Grunts filled the room as the man lying on top of me worked to reach his climax.

This was an easy client.

Funnily enough, his fetish was necrophilia. All I had to do was lie here and try not to breathe loudly until it was over.

"So good." He murmured in my ear, "So, so good."

Thanks, I guess?

After a few more minutes, he orgasmed, allowing his weight to fall on me.

"Oof!" I exclaimed, having the wind knocked out of me.

"I'm sorry." He breathed out as he rolled onto his side, "I always forget that you're here."

I smiled at him even though irritation was flowing through my mind. How do you forget that you're having sex with someone?

As if I needed another reminder that these men only saw me as a whore.

"That's okay." I lied, "Would you like me to stay?"

He nodded feverishly, "Yes. Just for another hour."

I laid my head on his chest, listening to him tell me about how his daughter was failing one of her classes in school.

I wanted to tell him that if he wasn't somewhere paying for pussy then maybe he could get to the root of her problem, but instead I told him, "I'm sure it'll get better. It may just be a phase."

His hands stroked my arm as he then switched subjects to relay to me an argument he had with his wife pertaining to him not wanting to attend a luncheon she was hosting.

Rich people problems I assume.

After the hour was done, I sat up, reaching for my clothes so I could exit this hotel as quickly as possible.

He had previously paid me for 2 hours before but the extra hour would be an additional charge.

I heard the distinct sound of paper being shuffled through his hand as he counted out the rest of the money he owed me.

"Until next time." He said as he rubbed his thumb in circles across my hand.

Disgusting.

"Until next time." I smiled.

• • •

"And I need you to pick up my medicine tomorrow Ky." My grandma directed from her chair as I washed the greens in the sink for her to make later.

"Yes ma'am." I replied in a sullen tone.

She wheeled over to me, observing me closely, "What's wrong?"

No matter how long I did this, I still felt dirty, ashamed, when I came home.

It'd sometimes take days before I was able to look at myself in the mirror, not recognizing the person who staring back at me.

There would never come a day where I told my grandmother what I did for money.

"I'm fine. Just thinking about a paper I have coming up."

"Oh." She waved me off pushing her chair back to its original spot, "I don't know why you worry when you know you'll do fine."

I put my all into school. It was the only way I saw myself making a better life for us.

Though she never hesitated to assure me otherwise, I felt my grandma put her life on hold to raise me when my mother put me up for adoption and went to do whatever.

Working two jobs on top of having Meniere's disease, she held out as long as she was physically able before stopping soon after I graduated high school, to receive her disability check.

It was hardly enough to make ends meet but we found ways, with me doing odd jobs to pitch in where I could.

One of those odd jobs I did was babysit some of the kids who stayed in my complex. One night, when their mama came home, she didn't have the amount we agreed upon, shrugging her shoulders and telling me she'd give me the rest when she got paid next week.

I needed that money as I had assured my grandma I would come of with the rest of the cost to pay the rent for the month.

That was one of the reasons I made clients pay me before we began.

Ava, a friend of mine who introduced me to my current line of work, came over to retrieve the pants she'd let me borrow for an interview that went nowhere, and say the look of frustration on my face.

When she asked me what was wrong, the tears began to flow uncontrollably.

This led to her telling me what she did for a living.

At first, I was disgusted by what she'd told me, wondering how someone could allow themselves to be used in such a way.

Then she began to tell me the advantages. How she set her own hours, dictated who she saw, and the most important to me, how much money she made.

After a few days of thinking about it, I contacted the agency she worked for, and that day was the single most embarrassing thing I'd ever experienced.

I guess you couldn't blame them for wanting to inspect their product.

Almost two years later, I haven't looked back since.

Did I like what I did? Of course not. An escort was just a fancy word for a prostitute.

I liked to tell myself I was different from others in that I wouldn't make a living out of this. I just wanted to put myself through school and I'd never do this again.

There was a knock on the door and after wiping my hands on the dish towel, I went to go see who it was.

Rolling my eyes, I opened the door for my sister and stepped aside to let her in, "Glad you could stop by."

Paisley pushed past me, leaving her 4 year old son standing there holding a bag of Cheese Puffs.

"Hey Jr." I greeted as I pulled him in from the drafty hallway.

Since he was autistic, he only looked at the floor, not responding or making eye contact.

I ushered him into the kitchen where my sister was trying to discreetly ask my grandma for money before I came back.

"No." I protested, "We have bills and we can't afford to help you."

That may sound bitchy, but Paisley only came around when she needed something. When she had money, she was nowhere to be found, sometimes not even answering the phone. When she was down though, it's like you couldn't get rid of her.

"I need to buy Jr some more school clothes. Look at his pants."

My grandma and I both looked to see that not only were his pants too tight, they were ankle beaters, showing his frayed socks that led to shoes that weren't in the best condition.

Why she named Jr after his father was a mystery to all of us since he didn't do shit to help, only dropping by when it was convenient for him.

We made eye contact and I knew she was about to help her.

I shook my head as she reached into nearby purse to carefully count out $100.

"This is all I'll have til the 3rd Pai. Make sure you get him some undershirts too." She instructed.

That's if she uses the money for its intended purpose.

Paisley shot me a smug look as she accepted the money from my grandma, barely saying thanks before practically dragging Jr behind her out of the door.

"All we can do is pray." My grandma said softly.

• • •

I stared at my computer screen, annoyed at the grade I was given by my professor.

The assignment was to make an outline for a research paper. Simple right?

Wrong.

Apparently I misunderstood what he'd expected of us, leading to him deducting my grade by 25 points, and that shit pissed me off.

I felt like it was his fault for leaving the instructions so open to interpretation but I knew if I blamed him, he wouldn't want to let me redo the outline.

Taking a calming breath, I opened Outlook to send him an email, hoping he'd allow me to resubmit an amended version of the assignment.

Good evening Professor Carter,

I am emailing you because I am having difficulty understanding my grade for the research outline assignment, in which I received 65 out of 90 points. I do not think this reflects my ability to perform in your class as I understood the instructions and sample outline to mean that 3 sentences were the minimum requirement and not the maximum. If there is anything I can do to change this grade, please let me know.

Thank you,

Kyser Moore

"Stupid ass." I muttered as I got up to go take a shower.

Everyone says you'll always have a professor you hate in college and I'd found mine only in my second year.

Calling him an asshole would be an understatement. I think a piece of shit was a much more fitting description.

He didn't like me for some reason and the feeling was completely mutual.

It's like he went out of his way to bother me. Even when the work I turned in was worthy of a perfect grade, he still found a way to find something to deduct 1 or 2 points for.

I'm just waiting for the day he chokes on that coffee he's always drinking.

When I exited the shower, his response was waiting for me on the screen.

Hello, Kyser.

The instructions and sample for this assignment were clear. Your grade will stand. I encourage you to read the instructions closely; I am here should you have any questions.

"Should I have any quest-" I read to myself, "I hate this fucking man. I really do."

He basically just told me that I don't know how to read in a semi-polite way.

Maybe I wasn't assertive enough, I thought, I'll ask him again tomorrow.

Having made up my mind, I closed my laptop and laid down, having a fake argument with Professor Carter.

________

author's note: this idea has been in my mind for a while and i'm finally writing it out. i know this chapter may have dragged but i'm interested to hear your thoughts so far.

those are actual emails between my professor and myself lol. i was so mad about this grade.

thanks for reading.