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Angel of the Morning By Cassandra Morgan "The redder the better," Shannon Michaels thought, pursing her lips in front of the round make-up mirror on her vanity. She smiled as she applied the Revlon tube to her lips. It was a deep red, far bolder than she normally wore. but Coco had told that was good, that a girl needed for her makeup to be bold enough to make a statement. She put a second coat on and turned her head to the left, then to the right. She blew herself a kiss from her painted lips and sighed. "Whore," she said softly to the mirror. She giggled as she weighed the word, repeating it a bit louder. She felt its coarseness as she said it, the rawness. It sounded dirty, vulgar, mean. Almost a swear word. Shannon sighed heavily. She looked at her eyes for signs of age, and she looked at her chin for signs of being born male. She was 30 now, and she worried that both might show through.. She picked up her mascara brush and began to work on her eyelids. A hint of blue, perhaps, she thought. Back when she was a boy, a million years ago it seemed, her eye makeup had given her fits. Eyeliner was hard. Lashes were impossible. Now, she was an expert, made so by all those days of dressing up until it didn't feel like dressing up -- if felt like life. After all the years in her room, after coming out to her mother, after purging a dozen times, after she got married, after she went on hormones, she had done her own makeup. She was good at it. She batted her eyelids, noting the garishness she was going for. "Hooker," she said, lighter this time. She shook her head. She pushed back her brown hair so she could put in her earrings. They were large hoops, almost as large as the bracelets around her wrists. She shook her head slightly, watching the light sparkle off each of them. She fingered the bangs of her hair. Yeah, she thought, looking at her reflection. A guy would pay for that, wouldn't he? Maybe a lot of guys. "Puta," she said, trying out her high school Spanish. She fingered the chastity cage on the bureau. She would wear it, but Coco told her that the men who bought trans women didn't always want their dates in chastity. They liked to see a bulge. Sometimes, they liked to see it up close. Shannon stood up. She was wearing red and black panties and a red bra -- Coco told her that guys liked red. She pulled a leopard-kin top over her head. She stepped into a black skirt -- far shorter than what she normally wore. "Tramp," she whispered. She tugged up a pair of fishnet stockings onto her legs. It was a cliche, she thought, but hell, life was a cliche. She stepped into a pair of black stilettos, again, much higher than she normally wore. She looked at herself in the mirror. Damn, she thought. She looked good in the heels. She turned sideways in the mirror. She had come a long way from a scrawny boy named Michael Shannon. She had been full-time for three years, for a thousand days, but there remained a feeling of contentment as she studied hefself. She was one snip away, she thought, from being a woman. A big snip, if you measured what was important. But a snip nevertheless. A hat, maybe? No, she thought. Let guys see her hair flow around her face. A beauty mark? She considered adding one cosmetically, but she decided not to. Perfume? Of course she would wear perfume. She took six condoms and put into her purse. Some lube. A twenty-dollar bill. A spare pair of panties. A container of mace. A lipstick. Some mascara. Her butt-plug. The cage. Yeah, she was ready to go. "Prostitute," she said. "Harlot. Cumdump." Shannon laughed softly to herself. It had come to this, had it? From fumbling in his mother's closet to a teenager dreaming of somehow finding a magic ring to a married man trying to deny his urges to a trans woman who just liked sex to a fallen women going out on the prowl. She stood in front of the mirror, studying her look. she look slutty enough, cheap enough. "Hey, mister. You want a good time? Hey, cowboy, want to do me? I'll tick your world." She shook her head. Yeah, she was going to do this. She slung her purse over her shoulder and walked into the night. A neighbor in a nearby apartment looked at her, but didn't say anything. She walked outside. It was no longer raining, but the streets were wet. A streetlight was out. A drunk lay sprawled in the doorway. It was 10 m. when she stared to walk toward toward the Graveyard, her heels clicking against the pavement beneath. Yeah, she thought. I'm a streetwalker, all right. A car went passed her and beeped its horn. The driver yelled something at her that she couldn't make out. She responded by trying to make her hips sway a little more. It's good to advertise, isn't it? She made her way up Fillmore, then over to 37th. Other working girls, most of them cis, were starting to gather. but she kept walking toward the Graveyard, toward the street corner she would call her office. Softly, Shannon began to hum to herself. "She works hard for the money," the song went. "So hard for it, honey." Shannon was for sale. *. * Three weeks earlier, Shannon had barely given prostitution a thought. It was a concept, far from her existence. Oh, she knew that some girls put out to make ends meet. Why not? Roughly a third of trans women live in poverty, she had read. Sometimes, a girl has to work on her knees. Intellectually, she knew that. But, somehow, Shannon had believed she was above all of that. She worked part-time in a hair salon, sweeping and washing hair. Three nights a week, she waited tables. When she could afford it, she spent the rest of her nights at the Crossroads, a bar on Lincoln. The Crossroads was a small joint with the familiar pink-and-light-blue decal on the window that catered to a certain clientele. She was home here, here with her trans sisters and the men who admired them. The music was kept low at the Crossroads. The lights were kept dim. The alcohol was cheap, though, and the room had turned into one of those bars with hunters and prey. There was a time that Shannon would have sworn to you that she was as straight as a diving board, that despite the dresses, she liked girls. Hell, she was a husband, once. Then there was a time she would have told you she was bisexual, that the was just experimenting. But lately, most of her lovers had been the men that circled the room at the Crossroads. There are more of them than you might think. The sex was better than you might imagine. It was a Sunday night, and traffic was kind of light at the Crossroads. Shannon sat at the end of the bar with Katie, making small talk about movie stars, about homophobia and discrimination, about the other women in the room. Shannon was wearing a light blue dress.Katie was in a flowered sundress. They looked over the men who, in turn, were looking them over. "There's Alex," Katie said. "Didn't you have a thing with Alex?" "I think Alex is in love with his own thing," Shannon said, laughing. "Still, I'd climb all over that," Katie said. "How about Scottie? He's cute." "Scottie has a wife," Shannon said, pointing her index finger at Scottie as if it were a gun and mock-shooting him. "Most of the men here have wives when they're in the daylight," Katie said. "Doesn't mean you get to shoot them." "A shame," Shannon said, sipping her wine. "God," Katie said. "I am in such a state. I need to get laid like you wouldn't believe." "Didn't you get laid last night?" "Yeah, what's your point?" "Shit. I'd even sleep with a woman. That's how hard up I am." "Nothing wrong with women," Shannon said. "They can be sweet." "How the hell would you know?" Katie said. "I was marred once," Shannon said after a pause. "I used to live in Vanilla City." "Shit. You were married? To a chick?" Shannon shrugged. "It happens." The minutes went by with that, two women trying to laugh away loneliness. And then, across the room, she saw him. My God, she thought, she loved a man in uniform. My God, she addd, she'd love to see him out of uniform. He was tall, with tousled brown hair. He was wearing his policeman's uniform, walking around the crowd, being visible. The sight of him alone was enough to tame the crowd. Ever since there had a been a fight over one one of the girls, the management of the Crossroads hired off- duty cops on the weekends to control the crowd. Shannon walked the officer move through the throng. He moved gracefully, like an athlete, but there was a strength there, too. He was like a big cat. She wouldn't want to mess around with him. Well, she thought. Maybe she would. He saw her looking at him, and he smiled. Shannon blushed and looked away. But he began to move toward her. He slipped in between two men, and he was at her side. "Hi," he said, almost shyly. "I'm Derrick." "I'm Shannon. Are you here to protect me from the outlaws?" He grinned. "Seems to be working," he said. "Yeah, but is going to protect me from you?" she said, a bit flirtier than she had intended. "I'm a boy scout," he said. "I was a boy scout, once," Shannon said, laughing. Derrick grinned. "And now you're a girl scout?" "Merit badges and all. You want some cookies?" He laughed, and they slid into a conversation designed to make the other person laugh. Somewhere in the banter, Katie slipped into the night with Alex close behind. The bar closed down soon after that, but Derrick took Shannon to an elementary school nearby. They sat on the swings and giggled for most of the night. He talked about being a cop, about how he had been shot in the shoulder during a domestic dispute, how the world seemed to hate cops because, admittedly, there were a lot of bad ones. He talked bout moonlighting to make a few extra bucks. As the hours went on, he began to lean closer as he talked. He stood over her on the swing-set, holding the chains. "I'm not easy," Shannon said. "You should know that." "Of course not," Derrick said. "I'm not either. Sometimes, I'm even hard." She laughed. She touched his arm, and he grabbed her hand and squeezed. And sometimes, in the dark of a children's playground, she decided she would sleep with him. Shannon was no virgin. She had been with five men since her divorce, and three of them had been one-night stands. But there was something familiar about Derrick. He laughed at the right moments, and he was sweet, and he listened when she talked. As it turned out, he could kiss gently, like a whisper, and he could kiss forcefully, like a Hun invading a village. There was no embarrassment to Derrick for being with a trans woman, not like some of the men she had been with. He was completely at ease. It filled Shannon with femininity. Shannon didn't remember going to the motel that night. She didn't remember undressing. She just remembered kissing his arms, his chest, his stomach against her body. She remembered the taste of his cock in her mouth. She remembered the abandon, the way her body took over from her mind. She remembered his balls bouncing against her face, and his hands on her breasts, and him behind her, and his dick sliding into her ass, again and again. She remembered calling out in a voice that sounded only a bit like her own. Poets write sonnets about nights such as these. Singers sing songs about them. God, Shannon loved sex. She loved the feeling of being overpowered. She loved feeling his chin stubble against her breasts. She love making her tongue go rapid-fire on a cock. She never felt more like a woman than when she was making someone feel like a man. Shannon wake up in the early morning and felt the emptiness of the bed and the rawness of her ass. She opened her eyes, and there Derrick was, getting dressed, strapping his gunbelt around him. "Come back to bed," she moaned. "Can't, baby," he said. "I've got to work my day job. Butch Cassidy broke out of jail." "Again?" Shannon grinned. "Third time this month," Derrick said. "This time, he took Sundance with him. But I would like to get together again. Maybe just for coffee." "Is that what you call it?" Shannon said. "Behave, woman," he said. "I'm serious. I work at the Graveyard Diner on Monday nights. You could meet me there. Midnight or so." "You sure?" "Of course, I'm sure." "Being with a trans isn't a one-time thing for you?" "Sweetie, I spend a lot of time around trans women. I think they're glorious. Only the bigots think otherwise." "Okay, midnight. Bring your handcuffs." Derrick laughed. "You can go back to sleep. Check-out time isn't until noon." "No, I've got to work, too," she said. "I need to get moving." "A woman like you shouldn't have to work among the commoners," Derrick grinned. "Well, rent has to be paid." "Tell me about it," Derrick said. He winked at her, then he slid out of the room quietly. Shannon lay back for a moment and thought about her evening. She was one happy chick, she decided. Afterglow is a marvelous thing. Then she looked over to check the time, and there it was. A stack of bills on the nightstand. She picked it up and fingered through it. There was $200 there. Damn it, she thought. He thought she was a pro. He thought she was pay- for-play. She felt ashamed, embarrassed, as if the money somehow lessened her passion. Shannon was a lot of things, but she wasn't a hooker. She had sex for the sake of having sex. That's it. She felt insulted, violated. And yet... Shannon was behind on her rent, and her credit cards were maxed out, and they electric bill needed to be paid. A. couple of hundred bucks could go a long way toward beating that back. Hell, she thought, she wasn't hurt. Nothing had been taken from her that she hadn't given away. She folded the money and stuffed it in her purse. Hell, it was just one time. * * For most of the day, Shannon was sure she wasn't going to the Graveyard Diner. But she did want to see Derrick again, and she wanted to explain that she was't a hooker. For some reason, that seemed important to her. She walked into the diner, and saw Derrick, sitting in a booth with a man in a suit. He held up his hand, motioning that he would be with her in a moment. Shannon sat down at the end of the bar and asked for coffee.It was a greasy spoon, a few tables and a counter, an older woman waiting tables. Given the hour, there were a lot of women in the restaurant. The other patrons in the diner measured her, then turned away. "Hey, sunshine" a voice said. It was Derrick. "Nice dress." "Oh, hello Derrick," she said. "Thanks. There's ... something I need to tell you." "After last night, you can tell me anything," he grinned. "Derrick, I'm not a ... whore," she said. "You left money..." "I never said you were a whore, not that anything is wrong with being one," Derrick answered. "Some of my best friends are whores." Shannon flushed. "Well, you left $200." Derrick shrugged. "A gift," he said. "A tip for a wonderful evening, Shannon. That's all." "Maybe I should tip you, then?" she said. "Yeah? You got $200 to spare?" Shannon glanced down. "No," she said. "Not really." "Just as I thought," Derrick said. "A lot of trans women are barely scraping by. It's a tragedy. You should be able to earn some real money." "Hooking?" Derrick shrugged. "The world's oldest profession," he said. "Nothing wrong with it." "It's against the law! And you're a cop." Shannon was dumbstruck. "It's an archaic crime designed to keep women from financial reward," Derrick said. "Trans women are quite the item now. You could earn a lot of money just by doing what we did last night Some men will pay big.." "But...that's wrong," Shannon said. "Is it? Because the puritans decided it was? The men have set up society so they have most of the high-paying jobs. What's wrong with a girl getting some of her own? Are you really superior for giving it away for free?" "No, I'm not superior," she said. "Look, Shannon. I have several women -- trans women -- who work for me, I, uh, manage their careers. I keep them safe, and no one gets arrested, and everyone makes money. Where's the victim here?" "You're ... a pimp?" Derrick frowned. "Ugly word. I just take care of some girls who need taking care of. Would you be more comfortable if I wore a fur coat and a fedora? Think of me as an agent. I'm a go-between." Shannon's jaw was open. Before she could stop herself, she asked, "how much do your girls make?" "It varies," Derrick said. "Usually, it's 60 bucks for a half-hour. If a guy wants more time, or if he wants something kinky, it's more. You get two-thirds of it. That's roughly a grand a week. I take care of the hotel and the weekly doctor's visits." "Derrick, every since I first wore a skirt as a kid, I've heard that prostitutes were dirty creatures, denigrates. They catch diseases, and they get hooked on drugs, and they end up dead in alleys." "Guys tell those stories, Shannon," Derrick said. "And they don't tell them at night. See that woman over there. That's Coco. That one is Sharon. The girl in the corner is Traci. They're professionals, Shannon. They're heathy, and they make a good living, and they enjoy their sex lives. I'll be honest: You'd fit right in." "I couldn't do that," Shannon said. "Don't protest too much. Why don't you talk to a couple of them, see what the life is like? Think of it as a learning experience." Shannon's resolve was weakening. Her arguments sounded hollow even to her. "Well, talking isn't bad." "Coco, do you have a minute?" "Officer Daddy? Do you mean me?" "Yes, Coco. Shannon here is interested in the life. I'd like to you tell her about it, the good and the bad. I'm going to leave you guys alone for a few minuets, okay? I'll be around if you need me." * * Her name was Coco Washington. She was a tall black woman with long, straight platinum blond hair and an infectious smile. Her white teeth gleamed against her ebony skin. Shannon decided she was beautiful. "So Officer Daddy tells me you want a crash course in whoring?" she said with a smile. "Um, I guess so," Shannon said. "It's a pain in the ass," Coco said. "But it's the good kind of pain in the ass." Shannon's eyes were wide now. She realized she was really considering this. "You don't feel...used?" Shannon said. Coco grinned. "I think I'm the user," she said. "I'm the one who gets paid. When people find out what I do for a living, they act like I have bugs." Coco sipped her coffee. "Let me ask you this, Shannon. Are you a virgin?" Coco leaned forward, "Um, no. Of course not." "Then the question is this: Why wouldn't you get paid for it? Have you read too many love stories? Think a guy is going to come riding up on a white horse and slay the dragon for you? Women -- especially trans women -- need to stop talking about love and start talking about cash." "Hookers get killed." "Not when Officer Daddy is taking care of them." "Why do you keep calling him Officer Daddy?" "It's my pet name for him. He's Derrick to everyone else. Or Officer Nelson. But we're, well, we're close." "Have you been with him for a long time?" "Three years," Coco said. "I was fucked up when I met him. Drugs, booze, the whole menu.He saved me from the gutter. I owe him." "Oh. I'm sorry." "Happens," Coco said. "A girl winds up on the wrong corner, and it's trouble. Shannon, if you don't mind may saying, you seem kind of innocent for this business. What's your deal?" "Same as all of us, I guess. A boy decides he's really a girl. Nothing special about me. I liked to dress up. Married a woman at 23. Divorced at 26. Same old story." "You were married?" "Yeah. Her name was -- is -- Beth. It didn't work out. She divorced me." "Because of the dressing up?" "Kind of," Shannon said. "I mean, at first she just laughed about it. She even thought it was fun. After a while, she got tired of the game, but still, she would look the other way. We were still all right." "So what happened?" "A guy happened," Shannon said, looking into her coffee. "Guys can do that," Coco said. "It was her idea, you know," Shannon said, as if she suddenly needed to talk about it. "She told one of our best friends about it. Larry Bishop. So Larry wanted to see me dressed. And then he wanted to have a threesome. I couldn't believe that Beth agreed to it. I've always wondered if if it was something she wanted or something she thought I needed." "Go on." "Well, shit. Larry had been with women before, but he had never been with a cross-dresser. I was a thrill ride for him, I guess. Something kinky. He climbed right over Beth and started kissing me. The next thing I knew, his dick was in my mouth and I was blowing him while Beth just lay there and watched. He never touched her. He took my rear, and then he went back into my mouth. After that, guys became part of the menu. Beth tried to understand. She would even bring home men for me. But in the end, she couldn't deal with my having boyfriends." "Baby, that's not your fault," Coco said. "Of course it is," Shannon said, a tear rolling down her cheek. She took a napkin to her eyes. "How about you? Ever married, Coco?" "Nope," Coco said, glad that the subject had changed. "I was with a guy for a year once, but he wanted a cis woman. God knows why." Shannon smiled. "You know, Shannon.It can be tougher for a black trans woman. My brothers were all athletes, you know? And I was this skinny kid who wore panties. That didn't go over big in my neighborhood. I grew up, and I found out there is as much racism as there is transphobia out there. It left me with some emotional scars. But mostly, I get by. I'm happy." "So do you like ... being a prostitute?" "Yeah," Coco said. "Most days. It suits me. I just wish the Johns would last a little longer and they would be a little cleaner. It's ain't all Pretty Woman, you know?" "I can imagine." "But it's over quick, and the money is good. The things most of us have to worry about is the law, and getting hurt, and disease. Derrick takes all of that out of it. The cops don't mess with us, and I think Derrick told you we have weekly medical checkups, and God help anyone who hurts one of us seriously." "Sounds like you have it better than most girls." "I guess. You just have to be safe. Stay away from drugs, the hard ones. Don't go to strange places. Don't date anyone who gives off a bad vibe. And never tell yourself you love a client. It's a barter, that's all." "Anything else?" "Yeah. Tell every guy he has the biggest dick you've ever seen. Tell him that it's a shame that his wife doesn't understand him. Tell him you're saving up to go back to college. Do that, you'll be fine. " "But I'd be a whore." "So what? I'm going to have it printed on business cards. 'Coco Washington... Whore. Have ass, will travel.'" Shannon laughed. Coco squinted at her. "You'd do okay, Shannon. You need bigger boobs. The guys like boobs. But I think a lot of clients would come back for seconds." Shannon blushed. "You don't make it sound so bad." "It beats poverty," Coco said. Shannon didn't say anything. She was wondering if she could do this. Coco leaned forward. "The truth? The truth is that it's a hell of a way to make a living. Better than being a movie star. Just try it for six months." Shannon felt her head nodding. "I could do six months," she said. * * * Shannon started on a Monday. She walked up 37th until she ran into a group of familiar women. Coco embraced her, which sealed her acceptance. Sharon and Traci were on either side of her, both thin, pasty women who could use a little more sun. A large trans woman -- she didn't come close to passing -- called herself Millie. There was a short Asian woman who called herself Ling. A stocky woman nearby was Julia. Now Shannon was one of the pack. They milled about the corner of 37th, posing for the passing cars. Julia and Ling smoked. Coco cracked jokes. Millie was picking at something on her pantyhose. Millie fascinated Shannon. Most of the women of the group worked overtime to be as feminine as possible, but Millie was too big, too masculine. Her hands were like meat hooks. She looked like a bouncer in drag. "What's her deal?" Shannon whispered to Coco. "Millie? No deal. She's just a bigger girl than most of us." "She isn't very...feminine," Shannon said. "Girl, you gotta learn. Guys like different things. Some guys want to act surprised that we're trans. Some guys embrace it. Millie has that linebacker look, but she gets more business than most of us. You'll see." A late model BMW pulled up the curb. The women gathered at his passenger's window. After a few seconds, Ling climbed in. "And we're off," Coco said. "We are open for business." Soon after, a Honda puled up, and Millie climbed in. Then it was a Volvo, and it was Coco's turn. And then a red pickup truck, and the door opened for Shannon. "I'm Luke," the driver said. "You got a price tag?" Shannon nervously climbed into the cab. "Hi Luke. I'm Shannon. I'm the blue light special." Luke snorted and pulled away from the curb. Evidently, he had done this before. He handed Shannon an envelope. She opened it, and there were three $20s there. He pulled around to the Cherry Blossom Motel, a half-block away. That was where Derrick's girls all worked. The two of them went to room 219. Shannon stuffed the envelope into a slot in the safe. "What floats your boat, Luke?" Shannon whispered, approaching him. "I want to look at you for a minute. Why don't you dance for me?" Shannon switched on the radio on the bed stand and found an station with less static than most. A Taylor Swift song came on. Shannon closed her eyes and started to sway. "Your clothes," Luke said horsely. "I want you to take them off." So Shannon started to pull off her clothes, trying to remember to move fluidly. Luke gasped when he saw her breasts. He swore when she lost her panties and hung free in front of him. He was transfixed as she danced, rubbing the front of his pants. She noticed that his fingernails were dirty. "You have a nice dick," Luke said without shame. "Play with it for me" Shannon lifted her penis. Luke dry-swallowed audibly. "Rub your boobs," he said. She did. She spun and leaned over, giving him a view of her ass. Luke smiled. "Now tell me you're a whore." Shannon felt herself blush. "I'm...I'm a whore," she said softly. "I suck dicks for money." "Dicks...money." "I'm a shemale." Shannon flinched at the word. "Yes," she said. Luke nodded. He stood and unfastened his belt. He tugged his jeans down. He wasn't wearing underwear, and his penis stood at attention. "Nice one," Shannon said, remembering what Coco had told her. "I mean, it's huge." "Do you think it's bigger than your mouth?" Luke said. "Probably," Shannon said, sinking to her knees. "Let's find out." For Shannon, it was a humiliating, demeaning moment. But there was some thrill there, too. She had been with men before, and she had felt a dick push against her throat before, but this was new. This was a criminal act, sex for money, copulation with a random stranger. Somehow, it made the moment even more erotic. Luke grabbed her head, roughly, and fucked her face. It wasn't sweet, and it wasn't gentle. But no one pays for sweet and gentle. They pay for whores. Coco had said that men go quickly when they pay for it, but Luke was determined to get his money's worth. He was in her mouth for 20 minutes. He was strong, and he was forceful, and when he came, Shannon felt like she was going to drown. It tasted like money. One down, she thought. A few hundred thousand to go. * * The week went slowly. There was the soldier on leave, Ben, who didn't even want her to take off her skirt. He just flipped it up and took her backside. There was the night watchman, Jordie, who wanted her to swear at him as he rubbed her. There was the kid from college, Samuel, who brought a camera to take pictures for a class project. There was Jimmy, who wanted to urinate on her. "So were they all nice?" Coco asked as they sat in the Graveyard. "Pretty much. Luke was a little rough. I felt like I should charge Samuel half-price because he's such a kid." Coco laughed. "I had a rich white boy from the suburbs," she said. "Ashford or something like that. He thought he was Thomas Jefferson and I was Sally. He had a tiny dick, but he had a big wallet." "I guess that's better than the other way around." "Well, that would have worked, too. Just so something was big." "Ben was weird. He kept talking about the ladyboys he met in China. I told him that next time, he should ask for Ling" "That's funny," Coco said, rolling her eyes. "But Ling is from Dayton. " "Not for an extra $20, she's not." Coco coughed up some of her coffee. "Who else did you say?" "Jordie. He's about 50, and he has a beer gut that enters a room six seconds before the rest of him. He has gravy stains all across his shirt." "Hey, fat boys need love, too." "I guess. Maybe I should have taken off the corset and just worn cheeseburgers on my chest." "Do that, and he'll never leave." "He might not anyway. He called me "mommy." "Does his mommy have a dick, too?" "I bet his mommy has had several." "The strangest John I ever had was a guy who once who brought baseball gloves to my hotel room. He kept throwing at me, and I can't catch a baseball for shit. He was yelling 'Now pitching ... Pete Rose.' And I tried to tell him that Pete Rose wasn't a pitchers and he called me a dumb bitch and left." Shannon giggled. "Men are weird," she said. "Thank God," Coco said. * * The next night was a Tuesday, and Shannon assumed her normal position on the corner. She was wearing a a red dress with red ribbons in her hair. She thought the guys would like that. But Coco walked up to her and said, "Put it on hold, girlfriend. Officer Daddy wants to see you before you get started. What did you fuck up?" "Um...nothing. I swear." "Well, maybe Officer Daddy just wants to sample the goods with the new girl. Again, I mean." Shannon blushed. She walked into the diner, where Derrick sat at his usual table in the corner. Shannon slid into a chair opposite him. "You call for me?" Shannon said softly. "Shannon! How was your first night?" "It was...um, okay." "That's what I hear. You were nice to be with, I hear." "You hear?" Derrick smiled. "Customers talk" he said. Shannon didn't say anything. "You want to make some real money,Shannon?" "That's why I'm here," Shannon said. "It's not for fun and giggles." Derrick shrugged. "We have a client -- Charlie McCoy. Everyone calls him Costume Charlie. Have the girls mentioned him?" "I don't think so," Shannon said. "Charlie owns a costume shop. He rents outfits to the local Little Theatre, for parties, for Halloween, what have you. He rents his girls for the night. That's a thousand dollars. You get $750 of it." "And what do I have to do for that?" "Does it matter?" Derrick said. "I guess not." Derrick smiled. "The girls love Costume Charlie. He makes you wear an outfit and play a role for the night. It's fun. You might dress up as Cleopatra while he wears a toga. You could be Eva Braun while he's Hitler." "So there's no sex?" "Oh, there's a lot of sex, Shannon. You're a hooker. Go on. Say it." "I'm...I'm a hooker." "That's right. Embrace it. The best ones do." "Is that all, Derrick?" "Don't you want to know what role you're playing, Shannon?" "Yeah, I guess." "You're a school girl, Shannon. A stereotypical school girl. I have the uniform in the back for you. I imagine you'll have an oral exam or two." Derrick laughed. "$750?" "And maybe a tip." Shannon nodded. "I'll bring an apple," she said. "Shannon, this could be good for you. Charlie usually likes to have a regular. If you make him happy, you could be his once a week. That would pay a lot of bills." "I'll study," she said. * * Most clients aren't freaks. Most of them just want to get off and get out. Some talk endlessly -- about their wives, about their jobs, about their disappointments -- and some don't say much at all. After Shannon left Derrick, that night, things got busy. There was Harry, an accountant who just wanted her ass. There was Raymond, who wanted a blow job. There was Nick, who liked a half-and-half. There was Beau, a black man who liked white trans women -- trannies, he called them. There was Saul and Kareem and Billy Bob. Shannon found a rhythm her clients, and after a while, there should have been a revolving door to her hotel room.At times, she felt she wasn't so much a sex worker than someone on an assembly line. Men came, men went. Nothing kinky about that at all. One night, it was shortly before Shannon gave up on her corner. Her heels were killing her, and her white dress wasn't warm enough for the early morning. A beige Volvo came steaming around the corner. It pulled up to the curb in front of her. "Hey, baby,' a slurred voice came from behind the wheel. "Would you like to ... holy shit! Is that you, Michael?" Shannon's eyes widened. There behind the wheel was Larry Bishop, old Threesome Larry, her first male lover. "Hot damn, Michael. Look at you! I mean, I knew you were a sissy, but I never thought you'd be out here peddling your ass. You've gone full fag on us now!" "Hello, Larry," she said softly. "It's been a long time. I go by Shannon now." "Shit! You're a working girl now? Christ. Who would have thought it?" "People gotta eat, Larry," "Crap. Does Beth know?" "No. Please don't tell her." "Shit. Did you...did they cut off your wienie? "Did I have a sex change, Larry? No. It's annoying for you to ask." "Crap. How much do you charge?" "You couldn't afford me." "Don't be like that, Mike. I mean, Sharon." "Shannon." "Right. We could have some fun. Just for old times' sake. You were the first shemale I ever had." "We don't like the word 'shemale,' Larry." "I remember what you like." "Larry, it's not a good idea. I can introduce you to my friend Coco. Or Millie. You'd like Millie." "Damn it. You're a whore. I'm a John. My money isn't good enough for you?" Shannon sighed. Of course it was. In the end, money always had the last word. "The Cherry Blossom is right down the street. Room 219. Meet. you there in 10 minutes." And as sex went, it was perfectly awful. Still, the money would spend just fine. * * Costume Charlie was a short man with brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He fidgeted as he walked into Shannon's room, as if he was a little nervous. She stood in the doorway, wearing a tweed skirt and a while blouse. She had on Mary Janes and her hair was into pigtails with green barrettes. In her left hand, she had a Tootsie Roll Pop. In her right, she had an American Studies textbook. Now, both of them knew that a high school girl today wouldn't be caught dead in such an outfit. But that was part of the fantasy. Shannon was not dressing like a real high school girl; she was dressing to Charlie's idea of one. "Hi, Mr. McCoy," she said. "You wanted to see me?" "Why, yes, Shannon, I did. You've been a very naughty girl. You flunked your American studies exam, didn't you?" "Mr. McCoy, I can't possibly remember all of those state capitals. I thought the capital of Texas was Willie Nelson." "No sweetheart, it's Austin." "Is that where the Alamo is?" "No, my child. I ought to spank you, but why don't we just study together?" "That would be so neat-o, Mr. McCoy. Do you want me to sit in your lap?" "Well, that would be a good idea. Sit here, and we'll see what comes up." Shannon slid onto his lap. She wriggled a bit, feeling him harden beneath her rear. "I'll study, but this is really hard," she giggled. "And it's getting harder," Charlie moaned. "Oh, Mr. McCoy. Is that a half-a-roll of Certs in your pocket?" she asked. "Now hush, girl. Repeat after me: The capital of Alabama is Montgomery. Alaska is Juneau. Arizona is Phoenix. Arkansas is Little Rock." "I think Mr. McCoy has a big rock," Shannon tittered. "Tell you what, Shannon. If you can learn just five a day, you'll have them all in 10 days and you can pass." "If I suck your dick, Mr. McCoy, can I pass today?" A gurgling noise came out of Charlie's throat. He nodded, and Shannon slid down off of his lap onto the floor. She grinned up at him as she worked his belt. She put her hans under his ass and lowered her face. "The capital of cock is C," she said before she got started. "I can remember that one." * * Sundays belonged to the Preacher. He was a tall man with a birdlike profile. He sneered at her as he was counting out the money. On his face, there was contempt he didn't bother to mask. 'What's your name, honey?" Shannon asked. "I am Preacher John Deacon," he said. "And your name is what? Jezebel?" Uh-oh, she thought. A religious nut. Pass the snakes. She shook her head. She was standing there, her burgundy blouse unbuttoned. She shook her head. "You can call me what you like, Preacher," she said. "What can I do for you?" "You can repent, harlot," he said. "Before you burn in hellfire." "Fine. I'll repent, but it'll cost you an extra 50. For $100, I'll repent three times." "Don't mock me. Whores are legion. You are Rehab, and you are Lilith. You are Tamar, and you are Delilah." "Aren't those the original Spice Girls?" "You should fall on your knees, Dinah." "I've been on my knees a lot, Preacher. What do you have in mind?" The preacher stood around the room, quoting verses from a Bible Shannon hadn't heard. At one point, he fished a string of Rosary beads from his pocket and threw them at her. "You are a temptress," he accused. "Gee, Preacher. All I did was blow the Good Samaritan. To tell you the truth, I thought he was only an Average Samaritan.' "You have a dick! It's a sin for a man to dress in women's clothing." "Didn't the apostles do that?" "Only Matthew," the Preacher said. "Hey Preacher. You know that woman who was turned into salt? She married her husband because she heard he was packing a Lot." "You will marry Satan," the Preacher snarled. "Oh, lighten up, Preacher. I know what I am. Now, you gonna take off those pants, or what?" The Preacher's face contorted in anger. He raised is hand as if to hit her, then changed his mind and threw her on the bed. He lowered his pants and thrust his dick into her backside in one jab. "Can you say, 'Jesus,' " Shannon moaned. The Preacher continued to pump into Shannon. He shuddered as he came. "Can I see you next Sunday?" he said. * * Then came Kenny. Kenny was younger than most of Shannon's clients, a thick, big man who had spent time on the practice squad of the Bengals. He was an offensive guard, she learned, and the long scar across his forehead made him look even more menacing. Kenny didn't say a lot as he undressed in the corner. Shannon noted the immense nature of the man, the way the steroids bulged his muscles. She pulled off her skirt -- a leather mini -- and sat in the desk chair washing him. He smiled shyly as he approached her, towering over her. He ran his fingers through her hair. Then he sank to his knees. And he took her penis into his mouth. By this time, Shannon had had sex with a lot of men, but all of them had ignored her dick. Rarely, it was a curiosity. But no one had sucked her since she was married to Beth. But Kenny couldn't get enough. He attacked her cock, sucking it so hard she thought it might detach from her body. He rubbed her small testicles softly. He was a vacuum cleaner, licking her like he had 10 tongues. He licked up and down the shaft as if it was something he was born to do. Shannon was stunned. For her, it was s complete role reversal. It was as if she was the John and Kenny was the prostitute. She kind of liked it. "Call me Kendra," he whispered, "Okay, Kendra," she said. As an afterthought she added "You bitch." She came hard, the novelty of the act stirring her juices. "I have a strap-on in the night stand, Kendra," she said softly. "I could peg you if you want." "Give me a minute first," Kendra said. "So have you been doing this long, Kendra?" "A while," he said. "Since college. Jesus help me. I want to be just like you." Shannon smiled. "If you want it, you have have it. You just have eat society's droppings for a few years." Shannon smiled. He was a large man, but so was Millie. Once he figured things out, he -- she -- would be all right. "Can I wear your panties?" Kendra whispered. "I carry an extra pair," Shannon said. "You can have them." "I love cross-dressers," Kendra said. "I see them everywhere. On TV. In the movies. In magazines." "Do you ever see them in the mirror." Kendra looked at Shannon. "Sometimes," he said. "Kendra, you're a sweet girl," Shannon said. "I can help you." "I'm a sweet ... girl." he repeated. Shannon smiled. "Lucky you," she said. * * Costume Charlie seemed to like Shannon. He had seen her once a week for a month now, which seemed like a lot of money to Shannon. After all, Charlie just owned a small costume shop. But as long as he could pay, he could stay. And so they we're Batman and Catwoman. They were Scarlet O'Hara and Rhett. They were Also and Rick. Every session was a role play for them. This time, Shannon was another cliche -- the hotel maid. She was dressed in one of those fetish outfits, black satin with a white apron. A small white cap was on top of her head. No hotel in the country dressed their maids like that. But it was Charlie's dime, so Charlie called the shots. "May I clean your room, Mister McCoy?" Shannon said in a fake French accent. She curtsied for him "I can take care of you in a few minutes." "I bet you can, Shannon," Charlie said. "I think I'll watch while you clean the room. Is that okay?" "If you wish, sir," she said. "I am here to serve you." Charlie smiled. "You know, I sat on a dirty rug earlier. Could you please dust my nuts?" "Why, certainly sir," she said, curtsying. "Let me get my feather duster, and you pull down your pants. I can iron them for you if you wish." "Well, I wouldn't want my wife to catch us," Charlie said. "Oh, non," Shannon said. "She might put you in one of these uniforms if she caught you playing with the maid." "Shannon, you're the perfect maid.." "Oh, my," she said, putting her hand over her mouth. "I am so embarrassed. Please don't punish me." "Actually, it's. a severe infraction to show one's panties to her employer. I might have to paddle you." "Sir! Please do not. I have never spanked you." "Well, who's the maid?" "I am...for now," Shannon giggled. "Behave, Shannon. I'm too much man to be a maid." "Yes. The rabbit hole is lined with such words. I have a cock cage. Do you think it will fit?" Shannon reached into her purse. "That little thing. No, it wouldn't fit." "We could try it, sir," Shannon said, playfully pushing his dick into the plastic tube. "See. If anything, it's a little large." She snapped the lock shut on her cock cage and laughed. "Maids work very hard, sir. I think you should start by making the bed." Shannon flipped the bedspread onto the floor. "Why don't you put on my uniform and start." "Oh, ma'am. I couldn't do that." Even as he spoke, Charlie was stepping into Shannon's panties. "But you want to, don't you, sissy boy? You want me to call you a fag while you suck my strap on, don't you?" "You...heave a strap on?" Shannon laughed. "Doesn't everyone? Why don't you touch it?" "But...but.." "Then you can kiss it, my girly man." Charlie moaned. Without Shannon touching him, he came into her panties. "Maybe we don't need a different uniform for next week," he said. "No," Shannon said. "But next time, wear your own panties." * * Shannon was in the Graveyard, talking to Derrick, flirting a little bit, on the night when Julia got hurt. There unwritten rules were no drugs, and no strong men. Julia was low on money, though, and prone to cut corners. So when an ugly looking man named Spider had driven up in a Honda. Julia had climbed inside. Spider turned out to be an angry, angry mad. He hated his job, and he hated his wife, he was looking for a place to turn looks of his rage. Julia was on her knees In front of him, evidently compliant, when his fists began to fly. Maybe she had said something. Maybe she had done something. Maybe sex with a trans woman hit Spider wrong. But he checked her, and he broke her left arm. He tore her clothes and left her laying on the floor. When Derrick found out, he was furious. The veins in his neck jutted out, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. He stormed out of the Graveyard, talking into his radio. Shannon couldn't believe how furious he was. Derrick didn't come back that night. She didn't see him th next night either. But three days later, someone dropped Spider off at Memorial Hospital.Bot of his arms and a leg were fractured. The transgender flag was tattooed on his ankle. Spider said he didn't know who had mugged him. * * The entourage entered the diner at midnight, the men in dark suits looking carefully over the room. The tall man with the gray temples slid into the booth opposite Derrick. "How have you been, Officer Nelson?" "I'm fine, Senator," Derrick answered. "How are things with you?" "It's a grind," Senator Chris Hawkins said. "I'm working three, four hours a day. Public service is a bitch." "Good thing you know how to relax, isn't it?" The Senator grinned. "Yeah. You'r girls have been a Godsend. Angels without wings is what I call them." "They could wear wings if you want." "It's a metaphor, Officer Nelson. I prefer them to wear nothing at all." Derrick grinned. Hawkins was one of his oldest customers. By day, he was a conservative senator who took a had stand against anything LGBT- related. Lately, he had ranted against transgender athletes, as if trans women were going to take over the Olympics. The hatred sold well in Ohio. At night, Hawkins was different. He liked his women with cocks. He liked nothing better than to give a rousing speech about the decline or morality, then retreat to his hotel room with a trans hooker. Inwardly, Derrick thought he was the lowest form of hypocrite. "Who's the new girl?" the Senator asked, looking across the diner at Shannon, who was drinking coffee as it rained outside. "That's Shannon. She's a sweetie." "Can I meet her?" "Of course you can. She's as smart as she as pretty. You'll like her." "I'll like the top of her head. What the name of the girl she's sitting with? Didi or something." "Coco," Derrick said. "You know Coco." "Yeah. That' she name. She was fun." "She liked you, too, Senator." Hawkins paused. He looked at his security detail. Their faces were passive. They could see a suspicious character a mile away, but they couldn't see the prostitution that was in front of them. "Tell you what," Hawkins said. "I'll take both of them. Coco and Sheila." "Shannon." "Whatever. Just have them go to the Hilton at midnight. Back entrance. Room 417." "They'll be there, Senator. Any special requests." "Well, there's this," the Senator said, leaning forward. "Do they vote?" Compared to the Cherry Blossom, the Hilton was a room in the sky. The double bed was wide, and there was no musty smell. The art on the wall was better than the dogs-playing-poker print the girls were used to see. Coco went straight to the mini-bar and started pulling out liquor bottles. She tossed a small vodka to Shannon. "I thought we were supposed to avoid this shit," Shannon said. "Some guys require booze," Coco said. "This one does. He won't even let us use his bathroom because we're degenerates." "Fuck him," Shannon said. "That's the job," Coco said. Hawkins arrived a half-hour later. He had been drinking. He kissed Shannon roughly on the lips. He then kissed Coco on the cheek. "Ladies!" the Senator said. "I don't ask a lot of women this, but how are they hanging?" "Fine, Senator,"Coco said, sounding bored. "Heard that one, huh? Never mind. I think we should get the party started." "We should," Coco said. "Which one of us do you want first?" The Senator leered at her. "I want you to do each other while I watch," he said. "A black queer and a white fag. That'll be sweet." "No" Shannon said. "I'm the queer and I'm white. She's black and she's the fag." The Senator looked puzzled. "Isn't that what I said?" "Not quite." "Well, get on with it then. Someone should be kissing someone's dick. Got it?" Coco grinned. She liked Shannon. As requests came, this one wasn't bad. She leaned over and lightly kissed Shannon's lips, sliding her tongue into her friend's mouth. She touched her breast. . "It' just me and you, baby," she whispered. "Forget about him." And Shannon went with it. She caressed Coco's cheek. She smiled at the faraway look in her eyes. "Let's get into bed," Shannons said. Coco pulled Shannon's pink to over her head. She unfastened her bra and kissed her nipples. The contrast of the skins of the two women were erotic. The sight of their two erections, bumping softly into each other, made the Senator realize he had been holding his breath. Shannon kissed down Coco's stomach. The Senator's eyes widened as she took Coco's cock into her mouth. Coco did the same, and the Senator started muttering to himself. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Both Shannon and Coco were well paid for their session, but the truth is, they both liked it enough to pay themselves. Coco gently withdrew from Shannon's mouth. "Turn over, baby," she said. And Shannon did, realizing the significance of Coco assigning her as the bottom. She felt Coco's cock enter her ass slowly, then repeatedly. Soon afterward, Shannon came violently. So did Coco. The Senator. He beat them both by five minutes. * * Shannon was standing next to Ling and Millie as the cars whizzed past. Traffic was a little heavy for drivers to slow down, so they had tow work especially hard when the red lights cooperated. A new girl, Roxanne, stood nearby, smacking chewing gum. She was young, but already, she was hardened by the streets. Shannon was wearing a short yellow dress. Her hair was in an updo. Her lips gleamed in the neon lights from the Graveyard. Which is when a short blond woman walked up to Roxanne. "Keep moving, bitch," Roxanne snarled. "This turf is taken." "I'm...I'm looking for someone," the woman said. And Shannon's heard snapped around at the sound. It was Beth, her ex-wife. What the hell was she doing here. Beth looked at Shannon and smiled. "Hello Mikey," she said softly. "It's...it's Shannon now," Shannon managed. "Shannon. Of course," Beth said. "No offense." "It's okay," Shannon said. "How did find me?" "Larry Bishop called me. He told me about ... your situation. You know...that you were ...an escort.' "No, an escort gets paid a lot more," Shannon said. "I'm a whore." Beth struggled for a response. Finally, she said. "it's good to see you again." "Thank you." "Are...are those real?" Shanon smiled. "Yeah. They're me. Hate me?" "Of course not. We were so ... young I didn't know how to handle things. I should have been better." "Yeah, me, too. Did you ever get remarried?" "Not yet. I'm with someone thought. Did you ever meet Freddie Martin?" "I don't think so." "You'd like him, Shannon. You would." "Listen, Beth. Um, I'm working. I can't stand around and talk." "Oh," Beth said. "I see. How much?" "Huh?" "How much do you charge. I'd like to talk to you." "Um, it's $60 for a half hour. And maybe a tip." "Sold.Where do we go." "There's a hotel called the Cherry Blossom. We can go there." It was always easy to talk to Beth. She had a nice smile, and she was smart and insightful. It was hard for Shannon to blame her for not liking that her husband was fucking other men. Now, all the scars had healed. She found herself interested as Beth talked about Freddie, and her new job, and parents. The conversation was easy. "So. you're a prostitute?" "You make it sound evil." "I don't mean to. I'm not being judgmental. Do you...do you still like girls, too?" "I like the idea of girls," Shannon said. "They don't have much interest in a trans hooker." "It's a shame. You're very pretty. I always thought so." "You're just saying that." "No, I'm not. So how much time do I have left on the meter?" "I don't care about that, Beth. What do you need?" Beth smiled. "You," she said, covering Shannon's hand with her own. She stood and pulled her skirt down, letting it fall to the floor. Her panties were blue. She kissed Shannon, and it tasted like yesterday. Suddenly, she was once gain a cross-dressing husband trying on his wife's panties in front of the mirror. Beth lifted his left breast and smiled. She traced down his stomach and fondled his penis. "You have such nice parts," Beth said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a strap-on dildo. "Now, who's you Daddy?" she grinned. "We shouldn't...." Shannon said. "I mean...Freddie. And the divorce." "One time, for old times," Beth said. "I want this. You want this. And I've paid my money." For Shannon, it felt familiar...and degrading. She felt her ex-wife's groin push against her ass. She felt her dildo -- they come in blue? -- against her sphincter. And then Beth was fucking her, just like all the others. It was hot...and humiliating. It was erotic...and embarrassing. There was a sweetness, and a bitterness, to their lovemaking. "Do you eat pussy," Beth asked as they lay there afterward. "Whatever the client wants," Shannon said. "The client wants your tongue, woman," she said. Shannon smiled and lowered her head. Yeah, she still remembered how to give head to a woman. * * It was his finest idea, Costume Charlie thought. It was the perfect blend of fantasy and fashion, something that neither he nor Shannon would ever forget. They were getting married. Well, sort of. After all, the clergy wasn't official. It was just the Preacher, gathering two together to be united in holy matrimony. Derrick was going to be the best man. Coco was going to be the maid of honor. Beth, of all people, was going to give away the bride. And Shannon was going to wear white. The wedding gown was full, and it had small pearls on the bodice.There was a veil, and a train, and Shannon had a pair of white heels. It was the dream of every transvestite. She was going to be a bride. She was going to stand at the altar in front of all of her friends. God, what a rush. When Charlie had approached her, she had thought he had a normal role play planned. Indiana Jones and Marion Ravenwood. Dracula and Mina Harper. Romeo an Juliet. Instead, he went to Derrick and bought a whole week of Shannon's services. He gave her a ring and went down on one knee at the Graveyard. The girls had thrown her a bachelorette party. Yeah, it was fun. Then, one night when they were alone, working on their vows, Charlie had turned to her. "We could do this for real, you know?" "What are you talking about, Charlie?" "We could get married. You could be my wife." "I'm a whore, Charlie." "And I'm a whore-monger," he said simply. "People meet in weird ways." "Charlie, you don't want me." "Don't tell me what I want. I love you." "That's sweet, Charlie. But I'm not ready to be a house wife in the suburbs." "We could live in the city." "Not the point, Charlie. Inside, I'll aways be the girl who sells her ass. I've known a lot of men." "That doesn't matter to me." "Fuck, Charlie. I'm married to my job. I'm married to working for Derrick." "Do you love Derrick?" "Well, no. Not really. I mean, we sleep together some, but he sleeps with all of his girls." "I'd just sleep with you." "I'm not a housewife, Charlie. I'm not going to hold garden parties and talk about books I've read." Charlie was quiet for a minute. Then he said "you could keep your job." "Are you high?" "No, I'm serious. The whole time I've known you, you've seen other men. It's okay. When we're together, it's just us." "So you're going to drop me off at the Graveyard every night, and when I come home, you're not going to notice sperm on my breath?" "I could deal with it, Shannon." She sighed. "Can I still change you?" He giggled. "Can I get a discount? She leaned over and kissed him gently. "We'll talk," she said. Copyright, 2021, Cassandra Morgan