IMMUNE ANGEL
Myrina D. McCullough
Angel was fifteen. She had already been working for three years, and she already had AIDs. She was thin and small, looking much younger than her age, but her mind absorbed and produced more than most adults.
Although she was scared and sad when she left her home high in the rolling hills of Thailand, Angel understood that her parents felt they had to sell her. Many parents sold their children to the city. Soon after she started to work, Angel understood that she could easily catch AIDS. When she did catch the disease, Angel also understood that she would die young.
But Radiu -- her slightly older, slightly sicker friend - brought her new information that surprised her. During a clinic visit, Radiu had overheard some women saying that it was wrong of parents to sell their children. They said the parents should value their children more than that. They had spoken about international laws about child labor and child abuse. Angel started to wonder if the soft, flailing, sometimes groveling, sometimes angry, scared or mean foreigners who were coming to her from faraway countries were breaking these laws - international laws. “International” - that meant bigger than her country and way, way bigger than herself, but it was out there, something that said what was happening to her was wrong; something that helped her make her plans.
Angel knew she was prettier than many of the girls. Even the older ones told her all the time, “Your mouth is so delicate, your eyes are so big; you don’t even need to do your eyebrows, they are naturally so well-shaped. You’re lucky.” Her sweetness and appeal had gotten her shuttled upwards through the brothel system rather quickly. The owners knew what the wealthier men and the foreigners were looking for.
And Angel did think of herself as lucky. She knew plenty of less pretty girls who were dying of AIDS as she was, but sometimes her added allure got her small tips beyond what was handed over to the brothel owners. With no family and no future, Angel spent these tips on meat and greens for herself and Radiu, who told her that eating well was the best way to keep stronger than the sickness. She kept her hair as clean as possible and folded her clothes carefully, so they would always look fresh. Angel wanted to keep working and living in order to reach her goals.
The Thai men who visited Angel might be wealthy, but they were often ignorant, superstitious, and in a hurry. With no questions asked, they would rip off their own clothes and hers, ignore her offered condoms, and quickly dribble out their “potency,” soaking up any offerings she might have just as fast.
When Angel was diagnosed with AIDS, the brothel owners knew they had to be careful. Occasionally, the brothels underwent unexpected inspections. Angel was sold to a “specialty” house where she was told to always use a condom and to always tell her clients -- all foreigners now - that she was twelve. These clients were older, they came long distances once or twice a year and wanted to be touched and stimulated, and they brought their own “good” condoms for their protection.
Barrett came in and looked at Angel through his thin wire-rimmed glasses. For an instant, he thought he saw a flash of hostility in her eyes, but then she lowered her thick lashes and shyly bit her soft mouth. Her eye lid had the curve of a smooth, sweet grape; her cheekbone, the curve and softness of a fresh apricot; her lips - free of make up as far as Barrett could tell - were a deep maroon, moist and shining. He knew that her other lips would be even more erotic, and he wanted to dive straight to her core, but he held himself in check.
She let her brown hand rest a moment on his belt buckle and, looking up at him with her innocent eyes, asked, “American?”
He said, “Yes, baby.”
Angel patted his front zipper like a baby playing pat-a-cake and said, “Oh, good.”
Barrett wondered what she meant. Were Americans kinder than others? Harsher (surely she wasn’t looking for abuse)? Bigger? Smaller? His old paranoia shivered in his gut for a moment. What did she know anyway? She was just a kid. If she found him to be ugly, it didn’t matter; if she didn’t like his style, she would never say it; if his grasping hands got a little over-zealous with her body, she would tolerate it. He would burst and burst, come and come, demand and demand, in her mouth, frontside, backside, again and again, to his heart’s content.
Angel turned and went and kneeled next to the bed, her back to him, her small feet poking out from her sari, upturned. “I wait you ready,” she said.
Barrett fished his condoms out of his pocket, stripped out of his clothes, and went to her, lifting her heavy black hair in his hand. She spun her head about, her eyes wide and startled, as though she thought he might strangle her with her own hair. Her head was just below his extended member. She slid onto the bed, letting her sari drop open around her barely formed thighs. When her cool hand curled around his penis. he let himself go. He fell back, splayed out, eyes closed, glasses and condoms dropped to the bed side table. “Oh, yes, sweetheart. Do daddy.”
Angel started her routine. She moved her mouth down his chest, flicking her hair, so he would feel it lightly. Her tiny fingers crept around him to the back, stroking, circling, probing. She put her warm tongue flat against the head of his member and then took him fully into her mouth. He groaned and almost shouted, “Move - let me get the condom - come on -!”
“Give it,” she said softly. “Let me.”
She licked him and whispered loudly enough for him to hear, “Oh, big!,” as she expertly nicked the center of the banana-flavored condom with her teeth and then forced a larger hole with her finger. As she rolled the rubber up his length, she started to mentally prepare herself for the onslaught, as she had learned to do through experience. “Breath in, breath out; relax, loosen your legs, loosen between your legs. Receive him in. Receive and give, receive and give.” It was her mantra, a reminder of all she had left. “Give back; give back.” She was in no hurry. She was calm and receptive.
When Barrett pulled out, Angel was ready with a paper Kleenex, ready to remove the condom and get rid of it. How docile yet knowing she was!! Barrett reached for his glasses and looked at her again. “You are a darling,” he said, stretching out his large belly and stroking it. “What’s your name?”
“Angel,” she answered, looking up at him with a frightened air. “You not happy?”
“I’m happy, my little one. I just wish you’d never grow up. Look, take this money and keep it for yourself. I’ll pay your boss separately. And I’ll be back. You ARE an angel.”
Angel crossed her fingers tightly behind her back. Doubting that he would ever be back, she pulled her hair into a braid, called to Radiu to come with her, and went out to buy some more meat with the man’s coins.
