[FMK] 12 Hard Inches: Chapter 6 (Patreon)

CHAPTER SIX

Bambi slipped right by Frank without saying a word. She took off quickly, and it was probably a good call, because the look on Frank’s face was concerning. He was red, clenching his teeth together. His hands seemed to be trembling as they turned into fists. In a state like this, any man is unpredictable—and so many of the residents of that park owned firearms—and many carried them on their person.

I quickly covered myself up. “What do you want, Frank?” I asked.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice was almost a whisper.

“I’m doing my taxes. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

“Were you fucking my girl?” he asked through his clenched teeth.

“She’s not your girl, dumbass. She’s a sex worker. It’s her job to fuck guys.”

“You—You had sex with her,” he said, and I think he was saying it to himself, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. I stood up and bent over to pick up my pants. I was a bit embarrassed, knowing there was cum all over my chest and more cum running down my legs; but that was the least of my worries. Frank was the keeper of my secret: a very important secret. And now, he wanted me dead just as much as Daryl was going to want me dead when he found out that I fucked his wife. Finally, Frank managed to pull himself from his daze. He let his gaze drift up, finding my eyes. There was fire in his eyes. “You slept with her,” he said.

“Get over it. She’s probably off to sleep with someone else now. It’s her job, you baboon.”

“But you… You…”

“Me what? Use your words, moron. Spit it out. What’s your problem?” I probably shouldn’t have been pestering him so much, but I really couldn’t help it; I hated him so much. I’d hated him since the day that he tried to ‘citizen’s arrest’ me after he caught me buying a case of beer for some kids… they were hardly kids—eighteen-years-old, which is legal drinking age in some provinces.

He stared into my eyes, suddenly looking calm, with a grin on his face. That grin sent a cold shiver down my spine. I stopped talking for a moment, feeling a sense of impending doom. “See you later, Raymond,” he said, cool and collected.

“Where are you going?” I asked as he turned around—but he didn’t answer me. He just kept walking. He knew he could have me destroyed in an instant.

My heart was racing. I closed the door and rushed through my place, ensuring doors and windows were locked. But what good was it? If Daryl wanted me dead, he would kill me…

Then, I peeked out the window. Down the road, I could see Bambi standing on the street corner, waiting for a bus to take her back to the city. I had to act fast.

I zipped out my back door and hurried down the back street, hoping to get to her before her bus came to take her home. I came around the corner—but there was the bus.

“Fuck!” I yelled. So I started to sprint as hard as I could, waving at the bus, though it was two blocks away. The driver didn’t see me—not that he would have stopped anyway. “Son of a bitch,” I growled. But I knew that I still had a chance to catch up.

Bambi was my only hope. I needed her to talk to Frank, to stop him from putting my life in danger. I turned down the next road; I had to beat the bus to the next stop. So I cut through the next alley, and I dashed in front of a speeding car, forcing him to slam on his brakes. I jumped over a fence and then another, and then I darted in front of another car; this time, I got hit—not bad enough to hurt, thankfully. I fell onto his hood and I rolled off and continued my dash. He screamed something at me from his window, but I didn’t care enough to listen.

I could see the bus coming around the next bend. I was close. I had to continue my dash. I ran in front of one last car to make it to the other side of the street. Then, I got lucky when a very old woman took her sweet, sweet time getting onto the bus. At the last moment, I reached the open door. Panting, I stumbled onto the bus.

I scanned the aisle and spotted her sitting there with a book in her hand. She was reading some old novel that was about as thick as the Holy Bible in large print. I stumbled up to her, panting. She didn’t notice me at first—not until I said, “What the hell are you reading?”

She glared up at me. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I need you to call Frank—right now. Put your book down and make the call.”

“What? Why? And why do you think it’s okay to bark orders at me? I’m not your slave, Raymond.”

The other passengers were staring at us now, peering over their phones as they watched me talk to an obvious prostitute: legs clad in fishnets, breasts nearly bursting out from her tiny lingerie top. Oh, and the nine-inch heels on her feet didn’t help, though she didn’t seem to care about the glares; maybe she was used to it.

“I already told you that Frank promised to keep his mouth shut about what he saw.”

“Well, he’s about to break that promise,” I said. “He’s on his way to rat me out right now.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Just make the call, okay? Just tell him you aren’t going to fuck him anymore if he gets me killed.”

A few nearby passengers got up and moved away, including a mother with her young son. I would normally put more effort into censoring myself around kids, but I was in a panic and this was important.

“Hey!” she said. “You can’t just force me to drop my best client like that. I don’t owe you anything.”

“We made a deal,” I said. “And you promised he would keep his mouth shut. I’d say you have thirty more seconds before it’s too late.”

“I promised I would talk to him for you—I never guaranteed an outcome. And I’m not calling him now, in public. If you’re nice to me, I’ll make the call when I’m at home.”

“I don’t have that much time. I don’t think you’re listening to me: he’s ratting me out now.”

“Well, then it’s probably already too late, if that’s true. But he assured me that he would keep his mouth shut about what he saw. And don’t look at me like this is somehow my fault, Raymond. You were the one who fucked the man’s wife. Shame on you for not being able to keep it in your pants.”

“Please,” I said. “Make the call. Please. I’m begging you.”

Daryl’s office was on the other side of the park from my trailer; Frank wasn’t a fast walked, with his short legs and his fat stomach. There was a chance that there was still time.

“You’re begging me?” she said.

“I’ll do anything,” I said.

She stared at me for a moment before pulling out her phone. She made the call, with the phone on ‘speaker’. “Bambi?” Frank’s voice said. “I can’t talk right now—I’m just going into my boss’s office.”

“What for?” she asked.

There was a short silence. “What difference does it make to you? Why are you even calling me right now?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice, baby,” she said, rolling her eyes but putting on a good show with her voice.

“We’ll talk later. I’m doing something important now.”

“You’re not going to tell your boss about that fellow and your boss’s wife, are you?”

That silence came back again. “What does it matter to you?”

“I told you, I don’t like conflict. I don’t want you getting anyone killed.”

That silence returned once more. “I can’t believe you let him touch you,” Frank whispered. “I can’t believe you let that… slime-ball inside of you!”

“Who said he was inside of me?”

“Or you in him—I don’t know! What does it matter? I was going to propose to you, Bambi! I… I love you, and you broke my heart.”

“I see other people, Frank. It’s my job.”

“Not him,” Frank said. “I can’t possibly be with you if you are seeing him. He’s a rat, Bambi. He’s better off dead.”

“I…” Bambi started, and then she bit her tongue and squirmed. “I can’t see you anymore if you get him killed.”

That silence returned. “You’re really picking him over me?”

Bambi looked at me. Her face was white now. She had her lips pressed firmly together. She squirmed again. “Yes,” she said.

“I’ll pay you double if you just stay out of this,” Frank said, sounding like his teeth were clenched hard together.

“Don’t rat on him, Frank,” Bambi said, shocking me. Was she actually picking me over her best paying client? Did she like me? Or was she just doing what she felt was the right thing?

“Never call me again,” said Frank with tears in his voice, and then he hung up the phone.

Bambi stared at her phone before looking up at me slowly. “Great,” she said. “Now we’re both screwed.”

“You’ll be fine,” I said. “He’ll come crawling back to you, because he’s a desperate freak. I’m actually fucked though.”

“I did everything I could for you,” she said.

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t sound so grateful,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I just lost more than half of my income for you, and all I get is ‘thanks, I guess’. What a nice guy you are.”

“Sorry,” I said, biting my tongue. “I’m basically homeless now, so it’s hard to feel grateful. I can’t go back to my trailer or I’ll be shot in the face with a shotgun. Everything I own is over there, including my work uniform and key. And hell, I can’t even go into work; Daryl knows where I work, and I wouldn’t hold it past him to wait by the door with a gun. I’m fucked.”

“Sorry, Raymond. I did what I could. Now, I need to get to work.”

“Ew,” I said. “You’re seeing another client this morning?

She stood up and got off the bus. I scurried to keep up with her. “Why are you following me?” she asked.

“Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Somewhere else. I don’t need you stalking me all day.”

“I thought you liked me,” I said. “I mean—you obvious liked me enough to lose your best client.”

“Sure. You’re alright. You’re cute—and that’s about all you have going for you. Oh, and you can take it like a man, which is nice; most guys whine and cry the whole time—even when they’re paying for it. But that’s neither here nor there. I just don’t want you following me to work. I can’t lose my job—especially now that my best client just dropped me.”

“I don’t want you going and fucking other guys,” I said, feeling my skin turning red.

“Are you telling me to stop being a prostitute?” she asked. “This isn’t Pretty Woman, Raymond.

“Run away with me,” I said. “I have to leave town and you’re out your best client. Just come with me.”

“Don’t be so crazy,” she said. “Can you please go away now?” She stopped outside of a park bathroom.

“I don’t know,” I said. “How can I find you again? I don’t even have a phone; it’s in my trailer.”

She sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure I want you to find me if there’s a guy trying to kill you.”

“C’mon,” I said. “Give me a phone number or something. I’ll call you from a payphone… are those still a thing?”

“I’m late, Raymond,” she said. “If you really want to and me—I live in the blue building on Maple Street. You can find me around there. But get lost—alright?”

“Is this where you’re meeting your next client?”

“Get lost, Raymond!” she said, and then she slipped into the bathroom. It was my cue to leave, but I really had nowhere to go.

I hated the thought of her meeting with another guy. I hated the thought of some guy bending over for her. I felt tense all over with jealousy. I had the idea of sticking around, to wait for the guy, so I could beat him up a little bit, so he wouldn’t go near her. In a weird way, I felt like Bambi was mine to protect, which meant I had to keep creeps like myself away from her.

So I lingered around in that park, guarding that public bathroom. She wasn’t coming out. Was that guy already in there with her? I thought about barging in—but other women were going in and out every few minutes, and nobody was coming out disgusted, as if they saw people fucking inside. So what was happening in there?

I kept waiting for that client. That tension in my body became more and more intense. I was really prepared to beat up some stranger, just to make Bambi know that I wanted her to be mine.

Then, after forty minutes, Bambi emerged from the bathroom, but I hardly recognized her. She was holding a bag. Her thick makeup was washed off. Her long hair was now tied into a firm bun. She wasn’t wearing that skimpy lingerie; instead, she was wearing a somewhat-loose Walmart costume. She looked so innocent, but also a bit silly with those long blue pants and that blue and yellow dress shirt.

“Seriously?” I said.

She jumped when she saw me still standing there. “I told you to scram!” she barked.

“Well, I have nowhere to go,” I said. “You work at Walmart?”

“That’s none of your business. And I’m going to be late, so please just get lost!”

I followed her down the road. “I mean—you look kind of cute, though I prefer the fishnets.”

“Just get lost, Raymond. I can’t believe you’re still here. This is so embarrassing.”

“You think this is embarrassing?” I said. “But you’re totally fine with me seeing you as a prostitute?”

“I don’t feel like talking to you. I have to get to work. I do not want you anywhere near my work.”

But I had nowhere to be, so I followed her, teasing her along the way. I let her go in on her own, but I went in a few minutes later, just so I could see her standing there, greeting people as they walked in. It was a strange sight, especially knowing that she could make good money with a couple of clients: way more than she would make in eight hours, standing at the doors of a Walmart.

She saw me in the store, meandering the aisles, grinning as I stared at her. Finally, when there was a lull, she walked over to me and growled through clenched teeth, “Get the hell out of here, Raymond. You’re being such a creep.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I just had to see this for myself.”

She grunted. “I’ll see you at my place later. Okay?”

The comment took me by surprise. I sauntered out of the Walmart and I went to her building. I sat around for the next seven hours, with nothing to do and nowhere to be. Finally, as the sun was starting to set, she showed up, getting off the bus in her Walmart outfit. She eyed me, turning red all over. And then she waved me to follow her inside. Her apartment was small and cold. It was a single room with a bathroom. There was a tiny kitchenette, and a small TV next to her bed; no couch or area to relax. “Where do you eat?”

“Usually out,” she said. “But sometimes on the bed.”

“How do you live in here? It’s smaller than a trailer.”

“It’s affordable.”

“You can rent a whole trailer for four-hundred a month.”

“I don’t want to live in a trailer park,” she said to me.

“Why not? They’re great.”

She stared into my eyes. “There’s literally a man out looking to kill you—maybe two,” she said. “I spend enough time in trailer parks, with clients. It’s quieter out here—and away from all that crime.” She pointed to the bed. “That’s where I sleep; so I guess you can sleep on the floor.”

The bed was just a twin, but she was a small girl. “Let’s just share the bed,” I said.

“You really like overstaying your welcome, huh?” she said. “It would be cramped.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t care if you mind,” she said. “I have to be up early for work, so I need to get a good sleep.”

“What kind of work?” I asked.

“Jesus, Raymond. Could you just try minding your own business? You’re acting even more clingy and desperate than Frank. What is it with trailer boys?”

“What?” I said. “I like you. You should be flattered.”

“Whatever,” she said. “If you really have to know, I have a client coming here at seven. He’s a good client and a great guy; so if you scare him off, then you’ll have three people out looking to kill you. So I need you to scram at six, when my alarm goes off. Then, I have to work a shift at the store. You can stay here while I’m out, as long as you promise not to pawn anything.”

“You don’t have anything,” I said.

“Fuck you,” she said. “I’m being nice. I’m letting you sleep here.”

“Don’t see that client,” I said. “Call him and cancel.”

“Quit being so controlling,” she said, shaking her head. “You didn’t care that I was a sex worker before—why do you care so much now?”

I squirmed. I really did feel like a jealous teenager, but I tried my best to be understanding. I tried hard to push my jealousy aside. I hardly knew her after all, and she had already sacrificed a lot for me, even though she didn’t know me at all—and she really owed me nothing. If anything, I owed her.

I owed her big time.

I was still alive thanks to her. I had a bed to sleep on thanks to her. And what had I done for her?

“Name it,” I said.

“Name what?”

“What you want from me,” I said. “I mean—you’re doing all of this nice stuff for me, so surely you want something.”

“I’m not doing this for anything,” she said. “You’re just forcing yourself into my life.”

I grinned. “But you’re letting me in. You didn’t have to let me in. And you didn’t have to talk to Frank for me. And you didn’t have to lose him as a client.”

“I didn’t really like him anyway,” she said, looking away from me while blushing.

“But you like me, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little bit, but just because you take it like a man—like I said. It’s not like I want to marry you or anything like that.”

I stood there grinning. “So what can I do for you?”

Finally, she looked at me. She was blushing all over. “You’re really offering?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

“I want to fuck you,” she said bluntly.

I felt my skin tingling. I was still new to this whole getting fucked thing, but if that’s all she wanted—that was easy. I was half hoping that she was going to ask me to bend over for her again. “That it?” I said. “Want to get started now?”

“Well,” she said. “There’s something else I’m into, but I’ve never done it with anyone before. Maybe… you can be my… volunteer.”

“What is it?” I said, feeling a cool draught coming into the room.

“Insertion,” she said.

“Insertion?” I said. “Of what?”

“Lots of stuff,” she grinned, blushing harder. “I want to see… how big we can go.”

Now, my heart was deep in the put of my stomach.