Fuchsia is listening to 100% by Sonic Youth. She is biking through the city in her namesake hair and yellow bike. Old men often get upset when she passes them with an “on your left” while blasting her music. No matter how politely she says it, they see it as an attack on their masculinity. They speed up trying to pass her, thus causing her to be stuck in traffic and not able to come back in the bike lane. THIS pisses her off. This daily misogyny that leaves her having to apologize for being faster. She overtakes the old man and gives the finger. He yells something indistinguishable. “Buhbye” she says under her breath.
She pulls into the hotel garage. Sam let’s her park her bike in the cage there. Just in case some old man actually catches up with her and decides to take his hatred for women out on her bike. It’s happened before. Come to think of it, it happened in a bike cage.
“Time to make the donuts”. Fuchsia said slyly with a sigh.
She took her bag with her “kit”. She stopped in the bathroom for a lady’s bath to quickly refresh herself. It was pretty sticky out.
Fuchsia walked up to the elevator and got off on the fourth floor . . Slowly walked to room 403.
She was a bit nervous even though she had a tough exterior. This client liked to be walked on. Literally and figuratively. Yet, he also projected a different exterior. His name was . . . not important. But he went by Mr. Red. Fuchsia rolled her eyes thinking about it. Doesn’t he know we run background checks and know his real name when he books? He can’t be that dumb . . . Yes he can.
She prepared the kit. She always got the rooms first and asked clients to come 15 minutes later so she can set up. It was always safest that way.
This time was a little different. Mr Red was into ball play. No, not baseball. He wanted a little more attention there. Instead of nipple clamps, there were scrotum clamps. But on the end of one of these clamps, Fuchsia attached an extra surprise. So subtle, she doubted he would notice, especially when he’ll be tied up and blindfolded .
As Fuchsia loaded the small syringe she thought “The Fuchsia is bright.” She laughed to herself. Her grade school teachers often said this to her sarcastically in front of the whole class. They thought she was slow because she didn’t like reading out loud and tripped over the words as she spoke. Yes, it’s her real name, and yes, teachers can be bullies, too.
Indeed, the future lit up.
Mr Red knocked the familiar code. Fuchsia simply said “come in”. The door creaked. Fuchsia never flinched.