Friends - Mastering the Virgin Part One

by Simone Leigh

  Wonder if the photo’s been touched up?

  Taking a coffee break, I open the message again, clicking through to see if I can learn anything I missed the first time, but no, there’s nothing more

  Perhaps I should check out the Auction House? See if it seems kosher?

  I’ve nothing much on tomorrow. I could take an hour or so out of the schedule to call by….

  I sip at my coffee.

  Then I sip it again. Why not?

  You can’t afford it….

  Doesn’t hurt to look though….

  ________________________

  “Good morning, Sir. How can I help you?”

  The woman on reception is outrageously fat, middle-aged, and judging by her sour expression, has forgotten what it ever felt like to be young.

  Please don’t let age turn me into that….

  “I’m enquiring about an email you sent to me, advertising an auction. I wanted to see if it’s genuine?”

  “Which auction is that, Sir? We run a wide variety of sales.”

  “This one.” I offer her my print-off.

  “Ah, that one.” She glares at me over her spectacles. “Mr Chambers handles enquiries on that particular…. event. I’ll go get him for you.”

  Thank God for that….

  No way do I want to discuss…. anything…. with that woman.

  After only a minute or so, she returns, scowling, with a man of about my own age. “Good morning, Sir. Would you like to come this way, please. We can talk more privately in the office.” He shoots the woman a toxic glance and she subsides, then sits.

  As he leads me through, I say, “Really, I just wanted to check if it is genuine, and not some internet hoax or swindle.

  “No, Sir. It’s quite genuine. although I’ll grant you, it is a little unusual.” He waves me to a chair. “If you would like to register, we’ll need some details from you. You understand that we need to take precautions on behalf of the girls involved. There is also a $1,000 deposit to attend the auction, whether that be in person, by proxy or by internet.”

  A thousand dollars?

  “That’s quite a deposit.”

  “Yes, Sir. We set it high to discourage the voyeurs and other riff-raff. You can imagine what kind of people we might be getting through the door if we didn’t restrict the audience to genuinely interested potential buyers.”

  “And is the deposit returnable?”

  “No Sir, although, should you make a purchase, it will be deducted from the final bid price. The remaining deposits are paid fifty per cent to the house, and fifty per cent to the girls. We use it to provide medical services and.... any required certification.”

  “Certification? Such as?”

  “A clean bill of health….” He pauses. “…. Virginity.”

  “So, you don’t just take them at face value? The girls, how much do you know about them?”

  “The girls are all fully consenting. We interview them first and ensure that they understand what they are signing up for. We do not accept any girl who does not have a good grasp of the English language. Neither do we accept any girl who does not seem fully to understand what may be expected of her.”

  He takes off his glasses, and stares at the ceiling, polishing the lenses with a tissue. “As you can imagine, what some of the bidders want from the girls, can be fairly…. exotic…. and they’re willing to pay for it, but the girls have to be clear about what they are agreeing to.”

  He puts his glasses back on. “We do encourage the girls to show their true personalities. Not all our clients want the same thing. For example, Donna here,” he flips open a brochure, flicking to a page showing a short, busty blond, “is a dominatrix. I understand that she intends to appear at the bidding wearing something in vinyl and leather.”

  He sniffs and issues a small smile. “I’m sure you get my drift, Sir.”

  “It’s hard to miss. And what about the contract with the girls? What does it cover?”

  “Each contract is personalised to the girl. They each have different, um, assets, to sell to gentlemen, and sometimes ladies, of different tastes. We interview them to see what they have to offer. Some of the girls, for example, are interested in art, or movies or literature. We have clients who are looking for what you might call a courtesan, who want an intelligent conversation with the girl.

  “So, every contract is different and is tailored to the girl and what she agrees to do. For example, Jewel here,” he flips to a different page, “has offered to be a ‘wife’ for the period of one year with all the customary wifely duties, including housekeeping and suchlike, as well as…. other duties. We have had a few similar contracts in the past. They can be a great success for both Buyer and Seller. Sometimes the girls renew the contracts or even marry their purchasers.”

  “May I?” I flick the brochure pages until I find the right page. “And this girl? Charlotte?”

  The sales rep looks closely at the image “Oh yes, Sir. There’s been a lot of inquiries about her. I think the strength of her appeal is obvious in the photos.”

  “And her contract?”

  “In the case of Charlotte, she has agreed to anything requested of her for the period of one week.”

  “Anything?”

  “Yes, Sir. Anything. That is to say, anything that does not result in her permanent injury.” His voice is dry. “She will certainly bring a good price.”

  Jeez…. does she understand what ‘anything’ could mean in a place like this?

  “Do you have any more photos of her?”

  “We do, sir, but you will have to pay the deposit before you can see more than this. It’s to protect the girls from predators.”

  “I understand.”

  “And we need you to supply some personal details.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you, Sir. As I say, it’s to protect the girls.” He starts tapping his keyboard. “I need proof of ID, bank details….” He glances up at me as I reach for my wallet. “Do you have a criminal record?”

  “No, I don’t”

  “Sorry, Sir. We have to ask.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anything else you think I should know?”

  “Yes, sir. We require you to report at the end of the contract that you are satisfied with, um, delivery, and the girl is fit and well.”

  “That’s understandable. Anything else?”

  “Yes Sir, we will require a medical certificate from you, dated within the last two weeks, that you are certified free of STDs.”

  I was due for my next visit to the clinic anyway.

  “Fine, that’s not a problem. Please register me.”

  __________________

  Taking a coffee break sitting on the hotel balcony, I hear the ping of my email.

  Idly, coffee cup in hand, I wander through to see what’s arrived….

  Subject Line: Tender for Contract Ref A3748/2015/B - Haswell

  A prickle runs down my spine and my gut clenches. All the days and months, nay, years, of work I put in….

  Coffee forgotten, I open the email.

  Dear Mr Alexanders, we are pleased to inform you that your tender for Contract Ref A3748/2015/B has been successful….

  I stare at it unbelieving, my brain not absorbing what my eyes are seeing, then…

  I've done it! I've fucking done it!

  I don’t know what to do with myself. In the space of a minute, I’ve gone from struggling entrepreneur to having more money than I’m ever going to need.

  I glance down at the invoice for Georgetta’s University fees and burst out laughing.

  What to do now?

  Some things just have to be shared.

  I tap into my mobile:

  I’m celebrating. U free tonite?

  Sure what’s the celebration?

  Got the contract

  THE contract? The 1 u told me about?

  Yes

  Wow! congrats man. c u 8 pm at mine? Meal and club?
r />   Gr8 c u then

  ______________________

  In a restaurant, over steak and salad, “I’ve got something else to tell you.”

  “Oh? As well as hitting the big time? You have been busy. What’s that then?” Michael tops up our glasses with the rather good rioja we’re sharing.

  “I’ve, um…. I’ve signed up to attend a rather unusual auction.”

  “Really?” He looks intrigued. “You finally buying yourself a house? Now you’ve got that contract? You were fast on your feet.”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  I pass him the brochure. He looks at the front, frowning.

  Looking for the Girl of Your Dreams?

  He looks baffled. “A dating agency? For you?”

  “No, it’s not a dating agency. Read what it says inside.”

  He starts reading, brows furrowing. “I don’t get it, James. If you want to buy a woman, you’ll find one at a lot less than these prices. The working-girls on most of the street-corners down in the old town wouldn’t empty the small change from your pocket…. if you were into that sort of thing. Why on earth….?”

  “Look at page thirty-two.”

  He riffles through to the page, looks and whistles. “Wow! What a stunner. I can see why she’s drawn your eye, but….” His eyes are still, scanning, reading the notes, “…. there’s plenty of willing gals around the clubs. Why….” He pauses. “Hang on, it says here this girl’s a virgin.”

  “That’s right.”

  He stares at me. “You’re not serious?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be serious? Look at her. Wouldn’t you like to….”

  “Yes, I would, if she was willing and if she was experienced and knew what to expect. Your tastes run to slapping them ‘til their asses glow in the dark, then sucking them dry while they're still screaming. It’s fair enough for the girls who like that sort of thing, but on a virgin, that would be abuse.”

  I begin to feel uneasy.

  Is he right?

  It sounded like a much better idea when it stayed inside my head….

  “You have got to be kidding me. James, you can pull all the women you want or can handle with no effort. Why on earth would you want to do something like this?”

  “They’re all there as volunteers, all consenting….”

  Michael’s smile is gone.

  I didn’t expect this.

  He’s angry with me....

  “I’m not going to abuse the girl obviously. We’ve known each other for years. Surely you don’t think….”

  “Yes, years. And I’ve seen a hundred times what you expect from a woman. Your wife left you because of it. So now, you want what? To buy a virgin?” Michael’s voice is rising, and waiters and some of the other customers are looking our way. He looks around, then drops his voice to a hiss. “Are you out of your fucking head? With your tastes, you think you’re the man to put a virgin into the saddle? You have some sort of virgin fantasy? You want to deflower a young girl? Enough to buy one.” He checks the page again, “…. she’s twenty-two. She’s younger than your daughter for fuck’s sake!”

  He stares me down, food forgotten, red faced and livid with anger. “Count me out, James. I want nothing to do with this! Nothing! You understand me?”

  I try one more approach. “I’m not planning on hurting the girl. Do you seriously think I would brutalise a young woman who’d never….? What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “Right now? I’m not sure…. What exactly does this fantasy of yours involve? What is it you want to do with her? Slapping ten shades of shit out of a sub who wants it, who enjoys it, is one thing, but….”

  “I want to make it…. good…. for her….”

  He relaxes a bit. “Good? What does that mean, exactly?”

  What do I mean….?

  “It means…. good. You know how it is. The first time’s never great for anyone, especially for women, unless they’ve got someone who knows what they’re doing. What was your first time like?”

  He glares at me, not answering, but the heat of his anger looks to be draining away, then, “And that’s what’s in your head? To make a girl’s first time special for her?”

  “Yes, that’s what I want to do.”

  He’s silent, staring at the table, drumming his fingers.

  “Can I call you afterwards to tell you that she's okay?” I ask.

  “What? Afterwards? What do you mean?”

  “Afterwards. I’ll call you, to let you know she’s alright.”

  He stares down, arms folded, then “Alright, you can call me, but otherwise, I don’t want to know anything about it.” And without looking at me, he stands and leaves.

  Well that didn’t go as I expected.

  I’ve lost my appetite for the meal and the wine. Miserably, I pay the bill and go.

  James

  The Present

  I pause on the threshold….

  Michael’s words and anger echo through my head.

  Should I really be doing this?

  There’s a good crowd and the hall is full. Rather than taking a seat, I hover at the back, watching the proceedings for the ongoing…. lot….

  Is that the right word for this?

  The girl on the podium is collared and kind of so-so looking. She’s pretty enough; not my type, but there’s plenty who would go for her; a brunette with sultry eyes and pouting lips.

  Her figure’s good and there’s plenty of chance to see it. She’s wearing a leather harness that pushes her tits up and out, displaying everything she’s got. Technically, she’s not naked, but she might as well be.

  Her behaviour is odd….

  What counts as odd in this situation?

  She’s behaving as though she’s coy, or bashful, but it doesn’t look genuine. There’s a hard edge to her expression.

  I glance at her details on the brochure. She’s called ‘Blossom’….

  And it claims that she’s a virgin.

  Yeah, right…

  If she’s a virgin, I’m Santa Claus….

  I bite down disappointment. If this is the standard of what is being offered….

  Still I’m here. Might as well watch the show….

  Bored by the cynical artificiality of Blossom, I let my gaze wander around the room. There’s a couple of hundred in attendance, and more with a virtual presence via internet links and agents bidding by phone proxy.

  I recognise a few faces, from the clubs and elsewhere. There’s Abe a few rows in front, across the aisle from me. I laugh to myself. I know what he does for a living; a second-hand car salesman; a very bad second-hand car salesman. There’s no way he can afford the prices they’re asking, even the starting bids. So, he’s just here for the show.

  He must have paid the deposit though….

  There are some unsavoury-looking characters. One row of seats is taken by a group of six or eight men who appear to be working together with one acting as spokesman and bidder.

  So, what happens when a group buys the girl?

  A few rows in front, there’s Jake Gordonton, a nasty piece of work if ever there was one. He’s been banned from most of the clubs.

  What would happen to any girl he bought?

  Nothing good….

  Across the aisle, there’s Finchby, another bad case. He runs girls downtown and they often turn up ‘for work’ with bruises.

  But most of the crowd, I don’t know, although they’re a real mixed bag. All shapes, sizes and nationalities. The only thing they have in common is they’re all members of the heavy wallet club.

  The bidding for Blossom grinds to a halt and the gavel goes down. Blossom’s buyer stands to claim his…. what? His goods?

  There’s a pause of a minute or so while a leash is clipped to her collar and she’s led away, grinning broadly as she looks up at the final price displayed on the board.

  ‘Virgin’? Yeah….

  And then ‘my’ girl walks onto the podium.

  The
photos did lie….

  They don’t do her justice.

  She’s tall and willowy and she moves so gracefully as she steps up.

  On the podium, she stands, dressed quite conservatively, compared to the little tart of a few minutes ago; just a blouse and skirt and of course, the leather collar at her throat. The blouse is a trifle low cut, but nothing that would turn a head in the streets.

  She looks astonishing, and I stare, captivated, until with a shock, I release the breath I’d not realised I was holding.

  Around me, there is a low murmur, a ripple through the crowd. Quite a few are interested in her, it’s hardly surprising really.

  How much will it take to get this girl?

  I have no idea, and I turn my attention back to her. Her expression is frozen. She’s scared, really scared, trembling as she stands there.

  But you’re not letting it stop you….

  “Charlotte, turn around.” instructs the auctioneer. “The clients want to see what they are bidding for.”

  She slowly revolves but looks down at the floor.

  Are you a sub?

  Or just frightened?

  “Raise your head.” shouts a voice from somewhere to one side of me. “At these prices, I want to see what I’m getting.”

  Bastard….

  But she lifts her head, biting her lip. Her breathing is rapid and shallow, and her skin sheened with perspiration. She looks ready to bolt.

  The auctioneer takes a side-look at her, then leans in close, whispering something. She nods and straightens up, painting a smile on her face and looking over and across the room. The auctioneer, watching her, gives a satisfied nod and turns to the gathering.

  “Now then, Gentlemen,” he begins, “we all know why we are here. Charlotte here is twenty-two years old and has been certified by our medical experts to be a virgin. Of course, the winning bidder will be able to test that for himself.

  “As usual, all bids are final, except in the event of Charlotte herself not complying with the terms of the auction. Which is to say that she will willingly serve the winning bidder in any way he requires for a period of one week. The sale of her virginity is included in the terms.

  “Recipients of the proceeds of the sale are: House takes 50%....