Exposure, Disclosure

Cannabis paranoia overwhelmed my euphoria. I was buying condoms and beer to ride with, and get ridden, by a couple of Salvadoran thugs: vulnerable, outnumbered and overpowered. I counted the blunders that brought me to this precarious predicament. I had primped too long at home, gotten side-tracked by Sal, and wasted time and money buying trashy clothes instead of focusing on the hormones.
Now I was dressed like a hooker in Los Angeles’s most dangerous neighborhood, with barely enough money for bus fare. Two stoned and potentially dangerous petty criminals expected to sexually use a girl. I was college bound, poised to escape from my male past and transform. Why was I trading my body and risking my life for fake IDs and a forty-dollar taxi ride?
But if I fled with their money they would chase and rape me. It was safest to follow through on our sleazy exchange. I pointed to a pack of lubricated Trojans and slid the money and my ID through the little tray beneath the bullet proof window. The clerk muttered "puta" and rang the register.
Salvatore opened the van’s door, grabbed the beer and helped me inside. The interior was thick with marijuana smoke. I took another hit, and he passed me a beer. I gulped beer to calm my nerves and got back into character as Alexandra.
"Ugh, I hate beer. Got to get the taste out of mouth."
"Should have bought some chips."
"How ‘bout your special mouthwash?"
He dropped his pants and knelt next to me. I splashed beer on his penis and slurped it noisily dry.
"Much better this way."
"Oh, yea, baby. I like it better that way too.”
I heard another can hiss open. Salvatore guzzled beer while I swallowed him. I looked up at him adoringly, paused, and smiled.
“That’s what I call smooth and refreshing."
I heard his beer can clank against the wall the van and he pushed back.
"Want that booty now."
"Have to cover up."
"Whatever."
I reclined on flowered futon, slid my panties to expose my bottom, he thrust, I yielded, he rough rode me, our bodies collided as the van’s worn shocks pounded the potholes and Jose gunned the van through traffic. Pain shot through me like fireworks. I started talking dirty.