Page 55 of Fragments

Honestly, I think I’ve found my calling. Maybe that should worry me, considering what my profession entails… But it doesn’t.

Why would I worry? Becausesocietytells us it’swrong?

Who the fuck is society, anyway? What do they know??

Sex workers as a whole get a bad rep. It’s just a fact. As enlightened as humanity is pretending to be in this leg of the twenty-first century, they’re still pretty much the same people who burned women at the stake for beingdifferent.

And yes, I know they neveractuallyburned people in Salem. They hung them. Butburned at the stakehas a much better ring to it.

I can understand why the misnomer took off.

Man, I’d love to be burned at the stake. I even know what I’d shout while it was happening!

Back to the point, regardless of howwokesociety claims to be, they still put a stigma on people who love sex. The notion that all sex workers are diseased, toothless drug addicts living in the bathrooms at Port Authority is still very much alive, and it’s extremely offensive. In general, if you love sex and want to have it with lots of people, you’re looked upon as a damaged creature.

“Oh, man… What happened to them? Their parents must have really fucked them up.” Things like that.

Of course, casual and frequent sex is more widely accepted in the gay community than it is for women, which just hurts my heart for all the ladies out there who love a big dick—real or fake—and want to have their hair pulled and their insides jabbed at on the regs by whoever the hell they please.Go figure the one time us gays get the upper hand on something, and it’s also the thing angry old Bible thumpers use to condemn us.

Nevertheless, if you’re someone who enjoys casual sex after a certain age, people assume you either have an STD, or are some kind of weird pervert. Or both.

That’s one reason I’ve really taken to working at Club Edge. It’s a place where I can just be myself. Andmyselfis someone who thoroughly enjoys being a big ol’ slut.

And an expensive one, at that.

I’m definitely not saying The Edge is a haven that celebrates sex publicly. It’s still very much in the shadows, keeping business on the low to ensure the privacy of our clients. And unfortunately, I don’t think everyone who works there is asenthusiasticabout their line of work as I am. Some of them are in the exact situation I pretended to be in to get this job—broke and out of options.But that’s really none of my business.

Dom finds the talent and offers us up to his list of wealthy, high-profile clients based on what they’re looking for. Confidentiality is key, especially since so many of our regulars are elites; well-known and often very important people who sure as shit don’t want their kinks on blast.

Like my father’s various business associates… Hence the reason for my current quagmire.

Screaming echoes in my mind, and I stiffen, pressing my fingers to the spot where my father smacked me in the face earlier. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but I can still feel it.

On the inside, I feel every lash he’s ever inflicted on me. No one else can see them… ButIcan.

My emotional scar tissue nearly covers my entire body.

John Doe’s friend benthimselfout of shape when he saw me outside of The Edge, because I reminded him in the daylight of the secret stuff he does at night. It’s a tale as old as time. He’s ashamed of who he is, therefore lashing out at me. It’s just sad.

My asshole father losing business is a nice silver-lining, though.

What bothers me just a tad is how all these high-powered men act likeI’msomehow responsible for their problems, just like my idiot parents. They treat me like I’m some queer spider, luring them into my web of gayness. As if they weren’tfullyaware that they liked to fuck men before I came along.

If it weren’t for me, they would never evendreamof dunking their balls in cocaine and tea-bagging me with them, or spitting whiskey into my ass just to suck it back out.

Yea, all that stuff is my fault. I’m definitely the problem.

John Doe’s friend, like so many others—usually onlyafterthey’ve been caught—paints me as the villain, because it’s easier than just accepting the truth.

And they sayI’mthe liar.

I do lie a lot, but at least I’m honest about it. Ha!

My mind is in a fog, but my body is determined as I head back downtown to Club Edge. I’m ready to work, because frankly, I could really use the distraction. Somerealpain for my flesh, to pull focus from the internal wretched ache. That’s what this job does for me.That’swhy I love it.

Truth be told, Club Edge isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. In fact, it’s the opposite. It’s all darkness; illicit hedonism brought to you by some nameless man of mystery none of us have ever met. Dom knows him, of course, because he runs the place for this silent owner, hiding behind all his money. But nobody else has seen his face, or even heard his name.

He’s only referred to asEl Jefe.