell me what it feels like
Taste: Tell me how it tastes
Sight: Tell me what you see
Hearing: What do you hear.
Scent: What does it smell like
Be very descriptive.
Timing (pause when necessary)
Assertive & erotic voice.
*
Rebekah is housesitting for her friend who owns a beauty shop downtown near Market street and has a big house in suburban New Jersey. Rebekah calls me up one day while I’m babysitting to tell me and to invite me to a party she is throwing at the house that night.
‘I’m gonna order the Mayweather fight,’ Rebekah says, ‘Can you get a ride.’
‘I’ll figure something out,’ I say.
The guy who I met on Broad street a few weeks earlier when I was walking home after having lunch at Christina’s place, who told me he liked my haircut and because I stopped and said ‘thanks’ kept talking at me for at least thirty minutes and repeatedly called himself a bicentennial baby, a seventy-sixer, keeps texting me to hang out.
‘Do you have a car.’ I type and press send.
The kids are already in bed, I’m just waiting for the parents to get home. I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror and adjust myself. My hair is poofy from humidity. I walk outside onto the back porch and smoke a cigarette.
The guy from Broad street texts me back. ‘Yeah, where are you.’
I text him the address and tell him I’ll be done in an hour. I go inside and watch music videos. Lots of people drinking pink champagne and wearing fancy shoes. Motivation. Wait till I get my money. Right.
*
Dominance
Greeting
What is your interest or fetish
Go into your description (Think: where am I going to take him, which scenario)
Start the scenario (no chit chat)
Libido check (30 seconds)
Pace yourself
Be detailed and descriptive
Ego stroke & praise
Correct/admonish caller when he does something wrong.
<<Hello, this is Queen Magdala. To whom am I speaking What is your interest or fetish.>>
Make them spank themselves.
<<Good boy. It pleases me when you follow my directions.>>
<<It pleases me when you obey.>>
<<Are you willing to cross all fetishes.>> A slave is trained to do anything.
<<If I told you to put your toothbrush in the toilet and then use it, would you do it.>> A slave would do it.
<<You belong to me, don’t you.>>
<<Tell me that you belong to me.>>
<<Are you touching that cock. You’d better not be touching that cock– that cock belongs to me. Put your hands by your side.>>
<<I can see you touching it. Stop. That cock belongs to me.>>
13 inch black leather riding crop
B/D — bondage & discipline
S/M — sadomasochism
Make him say your name every time.
<<Let’s move on.>>
Footworship (clean or dirty)
dirty– unwashed, crusty socks
humiliation– public, private, verbal
Body worship — his bare skin cannot touch my bare skin
cuckolding — wants to see his wife have sex with another man.
*
I’m telling the parents that their kids were well behaved and brushed their teeth and went to bed on time and yadda yadda yadda and taking the twenty dollars an hour they paid me and the doorbell rings and it’s the guy from Broad street, all gangly and eager waiting on their doorstep like a reverse Lurch. The dad answers, and I try to jump ahead and say, ‘oh this is my friend here to take me to a party in New Jersey,’ and kind of trip into the umbrella stand, and grab my bag hanging on the hat rack by the door and say thank you good night and slip out.
The guy from Broad street has an Oldsmobile parked down the block. It’s his friend’s. His friend is driving. I sit in the backseat and we listen to the oldschool radio station. A Prince song comes on and I feel okay as we’re crossing the bridge into New Jersey and I feel like I’m getting away with something but I may not be. There have been so many times where I’ve taken weird chances with long odds but nothing ever happens. I always end up where I need to. I used to ride the bus as a child and think, I can’t die. This bus won’t crash because I can’t die. If I die the story will be over, and it doesn’t end yet.
We follow the directions I wrote down and make it to the housesitting party with only a small amount of small talk which I do not presently remember.
We walk inside and they look out of place, and I feel embarrassed like I can’t believe I brought these guys. I don’t think Rebekah knows what to think of them either.
She pulls me aside and takes me upstairs to the master bedroom. There is a plate on the nightstand. Rebekah hands it to me. ‘Thank you.’ We go back downstairs and join the rest of the party in the backyard where a blunt is being passed around.
I am writing in a notepad and I think I’m writing really interesting lyrics about being in the suburbs and how even though it’s quiet and pretty in the suburbs there is still plenty of shady stuff happening everywhere, maybe even more. Idle idyllic hands.
‘Why are you writing at a party,’ says Bernard. I show the notepad to him.
‘This doesn’t flow, how would you rap this.’
‘This tastes funny,’ Rebekah’s cousin says, passing the blunt.
I demonstrate a few bars but Bernard just shakes his head.
‘This tastes like wet,’ says Bernard, holding up the blunt and looking at the guy from Broad street.
The guy from Broad street looks confused and says, ‘it’s just weed.’
Rebekah’s cousin stands up and walks over the the guy from Broad street and says, ‘who are you anyway,’ and one of Rebekah’s friends says, ‘I think you two guys need to go.’
‘We just came to watch the fight and hang out with you all.’ The guy from Broad street is standing with the guy who owns the Oldsmobile, backing up slowly towards the garden gate ushered by Rebekah’s cousin and friend.
‘I just needed a ride to get here,’ I say to Bernard.
‘Come with me,’ Bernard says to me, and we go inside unnoticed while the others show my escorts out.
*
MILF — mom I’d like to fuck
Hot Moms
between ages 35 and 60
should have children, no responsibilities
parent teacher conference scenario
Horny Housewife — married woman,
between ages 25 and 45 years old
has a lot of free time
turned on by sex with someone other than her husband
sexually experienced
scenarios
neighbors returns lawnmower
sleeping with business partner
swapping husbands
cellulite, saggy boobs, plastic surgery, weekly massages, gardening & kickboxing
get hot right away: Flat 15 , Hot Movie
*
Bernard takes me upstairs into a guest room where there is a treadmill and a queen size bed. He closes the door. I sit on the bed and spread my legs and Bernard walks over and puts a knee between my legs and I close my thighs around it and pull him down on top of me. I feel the full weight of his body on top of mine and think about a butter choked waffle and letting go and feeling like I am being pushed into metal springs like total clarity.
‘Hey Mary,’ Bernard says and my trance is broken and I smile a little bit and push his back down.
He closes his eyes and rolls me around so that I’m on top and I recite in my head all of the different scenarios I used on the phone.
I feel like a simulation, like a robot just watching. I am moving my body and it doesn’t feel like a real body. I am probably coming. Bernard’s eyes are open and staring at me. His mouth contorts like he is full of expectation, like he has watched this play out so many times, like he is weighing his options. Bernard puts his hands on my ass and guides me like he is giving me a tutorial on how to operate some piece of equipment, the kind you probably shouldn't be maneuvering when you're drowsy or under the influence. I forget and slip and light as a feather and stiff as a board and I close my eyes and let his hands guide and become static and I can breathe.
We adjust ourselves and return to the living room where the Mayweather fight is fifteen minutes in and sit on separate couches. Rebekah gives me a funny look as I sit on the cushion next to her and rests her hand on my arm.
*
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Missed yesterday’s post? Read it here.