Golden Gloom: WHORE - Finale

It felt so good.

In her filthy little shower room I looked at my reflection - at her reflection.

I had blond hair now and big tits. I cupped them in my slender fingers, closing my eyes, imagining it was a man doing it. I squeezed hard, like a big man would, clumsy and insensitive and gasped a little at the jerk of pain. I had the whore’s gaudy face and sagging neck. I was wearing her horribly revealing clothes. This was me now. It was MY body. MY face.

As I brought my arms up in front of me I marvelled at the differences I could see. The gaudy nail varnish. The exposed cleavage. My arms weren’t fat, but there was no muscle definition. My skin wasn’t firm at all. I could press my fingers into it. It felt so soft and smooth.

“I’m an ‘ore,” I said, grinning at the tawdry slag in the mirror that winked suggestively back at me. “I’m a slag. I’m nothing but a cheap fuckin’ prosie.”

Oh, this was good. It was really bloody good.

My voice had adapted. It wasn’t just the pitch and sound of it that I’d adopted; the physical effects of using her vocal chords. I had inherited her turn of phrase too.

That was the beauty of the Golden Gloom. The physical transformation was only the first step – the first barrier to cross. My mind had been altered too in ways that were ethereal and invisible, ways I couldn’t detect fully yet.

But I felt at ease, here in her flat. I knew my way around. I wasn’t a visitor here in any sense. I really had taken it on.

“I’m a tart,” I said. “I only charge fifteen quid for a shag. Just enough t’keep me in liquor and food. And fags.”

I laughed.

There was a wall now between me and my old persona. Everything about me had changed. It was as though I had temporarily unclipped the string of my destiny and replaced it with hers.

I shuddered, loving the wave of claustrophobia that came when I thought about that. Her destiny – mine.

If I never changed back then it would be me living this life forever, prostituting myself for business men and labourers and lesbians, caught up so tightly in her mind that I wouldn’t have the ability to get out.

But I knew the secret of the Golden Gloom. I knew how to return to my old life.

All I had to do was reverse the process – concentrate on the virtues of my old life over this one. As long as I didn’t lose myself in this new sinister role then I would always be able to go back.

As long as I didn’t lose myself…

*  *  *

In the kitchenette, I unwrapped one of the microwave dinners I’d watched her buy earlier and stuck it in to cook on full power. I tingled to think about how I was living out that fantasy now – that in minutes the image I had seen would be a real picture before my eyes. When it was ready I sat at the table, crossed one leg over the other and forked it into my mouth. I was bloody starved. I flicked the portable TV on the counter on with the remote control and watched a chat show.

What a tawdry fantasy it was - living the solitary life of whore - but I was experiencing it fully in that squalid little flat. It was like a masochistic dream come true.

When I finished it I opened the vodka and filled a large plastic tumbler from the cupboard. Then I plopped down again and carried on watching. There was nothing much on – nothing that would have satisfied me before. There were no current affairs programs or news shows. Not that I seemed to be interested anymore. Entertainment television was all I wanted now. I watched a TV show from start to finish about ordinary people trying to become professional singers. It was great! This whole thing was great! It was awe inspiring to realise how total the change was but I lapped it up, glorying in every minute as I got drunker and drunker, smoking fag after fag.

At about nine o’clock I reached for my cigarettes and found the packet empty. I groaned. I hadn’t planned to go out again. Now I was going to have to. I couldn’t make it through till dawn with no fags. I looked round for the whore’s handbag – for my handbag. It took me a minute of drunken fumbling to get hold of it.

When I opened it and grabbed my purse I got a rough sinking feeling. It was horribly light.

I unzipped the top. There was only thirty pence inside. No more.

I searched the rest of the flat. There was nothing else.

“Fuck a duck.” That put pay to that. There wasn’t even a cash card. Didn’t this whore even have a bank account? Where was the money I had given her? I couldn’t even find that anywhere.

I sat back down and tried to concentrate on what was on but I couldn’t focus. Two channels had news programs. One had a documentary about world war two or some shit and the other channel was nothing but static. On top of that I was desperate for a smoke. It made me fidgety. In the end I snapped the TV off.

I had to have some more cigarettes. I wouldn’t even be able to sleep without one to calm me down.

There was nothing else for it. I had to go out. I had to find some bloke to shag me so I had enough money.

Was this what I really wanted though? Had it really come to this – that I was prepared to prostitute my body to get a packet of cigarettes? Had I taken the whore’s addictions and lack of pride that I could consider doing that?

I thought about it for a minute.

Yes I had.

I was desperate. I was desperate enough to just fucking blow someone off just to get a single smoke.

And after all, wasn’t this what I wanted? Ultimately? Wasn’t this the reason why I became a whore? To fuck some fat hairy bastard because if I didn’t I’d be penniless?

Yes it was.

And I was going to do it. I was going to go out there and find me someone to fuck.

*  *  *

The wardrobe amounted to a curtained recess in the wall – nothing more than that.

There were shoes piled up on the floor. Half of them looked old and scuffed. There didn’t seem to be any sensible shoes at all. I picked out a pair of black stilettos. They were the least scuffed and I wanted to show off my legs as much as I could.

I took out a black leather mini-skirt and a boob tube and put them on. The heels fit like a dream. They raised me right up and I had no trouble walking in them. Why would I? I was used to this. I went out almost every night walking the streets in them.

I strutted up the room and back again. Then I touched up my make-up in the toilet mirror.

I looked like a real tart. I was irresistible. It was a shame I was starting to sag a bit. I remembered the old days when I first started turning tricks. I had the looks then. Oh yes. There wasn’t any man that could resist me.

No. Wait. Was that right?

No it wasn’t. It wasn’t right. I hadn’t always been like this. I was a respectable middle class person. I wasn’t a mangy slag – not normally. This was just temporary.

I put my hands on my cheeks and looked at myself in the mirror. “Stay focused,” I said to myself. “I’m not really an ‘ore. It’s only tempr’y. It’s just the Golden Gloom, readjustin’ me memries. Me name’s really Susie Smith.”

I stared at myself. “NO!”

“That’s ‘er name, not mine. My name’s not Susie Smith. It’s Veronica Simpson. I changed it ta Susie cause Veronica wasn’t sexy enough and I didn’t want me mum or someone findin’ out I was a prossie.”

I shut my eyes. That wasn’t right either.

It was so hard to focus looking at that face in the mirror. How could I concentrate on my real identity if I could see another person’s face staring back at me?

I wasn’t a prostitute. I was an office worker. I focused hard, making myself remember my co-workers – my teenage son. This was working. It was going to be okay.

The need for a cigarette was making it hard. My whole body was buzzing. The liquor wasn’t helping me either. At this rate I was never going to be able to focus my mind enough to change back to my real body in the morning.

I wiped my eyes and turned so I could rest my bum on the edge of the sink.

What I needed was to get a new pack of fags. When I was relaxed I’d be able to concentrate more. That was what I had to do.

This had scared me. I had known it was going to happen but the total immersion was far more frightening than I had expected. It made me realise how dangerous my situation was. I should call this off. I should call this off as soon as I could.

Get the fags then turn back to normal as soon as I could concentrate. That was what I had to do.

But of course to get the fags I had to find someone to fuck me for money. That scared me too. What if I lost myself in the experience? What if I couldn’t find my way back?

But I had to. After I had done it I could buy the cigarettes and get my brain in order. By that time I would have sobered up some.

And, I reminded myself, it was foolish to give this experience up before I had fully experienced it. If I did this – had sex before I went back, at least I could feel that I had DONE it.

But I looked at my new face in the mirror again. I looked at the big tits and the smooth round shoulders. I looked down at the exposed fleshy midriff, long bare legs and high heels.

I didn’t know who I was kidding. My entire being wanted to get out there and fuck some big hairy man.

Nothing else mattered.

*  *  *

The wind was cold on my legs and shoulders and on my chest. My hair whipped up around my face and then down on my back. I crossed my arms.

I hadn’t wanted to wear a coat. The sexier I was, the quicker I could get it done. The more flesh I revealed, the sexier I was. That was how it worked.

Having said that, it gave me a buzzing thrill to be walking the streets of Barton, looking for a man to have sex with. Sitting in the whore’s flat, eating her food, had been one thing – looking at her face in the mirror. This was real though now. I was really a prostitute. More than anything – more than the act itself - this night time wandering was as close as I could get to living the dream.

I passed houses with lights on inside. Families were eating their dinners or watching television. Through open windows I could hear laughter and talk. My former abode had been far more upmarket than these terraced hovels, but even so, the interactions playing out inside were similar to my old life. I sneered at them. I wasn’t one of them anymore. I didn’t give a shit about anything they thought of. I didn’t have to look after anyone but myself. I was free. And I wasn’t one of those fucking prudish housewives frigidly refusing to put out on demand. I wasn’t repressed. Sex was just another way of making money to me. That was all.

I crossed over and headed down the next road. It was more of a major byway and I was hoping for more traffic. I hadn’t seen a single car yet.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance. I struck a sultry pose and waited.

They got closer. My nerves started grating. I wished I had a cigarette, but I didn’t.

I made my gritted teeth into a smile.

The car was no more than twenty yards away now.

It slowed down.

I put my hands on my hips.

The car pulled up at the curb and stopped. It was a Mercedes.

The electronic window whirred as it dropped down. The driver leaned toward me. He was young and good looking. It was really my lucky night.

“You looking for a good time?” I said.

“Step closer. I can’t see you properly in the dark.”

I did. As I stepped into the light, my smile broadened. I was looking forward to getting fucked by this man. He looked real good and he was rich. He might leave me a massive tip.

But when he saw my face in the light, the smile faltered on his face. He looked down at my boobs and my pot belly and withdrew quickly. “Sorry,” he said, “I made a mistake.”

He revved the powerful engine and pulled away.

“Fucking cunt!” I shouted after him, shaking my fist.

He wouldn’t look much better if he’d been walking the streets for the past fifteen years like I had.

“Fucking cunt!” I screamed.

The car turned the corner and disappeared. Some woman opened her curtains to look at what was going on. I stuck my fingers up at her then trudged off.

*  *  *

It wasn’t until an hour and a half more had passed that I found someone to shag me and I was bloody freezing.

I was a short way up a side street, leaning against the low wall of a churchyard, rubbing the backs of my arms to keep warm, when I heard the choking grumble of an engine on the main road. Feeling desperate, I dashed as fast as I could in my heels back to the junction. My run was ungainly and careless, all sense of poise forgotten. A middle-aged woman walking her dog tutted at me but I didn’t give a shit. She was a stuck up bitch by the look of her. She didn’t have any fucking clue what it was like for a woman like me.

There was a Transit van chugging down the street toward me. I did my best to look alluring. He slowed down as he got closer. My earlier rejections had taken the shine off my confidence but I forced myself to look ready for a good fucking.

The van stopped. The window ran down with an undulating squeak. It was manually operated. The driver shuffled over onto the nearside seat. “’Ello darlin’.” He was a big fat man with lank receding hair and an unshaven double chin.

I did my best to maintain my pleasant expression, even though he disgusted me. I had to get some money – had to get those fags. “Lookin’ for some company?” I said and winked.

“Yeah. You offering?”

I looked at his bloated stomach and up at his hairy face. Then I nodded. “If you’ve got the cash, yeah.”

“You live round here?”

I pointed. “Just up there.”

“I’ll park up. Hold on.”

He slid back into the driver’s seat and swung the van into a parking position while I stood on the curb, waiting; asking myself if this was really what I wanted. Was I really so desperate for a fag?

Trouble was that I WAS desperate. I’d tried quitting a hundred times and it never took. I’d never had a period of not smoking more than three days since I was twelve years old. It was as much a part of me now as whoring was. I’d never known anything different.

I didn’t know what I was worried about. I’d had men far fatter and hairier than him fuck me before. This was just business as usual. Once I got some cash I’d be able to buy in some nice stuff – maybe enough liquor and fags to keep me going til the end of the week.

I walked over to the van as the bloke got out. He grinned at me. “Which way?”

I put my arm through his. “This way darlin’. Come with me.”

*  *  *

I led him up to my flat and let him go through the door first.

His clothes were unwashed. They stunk of grease and B.O. It turned my nose up, especially now we were indoors. His trousers were straining round his arse, the upper curve of each buttock visible. It was the price I had to pay to do my job though wasn’t it? And I knew I couldn’t get anything else. I’d tried enough times. They didn’t even want me in fast food restaurants and the way I talked, I couldn’t get anything in a shop. No. It was this or nothing.

But wait again. This wasn’t right. I was losing myself! How long had I gone now, believing I really was this whore? How deeply had her memories and thoughts overwritten mine? Did I have time to have sex and get to the shop and back to buy the cigarettes I needed to calm my nerves before the process became permanent? Maybe I should get rid of him – try again to change myself back.

I looked at him. He was taking his sweaty shirt off. He dropped it on the floor at the foot of my mattress. “Hurry up. Me wife’s gonna want to know what’s happened to me if we’re not quick.”

“Er… Would you mind if we didn’t do this after all,” I said timidly.

“Wot did you say?” The pleasant expression dropped off his face.

I suddenly felt very nervous. “Er… I changed my mind. I don’t wanna do this.”

He snarled, continuing to undo his jeans. “You’re not fucking backing out now you stupid bitch. I’m paying good money for this.”

“Please.”

He dropped his jeans round his ankles and stepped out of them. “You are a whore ain’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Wot? Speak up?”

“Yeah. I’m an ‘ore.”

“Then fuckin’ get over here and put out.”

I lifted my hands in front of me. “Please. I don’t want to do this.”

He charged up to me and grabbed my wrist. “You fuckin’ will.”

I cried out as he pulled me forward. I toppled, losing my balance and fell down onto the mattress on my hands and knees.

The man came up behind me. I craned round to look what he was doing, terrified. This wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to be a prostitute anymore. He reached into his pants and pulled his thick cock out. Then he came right up behind me, reached under my skirt and pulled my knickers roughly down around my thighs.

I cried out, suddenly aroused, startling myself. Suddenly I wanted this.

Ooo yeah. I wanted him to fuck me.

No! That wasn’t right! I wasn’t a whore.

He grabbed my buttocks painfully. Yeah. That was how I liked it.

“Do it to me,” I said.

“I’m fuckin’ gonna,” he snarled and shoved his cock into me.

I gasped as he thrust in and out and with each pump I felt myself fall deeper and deeper into this new, unnatural urges.

The Golden Gloom was taking over, wiping out my old memories – wiping out my original desires.

I’d made a mistake. I’d been foolish to think I could control this.

I was losing sight of who I was. I was forgetting that I wasn’t a whore.

Suddenly I knew that this was it. If I didn’t break off now then I never would be able to. I’d be stuck in this squalid little flat for the rest of my sordid life. I’d never get away. I’d be a prostitute forever.

I tried to pull away but the man kept me in place with his massive arms. He slapped my ass hard and I gasped from the pleasure mingled with pain.

All these years and most kinds of sex didn’t do much for me. It was just a job. But being fucked from behind by a big ogre like this still turned me on. It got me so hot. I loved it.

He kneaded my bum with his massive hairy hands. With each thrust he let out a deep animal grunt. With each thrust I cried out in ever increasing pleasure.

“Oh yeah. Do it to me you big man! Yeah!”

“You fuckin’ little whore! You’re nothing but a little whore!”

“Yeah. I like that. Do it to me! Fuck me!”

“You fuckin’ tramp! You fuckin’ whore! You worthless slag!”

He pulled out and span me round, pinning me down, my bare knees pointing up next to his waist. Then he thrust in again.

I couldn’t move. His stinking heavy body had me completely pinned. I couldn’t get away.

It was too late. Too late.

I was never going to get away.

I was never going to be able to return to my old life.

I should never have invoked the Golden Gloom.

There was no way to beat it. No way to escape it.

It had obliterated my old life and trapped me in this gaudy new one.

The man thrust one final time, roaring with pleasure and I screamed.

I was so hot.

I loved it so much. The degradation. The loss of power.

This was what I wanted.

This was who I was.

There was nothing else.

And I loved it.

I did it well and it gave me all the money I needed for vodka and fags.

I was a whore. That was all I was. Nothing but a stupid worthless whore!

Nothing but a whore!

And I always would be.