Twisted

by Lola Smirnova

  First, Alexandra woke me up in the afternoon from a comatose sleep resulting from last night’s job, which I’d generously supplemented with some heavy consumption.

  ‘Victoria, I have a job for you. Özgür from Ortaköy – I’m sure you remember him. He will be waiting for you in the same place as last time, at 3 p.m.’

  I switched autopilot mode on and threw myself into a cold shower. It always worked – at 3:10 p.m. I was at the required destination.

  Özgür was a ringed creature who was quick to come, always while wearing a condom, and generous to tip. To put it differently – a model client.

  My 5 p.m. also wasn’t bad, but the emptor lay on his back like a cripple on the bed, inducing me to spur him on to a gallop for the whole, endless hour.

  At 7:30 p.m. I got back home, took a shower, and had dinner. As soon as I’d comforted myself with the remote control and a bottle of beer on the bed, my phone buzzed again.

  Trick number three turns out to be no older than 25 and answers to the name of Ali. He is a short youngster, although well-built. He is definitely a regular in one of the local gyms.

  I don’t even look at his face until he hands me a glass of whisky on the rocks.

  Wow …

  His big, dark-brown eyes are charming and very naughty. He gazes into my eyes with a delightful and genuine smile, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. Apart from the looks, it is his sensational confidence that makes him a truly attractive man.

  Hmmm … interesting ...

  I quickly scan the dwelling: huge, open-plan lounge with modern furniture and up-to-date gadgets. It looks like there is only one bedroom, so he definitely does not live with his parents. I also try to spot something to suggest a live-in girlfriend, wife or any other permanent fuck-mate, but fail to find anything – it is a typical bachelor’s lair.

  Okay … let’s take the rose-tinted glasses off and think rationally about this. He is handsome, young, attractive, confident and rich. There’s got to be something wrong with him. What is it? A small dick? Some kind of perversion?

  ‘You look tired, Victoria,’ he murmurs, his voice full of genuine concern.

  He is kind as well! Seriously – what’s wrong with this one? He can’t be this faultless. What’s it going to be?

  I shake my head energetically. ‘No, not at all, I feel great, but thanks for asking.’ I try to add as much get-up-and-go to my expression as I can. He smiles again and requests me to take a seat on his stunning white couch. It’s in front of an enormous flat-screen TV that hangs on the wall. There’s an unusually designed white glass coffee table between them.

  ‘I have something more serious for you.’ He pulls a little plastic bag of white powder from his pants pocket. ‘I hope you will join me.’

  Oh my fuck, he is perfect! It’s my lucky day …

  Questions about what he does, or how he achieved all of this – especially considering his age – begin to climb into my curious brain. And I guess my face does not want to work with me, making my thoughts clear as a bell instead, as if they were written on my forehead …

  ‘No, I am not a successful businessman, or some talented artist … I am an average student in the Faculty of Architecture at Bosphorus University. For all of this –’ his eyes take a trip around the room ‘– I have my parents to thank. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, my mom and dad are wealthy people who love me and spoil me a lot.’ I pick up the sorrow in his words.

  I sniff a juicy line with cold neutrality on my face while nodding vaguely. I always feel confused, angry even, when the rich and spoiled fish for sympathy about their lives that are ‘so hard’.

  The next question that begins to bug me even more is why the hell would he call Alexandra in the first place?

  ‘I am not doing this because I need to pay for sex.’

  Damn! What is it tonight? Is he some kind of psychic, or is it my face that keeps failing to cooperate with me?

  ‘I just like beautiful, intelligent and sexy women … women like you, who don’t think of sex as a duty they have to perform to reproduce. I mean, I like to be with a woman who sees lovemaking as a great gift that we, as humans, are blessed to enjoy. But, unfortunately, most women I meet just use sex as a tool that helps them to get married; or even worse – they are ashamed of it, as if it is something dirty.’

  I try hard to concentrate on what Ali is saying, but the tender touch of his fingers, which play with my neck while lightly tousling my hair, makes my skin prickle and my brain freeze.

  He is wearing a white T-shirt, loose light-blue jeans, and nothing on his feet. One of his legs is folded under his thigh and the foot of the other is feeling the wood of the floors. It is sexy … everything about him is extremely sexy, composed, seductive.

  Ali leans forward. Without touching my body, he kisses me, passionately sucking and biting my lips.

  Oh my … he is good …

  No, no, no … what is it? Is he a mutant with two dicks? Or … is his tool missing? I wonder which of these would upset me more ...

  He stops abruptly and relaxes back, placing his arm again on the top of the couch so he can go back to playing with my neck. I sigh but don’t open my eyes, trying to prolong the unreal lust into which my whole body has just dived. It feels so heavenly and intense down my stomach. Eventually I open them. Ali is watching me with a contented smile on his face.

  ‘Have a drink, beautiful.’ His voice is calm and comforting. ‘Tell me more about yourself, your childhood?’

  I begin the story about my sisters and their trip to France, which I couldn’t take with them; and how my friend Inna, who I bumped into about a month ago, is the reason for my being in Istanbul. He keeps asking leading questions, demonstrating his deep interest in my tale, pressing me for more details.

  Without taking his eyes off my face, he slowly starts undoing the small pearly-blue buttons on my blouse, and pulls my bra cups slightly down, just enough to get better access to my nipples. He starts playing with them.

  I automatically reach my arm out towards him, to answer his arousing strokes. Ali stops me, gently replacing my hand. ‘Don’t, beautiful … please continue … you were saying?’

  No one has ever done anything like this to me before. Usually my sex-mates, clients or boyfriends lose interest in my boobies quickly, after a few squeezes and rubs. Men ignore them throughout intercourse, seeking compensation in the other parts of my body. Because of this lack of stimulation, I didn’t even know that my nipples were erogenous zones, capable of discharging so much warmth down to my crotch.

  I understand that me talking at the same time as being stimulated so strongly is a part of Ali’s game. He gives me a simple task – to entertain him with some tales – and watches me fail to do it, because of the desire that fills up my body and mind. It’s pure amusement for him to see how, with only a few touches, he has changed me into his horny puppet. Without a doubt he can call the night a success, because my face is red, my voice becomes hoarse, my pulse and breathing quicken and all of my body tenses in its obvious plea to be fucked.

  Some time later, when it turns into insanity and my pussy is swallowed by desire, and the only thing left in my entire world is how I’m dying for satisfaction, he slowly starts undoing his jeans. Next thing, he is tearing apart the foil of the condom. He rolls it over his not very long but thick and promisingly firm member.

  My legs open slightly in irrepressible anticipation. My mouth opens to inhale deeply.

  ‘Lift up your skirt, beautiful. I want to see how much you want my cock inside you.’ I follow his instruction and reveal my splashing slit.

  ‘Good girl. Come here. Let’s see what I can do for you.’ He smiles, drags me up and places me on top of him. Then, tightly grasping both of my wrists behind my back with one hand, he searches through the layers of my skirt with the other, moves my panties to one side, grabs my ass, and nails me on his erection.

  The flash of disappointment at being on top again dissolves in a lou
d, wild sound that breaks out of my throat, echoing the powerful wave of inconceivable pleasure that pierces my whole body, violently smashes into me, and scatters to my limbs like a million butterflies.

  He straightens his back, making it easier for him to move me, control the rhythm, and suck and bite my nipples while keeping my hands still. One strike after another. Until I collapse.

  40

  For the next couple of days all I can think of is that night. It could hardly even be called a night – unfortunately it was over soon after I hit my really big O. But it was the night because of the divine sex I had with an awesome guy while consuming a perfect amount of the good stuff.

  After I came, Ali didn’t give me much time to recover. My vagina was still convulsing when he brusquely lifted me up and put me back onto my weak, shaky legs behind the conveniently tall and wide armrest of the couch. Then he bent me over, throwing the white chiffon of my skirt over my head, and tugged my panties down to my knees.

  ‘Hold your butt cheeks with both your hands, beautiful, and do not let them go …’ His voice sounded calm but extremely demanding. I complied, shifting my feet, trying to get more sureness in my position. ‘Stay still and do not let them go,’ he repeated, with more affection this time, and forcefully penetrated me.

  He fucked me hard while pulling back my hair, which he’d tied in his fist, saying over and over, ‘Don’t let your hands go, my angel. Good girl …’ until he came loudly, making me scream too from how he painfully pulled my hair even more …

  Then he brought some wet wipes from the bathroom, apologetically explained that the next day he had very early classes and had to get some sleep, paid my fees, and showed me to the door.

  That night was not only the best sexual experience I’d ever had, it was the only time I’d ever climaxed with a man inside me. Its not like I don’t know what an orgasm feels like; I’ve been a big fan of masturbation since I was thirteen. I’d been pleasuring myself almost every day, in the shower or in bed before going to sleep. Even zonked out Inna under the same blanket never stopped me. I grew up with two sisters, sharing one room, and I got used to them being a silent and non-participative presence while I was busy flying to another Promised Land.

  Hmmm … coming with Ali felt so different. I guess that was what they call hitting the G-spot or a vaginal orgasm.

  The sexual desire that built up and filled my body with the power of an avalanche during his foreplay was as frighteningly good as it was surprisingly intense for me too. I could never have suspected that my body was capable of that feeling. But when Ali started shoving me down on his cock, I simply lost it … The inner hit that stormed every inch of my insides dissolved my body, crushing me into countless colourful lights, like a 4th of July discharged firework.

  I close my eyes, trying to recall the sensation again and again … damn, it was good. I need it. Every minute I hope my phone will start ringing, and that it will be Alexandra, whose soft, seductive voice would say, ‘Victoria, do you remember that client from Şişli? He wants you back.’

  Oh my! That would be so great …

  The phone does ring. It’s Alexandra. ‘Hey Victoria, how are you? I have a job for you. It’s a new client; he wants you to come to Asia side, so start getting ready now. He will be waiting for you in two hours.’

  Crap.

  41

  Another month disappears. It whisks by in a haze: I’m constantly drowning in booze and drugs, or in a deep sleep to get over the booze and drugs.

  I am sitting in our kitchen, having my ‘morning’ coffee and cigarette at 3 p.m. and checking my inbox, ignoring naked Inna, who hurriedly runs in and out of the bathroom. She is gearing up; there is a client waiting for her in an hour’s time.

  Hi my Poppy-seed,

  How are you? Hope everything is going well with you in Istanbul … I can’t believe we’re apart, and that Natalia and I can’t keep an eye on you.

  We are finally in Nimes. We had a good flight and an easy switch to the train in Paris. It is unbelievably fast. We crossed all of France just in three hours!

  When we got here, the owner of the club, his name is Paul, met us at the station and took us to the apartment. He looks like a nice chap; although he is ex-military and he doesn’t speak English at all!

  So after all, the trip was good, except for the incident at the French embassy in Kiev. Oh my! Those bastards treat people like complete garbage!

  You remember our trip to the Luxembourgish embassy in Moscow? That fat bitch who almost killed me, threatening to reject my application because I used the bathroom? Yes, I know it said ‘Staff Only’, but it was the only loo they had. What I was supposed to do?

  This time it was quite a young man who submitted our papers for the visa. He just started yelling at Natalia and I because we whispered a few words and smiled at each other while he was busy checking our contracts and certificates. Besides, this place didn’t even have a bathroom, regardless of the fact that we had to spend three hours there …

  Anyway, what doesn’t kill us will make us stronger, right?

  The club looks very small – we just had a tour with Paul. The apartments we stay in are awesome. It’s a double-storey, spacious, holiday-style flat with an open-plan kitchen.

  Okay, Jul, I have to run, still have to unpack, shower and get ready to work. It’s our first night, and I am so scared now … Natalia looks cool as a cucumber though! You know she is an ‘iron lady’

  !

  Write me about what is happening on your side? How is business?

  How is Inna doing?

  We miss you very much.

  xxx

  ‘What the fuck is this, Jul? Have you totally sniffed your brains out?’

  Inna’s angry yell shakes me up with fright. I look up from the computer screen. Still undressed, now wearing only a tiny black G-string and high heels, she is standing in the middle of the room with a small plastic bag, stuffed with white powder, in her hand.

  ‘What the fuck are you thinking?’ Her voice gets even louder.

  ‘What is your problem? Stop shouting! You scared the shit out of me! You get wasted all the time too, with the only difference being that your fuel is liquid! So why don’t you just address some of those questions to yourself?’

  ‘I don’t care what you do out there, but I don’t want this shit in my place! Don’t you understand that there is a huge difference between being deported because they drag you off the client, and getting yourself thrown into jail because you carry your weekly stock with you?’ She lowers the volume.

  I stay silent; I have nothing to say to Inna. I am offended by her tone but she is right.

  She sighs and takes few steps closer to the table, still waving the little plastic bag in the air.

  ‘Look. I know we all like to have some fun while doing the “best job in the world”, but I beg you not to bring this stuff in here anymore, okay? I heard there were quite a few police raids in Laleli and Aksaray yesterday. They storm the hotels, drag the girls out of their beds and throw them into jail. Without even seeing them on a customer! Do you get it, Jul?! The cops have started to play really dirty. You never know … we could even get reported by one of our friendly but fucking curious neighbours and then we will get fucked for real …’

  I nod.

  ‘Okay, I need to go now. I am sorry I shouted at you, but I am really scared of getting into trouble, especially over bullshit stuff like this.’

  42

  Inna and I are packing to go home for a couple of days. Our sixty-day tourist visas expire tomorrow and we have to cross the border to get new ones, for another two months.

  This time I convince my roommate to take a plane. I can’t even think of locking myself on that boat again. Besides, I can take no gear with me. It’s obviously too dangerous to carry drugs across the border. That means at least 48 hours without a hit or a drag of dope. I have to be creative. I check, and find only two possible routes: through Odessa or Nikolayev.

 
The latter is closer to Kherson and is cheaper as well – looks like a real catch for us. An hour-and-a-half flight, then another hour on the bus, and we are home.

  It’s a charter flight, An-24, and once a week it goes to Istanbul from Nikolayev and back. Since the end of the Soviet era in the late 80s, the air transport system, including most of the government-owned airports, has been neglected, especially in the little towns, to the point of complete dysfunction. For the last few years, this has been the only flight that’s landed at and taken off from Nikolayev International Airport.

  I was optimistic, thinking that nothing could be worse than two days on a thirty-year-old boat full of passengers and at least half of the crew who were hammered into a critical condition.

  I was mistaken …

  The first thing that shocks us is the size of the airplane. It looks more like a bus with propellers and wings. Then we learn that smoking is permitted onboard – anyone who wishes to have a drag can go to the cargo section at the end of the aircraft and enjoy a cigarette.

  Faster and safer …? Hmm … I guess the only thing I didn’t slip up with is the ‘faster’ part – this definitely looks to me like a pretty fast way of kicking the bucket.

  Despite this, the flight to Nikolayev goes well and we get home in one piece. Two days go by very quickly. Before I know it I am in a cab, going to fetch Inna on the way to Nikolayev to fly back to Istanbul.

  As we arrive and head for the check-in, the woman at the counter looks at our itinerary and says that there are some problems; before she can issue our boarding passes we have to go to the office to sort them out.

  Inna and I exchange annoyed looks and without any further comments head up the stairs, following the woman’s directions. There are at least another seven already stressed passengers waiting in the reception area. From their conversation, we learn that the airline has overbooked the flight by selling at least ten extra tickets; now they are trying to decide who to leave behind.