The Hooker In A Tree

dscf1854I never would of expected that I would rescue a hooker in a tree on my way home from work. I may fly or win the lottery and still believe it, but a hooker in a tree, who would of ever thought? The older I get the more I resign myself to the idea that truth really is stranger than fiction. On my way home from work I briefly stopped off at the nursery to look at plants. Lately, I have been doing as much as possible to reduce my stress levels and a friend of mine told me that looking at plants was a good way to relax. Teaching high school is a job that seems to leave me devoid of any energy after five p.m- so lately I have been trying to look at plants everyday.

As I walked back to my car with a new gardenia plant in my hand (occasionally I will buy a fragrant plant to surprise my wife with) I heard what I had initially thought was angel calling on me from above. Since I am certain that when I die, I will go to a place that is some what like heaven, I refrained from looking up because I was not yet ready for it to be my time to go. Instead, I continued forward pretending as if I did not hear the voice from above. “Stop, stop, please stop and come help me,” the voice persisted and when I finally did look up, I realized that if it was indeed an angel that was calling me- she sure looked like a hooker stuck in a tree.

She was wearing big black boots, both of which were braced against opposing branches. I could see the crotch of her pink underwear that was exposed by the wide opening in her mini skirt. I tried looking at her in the eyes but I had difficulty taking my eyes off her exposed bare thighs. “Hey, you…please help me get down. I am stuck in this fucking tree!” she pleaded as I stared up at her in disbelief. She was not more than fifteen feet away from the ground and when I asked her why she just did not jump down she told me that it was because she was terrified of heights.

I put my new gardenia down onto the pavement and asked her how she wanted me to get her down from the tree. “If you stand with your back against the tree I can climb down onto your shoulders.” If anyone would of told me an hour before that I would end my afternoon with a hooker standing on my shoulders I would of thought that you were nuts. The impossible became reality when I felt the heels of her boots  digging into my shoulder bones. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” she kept repeating as she struggled to slowly get her self out of the tree.

Once I was finally able to help the hooker get onto the ground, she struggled for a few moments to regain her composure. My body slightly ached because in her frantic attempts to find her way to the ground, she stepped all over my head, shoulders, hand, chest and thighs. At one point during her descent- my face rested comfortably in the warm embrace of her crotch as she had both her knees resting on my shoulders (I can only imagine the shock and disbelief that passers by must of felt). Her odor was not terribly disturbing but I could smell the scent of cigarettes and sex emanating from her flesh. Once she was able to get herself composed and firmly planted on the ground she threw her arms around me and repeatedly declared, “you saved my life!”

I have never had the opportunity to be a hero before. I have often thought that heroics alluded me because I simply do not have what it takes to be a hero. If “life is a fortuitous collaboration ascribable to the fact that one finds oneself in the right place at the right time” (from a passage I read in an essay on karma)- than it could be fair to say that I have never before found myself in a situation that I needed to act as a hero. Helping a desperate woman out of a tree hardly qualified as “the right place at the right time,” and as the hooker continued to passionately declare that I had saved her life- all I could do was take a deep breath and say, “lady I am no hero.”

Apparently, she had not climbed into the tree just for fun. She had a legitimate excuse for being perched up fifteen feet high between branches, leaves and a few vagrant squirrels. “Men ain’t got nothing better to do then to mess with us bitches. I was mindin my own buzness working my usual street, when two thugs got in my way and startin to makin me feel threatened for my life. When I tried to get away they be relentless so I saw this tree and I knew it was my only way to safety cause thugs don’t like to climb trees.” She informed me that she had been in the tree for hours, waiting for the coast to clear. There was a childlike lightness and play in her new found freedom and I was tempted to give in when she asked me if she could repay me with a quick blow job or a ten minute lay. I turned down her offer not because she was unattractive, nor because I am a man with strong moral sensibility. No, I turned her down simply because I was already late to meet my wife for our once a week dinner date.

The hooker dug deep down into her purse and brought out a five dollar bill, which she offered to me. “Please, at least let me offer you something for your brave service,” she said holding out the bill. I put my hands up and refused her generous offer and told her that I worked as a high school teacher, which was a job that payed me well enough. “You a teacher!” she said with a sudden burst of surprise. “I am,” I replied with a hint of pride. “Well than…you take this five dollars, you hear me! You need it much more than me,” she insisted. I know for certain that a hooker can make in a few hours what I make in a week, so I resigned myself to taking the handout without feeling much guilt (although I have been thinking about how unfortunate it is that a teacher needs money more than a hooker). I thanked her for rewarding me with a cash payment and she said, “shit, it is the least I can do for a handsome young man like yourself who was just kind enough to save my life.”

She gave me another hug. It was almost as if we were like two lovers who were about to forever go our separate ways. “You stay out of trees now, you hear,” I jokingly said to her. As we started to go our own separate ways a part of my brain (the part of my brain that never makes wise choices) told the other part of my brain (the part of my brain that always makes good choices) to quickly reconsider the kind offer of a free blow job. As I have grown older, I am proud to admit, that the side of my brain that makes the right choices has started to win out over the more reckless side of my brain- so I just stood there for a moment and watched the hooker walk away with what felt like a hero’s smile upon my middle aged face.

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