Okay, grandpa, you’re next.
I finish the show and go to the dressing room. In one minute, I rub my armpits and pussy with wet wipes, put on a fresh G-string and a skin-tight white dress with a rich fringe on the chest, straighten my hair and walk out.
The grandpa is alone. I head straight to him.
‘Wow, what a number you did there!’ His face crumples as the low-pitched chuckle breaks through his lungs. ‘You are a naughty Little Red Riding Hood. I want to be your wolf.’ He laughs again. I join him, faking mine.
I’ve heard that, like, a million times already, but you all think you are so original.
His body seems tighter than his wrinkled face. He’s definitely into sports, but regardless of his efforts, the time, booze and cigarettes are doing their job. His jeans and shirt are present-day; only the wide, padded shoulders of his jacket give away the man’s ancientness.
‘If you liked it that much, why don’t you take me for a lap dance?’ I drop onto the chair next to him.
I should probably sit on his lap, but I still feel hot after my dance and don’t want to sweat all over him.
He picks up his whisky glass, looks at the ice cubes, sips and puts it down.
‘My name is Peter. Would you like to have a drink?’
‘Nice to meet you. Julia. And yes, please.’ We shake hands and he calls a waitress. She approaches and I order a bottle of still water.
Peter raises his brows. ‘No double tequila, or vodka Red Bull? I thought strippers couldn’t function without heavy liquor.’
‘I don’t drink. Let’s get back to my question.’ I lean forward with a flirtatious smile, put my hand on his leg, run it up his thigh and massage it slightly, right next to his crotch, while looking into his eyes.
He looks down. Contented.
‘I would love to, but I don’t do dances. I like the real thing and hate to be teased.’
Really? That’s why you came to a strip club? I so hate you assholes!
‘Well… I can’t guarantee, but my clients often… give away right in their pants.’ I force my voice to sound exciting.
Oh gosh, it sounds so pathetic.
‘I’ll pass on that. Why don’t you join me tonight after work? I’ll pay you R3 000.’
I take my hand away from his thigh and sit back.
‘Come on, doll. I am no freak. Straight business. And you don’t have to stay and sleep with me, you can go back after we are done, if you’d like.’
‘I am not a prostitute…’ I shake my head, get up and leave.
Although the night is quiet, I manage a few lap dances and one on the table. While I am lying with my legs spread under the stunned eyes of three young first-timers, I notice Peter watching me. There is this smirk on his phiz. He even winks at me, as if to say that his offer is still up for discussion. I look away.
Why am I mad? He offered, I said no – end of story. But no, a dull fury is playing in my head: the I-could-have-made-three-thousand-bucks tune…
I finish a dance and walk back to Peter’s table. ‘Condoms, no anal.’
The smile vanishes from his face.
‘No problem with the condoms, but why no anal? Hemorrhoid?’
I try to read his face for signs of mockery, but can’t see any – nothing except for genuine concern.
Seriously? Hemorrhoid? Is that the only reason why a woman may not want to be fucked in the ass?
‘I don’t like it.’ I shrug my shoulders and look away.
‘Okay, doll. No worries. Anal is out.’
‘And money up front,’ I add, and leave the table.
All the girls dress to go home. The loud laughter and discussions about the brightest moments of the night buzz over the changing room. The place is like an anthill.
Except that most of these ants are drunk and annoyingly noisy.
I quickly pull on my dress, while the girl next to me knocks into me. She is smashed. For some time she’s been trying to figure out how to push herself into her sweater, while her hanging tits wave in my face. I frown, grab my bag and turn to Natalia and Lena. They are still busy dressing.
‘I am not going home. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a few hours.’
They both freeze for a moment and look at me. Brows knitted.
‘Where are you going?’ Lena recovers first.
‘Out with a client. He stays somewhere nearby.’ I look at Natalia, waiting to see disapproval. But her face is blank.
‘Be careful, Jul, and SMS me his address when you get there.’
I kiss them both on the cheeks and leave.
I walk out. The street is parked up with cars and taxis, waiting to take the last clients and the girls home. I see Peter further down the street. He waves to me, making sure I notice him, and then gets into the black BMW… just like… My heart sinks as painful memories start crawling back. I really hoped I’d managed to erase that horror from my head.
Crap…
The walk to the car feels like eternity. I get in, fighting the desire to cancel the ‘outing’ and ignoring the heartbeat that hammers in my chest and echoes in my ears.
We drive away. Peter gives me the money. I check the amount and put the notes into my bag. On the way he makes small talk, asking some neutral questions: if I like the place where we girls stay, my impression of South African people. I answer. I think I sound casual too.
Relax… it’s going to be fine… He is alone and it looks like the waitress knew him well, so he is a regular. It’s not the reality that is dangerous. If it weren’t for my past I wouldn’t be freaking out like this. Breathe… and focus on the R3 000 that’s already in your bag.
We get to his place. It’s a small but well-furnished apartment with a gorgeous view. It’s cozy. Peter welcomes me and offers me a drink.
‘A cup of tea please.’ I walk to the window to take in the view. The curve of the shoreline sparkles with millions of lights. Boldly, it resists the endless darkness of the ocean.
Peter switches on the kettle and pours himself another whisky on the rocks.
‘Shower? I bet, after all those slobbery clients, you're dying to take one.’ He sinks into the wide, low chair and lights a cigarette. ‘You go girl, I’ll bring you your tea when it’s ready.’
I thank him and walk into his bedroom and then the bathroom.
I step into the shower but even the hot water doesn’t help me to stop the shivers. I haven’t had one lay since that night in Istanbul! For the last six months I’ve avoided anything connected to the male species or sex. Besides, that was the story in rehab. They suggested no dating or any kind of relationships for at least a year. It’s supposed to help you stay sober. That definitely worked for me – all I wanted was to forget. And I thought I had forgotten… Turns out I was only okay because I avoided anything that reminded me of that night. But the memories are still there… as vivid and overwhelming as they were six months ago.
Stop thinking about it. It’s going to be fine – a quick fuck and back home.
I walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and followed by thick steam. Peter stands in the middle of the bedroom with my cup of tea. He slowly puts the cup on the side table and walks towards me. I try to be cool, but my body tightens, like I’m ready to run for my life.
Peter gently takes my shoulders, leans forward and kisses me. The towel drops to the floor. He unbuttons his shirt. His tanned chest, covered with long, grey hair, chafes my skin. He holds my neck with one hand, making sure my mouth doesn’t escape his slimy, shapeless tongue that fills it up to my throat. His other hand is down on my pussy, tugging my clitoris and prodding my dry vagina.
The repulsion quiets my shivers. I switch to autopilot, disconnecting my brain from what’s happening and performing all the moves and noises, making sure I deliver what I’m being paid for.
He pushes me onto the bed and crawls on top of me. While unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down, he passes me the condom. I rip it open with my teeth and roll it onto his s
wollen dick. While he wets my ear, I spit on my hand, wet my vagina and push him inside of me. He digs into me until he’s short of breath. He turns me onto all fours and, with a second wind, fucks me from behind. His groans get louder and louder, until he utters some gibberish. Breathless, he sags on top of me. I close my eyes. His hot rapid breath rasps my ear, reeking of alcohol and smoking. I notice his warm, smudgy sweat on my skin. I understand that this part – this fatherly sensation of alleviation, this enveloping insight of ‘it’s over’ – is the part of this job I actually missed.
How sick is that?!
11
I walk through the main floor of the club. The crowd is bouncing with the DJ’s usual Saturday night club music. I notice a man at the bar. He is tall, good looking and well dressed. He looks over the crowd. The moment his eyes find me, one of the light show rays illuminates his beautiful face. He locks his stare on mine. He smiles.
Like a freaking movie.
I push through towards him, noticing the exciting tremble in my chest.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
‘Would you like a drink?’
I show the bottle of water in my hand. ‘Would you like to have a dance?’
‘Why not, Julia?’
I lift my brows, wondering how he knows my name, but say nothing, and lead him to the private room.
The new song begins. I throw my dress onto the floor and start my routine. He is watching every move. He takes my hand in his and pulls me to sit on him. He kisses me, holding me tight with both hands. I answer, grabbing his neck, running my fingers through his hair. He drops me onto the couch, leans on top of me, pressing his hardening crotch between my legs, and kisses my neck, tickling it with his hot breath. I groan.
He gets up on his knee, and without taking his eyes off me, slowly undoes the fly on his suit pants. Next second, his strong member is out. I open my mouth to object. He shakes his head, smiling, and points at the badge on his chest. It says ‘Alan. General Manager’. I know he’s not Alan. I hesitate and look up at the camera. ‘Don’t worry baby. It’s okay.’ He takes his jacket off, lies on top of me while throwing my legs apart, and forces his way inside me.
Oh God!
I open my eyes. I’m in the middle of the club. The crowd is still heavy. I touch my chest, feeling like my lungs have shrunk. It’s difficult to breathe. I push through towards the exit. But I can’t find it. I’m suffocating. I need air.
I finally find the exit. I push the door and freeze. The light of a dozen monitors, in the middle of the central wall of the dark room, hurts my eyes. I adjust to the light. There is a tall office chair in front of the monitors. It is turned with its back to me. I see only the legs of the person who is sitting in it. The black leather shoes with grey socks. It’s Eric, the security man. He doesn’t notice my presence. I look up at the monitors again. My eyes stop on one of them. It’s a private room. The door opens and a dancer walks in with a client. They both sit down on the couch. Then he gets up and takes off his belt. The girl relaxes and lies down.
They’re also going to fuck. Since when have the club rules changed?
He leans to kiss her, then makes a loop with his belt and slips it onto her wrist, fixing it tight above her elbow. He takes a small box out of his jacket pocket and opens it. I screw up my eyes – there is a syringe in his hand. She throws her head back, now looking at the camera. There is a wide smile on her face. I take a step forward and the uncontrollable ‘No fucking way!’ slips out of me. She’s me! I rush towards the door, feeling the weakness in my legs. There is no handle on the door. I push it hard but it doesn’t move.
‘Open the door!’ I scream and run back to Eric. I turn the chair.
‘Calm down.’ Natalia is looking at me.
‘What’s going on? Nata, open the door! Can’t you see?’ I point at the screen, where the man is already injecting the arm of the other me.
‘You are going to be fine, Julia,’ she says. Her voice is sugary.
‘Open the door Nata! Don’t you see?’ I try to scream, but my voice is losing power and comes out as a hoarse whisper. A hot wave fills me as I watch the man emptying the syringe. An overwhelming sense of pain, fear and despair. Unbearable. My legs give out and I fall to the floor.
‘Help me,’ I whisper, curling from pain. I see her smiling face. It’s blurry. ‘Help me, please…’
I wake up. I am sitting on my bed, sweating. My heart beats fast. I lie down again, turn to the wall and feel the hot tears running onto the pillow. I remember that Lena is with Mark, and Natalia is spending the night with her new boyfriend. I grip the pillow and start crying out loud. I cry until there are no more tears left, then I just ululate without tears. I fall asleep again.
12
It’s 10 a.m. I’ve had hardly three hours’ sleep.
I almost forgot that Lena and Mark have invited Natalia and me for lunch today. I scowl and reach for my phone.
‘Good morning, sister… How are you? Umm… I’m not feeling well. I was thinking…’
‘I won’t hear “no”, Jul. It’s Sunday. You can go to bed earlier, straight after the lunch. What time is it now?’ She says more to herself. ‘It’s ten. Sleep for another hour and Mark will pick you up at 12.’
I turn off the phone and grab my head with both hands, looking at the ceiling. The weird and persistent feeling of being trapped grates me from inside. I roll off the bed, pick my jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt up off the floor, get dressed and leave. I walk to the mall and find a little restaurant with an outside terrace. I order eggs and coffee and light a cigarette. My food arrives, but I can’t eat. I try to avoid the thoughts of last night’s dream, but its disturbing images rule the roost in my head. The stiffness in my chest presses on. I kill the cigarette in the ashtray. Sharp nausea and light-headedness hit me. I lean onto the table, holding my chest. My heart is racing.
Oh no, I’m dying. I’m having a heart attack.
‘Are you all right?’ The waiter approaches me.
‘I don’t know,’ I whisper, without looking up at him. ‘Can I get a glass of water?’
He mutters ‘Sure!’ and runs inside the building. A moment later he comes back with a glass of ice water. I drink and the symptoms start to subside. I sit back slowly and take a deep breath.
‘Are you okay? Should I call the emergency?’
‘No, no thank you. I’m better now.’ I force a half-smile.
I look around trying to understand what that was, blaming the sleepless night and the morning I’ve started with cigarettes. The streets are quiet and I focus on the shop windows, hoping to distract myself. I notice a red sign – ‘Flight Center’ – across the road. I stare at it for a while. Then it clicks.
‘Good morning my poppy seed.’ Lena walks out to greet me as soon as Mark pulls up in the driveway. My sister looks at my T-shirt and shows a worried face. ‘Did you manage to get more sleep? How do you feel?’
‘I’m better thanks!’ I lie and hug her tight.
‘Come on in. Nata is not here yet. I decided to make Olivier, with plenty of eggs and mayo, just like Mom used to. Will need your help with chopping.’
We enter the house. It’s simple, bright and roomy. The living room takes in an open-plan kitchen that is separated from the dining room by a black marble counter and four tall bar stools. The walls, except for one reproduction of some famous artist, are bare. There is a TV area and a tiny office that has Japanese sliding paper doors.
‘It’s so cool and so not him.’ I nod towards the office as Mark heads outside to start the fire.
‘I know. I thought exactly the same when I first saw the doors. His never-changing checked shirts and that stylish eastern feature cannot belong to the same person. Right?’ Lena laughs as we walk to the kitchen. ‘Turns out, no mystery here: Mark has a friend, a designer, who owed him money and offered these doors instead of payment. Did you know they cost a fortune?’ She gets another chopping board and knife for me, and resumes cubing the boile
d carrots.
‘Wash your hands, and start with the potatoes. They are in the black pot on the stove.’ She sounds so composed. The role of housewife is definitely something she enjoys. Maybe she is right – maybe marriage is what she really needs to be happy.
Hooting outside interrupts our little chat about Mark and all the details of their living together. Lena wipes her hands with the kitchen towel over her shoulder and rushes to the door.
‘Oh gosh, Jul! Come here! Look at this biatch!’
I hear her laughing and also walk outside. There is a white Volkswagen Golf parked in the driveway, and Natalia is sitting in the driver’s seat. Tom, her new boyfriend, gets out of the car first, theatrically wiping his forehead and sighing in relief.
‘It wasn’t that bad!’ Natalia climbs out too. ‘Just one turn from the wrong lane, which, by the way, was because of you!’ She shuts the door, and the car starts rolling backwards.
‘Oh shit! The handbrake!’ Tom yells, jumps in, and pulls it up.
‘Sorry babes. I didn’t mean to kill you.’
We all giggle and walk back inside.
‘You have your own wheels! Congrats!’ Lena exclaims, as soon as the men have got their beers and have left to watch the fire.
‘Well, technically it’s not mine. Tom just lets me use it.’ Natalia lowers her voice. ‘But I am working on that.’
‘He seems like a nice guy. I spoke to him in the club a few days ago,’ I say. ‘He is quite handsome too.’
‘Oh yes he is. You know what else is handsome?’ Natalia opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of beer and sits on the stool. ‘His penis.’
My brows lift and I glance at Lena. Her face has a similar expression.
‘I’ve never thought about it before, but cocks have their own identity. You know, the way their heads are shaped, the relation between the length and width. Is it slightly crooked on one side like a banana? Or does it look like an eggplant? You know that shape? Like a light bulb? Or sometimes it’s narrow at the end, like a carrot.’ She picks up an orange cube from Lena’s board and throws it into her mouth.
Craved (Twisted Book 2) Page 5
