The Scam
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“My guess is that you have done this before,” said Hayden Staples. “It all seems very rehearsed.”

“That shouldn’t concern you,” said the girl he knew as Roxanne, but now speaking with a voice that betrayed the harsh reality. “We only have to agree on a price to keep our little sexual encounter a secret.”

“The gun is unnecessary, my dear,” said Hayden. To her surprise it had not fazed him when she pulled it out, but he was now looking at it with a disdain as if she were pointing a carrot at him. Hayden added: “If this is a negotiation it should not be conducted with a threat of violence.”

“People like me are at a disadvantage,” she said. “This is just to restore the balance.” Now the voice seemed to have reverted to the husky feminine whisper that had proved so alluring – that and the pretty face and knock out body.

“People like you? I assume that means transgender?”

“You can assume anything you like,” she said. “But as you can see, I have a dick and a pair of balls, so I guess that makes what you just did, gay. And I have that fact on film. So, what I guess is that you want the tape so we can all forget this happened. Right?”

“Let’s decide how we are going to do this,” said Hayden. “Put the gun away. I will sit over here; you over there. We will talk. We only have to agree, as you say.”

“We can do this standing up,” she said. “Just like you fucked me.”

But Hayden was now seated and looking relaxed. So, she sat where he suggested.

“So you have videoed our lovemaking? Show me.”

Lovemaking. The word made her sneer. Was that what it was? It sure felt like being fucked.

“There are cameras in this room. There and there. They download to my PC, which is not in this room. But I can show you what I captured on my phone. You might have thought that I was a woman offering only anal due to menses, but don’t worry, my dick is in full view, and your face will clearly be seen. You were having gay sex.”

“So, you are gay?”

“I’m in business,” she said. “Some guys sort garbage for a living. I take it up the ass. I don’t have to like it.”

“So, you’re not gay?”

“I’m pretty. Aren’t I? I discovered that I make a good-looking woman. You have to use what God gave you to make a living. Some guys were born big and strong, and some guys smart. I discovered my talents are limited. But enough of this bullshit. I have something to sell you, and you want to buy it. No. You need to buy it. So, make me an offer.”

“I might be prepared to offer you anything you want,” he said. “So tell me. What do you want? I don’t want a figure – a sum of money. I want to know what you want. What would it take for you to be done with this … with what you are doing here?”

“I want what everybody else wants: Comfort, happiness, love, world peace. Now stop fucking around.”

“I might be able to offer you the first three.”

“Just give me money and I will chase those myself.”

“Can I ask, do you live as a woman?”

“I don’t know why we are sitting here talking about me,” she was getting increasingly angry.

“Because without knowing what you want, how can we agree?” he said.

“Okay. Yes. I live as a woman. This hair is mine. These breasts are mine. When you are a pretty boy who dresses as a woman for a living, I find it is just easier to live as what you look like. That doesn’t mean I am a transvestite.”

“I don’t think that you are,” he said. “I’m going to get myself a drink. Do you want one?”

She raised the gun suspiciously as he went to the minibar. “Sure. Just don’t try anything.”

He made her a drink and put it near her, keeping his distance. He said: “No, not a transvestite. I think that you are a woman.”

“So what is this?” She opened her legs and smirked.

“That is an anomaly. So ugly on you. Better on me and others like me. You need a pussy. Then you could do away with anal sex. Clearly you find it unpleasant.”

“What makes you think I want to be a woman? I am not deluded. I know what I am. This is what I am packing. I have found a way to survive.” She took a deep slug from her glass.

“Don’t you think sometimes that women have it so much easier?”

“Like whores?! Some women can live a good life – if they have the right guy.”

“I could be the right guy. I could be the right guy for you.”

“What the fuck are you saying?!”

“Your price. I am offering you what you want. World peace excepted, although I happily give you that too, if I could. You see I found you very attractive from the moment we met. No, more than that, I found myself drawn to you when I thought you were a woman. And then you revealed yourself and of course, I was shocked, and worse than that, sad to the point of despair. But then as you waved that gun of yours in my face, I saw the real you. You are a woman. You’re afraid. Desperate like me, but because you have nowhere to go. I can see the goodness in you. I can see the need for love. I can see the willingness to give to someone who will love you. Perhaps I could be that person?”

“This is a mindfuck.” But there was a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I am a man looking for somebody special,” he said. “I promised myself that I would know it when I saw it, and I would grab it with both hands when I did. I did not expect to find it in an escort. And certainly I never expected to find it in a transwoman.”

“I am not a transwoman!” But her voice was cracking now. It seemed that she no longer believed those words, although she had said them to herself a thousand times.

“If you were, you could be mine.”

Somehow he was standing over her now. His proffered hand inviting her to stand. She did. The gun fell from her hand onto the carpet. He cupped her smooth face in his strong hands. And they kissed.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2020