A hoe is a mutilated fairy

 My eyelashes bend up like the thrill of a rollercoaster ride at Coney Island.


      I part my lips slightly, a wisp of my minty breathe escapes my lungs softly as I stomp the pavement letting my hips roll into these stilettos, my fur coat keeps me tingling with heat.
       Hoes never get cold because hoes are cold. Masses of dirty slushy snow in stockings and body suits too tight.
     I am bare, my breasts and hips, a Barreta against unknown shadows of men. Men whose names I forget in a week. Men who blur, blenders filled with skin and color and muscles and fat.


     He sits on the hotel bed, money on the dresser, naked, in lust, in the way he bites his lips to the point they bruise red. His eyes on full glare, stare, at a fantasy. A girl, A TRANS girl, a mermaid, a master with his leash. I'm NOT here. In my place, an ideal has taken over my nervous smile, my uncontrolled laughter. He's embracing my red aura, the redness of my cheekbones. He inhales my scent...Cherry....Mixed with vanilla. My dress falls....I'm bare.


        I used to smile nervously. I used to giggle incessantly. I used to believe in love and honeymoons in Samoa and that men could be soft. Soft like fur comforters entangled impolitely inbetween my smooth thighs. I used to run into his arms, used to lose myself in him. I remember his sloppy kisses, and the vulgar way he used to slip his hands into my skirt. The moments he curled into me, laying his heart bare for me. I used to be needed. This heart, amd warmth inside me, warmth around him, around his penis, around his heart.


     Now I'm not needed. The pieces of me that were so awkwardly sweet. HE poisoned them. Let them rot. And now men only see me as a rolling shadow figure of fantasy. Im an ounce of liquid from the food processor of women. Almond eyes, pouty, full lips, wide hips, full meaty breasts, manicured feet, a hard shenis, a latex body suit insulating sweat, a chaotic, archaic symbol of female prowess as a female nurse.
I OWN this. Sex, the heat I cause in men. The blood in hard dicks I cause to steam and collect like collection of water on the pot covers of spaghetti sauce. I'm a midnight fairy, that's forgotten her way home.


     It's ok. The money. The sex. The men. The trips. The hotels. The states. The countries. Its good.


     Until I return to my condo on the upper east side, the one my politician bought me. Until I return to tan fur comforters. I place the fur comforter between my legs. And Still... I feel the cold settle into my joints. I could conjure sensuous magic. Make guys step out their madane lives, to feel the magic of an enchantress.

 

    I could muster sex but not love. I was a mutilated fairy without her wings.


    I felt the expensive bourbon burn my esaphagus, giving me that sickly tasting floating feeling in my veins. I drank and the room spinned. I laughed as I cried. You got this. You don't need no man.


     Hoes don't cry.


      I bat my mascara-ed eyelashes. Swayed my hips in this mini dress that barely clung to my butt in my gold embroidered huge hallway mirror. My eyes were big veins of redden blood and weed smoke. A few drops of visine and I'm out the door.


Maybe it's the money
Maybe it's the security of it
Maybe it's power.


Or maybe its me.


A maleficent without a forest kingdom. My wings were also butchered. Sex is my revenge against men. And behold, i drown men in sex and desire, like a succubus feeding.