2 March 2002 | Vol. 2, No. 1

Once I Was a Whore…

by KIMBERLY TOWNSEND PALMER

and it wasn't any big deal, but I knew

I'd crossed some line somewhere.

I wonder how many of us have,

without anyone ever guessing?

I look normal, I have no scars

from the experience. Probably

it was the most straightforward sex of all.

I knew why I was in his house, no illusions,

no dreams of something more than $100.

He tucked the money in my purse.

Bobby was Filipino, a college graduate.

His dad was Secretary of Something

back home, way up in the government,

they'd been thrown out, of course.

His house was nice. Lots of chess sets

and books. He worked as an accountant

next door to me, the baby office girl.

The other workers were all Mexicans,

all shy but one, the foreman, who leered

and winked constantly. I was typing and filing

for a semester, not forever. The woman

who'd had Bobby's job before had embezzled

tens of thousands, so the poor man had to be

a paragon of virtue. Still, he flirted

at the lunch truck, and all his b's were v's,

and bice bersa. I ate fries and Twinkies

every day, no thought to the waistline,

I was so young. He had a sparse little mustache,

and that smooth Asian skin. His hands

were soft, long full fingers and manicured.

He wore trousers and shiny print shirts,

open to the second button, a normal

gold chain. The reason he had to hire me?

Small dick, but he tried hard and so

politely with his hands. He wanted me

to feel something, too. I lay half

on the bed, half off, feet on the floor.

It was the only way he could do it.