A prostitute's memories

Evelyn’s life could hardly be called easy. Born on the wrong side of the tracks in this very city, she’d seen the grime hidden beneath the glitter from the first day she could walk. It was a haven of contradictions, a place well known for the presence of elite academies where the wealthiest in society sent their heirs, and less well known for the consequences of such stark economic inequality.

Power corrupts, and in a world where money is ultimate power, the presence of so much leads to deep corruption. The price of essentials was high, and property prices were higher, and if you weren’t already something it was practically impossible to become anything here. Evelyn’s family knew this better than anyone.

Her father was a cop, corrupt, naturally, who could never resist a bribe. His unresolved anger issues manifested in **** against Evelyn’s mother, and eventually against her too. She hated her father, while growing to have only disdain for her mother’s mounting pill addiction. Rebelling in high school was how she got back at them, drinking, smoking and partying, always having a rotating carousel of bad boyfriends and one night stands to get back at her father’s aggressive attempts at instilling discipline. She ignored her mother just as her mother ignored her, and as soon as she could she left that toxic household forever.

Being on the streets at eighteen, unable to finish high-school and lacking any skills other than sex and bad behavior, the only options left to poor Evelyn were to capitalize on her good looks. She began to sell her body, joining the plethora of prostitutes who worked this seedy side of town. At first it had been fun; despite how unfortunate a career path this was, Evelyn loved sex, and the independence she experienced being away from her parents was more than enough reward.

But now, years have passed, and the endlessness of her job was weighing on her. She’s had sex with hundreds of men, but never for true love. She’d made money, but never enough to really change her life. Now she was short on rent, and if she didn’t make enough tonight, she’d be out on the streets once again.

I shuddered a little as I came too, opening eyes adorned with heavy eye make-up as I left the dark haze of Evelyn’s memories.

Evelyn… that’s “my” new name. She’s had a really bad time of it…

I found myself mirroring the same gloomy expression the real girl had had before I’d skinned her, taking an extra large drag from her cigarette as I let the nicotine calm me down. I couldn’t help but feel pity, and sorrow for everything that had happened to her. Knowing that her life as a prostitute had been better than her life at home, even after everything, weighed heavily on me.

And now she needs to sell herself again tonight if she’s going to make enough for rent…

But… now she’s just become my vessel, she can’t…

Ideas of letting her go, getting out of her and escaping back to my apartment surfaced. Evelyn’s life was awful, not exactly one that would be super attractive to steal.

Wait, not like I was going to steal someone’s life tonight anyway! I just needed some time to recover, just to sate my skinwalker side, that’s all!

My thoughts scrambled to explain themselves, trying to justify the nevertheless compelling thoughts that a twisted part of me truly did desire to steal someone’s life tonight. I shook my head to dispel them, feeling the dyed blonde strands of hair following the motion.

But then…

Just as much as I recognized Evelyn’s life as hardly an attractive one to steal, I also couldn’t help but think that in some ways she was perfect. In some ways, we really could help each other. She was sad, miserable even. The monotony of using her sexuality for money was getting to her, grating on her soul, yet for her there seemed to be no way out.

Until now.

Evelyn wouldn’t miss her life. She wouldn’t mind stepping away from it for a little while. She could be the solution to my fears, the safe harbor where I could use up the hunger of the skinwalker. Really, I’d be doing her a favor.

Her job, too. My hand grabbed the hem of my skirt, teasing against its fabric as I rubbed my legs together. Memories of sex in all kinds of positions, squealing and moaning while being fucked by a stranger, and paid for it afterwards too came rushing back. I could feel that heat between my legs, that slick sensation as I got wet. Evelyn was getting tired of sex, monetizing such a sacred thing making it monotonous. For me though… sex as a woman represented the pinnacle of my every repressed desire, taking on the female role in the bedroom seeming so forbidden even as I experienced pleasures no man would ever be able to even dream of.

It was still so fresh for me, still so new. Such a beautiful, kinky adventure to explore. Evelyn’s skin would give me the ultimate excuse to. I bit my lips as I thought about it, knowing they were covered in glossy lipstick just serving as a hot little reminder of my new, all too convenient vessel.

I guess my only question now is…