The Mask

Donald Johnson was 35 years old. Not an old man by any means but no longer a young man either. Certainly too old to be doing this, he thought.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he took a sharp left turn on to Beverly Street. He slowed to a crawl as he scanned the numbers on the houses for "4728". He finally spotted them on a tiny little stucco job at the end of the block.

He waited for a second, composing himself and honked 3 times, 2 shorts and one long. Just like the woman on the phone instructed him to do. He waited for what felt like an eternity before she finally emerged from the tiny house. As she approached the car he thought to himself that she was prettier than he expected. Which isn't to say she was "pretty" exactly, she was definitely worn and tired looking, a little vacant. But she was born with a natural beauty, that was obvious. Her eyes held a hint of a spark. Maybe, he thought, that's why she got into this business in the first place. He got out and ran around to the other side of the car to open the door for her. She kissed him on the cheek as she wordlessly entered the car, carefully adjusting her short skirt as she sat down on the aging upholstery. The kiss surprised and aroused him. He told himself to not get too worked up yet. He had her for 3 hours and he didn't want to rush into anything.

He pulled out slowly and looked down the rest of Beverly Street, letting his eyes wander aimlessly into the darkness, as if something interesting to do would present itself magically. After it became apparent that no activities would make themselves known easily, he turned to her and said "so...what do you want to do?"

"I don't know", she replied. "It's your money".

Donald sighed and looked up at the upcoming stop sign. He bent his head down. He thought about what he would do on a normal date, maybe in his youth. He paused before asking, "are you hungry?"

"Sure. I could eat"

"Ok. Well, let's eat then...Miss...what's your name?"

"Diane. Just call me Diane"

He took her to a place called "Tony's Diner" across town, by the shopping mall. They shared mozzarella sticks and each had a steak with all the trimmings. He paid, naturally. The conversation came slow and awkwardly. She only spoke when spoken to. She frequently left to use the restroom or smoke a cigarette. Donald just sat there and thought about what it used to be like with Cheryl. She was the first. She was different. She had the biggest green eyes and the thickest dark hair. The way she touched him gave him goosebumps. Just thinking about her made him light up.

The door to the restuarant swung up as "Diane" walked back in. When she sat back down across from him Donald could smell the cigarette smoke on her breath.

"Are we almost done here?", she asked.

"Yeah. Ok. Let's go"

"Where next, sugar?"

"Uh, my house. I guess. If that's ok with you?"

"Like I said, sugar. It's your money. You do whatever you want"

He winced slightly when she said this. He hated being reminded of what exactly he was doing. He did not like "Diane", that was obvious. She was crude and ill-mannered, even for a prostitute, he thought.

They pulled out of the parking lot at exactly midnight. He decided to take the scenic route back to his house and he made this known to her. As with most things he said to her thoughtout the evening she seemed indifferent and perhaps a bit bothered by the interaction. He tried his best to not let it bother him but it did. He imagined what sex with her would be like, how it would be cold and emotionless. He wondered how it work logistically. How would she be able to take him? Who would she be thinking of in order to open her body to him? Would he even be able to stay hard for her? The whole idea began to make him feel sick to his stomach. Maybe he would spice it up the way he usually did but he was really trying to avoid that now. He didn't want to scare her like he scared the others. He wanted it to be painless, maybe even fun. But now with "Diane" he didn't see that as a possibility.

They pulled into his driveway at exactly 12:18AM. He opened the car door for her, even though she didn't deserve it, he thought.

"Where's the bathroom?", she asked as they entered the darkened house.

"Last door on the left at the end of the hall"

He thought that she was probably going to do drugs in there, turn his nice Christian home into an opium den. As he pulled off his jacket and hung it over the arm of an frayed lounge chair he grit his teeth. He wanted nothing to do with this woman. As he looked down at his watch to see exactly how much time with her he had left she emerged from the hall completely nude. Every imperfection she tried to cover with silk or linen or animal print or fishnet or support hose was in full view. She looked innocent, unguarded, younger. He became aroused.

"So...where's your bedroom, sugar?"

"No. No bedroom", he said somewhat sternly. "Just lay down on the couch".

She smiled uncharacteristically and said "whatever floats your boat".

He then excused himself and disappeared into the total blackness of his bedroom. She looked up at his cheap, stackled ceiling. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She felt a headache coming on. She told herself she was going too old for this business. Maybe she could retire next year? Hang it up for good. Go live with her Sister in Missouri.

When she opened her eyes she saw him standing over her with a mask on. An African mask carved from wood. It looked heavy and expensive. She laughed.

"What's so funny?", he asked.

"That mask. It's just...different"

"You want me to take it off? It...helps...me"

"Again, sugar. Whatever floats your boat"

Donald burst into a fit of anger. "DON'T CALL ME SUGAR!", he snapped. "I HAVE A FUCKING NAME AND IT'S DONALD. I TOLD YOU THAT ON THE PHONE".

Diane sat up and stared at him. She didn't know what to say. She watched as he slunk into the kitchen.

"Where are you going? What are you doing in the kitchen?"

When he returned with a knife it became clear.

She screamed as he approached her.

He thought to himself that he hoped the next girl would be more his type. Maybe be warm, loving...so he didn't have to resort to this. He was 35 years old now. Not an old man by any means but no longer a young man either. Certaintly too old to be doing this, he thought.