[inclusion] trigger: miss, bliss, kiss, hiss
Miss Treatment was her professional name. She was a sex worker. She came to that particular career arc after a number of soul sucking adventures in a variety of corporate structures. She had always been amazing at what she did but until she became a sex worker she had been following someone else’s dream. Now, as a professional dominatrix, she had found her bliss.
Her male co-workers always accused her of being bossy and demanding, something they had no problem accepting from each other. One day as she muttered, “kiss my ass, you mysognist asshole” to the back of a director who couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the bottom, she thought, he would probably pay for that and set about researching how to become a professional dominatrix. Three months later, she quit her last corporate gig, rented a space and never looked back. That was two years ago.
“Lick my boots” she hissed to the original inspiration for her career change. In the two years he’d made COO and become one of her most regular clients. She’d been right, he would pay for the privilege of kissing her ass.
I sat in front of the building applying lip gloss, not out necessity but as a means to pass the time as I waited. My boss was perpetually late, but I had a plan for that. The invitation in the calendar was 60 minutes before they were due to meet with the client. This is why I was sitting here, dressed to the nines in my moss green power suit and matching pumps, applying lip gloss and watching the 10 o’clock people speed smoke in the plaza. As I sat there crossing and uncrossing my legs, admiring the flex of my calves, I wondered what new eccentricity my boss would loose up on them today. Thus far I had experienced: the skirt tucked inside pantyhose, mismatched shoes and at the last meeting the mis-buttoned shirt and jacket combined with the large bit of salad still stuck in her teeth. That was the other reason I was here early, I could prep the boss in the ladies room. I could adjust clothing, I had floss, I was prepared. It’s not that my boss was a bad person, to the contrary she was brilliant and simply did not get the minutiae of everyday life. That was my job. Honestly if you let the simple missteps get in the way of her brilliance then it was your loss.
I was 22, first person in my family to go to college. I was living the dream, cushy law firm job in the big city, apartment with a view and a doorman. Traveling for work and for pleasure. All the things I was supposed to aspire to growing up black and poor were at my fingertips. I wasn’t thinking about Ferguson or Eric Garner. I had escaped. If they’re done as they were told they’d still be alive besides I had all the time in the world to fix this. I would make partner, establish myself, run for office. I could show everyone that if you studied hard and dressed properly you could be black and successful.
I’d rented a car to drive to a formal affair on a client’s property that was outside the city. I was trying to impress the client and I could write it off so I went with expensive but not ostentatious or I chose the Mercedes instead of the Jaguar or at least that was my 22 year old justification. If I got this client to sign a new contract I could lease one of these instead of renting it for the weekend.
I was on my way back to my building, luxuriating in the ride when I noticed the flashing lights in my mirrors. I hadn’t been speeding or ran amy lights so I moved to the slow lane to let the police car go by. The police car stayed behind me and as I braked at the next set of traffic lights I heard the officer demand that I pull over. I stopped, still puzzling over the nature of my infraction. The office approached the car and put my window down.
“Can I help you officer?”
“Do you know why I stopped you?”
“Can’t say that I do”
“OK. License and registration!”
“Sure let my grab…”
“HE’S GOT A GUN!”
My final thought as I sat at that redlight trying to catch my breath as fluid filled my lungs was what picture are they going to dig up to justify this?
As soon as you finally start to relax there is the fear we’re going to start arguing again.
We’ve both been at it for months, set off by the slightest hint of anything. The lights, the tap, a bit of hair on the floor, burnt toast, late responses to texts, anything, everything was grounds for an argument of epic proportions. Prolonged screaming matches that left us both exhausted and asking is it worth it? How did a relationship that started so well all those years ago come to this?
We were both rebounding from relationships that quietly run their course. We ran in the same circles and kept seeing each other and you went from quiet acknowledgement to actively seeking each other out. Accidental encounters became planned rendezvous and those turned in to dinner and a movie, and dinner and a movie turned into weekend trips and on and on until we were spending as much time at each other’s places as we were at our own.
Summed up like this, the relationship seems clinical but words on a screen can’t describe the passion of our first kiss or the unbridled joy of the early years. Yet at some point in the last six months something had changed and the passion and joy were replaced by bitterness, jealousy and acrimony. It was like a switch was flipped and everything that we enjoyed about each other became an irritant.
The screaming matches were part of the daily routine now. The violence was there under the surface, in words, the plethora of broken dishes and the tchotchkes crashing to floor when doors were slammed shut. Until that night at least. It was not intended, I simply wanted you shut up. I was tired of the sound of your voice and threw the closest thing at hand. I knew something was wrong, the immediate silence was almost oppressive. As there you lay, on the ground, mouth still agape, blood pouring from your wound, all I could think was I still love you so much. It was as if all the fights had never happened as I cleaned around you in the kitchen before turning my attention to you. There was never a thought about how I was going to explain this or what I was going to do with you. We were in this together, we were going to get over this rough patch and get back to where were before and for the first time in months we could breathe.
Or at least I could.
I never used to dream, I would put my head down on the pillow and I was out until I awoke the next morning. I was like this for a long time until one day on my way home a woman stopped me in the street and give me three stones. I never used to take things from strangers either. Yet, suddenly I was standing at the door to my apartment with three colored stones in my hand searching for my keys. I never searched for my keys, I knew where they were at all times — they were always clipped on my left side belt loop and tucked into my pocket. And now the stones were gone in their stead I was holding three oranges, and in pocket instead of my keys there were two small limes.
What’s the hell is happening to me?
I never used to lime, I kept my head down at work, didn’t really try to make friends and simply went straight home. I was like this for a long time until one day on my way home a woman stopped me in the street and give me three oranges. I never used to take things from strangers either. And suddenly I was standing at the door to a strange apartment with the three oranges in my hand. I had never been to this apartment before, but I knew the keys I had in my pocket could open the door.
What’s the hell is happening to me?
I never used to orange.
Wait! That’s not right…
I never used to keys.
I never…
“Doctor, test subject Deckard continues to show unusual brainwave activity in reaction to sheep stimuli. Shall I continue the test?”
