Me and my sister who is a prostitute

Although my sister and I haven't been in this city for very long, many men
in already know that my sister is a promiscuous woman. However, we
pretend we know nothing and continue our hustle and bustle in this city, covered in the dust of our lives, continuing to do
what we have to do to survive.
My sister is a woman who sells her body to men; to be precise, she's a prostitute. In the red-light
district , she stands out. She's grown to like living this way. She once told me that she's obsessed with money
and the orgasms those men give her. When she talks to me, her younger brother,
she likes to have a cigarette in her mouth, a glass of wine in her hand, her eyes seductive, her legs slightly parted, as if she's always
ready to welcome men.
Perhaps because we both often frequent the city at night, neither of us looks
very well . The only difference is that my face is tired from staying up late, while hers is clearly
the result of excessive indulgence with men. However, my sister's complexion is quite suitable for
the darkness . It was a look that seemed ambiguous in the darkness, making men's imaginations run wild. Sometimes
I thought she was shameless, but I had no right to say that, because I also
lived off the money my sister earned this way. And I knew that in this vast city, many
people with so-called respectable professions had patronized my sister's beautiful body. In the darkness, these people easily tore away
their sanctimonious facades in public. Facing a prostitute, their lustful desires resembled those
of a primitive monkey. Who can say who is more noble than whom?
I am 14 years old, and my sister is 23; we should be in the prime of our lives. Yet, we live
such a bleak existence. When I was 6, my parents died in a car accident. Like my sister, I
have no feelings for them. When my parents were alive, beating my sister and me seemed to be their only pleasure.
My sister once described her memories of them to me. At that time, my sister was still a gentle and pure
woman. But when she talked about my parents, she said viciously, "Good riddance, good riddance." I was a precocious
child. Hearing my sister describe our parents' deaths in such a vicious voice, I believed she must have had her
reasons . It must have been a reason for her hatred, besides the beatings.
When I was nine, I finally had the chance to learn this reason from my sister. It turned out that the
first man to violate my sister's body was, in fact, the guy we called "Father."
It was him!
If this was a play, then what followed was even more astonishing. Because my father
completed the act of violating my sister with my mother's help. That woman held down my sister's struggling
arms, allowing that man to attack her like a beast. The
woman supposedly, also had her reasons for doing this. She suffered from a very serious gynecological disease and
couldn't satisfy that lustful man. She was afraid he would go to other women, and thus my sister
's sacrifice occurred. I think the saying "keeping the good stuff in the family" applies here too. After that,
my sister and I started our own lives. One evening at dusk, on the bustling Tianhe Road, under my sister's cover, I was stealing
the wallet of a man who looked like a gentleman when he noticed.
My sister could have easily run away, but she didn't. The man didn't yell "Stop thief!"
or anything like that. He just grabbed my hand as if afraid I would escape, tightly gripping my hand reaching for his wallet. Then,
he stared at my sister's captivating face with a knowing look. This look, full of desire, was something
my sister had already learned from my father when she was twelve. So, she went with that man.
And so, I escaped a fate that should have led to a meeting with the police.
I thought I'd gotten away with it, but the man later gave my sister a lot of money. I suspect
he had an inexhaustible supply of money. Haha, at the time, it was a huge sum for us. And it was this money
that changed my sister, and it changed me.
From then on, we were forever separated from innocence and happiness. The night, under the dazzling neon
lights . The so-called "prey" are
men who need to release their sexual desires through women in the darkness. However, what has always puzzled me is that
besides men without women, many men who already have women still
indulge in this practice. Generally, wealthy men prefer to book rooms in five-star hotels catering to foreigners. But my
sister doesn't have this habit; she likes to bring men back to our place so I can "keep watch" for them.
Her reason is that I am her only family member, and she only feels safe with me. These are
words she often says that touch me, and only then can I sense her inner loneliness. But I
know what she needs is true security, something I, her brother, cannot provide. Yet,
I am powerless. Who would believe that a prostitute also needs love?
Many wealthy men are willing to forgo the security of five-star hotels, complying with my sister's wishes and
risking coming to our rented place, I know entirely because of my sister's allure, the
irresistible . If I had to describe my sister in one sentence, I can only say that she is a
captivating prostitute.
Once, my sister and I brought a wealthy man to our place. As usual, I kept watch through
the door . Suddenly, his phone rang. I was surprised by
how quickly he switched roles. His breathing became incredibly even. He answered the phone,
his voice gentle as he said, "Honey, of course I remember today is our wedding
anniversary . I even prepared a gift. I'm in a meeting at the company, I'll be there as soon as possible. Okay, bye.
" My sister didn't make a sound during the call. It was a rule.
Because similar things happened frequently in our "business."
Whenever I imagined those men, naked with my sister, yet holding
their phones hypocritically telling their wives lies, I would secretly laugh outside the door. But every time, I
would laugh until tears streamed down my face. Why? I don't know. Maybe, maybe it's because I thought I had discovered
the true nature of life: hypocritical and empty.
Three days passed, one after another. I was confident I was the smartest and youngest person in the city.
I was a young but very experienced pimp. It wasn't exactly a glorious title, but it was the truth.
We always managed to evade the city's crackdowns on prostitution. Under the cover of night, my
sister were like two lonely fish, still wandering this bustling city night after night, searching for all sorts
of prey, unchanged. Until that night when my sister met that handsome man,
everything changed. If clients are the gods of prostitutes, then to be precise, all
the changes happened after my sister met that handsome "god."
I saw the man first. It was already past midnight. As I said, I'm a young
but very experienced pimp. Therefore, naturally, he became our only
"god" on this lonely night.
He hesitated only for a moment, then came with me. There was no haggling. But I believed my sister would
make him feel it was worthwhile.
The moment he met my sister on the street gave me a
shock . Because, in their gaze, I read an emotion, not just simple lust.
I even saw a fleeting blush rise on my sister's face. All of this made their
first meeting no longer seem like the meeting of a customer and a prostitute, but more like a passionate couple, love at first sight. A chance
encounter of love. Truly, watching them from afar, I understood for the first time the meaning of the so-called "matching" between men and
women . But how mismatched their meeting scene was!
In our rented room, through the door, I heard my sister and that man making love
. After the man left, my sister came out. Her voice was very low. She told me, "I
didn't take his money." I just nodded and didn't say anything. She went back to her room and didn't come
out all night. I secretly went to see her; she was leaning against the bed, lost in thought. I lay in bed, unable to sleep. A precocious child
like , who had never experienced love, of course knew
what it meant for a woman's face to blush for a man. Even if it was fleeting, as long as it wasn't acting, it revealed
the woman's budding feelings for that man. Besides, I knew how
genuine . I suddenly realized that the allure of love was so
irresistible to a young woman in the prime of her life. Even if she was a prostitute labeled "available to all," when the time came, she
would still fall in love. This had nothing to do with how much worldly experience she had accumulated or how much blood and sweat she had accumulated, or whether she was pure
or not .
From that night on, my sister fell into a temptation. Tempted by that thing called "love
." She said she had fallen in love with a man. I said I knew. Looking back at her, she smiled. I knew she admired
my shrewdness. For the first time in a long time, I saw her not holding a cigarette while talking to me. Her hair
fell slightly, she looked incredibly gentle. Like a girl from a modest family, yet also like a lady from a noble family. I was secretly amazed at how a woman could be transformed by the temptation of love
, even though it was my sister. Actually, I couldn't blame her. Women need the nourishment of love.
If a woman despairs of love, she's doomed. I
learned this from a book when I was nine. I think I should
be thankful that my father's cruelty towards my sister didn't leave her with fatal consequences. After all, she still had the desire for love. For
a woman like my sister, love should be a form of redemption.
Love is not a sin.
Love is a private matter. I gradually understood the meaning of this sentence. After that man entered
our lives, my sister and I slowly drifted apart, and we no longer had any "business" dealings. In
the city's night, people no longer saw a young pimp and a beautiful
prostitute appearing together.
We both spent our savings. She regained the innocent beauty I remembered, without makeup.
However, I never saw that man at our place again. But I knew my sister must be
happily together with him, just like a couple deeply in love. I never inquired about their progress
; I simply watched my sister gradually return to being a healthy, respectable woman. I thought
this change was joyful. However, facing the dwindling number of condoms in the drawer, besides sensing
her and that man's frenzied lust, I also felt a vague unease.
When our savings dwindled, I reverted from a young pimp to
my original identity—a not-so-skilled thief. I spent my days wandering the streets, looking for opportunities.
On a lucky day, I could steal five or six wallets. After a successful heist, I would go to
a café , pretending to be a sophisticated young man, and enjoy a delicious cup of coffee. Lately, I
'd often seen a young girl in this café, intently reading
a book with a cup of coffee in front of her. I was instantly attracted to her; she had some small freckles on her face, quite comical.
Sitting not far from her, I secretly observed her.
But I didn't dare approach her. In her presence, I felt inferior; I felt like
a wicked, troubled youth. Whenever I succeeded in my affairs outside, and then came to this coffee shop to see her, amidst
the joy , I was often filled with sadness. I was saddened by the chaotic state of my life, yet powerless to change it.
As for my sister, before I even realized what had happened, I lost
her forever.
That night, she came home particularly late, her face pale, but she greeted me happily in the twilight light
. She bought me my favorite braised pig's trotters, and then she went into her
room. That was the last time I saw her.
In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom and saw that the light in her room was still on, so I went over. The scene
before me left me in a daze. My sister lay quietly on the bed, the soft light illuminating her face,
like a sleeping beauty in a fairytale forest. Then, her body was already stiff. I stood
beside her, gently touching her already cold cheek. Then I closed her still slightly open
eyes. I couldn't bear to look at the lingering disappointment in her eyes.
On the table lay her scribbled handwriting. The paper contained only one sentence: she said I was nothing more than a
prostitute he could use for free, that he didn't even have to pay for the condoms. Hahaha! I crumpled the paper into a ball and stepped on it.
At my feet. I sneered. So, people can disguise themselves for all sorts of desires. Even a so-called affectionate gaze can be faked just to
enjoy . And my sister was easily
seduced by that man's facade. Thinking of my poor sister, I couldn't help but weep. Perhaps
the happiest moment of her life was that night, completely unaware of the truth, when she met that man on
the street and was seduced by his feigned affection. I stood foolishly by the bedside until dawn.
I think deep down I must be a wild child, even with irrational violent
tendencies . Therefore, of course, I wouldn't give up so easily. I spent three days learning about that man's
every move. And killing him only took me 16 minutes.
It was a drizzly dusk when I found him. He remembered me. I smiled at him. At that moment,
I felt he was actually a very foolish man. He didn't even see the murderous intent in my eyes, and
smiled back at me like a mentally challenged child. I said, "My sister missed you very much." He seemed a little awkward. He asked,
"Is your sister still angry?" I pretended not to know anything. "Angry? How could she be? Did you two have a fight
?" He turned his head to one side. Then he said to me, "No, no." This time, he seemed much more at ease.
So , just like that night, he easily followed me again. The only difference was that this time he walked
into a trap of death. It turns out that everyone is so susceptible to temptation. This man couldn't escape
the capture of lust. And my sister couldn't escape the temptation of love. But the ending was the same.
An axe solved everything. I killed this man next to my sister's body. My
hands were covered with his blood, splattered from his struggle. After doing all this, I felt
extremely exhausted. After all, I was just a thin 14-year-old boy.
The distinctive smell of blood hit me. Seeing that man and my sister lying side by side on the bed,
no longer making a sound, I felt a loneliness and emptiness I had never felt before. For a moment, I
forgot what had happened. Perhaps, this is my life, like being put on a lost
train, forever aimless. Then, I remembered the girl with cute little freckles I often
saw .
What was she doing? My heart was suddenly filled with an intense longing for her. But I knew that if
I didn't leave this psychedelic train, I would never have the chance to see her pure and beautiful smile.

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Me and my sister who is a prostitute

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