Daniel:    I’m a whore.

[She freezes for a moment.]

Daniel:    Yes. I fuck for money. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for money, actually. I guess that means giving a blow job does have a price, though I wouldn’t call it a job. I do what I do, and that’s what I do. Does it matter if I have a sad story to tell? How about a broken home or a dead daughter? An abusive husband or a one legged cat? Pfft. That wouldn’t mean much, even if it were true, I’m not cold hearted – I’m just realistic, for after all, I am, my dears - a whore.

[Daniel reaches for an imaginary bar, picking up what seems to be an imaginary match box and takes out a match, holding it in her hand while she talks.]

Daniel:    What. You got scared? My one legged cat got your tongues? I can see that, those disgusted criticizing looks. “Purer than thou”, aye? I guess spreading your legs for a stranger sounds like a pretty awful thing for you club-hopping youngsters. Getting a quick rub on the dance floor, some evening highlight in the public restrooms – that’s what whores do, right, and all those things makes you feel, what – uneasy? Pfft. Like you have to get paid to do those things these days.

[Daniel lights the cigarette, putting the imaginary match box back on the bar and leans on the bar.]

Daniel:    That’s what I fucking do. Heh. Fucking do… that’s a little word play there. Heh. Well, what can I say – give me a fifty and I’d do you too. Seriously. Tell me when and where and slip that green-slip and I’ll bark like a rabid puppy, if that’s your thing. I know what I do, and I don’t care to admit it, I’m a whore, a fornicatrix. I’m a prostitute, a sales-woman, a slut, a harlot, a drab, hooker, Sandy, Mindy, Trixi, Pixie, Moses – whatever is your thing, for a price I’ll be it. Hell yeah!

[Takes a long puff, and leaning with both her hands on the imaginary bar Daniel sits quiet for a moment, letting the smoke out in a harsh exhale. Suddenly she reaches over to the side, as if grabbing one of the cups that were standing there, drinking it all at once and throwing it back to its place. Then she winks at the direction of where its owner would have been, if it wasn’t an empty stage.]

Daniel:    Thanks, buddy. Maybe I’ll see you later, eh?

[Daniel puffs again, and blows the smoke in his direction with a stupid smile smeared over her face.]

Daniel:   See that guy there – [gesturing with a head nod at the direction of that guy]


Daniel:    He knows what I am. He’s been with my kind; I can smell it off him. He probably won’t admit it now, because he got his girl to take care of, fuck her real good and then talk about smoochies and bears. But if he wants a good old rattle he’d come arunning; tail between his legs and dollars in his pocket. She will never know, the poor lovebird, for he will never tell, but I know them! Hell, I used to be one.

What? Because I got a pussy that means I don’t know how to party?  I was a party girl back in the day. Really! Oh, come on, I read your looks you horny guys – a party girl stays one, eh? Well fuck off you dicks, I meant the “innocent” type. Jeesh, mention a party and a girl in the same line and all eyes go bulgy. What’s wrong with you? All’s I was saying is that when I was young I played the game too!

I remember how I fell in love with this, what’s his name… Big armed puffy chest weasel, Martin or Norton or something. He was a huge fella… I’m talking King Kong huge (and just as hairy). Used to take me long walks and talk about love and shit, like I give a damn. All I’s wanted was a good chunk of meat, and this guy was into philosophy and romanticism. Heh, I was so into him, but he kept talking ‘bout love, family, waiting ‘till the wedding. What’s that to do with a girl at 17? Yeah, I was in love, but I wasn’t stupid enough to get a ring over a gorilla with a construction worker future!


So yeah, I had my share of outbeds. You know – shaking them bones outside the bed. Sure, I loved him, but sometimes words are not enough to satisfy a girl. You bulgy guys should listen instead of popping them eyes at me, like you never had a bit of fun. You sanctimonious wretches.

Those were different times.

A whore was a girl who gave out on first date, not buy a 50” LCD because it was on sale. Pfft. I was a horny skank, yeah I know, no shame there. But I got me what I wanted money free and no delivery charges! I was a two-times back-stabber, but I did not need a penis enlargement device to feel like a man.

[Daniel puffs one last time and drops the cigarette on the floor.]

Daniel:    I got a client coming, so I’ll be brief.

You probably wonder what’s all this got to do with you, me talking and babbling ‘bout dicks and money, well I’ll tell you what, and that goes to you too ladies – you ever have the urge to find out - you come to Daniel, I’ll treat you just fine. And if by the time you cum your toes won’t wiggle in fucking enlightenment, then you can go back to your Ikea catalogue and masturbate over a new pair of bed cushions. As for me, I’m doing just fine. Wonder what that feels like, eh?