Roxanne

Roxanne you don’t have to put on the red light.  Young men frequently said this to me.  And as their hands fondled my breast I would laugh on the inside, because even they were no match for my red light.  They  would touch me within my core and plunge in and out of me while leaving just enough greenery so that I can do it again tomorrow.

I silently looked out my window, and watched the men burrow in. I waited for my next customer.  I hoped he would be a "newbie" which is what I called the young ones, someone that I could teach.  They were always enjoyable, and reminded me of earlier days when I didn’t feel so ancient. 

They were virgins and they were shy.  Their guilt was evident, but I was what they wanted and there would be no stopping them.  Guilt lay in the background while desire took over.  They felt comfort through satisfaction, and realized that I fulfilled what they were missing. 

Sometimes a newbie would become so enamored by me that they would say “Roxanne you don’t have to put on the red light.”  But those were the ones that I would never see again. They would go back to their own world realizing they had spoke empty words to me, and though they wanted to return they were too embarrassed to do so. So when I was told not to turn on the red light, I would sneer in response because I knew it was needed… that was how they found me. 

One winter night the freezing air that came before the snow, hovered over the streets and a young man rang my door looking to use the phone.  His eyes were a cool brown, and it seemed as though innocence had not yet left him. His suit seemed slept in, and I assumed it was because he had been driving a great distance. His car had broken down, and he needed to contact his brother who awaited him in the next town.  He was lost and I knew I had the advantage. 

I gave him an alternative to a continued long journey, along with a quick thrust of my breast and a smile that would leave him weak.  I told him that we had rooms available, and I would take care of him.  He took me up on my offer, and called his brother, after much discussion his brother agreed to pick him up at the hotel in the morning. 

When I checked him into a room, Lydia and Sandra instantly wanted to follow him and make their bid.  I sent Lydia in first, she was tall and slender, her hair was a dirty blond short and stringy, I wouldn’t call her pretty, but she had sex appeal.  I knew she would fail with him, he was too new and she was too traditional.  I sent Sandra in next. She was young, beautiful and had long curly black hair a full bosom and irresistible blue eyes.  I was slightly worried about her, but when he turned her down I knew why.  She was too close to his age, she was too real.  He pictured her as one of his friends, and he was too wholesome to oblige.

I left him alone for a while, I didn’t want him to feel overwhelmed and then I finally knocked on his door.  He quietly told me to come in.  I asked him if everything was okay. He said he was fine. So I told him if he needed anything to knock on room 237, and wished him a goodnight.

A couple of regulars rang the bell, so that Lydia, Sandra and the other girls were occupied. I took a seat at my window like usual and watched the people pass by with curious glances. I smiled to myself when they would sometimes stop and consider.  No matter how many times they passed by, they never ignored my red light.

A quiet knock touched my door, and I knew it was him.  He wanted an extra towel for the morning, and I told him that I would bring it to him shortly.  Before going back to his room I freshened up and I stuck a condom on the side of my lingerie.  I did not knock when I entered his room for the second time, I watched him pace back and forth clearly his thoughts were racing. I stood there until he would leave his thoughts and realize that I was standing there.  His large brown eyes grew twice their size as he jumped out of his skin, and I smiled at his reaction although loud laughter was trapped inside of me.  “You scared me.”  He grabbed a hold of his loosened tie and tried to straighten it with no luck.  I could not lose my smile as I apologized.

“You seem worried about something is everything ok?”  I ask him as I made myself comfortable on the bed. I enjoyed watching his eyes follow me and the huge gulp that confirmed my suspicion of his thought process.  I asked him to sit down with me, which he did.  He began to tell me about how he couldn’t cut it as a musician and was going to join the family business with his brother.  I wanted to hear him sing, but he left his guitar in his car a few miles down the road.  He offered to sing acapella, but instead I asked him why he was quitting. 

He said he was 26 and was tired of borrowing money from his family, he thought he would have made it by now, but he realized that he was a failure.  The sadness in his eyes spoke to me and I wanted to touch him but held back.  I asked him to sing for me, and he did, his song talked about girls on beaches, drinks and parties, and though his voice was beautiful it was as if someone else was singing.  “You’re laughing at me.” He said quietly.  I denied this, knowing that he would not believe me, because though I could physically hold in my laugh, it would always find its way out through my eyes.

“It’s just that, the song, its not you.”  I brushed his hair away from his eyes.  “Did you write it?”  He shook his head no. “Maybe you should write your songs.” I brushed his cheek as he stared at me.  “I love your voice though, you shouldn’t give up.”  He kissed me. He was passionate and moved rapidly, but his touch was tender.  I found myself being pleasured in a way that I had never been before, he made love to me.

I got up to leave, but he held me close and wouldn’t let go.  So I fell asleep in a man’s arms for the first time and it felt good.  When I woke up he was gone, and I thought I imagined it all, but cried because I knew I didn’t.  He left money on the bed, with a note saying “Thank you.” It scared me that I had felt so much being with him, feelings that I had heard about but thought I would never experience. 

Days, weeks then months passed and I cried every night, I cried not because I missed him, but because I despised the memory of him.  He had woken something inside of me that I never knew was hidden. I could no longer look out the window at my red light with delight, because each night I was reminded of the emptiness my life had become. 

The girls began to notice I was losing my luster, and went after my customers.  I no longer cared because I loathed the men who climbed on top of me, and would only take one customer a night.  Occasionally a newbie would tell me that I didn’t have to put on the red light, and then he would leave me money and never return. 

Through my time of sadness I relied on a skill I learned years ago from Nicole, the woman who turned me on to tricks. She advised me to rid myself of what she called a rambunctious and therefore hideous laugh.  She said men didn’t like a woman to laugh at them. At first it was hard learning to contain my laughter, but I soon became an expert.  And just like my laughter, the feelings and the memories of his touch began to fade away.  Only my eyes portrayed the sadness of what I was missing.

Soon winter began bringing with it a violent snow storm that left the streets white, the air cool and the roads calm.  It was on this day he returned, informing me that he had become a writer of songs, and without much pause he sweetly sang to me his first success. “Roxanne you don’t have to put on the red light, those days are over you don’t have to sell your body to the night…”