Sitting in front of the dressing table, I meticulously began peeling off the layers of makeup. First came off the fake lashes, followed by the slash of red that had now started cracking on my dried up lips. Then I expertly started wiping off the bands of blue liner that did little to cover up for my bloodshot, sleepless eyes. The fevered look on my face did nothing to deter my customers from continuing their tortures, night after night. As I unceremoniously removed the final layer, the concealer came off, the red marks across my cheek made me winch in disgust. How is it that all men know exactly how to hit women? Wham! Right across the cheek. I start replaying the night in my head. A certain buyer paid extra for a special service. Turns out some men get off on torture beyond human! I had to take the rest of the night off to regain my composure. I hated being treated like a piece of meat!

A piece of meat.

 That's all that I am, right? I'm a prostitute. A piece of meat that men use to feel things that they can't at home with their better halves. 

I know how to make a man feel wanted. I make all the right noises and all the right faces. I have a body to die for and a face that can defeat a princess in a beauty pageant. Everything about me is made for my profession.

Profession. 

Why is it so difficult to understand that this, all of this, the nocturnal episodes is just that? My profession. It isn't what I do for pleasure. Hell, if I had my way, I'd slap some of my customers right across the cheek, just like he slapped me. Why do people still call me a slut and conveniently point out my immodesty? Why am I made to feel like I'm filthy?  

I'm filthy.

So much of me stinks! I've tried scrubbing until my hands are raw but the stink, the grime never leaves. It's a part of me now. I still will to be able to be clean one day, clean enough to be able to go shopping and look the cashier in the eye while paying for my purchase, clean enough to be able to sip my drink quietly without men approaching me and offering me money. I still hope.

Hope.

Hope?

-Arpita M.

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Hey guys, so what do you think about this? I tried something new, again. Yayy. Totally sets the tone for this one, doesn't it?Let me know in the comments. Also while we're at it, let me know how the Friday updates are working out for y'all?

Go check out SrijanaDey 's story Fly To Your Heart . If you read it you'll totally get why I dedicated Hope? to her. Show some love for the wonderful SrijanaDey, my babies. :* 

Keep reading and sharing and showering all that wild, wild love. Do remember to comment and vote. It really helps me out, like I've been #264 in Random for most part of this week and I've haven't been able to move out of #419 for so long. Also I got my first 100 votes this week. Yayy. ;)

Love,

thefreakyflamingo.