Chapter 3: Renegotiation
and Renegation

“Esti, you need to think quick.”

“I know I need to think quick!” I grasped for something, anything. My mind flipped through the days leading up to this crisis, I reviewed my contingency plans—and realized that I had not made any contingency plans. The plan was simply the plan.

“Keep cool, breathe.”

I took her advice as I mentally tallied up my surroundings: indifferent demolition crew and their menacingly yellow equipment threatening to destroy my crime scene and murder my fellow sex workers, no police officers to join me in standing in their way (fat chance of them putting their lives on the line for the Hooker Hotel even if they were present), no warrant to solve my problems; and spectators waiting for the good part.

((Think outside the box.))

((Box.))

((…))

((Vagina.))

((Sex.))

((Bingo.))

I picked out the foreman from the crew—he was the only man wearing a retroreflective vest and hardhat who wasn’t piloting a vehicle—and ran under the tape and up to him, waving my hands and screaming, “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

He turned around and shouted back, “Get outta here, lady! This is a demolition zone!”

“Stop the demolition!”

“Get behind the tape!”

“Stop the demolition, now!”

“If you don’t get back behind the tape, girl, I’ll have you hauled away!”

“I’m a cop!”

“Bullshit!”

I showed him my badge. “See?”

He grunted. “You got a court order?”

“It isn’t here, yet.”

“Tough luck.”

“I have something just as good, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I need to whisper it.”

“It’s a demolition site! Nobody whispers at a demolition site!”

“Ugh, fine. I have a mouth.”

“So do I.”

“Can you suck your own dick with it?”

He had no words.

“Didn’t think so. Are you interested in stopping the demolition, now?”

“Honey, I ain’t stopping this demolition.”

“Could you at least postpone it in exchange for a little favor from a pretty girl?” As alluringly as I could, I pouted my lips and batted my eyelashes.

He gave my request a few seconds thought, then spoke into his radio, “Stand down, we have a problem with the paperwork.” The machinery turned off.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew, thank you.”

“What are you proposing?”

“One blowjob in exchange for one hour,” I offered with a mountain of confidence.

“No.”

“Two blowjobs,” I offered, this time with a molehill of confidence.

“Three blowjobs, you get 15 minutes.”

“(Shit,)” I hissed without any confidence whatsoever. “I need to call dispatch to get an ETA on my warrant.”

“No. I don’t have all day. It’s 15 minutes or bust.”

“How about you let me suck you off over and over again for as long as it takes them to get here?” I offered from a valley flooded with doubt.

He pondered my proposal. “Alright. Follow me.”

((This is gonna be… fun…)) The thought lacked conviction. ((I do so enjoy sucking strange men’s cocks in exchange for what I want.)) I still wasn’t convinced. ((What if he doesn’t uphold his end of the bargain?)) That outcome seemed discomfortingly probable. ((I feel… a little sick, actually. This situation is beyond my control. The dick I’m sucking has the upper hand. I thought I liked giving blowjobs to strange men. But in the fantasies, they’re the ones begging me for what only I can give them, not the other way around. I’m not looking forward to this one, I feel dread, not confidence.))

He led me into the nearby trailer and locked the door behind us.

There was a little desk and a little swivel chair, a little television, a little trash can, and a little tan love seat that had seen better days. “Cozy,” I remarked.

He looked me up and down. “Tits. Show them.”

I nodded, as though accepting his request, but when I started to take off my coat, I hesitated. ((I don’t want to do this.))

((Can I back out?)) I asked myself.

((Yes,)) I concluded.

((Then I should back out,)) I proposed.

((But… the crime scene,)) I countered; I finished taking it off.

((I’m not sure I want to keep playing detective,)) I admitted.

((I’m playing detective to find Alex, not to follow my dream,)) I corrected myself.

((Shit…)) I cursed as I started unbuttoning my shirt. ((I have no choice; room 410)) is my only lead.

((And don’t forget the sex workers. They need this hotel to conduct their business,)) I reminded myself.

((Even if I give up on being a detective, Diane will be taking me to a nicer hotel whenever she hires me,)) I figured.

((I’m not only for myself. I can’t let myself be selfish. The sex workers need this hotel.))

((Fuck. God damn it.)) I took off my shirt and reached for my bra band.

((I don’t have any other options.)) I peeled my sports bra off and his eyes grew ten sizes as my tits stood as proud as two perfect, perky mountains. “What do you think of them?” I asked.

“Whoa.”

He reached for them with both hands, but I slapped them away. “No. If you want to touch them, you hafta cancel the demo.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Too bad. No tits for you.”

He held the radio up to his lips and keyed it… “About that paperwork, fellas.”

((Fucker.)) “Alright. I get it. Fine. Go ahead. Feel me up.”

“We’ve made some progress, but we might be a while. Take fifteen.” …then he gingerly clipped the radio back onto his belt. He strolled towards me on a gentle breeze of superiority, one slow step after another, until we were nearly toe-to-toe. He took each tit in one hand and squeezed. I felt a little sound try to wiggle its way between my vocal cords. He played with my breasts, kneaded them, jiggled them. I focused on keeping that noise inside my lungs. He grinned. I hated how he was making me feel. I could blame him for this situation, accuse him of violating Section 243.4 PC, Sexual Battery. The legal system would have my back. The blue shield would move heaven and earth to protect my honor, to put this man behind bars for the next 4 years and on the sex offender registry for all his years after that because he’d dared to touch a sister in blue. Being a cop had its advantages. I would have cuffed him and thrown him in the backseat of my car with a smirk if I was a lesser woman.

But the thought of using those supralegal privileges afforded to me as a member of the oppressor class for my own benefit filled me with greater dread than did whatever this man had in mind… and washed it down with a glass brimming with self-loathing.

“Are you… (ah…) having fun?” I asked as he thumbed my nipples, causing me to shiver.

I was in no position to smirk and lord my power over him. He smirked and lorded his power over me.

((Every second he spends playing with my tits is a second the hotel stays in one piece,)) I reminded myself. “Are they the best tits you’ve ever seen?”

He snorted amusedly.

“Would you appreciate some conversation, or are you content with having fun with my fun bags?”

He detached his fingers from my tits, then wrapped them around the button guarding my chastity. This I could not tolerate; I pulled his hands away. “The deal was fellatio.”

“Consider this a renegotiation.”

“No.”

He glanced over at the radio, then back at me. That smirk never left his face.

((Hm. This… could actually work out for me.)) I closed my eyes, sighed dramatically, and said, “Alright. If you agree to cancel the demolition, you can take a look in the basement.” He greedily unbuttoned and unzipped my pants and pulled them down. I stepped out and planted my hands on my hips. He made a move for the waistband of my panties. “Ah-ah-ah…” I restrained his hands once more. “You want to see the goods?”

“Of course I do.”

“If I show you, you leave the hotel alone.”

“Either you let me fuck you, or I give my men the signal.”

And in my frustration… I became a lesser woman. “Either you play by the rules, or I arrest you for ‘sextortion’. And, being a law enforcement officer, the legal system will have my back.”

“Are you gonna admit in front of a judge and jury that you offered to suck my dick in the line of duty, or are you gonna perjure yourself on the stand and say I’m the one who came to you asking for sex?”

((If I lie about what happened, I’d be denying him due process. Just like any other corrupt pig.)) I smiled. “Fine. Fortunately for you, I happen to like penetration.”

“Wonderful. Couch.” He pointed to the love seat.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘Get on the couch.’”

“I don’t take orders. You get on the couch.”

“I’m in charge.”

“I’m the one who has what you want. Sit.”

He glared.

I stared.

His eyes narrowed to a squint.

My eyes gave him more than a hint that the glimpse of paradise he craved was far more valuable than what I was bargaining for.

He acquiesced and sat on the couch.

“Good boy.” ((And now for the part I like least about this situation.)) “Do you have… a condom?”

“Nope.”

((Okay, this is fine, I don’t need a condom.)) I took a step towards him, then stopped. ((I have no idea what kind of diseases he might have, and no reason to trust him should he deny having them.)) “Then I need to procure one.”

“You leave before I’m satisfied, we move ahead with the demolition.”

“Do you sincerely expect me to fuck you raw?”

“You’ll do anything to stop us. I see it in your eyes. You’re desperate. You’re a cornered rat whose hidey holes have all been trapped.”

My stomach plummeted and crashed through my pelvic floor. He was right. I had deluded myself into thinking I had the upper hand, but in my frantic rush to save the hotel, I had made it very clear to him that he had me by the ovaries. (The tingle of relief that I now had an ironclad excuse not to use a rubber, and the resulting eager clenching of my vaginal muscles, only further worsened my shame and guilt.)

I persuaded myself not to give into temptation, though. STIs can be really damn annoying, not to mention stigmatizing, and I wanted to keep Judith safe. So I had only one option, and it was a bluff. “I’m ovulating. You wanna pay child support?”

“No one will believe you when you claim it’s mine. You’ll never get a DNA sample out of me.”

(((Well, there we go. I guess I should just start riding him raw. Creampie time!)))

((Wait. Wait, no. I can’t do that. I don’t want to catch anything I could spread to Judith. I must use a rubber.))

((Be a cop. Make something up.)) “I’m a cop. Cops have methods of obtaining DNA. Some of them you’ll be completely unaware of. But the others… you’ll wish you weren’t aware. I’ll cast lots to decide how unpleasant your experience will be.”

He didn’t reply.

“You’ll get your sex soon enough, but you need to wait a minute. I’m getting you a condom.” I dressed and left for the human chain outside, and he didn’t so much as grunt in protest.

“How’s the investigation going?” “Did you get them to stop?” “Do you have any updates?” asked several of them.

“I’ve hit a snag. Anybody got a condom I can ‘borrow’?” Many purses unzipped and several pockets rustled, and a couple dozen condoms were presented to me. “Thanks.” I accepted the one that Sandra offered me. “Thanks, Sandy.”

“You don’t keep condoms handy?”

“I’ve never needed one.”

Sandra nodded. “I see. We noticed they shut down the equipment.”

“Yes. The foreman agreed to pause demolition if I… sucked his dick.”

Everyone within earshot cheered me and offered me a high five, each of which I accepted limply. “And I need the condom because… he’s willing to cancel the demolition altogether if I show him a good time.”

I received several pats on the back. “You’re a true sex worker,” said one, and another said, “Whore power!” Several of them insisted that I take some spare condoms ‘just in case’.

“Thanks. I need to get to work. Thanks for the wrappers.”

They bid me ‘good luck’ and ‘see you later’ as I returned to the foreman’s trailer.

“Alright,” I said as I disrobed. “I’ve got the condoms.”

“Took you long enough. Assume the position.”

“Do I tell you how to destroy a building?”

He scoffed. “A bimbo like you wouldn’t know how to tell C-4 from C-channel.”

“And a cis-het macho man like you wouldn’t know the difference between a dental dam and a beaver dam. Don’t tell me how to do my job.” After I shed my last garment, I handed him a condom. “Wrap it.”

He undid his pants and pulled his penis through his boxers. It was smaller than Judy’s, which (to my relief) led me to assume that the fit would be too loose for me to derive pleasure from him penetrating me. He tore the film and removed the condom. I resisted the impulse to pluck the condom from his hand and throw it across the room. He rolled it onto his hard dick, then relaxed into the couch and smirked.

“Now for a little foreplay…” I said as I approached him.

“Foreplay is for fags.” I rolled my eyes but decided not to correct his bigotry. I straddled him, held his tip at my entrance, and held my breath.

I fell upon him, sending that rush from my vagina and up my spine, a surprise that never failed to please me. I refused to breathe, I didn’t want him to know that I was already enjoying myself, I choked down a moan—but I couldn’t stop my back from arching. (((Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me…))) I began humping away, more eagerly than I had wanted. I dug my fingers into his shoulders and continued holding my breath. He grabbed my tits and squeezed, breaking my control over my diaphragm. I exhaled with a long, pleased moan. I covered my mouth in shame.

“Oh, you like that, bitch?”

I shook my head insistently.

He lifted me by the hips until only his tip was in, then thrust me down.

My elation escaped as a sigh of agonized bliss.

“You want my cock, don’t you?”

“(No,)” I squeaked. (((Cock cock cock cock remove the condom poke a hole in the condom twitch twitch spurt spurt cum inside me cum inside me…)))

Each ride up his cock brought fresh air into my lungs, and each ride down forced from me an ecstatic moan. The world around me gradually dissolved into a pleasurable fog as I continued fucking him. My pelvic floor muscles tightened around him, increasing the splendor of my sexual donation. A word I had not been expecting up to that point escaped my mouth: “(Yes…)”

He scoffed. “The whore cop craves my cock.”

“(Whore cop…)” I was lost in paradise, strangled by awe, unable to form sentences. Judy was better, to be clear, but the fear and the ecstasy and the shame were mixing, overpowering me synergistically. All I could say was, “(Yes…)” and “(More…)” and “(Give me your cock, please, give me your cum…)” as my mind droned rhythmically, (((Give me your cum, fuck me, fuck me, cum inside me, fuck me, fuck me until you shoot your load inside me, fuck me, fuck me and make me your whore, fuck me, fuck me and be my baby daddy…)))

He panted and grunted as I begged for him to please stay hard and give me his seed. And then, without warning, he grunted several times. I felt him twitch inside me and I thrust myself down to swallow his cock…

As the twitching ended, I planted my lips on his mouth for a few seconds, then pulled away with a stupid, lazy smile on my face.

“What a slutty cop you are,” he remarked with a victorious grin.

I hummed in satisfaction, and whispered, “(Sure am.)” As my panting subsided, I gradually realized I had taken pleasure in sex that I had in the first place wanted to avoid. My shame turned my face a brighter shade of red than sexual exertion alone ever could. ((Oh, God, please, no. It felt good. I didn’t want it to feel good. It was supposed to be business, not pleasure. You asshole, you made me enjoy sexual extortion.)) I grimly remarked, “I hope you’re satisfied.”

“Off.” I removed myself from his cock (reluctantly) and rolled onto the couch; he removed the condom and discarded it in the trash, and, to my great relief and dire regret, sealed his dick away inside his pants. I had been wary of an encore—there was a chance I might orgasm on our second go around, making the sex I had wished not to enjoy all the more enjoyable. “You’ve got the best pussy in town.”

“Premium.” God, I wanted that encore, and definitely without the condom this time.

“And you have the best moans, too.”

I sighed in despair. “High praise. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He picked up the radio from the desk and keyed it. “The red tape’s cut, boys. Start your engines.”

I shot up from the couch. “What the fuck?”

“The deal was you suck my dick for 15 minutes. You never sucked my dick. Therefore, you didn’t uphold your end of the bargain.”

“Bullshit!” I leapt from the couch, closed the distance between us, and gently slapped him across the face, budging his head a millimeter and leaving him even more amused than he already was. “You—you filthy, slippery, crooked, two-faced piece of shit!”

And then… it hit me. ((Oh. God. What have I done? I’ve assaulted a civilian! I’m engaging in police brutality!)) As my mind raced I backed away from him and fell into the couch. ((All Cops Are Bastards)). And I'm no exception. We’re all just bloodthirsty, power-hungry fascists. I’m a fascist. Horrified by my own violence, I curled up into a ball. “No, no-no-no-no, I’m a brutalist! I have no understanding of humanity or mercy and only appreciate totalitarian conformity while deliberately eliminating compassion in the name of economic utility! The Nazis would love me and call me beautiful!”

“I should report you to your superiors for assault.”

I was robbed of words.

With his wicked grin he took step after step towards me as he pointed out, “First, you falsely accuse me of rape and threaten to lie on the stand, then you injure me when I refuse to capitulate to your bullshit.”

The words he stole from me were his to keep. ‘Capitulate’ is a particularly fancy word in the mind of a cop, quite effective at instilling the fear of God (God in this context being one’s chain of command) in any rank-and-file police officer when used in the context of disciplinary proceedings.

“You really think you can coerce me into abnegating my duties with your police brutality?”

Having been struck again by yet another magical incantation, this one a double whammy of word wizardry— ‘coerce’ and ‘abnegating’ —I struggled for a few seconds to come up with a counter-spell… then gave up because, as a common cop, my grasp of the English language was simply too elementary to compete with such a masterly demonstration of the arcane art of sesquipedalian rhetoric. “I’m evil!”

His brow scrunched and his demeanor flipped. “Are you seriously upset?”

“I’m a fascist pig, oppressing civilians through violence to assert my authority. I’m a true bastard.”

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“I’m a bad cop. I’m everything I find abhorrent.”

“You slapped me. Big whoop.”

“I violated the law as well as my own personal code of conduct. I belong in jail. A lifetime in jail.”

“Calm down, lady.”

“I can’t calm down! I’ve just discovered my true nature! I’m a horrible, no good—”

He slapped me. Hard. My cheek burned, my skull ached. I was stunned. I shut up. “Get a grip. Slapping someone isn’t brutality. I screwed you over, it was justified.”

“Nothing can justify police violence.”

“You weren’t slapping me as a police officer, you were slapping me as a woman who just fucked a stranger for nothing. I deserved to be slapped. Hell, I deserve worse than a gentle slap; it barely hurt and the sting of it lasted only a few seconds.”

“It barely hurt?”

“I’ve been slapped on the ass harder by my coworkers. It’s no big deal. You can dispense with the hysterics.”

“It’s no big deal…”

“NBD. Get dressed, get out of here. I need to get back to destroying a historic landmark.”

I nodded. So reassured (but still shaky), I started putting my clothes back on. “I guess I get nothing for letting you use my body.”

“I sure screwed you, didn’t I?”

“You sure did. In one of the many senses of the verb. I screwed you in another sense.”

“You enjoyed it.”

I bristled.

“You moaned and begged for more. You told me you wanted to have my baby.”

My eyes grew a dozen sizes. “I… told you that?”

“Quote: ‘Please, Mister Foreman,’” he mocked in a falsetto valley girl accent, “‘knock me up with your fertile load so, like, I can mother your child.’” His impression of me was all the more insulting for its inaccuracy.

I groaned. “God, please kill me.” I finished buttoning up my shirt and grabbed my coat; as I stepped out of the trailer, I sighed and told him, “Thanks for the reassurance. I was falling, and you caught me.” I left without waiting for an answer.

I had been on this street nearly every day for the past year, but I was once again lost. I wandered over to my car, sat on the hood, and stewed. ((Game over. The hotel is lost. Alex is lost. Everything I have been striving for is lost.))

“Well?” asked Shosh.

“No dice.”

“I’m sorry, Esti. I can’t say… that…” Her brow furrowed. “I can’t say that I’m proud that you tried to persuade that man that way, but… I am proud that you tried anything at all. You really care about the people on this street. I’m afraid to admit I don’t think they deserve your sacrifices, but… it’s very sweet of you. And they seem to appreciate what you’re—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” ((I’ve failed my fellow sex workers. If I hadn’t enjoyed it, he wouldn’t have screwed me over. If I’d fucked him a second time, he wouldn’t have backed out of our deal. If I’d sucked his dick instead, he would have honored our agreement. It’s all my fault. I’ve let my peers down for the last time. I am unworthy of the noble title of ‘whore’. I ought to excommunicate myself.)) The wrecking crew crept inexorably towards the Torrey Pines Hotel, with a thirst for brick and steel matched only by the bloodlust of a pack of hungry hyenas stalking an injured elephant lagging behind the herd.

Oh, yes. ‘Inexorably’. That’s a 50-dollar adverb guaranteed to freeze the heart of even the most philologically minded of police detectives. I scared myself with such a frightful word. I trembled, but my fellow sex workers stood fast, as though some righteous goddess of love and war had personally revealed to each of them their imminent victory.