One Last Kiss Read online



  The Kiss

  Kyle S. Taylor

  Copyright © 2015 Kyle S. Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  The Kiss

  She lay on the bed, smoking a cigarette and sipping a glass of wine as she waited for one of her regular clients to arrive. She preferred to call them clients because it sounded so much more professional than calling them “tricks” or “johns,” distasteful terms that the other girls used. Nor did she work for a madam - as she would tell it, her talents were simply marketed and promoted to those who desired them by her “procurer”; no different from an athlete or actor with an agent. It’s all about perspective, she always told herself - if you want to be different than the rest of them, you can’t think like the rest of them. And from where she was sitting, she was the star of the show.

  In a house full of downtrodden and rundown harlots, she was the rose which grew from the cement. A venomous rose, eager to prick those who were anxious to touch her with her poisonous thorns, but a rose nonetheless. The fact that clients were willing to shove out top dollar to experience the euphoric carnal bliss that only she could provide validated her reasoning. According to her clients, no other girl in that house was as skilled as her, which is why they never got as much attention. Because of that, they could never even dream of charging as much as she did. Then again, making money was never her prime objective in being there.

  Such adulation came to her as no surprise, however. She was beyond convinced she was in a class of her own - she always had been. Even as a teenager, her beauty and charm made her stand out from a crowd of girls. Boys had fought for the right to speak to her and would grow jealous when other boys had so much as looked her way. She had learned to embrace the scornful glances she would receive from other girls - even then women envied her, and she could not have cared less. She loved attention, craved it. It only amplified her inflated belief of her self-worth. The attention and infatuation she received at a young age were seeds planted within her that would eventually grow into arrogance; arrogance that would bloom effrontery; effrontery that convinced her she had the right to be the judge, jury, and executioner of men she deemed deserving of punishment.

  She lay on the silky red sheets, cigarette in one hand, glass of wine in the other, wearing nothing but her favorite robe. It always relaxed her - the soft, delicate fabric caressing her skin. So much so that it made her secretly wish her client would stand her up, allowing her to abandon her mission for one night and instead lie there and fall asleep while getting lost in her thoughts.

  As she lay there, listening to the raindrops tapping on her windowpane, those thoughts made their way to memories of years past.

  Rainy days always made her reflect on her childhood, when she lived in an area where such weather was not uncommon. A time before the hormones, the eager boys, and jealous girls; before she was corrupted by society and developed an insatiable hunger to dine on material possessions. Mother Nature’s torrential downpour made her reflect on days when she was much, much younger, and had nothing but innocent bones in her body. It was all so much simpler then, or at least it seemed that way. Nostalgia has a way of playing tricks on the mind. She often wondered if things were indeed as simple as she remembered them, or if she simply missed being a child with no responsibilities. If they were so great, why did her family relocate so often? Questions like those she knew would never be answered.

  Taking a puff on her cigarette, she blew a row of smoke rings in the air, her thoughts now drifting to that very family of hers; the family that had the answers to those questions; the family she had absolutely no love for. Her parents shunned her when she told them she was pregnant, as they did not condone her having a child out of wedlock. Despite all the conflicts they had prior, it was that decision to put her out their house years ago that was the first unforgiveable act.

  Not having many options, she ended up moving in with her boyfriend. They were both young, reckless, and convinced they were in love. Young love - the most passionate of loves that always seems to be fraught with naiveté. Like so many before them, they simply knew theirs was different and would stand the test of time. So convinced were they of this, they never batted an eye when they found out she was pregnant with their son, the very same pregnancy that earned her parents’ ire and led to her being evicted from their house. They were convinced that their child and her moving in with him was solid proof of their destined “happily ever after” ending. The fighting, fussing, and arguing while cohabitating however - that was never supposed to be a part of their fairytale.

  They fought incessantly, two young lovers still learning about one another, themselves, and how cruel the world can be. So used to getting her way, she demanded more from him than he was able to provide. He called her a spoiled nagger, ungrateful that he allowed her to live with him when she had nowhere else to go; she charged that as his duty as her boyfriend and the father of her child; he scoffed at that notion, saying he owed her nothing; she disagreed completely, and felt he owed her everything. Young lovers, the twinkle in their eyes for one another dimming by the day, the passion burning in their hearts eventually simmering to embers - welcome to heartbreak.

  Once she wore out her welcome, the relationship ran its course. By that time, however, she was able to live on her own, so she moved out, taking their son with her. She was forced to check her pride though, resigning herself to living in a seedy area far below her standards. Barely making ends meet, she got tired of having just enough money for her and her son to survive and nothing more. She was fed up with struggling almost daily, and searched for an easy route for money.

  She entered the world of adult entertainment as a dancer, mesmerizing both men and women with her slim figure and sultry dance moves, all while hypnotizing them with her grey-eyed gaze. The women were either hit or miss - some tipped well out of appreciation of her beauty and skill while others refused to tip her at all…because of her beauty and skill.

  She never had that problem with the men.

  Even as a novice dancer, the men who were easy targets were all too obvious. They were the patrons who spent loads of money to keep her performing near them. As soon as she set foot on stage, she would scan the room for them, her mischievous smile camouflaging a shark circling her prey. Once she caught their scent, she would make her way to them as she danced, never breaking eye contact as she pounced on their attention. The more money they tossed her way, the more blood she tasted in the water. They foolishly fantasized that she was only dancing for them, and draped her bronzed skin with their hard-earned money. They were even more generous during private dances.

  Her parents wasted no time in disowning her once they found out the professional path she chose to pursue, turning her other relatives against her as well. The jeers, snide comments, and insults they hurled at her drew blood in the beginning, but she eventually learned to deal with them. She viewed them as a crew of high and mighty, judgmental hypocrites. For a group of Bible-quoting Christians, she found their actions to be rather hateful, as they raised their noses towards Heaven while casting their eyes down upon her. What hurt most was how easily they seemingly cast her aside. It took some time for that wound to close, and this second unforgivable act left a scar that never did heal properly.

  Though they did not see it her way, in her mind, she was like any other entertainer in the world, simply profiting from her talent. If her family was blind to that fact, then that was their problem - it was not her job to make them see the light, not her job to make dumb people smart. It’s all about perspective.

  Her parents were not through with her, however.

  When they realized that none of their harsh words would sway her from changing her lifestyle, they resorted to hitting her where it would hurt the
most. Her parents convinced a judge it would be “detrimental to the welfare of her son” if he remained with her while she continued to work in such a distasteful profession. Her son was only four at the time, not old enough to fully comprehend what was going on, but old enough to know that he would not be living with mommy anymore. The sight of her teary-eyed son as they took him away that day was seared into her memory.

  That was the final unforgiveable act.

  That was the last time she saw him, her only child. She loved her son immensely, but it paled immeasurably to the anger and hate that festered in her heart towards her parents for their spiteful actions. She never forgave them, and her disdain towards them made seeing him impossible. A mother’s love overruled by a daughter’s hate - a sordid state of affairs, and a crime against nature’s natural order if there ever was one.

  To escape from the pain of her reality, she focused more on dancing, increasing the number of clubs where she performed. She was a natural - blessed with physical features most women had to pay for and inherent rhythmic movement that was spellbinding. More importantly, the more she danced, the more experienced she became at playing the game