Sexual Healing: An Erotic Novel

by Matt Shaw

  I put the tissues to the side, along with the dirtied ones I’d taken from him, and laid down next to him - careful not to land in one of the many wet patches spilled upon the top sheet I’d put down on the bed. I cuddled into him. The perfect Girlfriend Experience consists of a little chat - along with a drink - some varied sexual positions, along with oral, in the bedroom, and then a little cuddle and chat again.

  “One day I worry that you’re going to catch me off guard and drown me with that,” I said with reference to the amount of ejaculate he’d fired. He laughed and blamed me for it. Apparently it was my fault for driving him so crazy. The men liked such comments, I think it made them feel more masculine - not that they ever asked for the comments. All just part of the service. It’s like when you fake an orgasm for them. You fake an orgasm and suddenly they’re that little bit closer to climaxing themselves. All little tricks of the trade designed to make the appointments more enjoyable for the client.

  We stayed there, on the bed, for a few minutes - certainly no more than ten - before the client sat up and moved to the edge of the bed where he reached for his clothes. I stayed on the bed and watched him dress as we continued chatting about varied topics - mostly him moaning about having to go home to his wife. I didn’t need to get dressed again. Just as he was going home for a hot bath, I too was due a long soak. When he was fully dressed and ready to leave, I jumped up and threw on my trusty dressing gown. We’d walk to the door, we’d hug, he’d kiss me on the cheek, I’d open the door and he’d leave. A week later, maybe two - we’d do it all over again. In the meantime - the same post-appointment routine for me; washing , washing-up, and a nice relaxing soak in the bath before home to Dahl and whatever mess he has left for me today. That’s the only bad thing about daytime appointments; no one to look after Dahl for me so he had to be trusted to stay at home by himself. He was generally okay but sometimes - well sometimes - accidents happen and when they did it was usually on the rug in the lounge. Sod’s Law considering the rest of my home was mainly laminated flooring; a choice made because of the accidents Dahl used to have when he was a puppy.

  *

  I’m not sure what possessed me to turn my laptop on whilst I was waiting for the bath water to run. It’s out of routine. Usually I like to relax and soak after a meeting so I can reclaim some of ‘me’ again. Forget the character I’ve been playing whilst with the client. Yet here I was sitting on the edge of the bed reading another email from Jake. This time he’d been just as direct with his request and it made it hard to ignore it - not that I have to accept any bookings. He was asking when I was next free. He’d requested an evening appointment and informed me that he was free whenever so - really - any time was good with him. He even reminded me of his mobile number in the text stating that - if I found it easier and wanted to - I was more than welcome to call him to make an arrangement.

  That is something I do not do. Not even with my most loyal and regular clients. I always deal with them via email only. If I am running late for an appointment, I’ll text but - otherwise - definitely only emails. If I were to start calling, or texting, when I felt like it then I ran the risk of failing to live up to my promise of being discreet. After all - what if I sent a text, or made a call, when their partners or friends were nearby? Fair enough some of them might not have minded but - it’s not the point. It only gets confusing when you have one rule for one and one for another. I have a system which has been successful for many years now and I’m not about to change it.

  Aware of the running water - I hit the reply tab and quickly typed back a reply. I’d thought about seeing Jake again last night, after he’d messaged me, and decided I would see him. At the end of the day if I no longer felt it worked between us, I could always terminate the session and - to be honest - I didn’t feel as though it were likely to come to that. I guessed it felt odd because the whole scenario was new to me. I cast my mind back to the first time I played the naughty school girl being spanked over the Head Teacher’s knee, or the sexy nurse taking the temperature of the sickly patient; every scenario felt strange to me the first time I played it through. It was only after I’d done them a couple of times did I start to feel at ease with them. This was the same. It was a new scenario. I’d be fine as soon as I found my feet and despite my concerns he’d possibly fall in love with me - so far he had shown no signs of doing so yet. To be sure he wasn’t getting too attached though, I had also made up my mind to tell him I was busy for the rest of this week but available to see him on the Monday evening - same time as the previous appointments. I liked to think of it as a cooling off period. I sent the email satisfied I’d done everything to look out for both of our best interests before slamming the laptop screen shut and heading off for my hugely-anticipated bath.

  By the time I made it into the bathroom the water was not far from the brim of the bath. Any more in there and the water would have certainly overflowed once I lowered myself in. Just in time then. I twisted the taps, stopping the flow of water, and disrobed before lowering myself into the hot water. A book, resting on the side of the bath, along with a sneaky glass of wine to help me relax.

  As I felt the water and bubbles wash away the grime of the appointment, something my friend said to me came back to the forefront of my mind; they’d said I enjoyed baths after the appointments not just to wash myself after the sometimes-vigorous exercise, but also because it helped to wash the sin from my body. I remember when my friend first said it to me, I honestly thought she were trying to be funny but - looking at her face - I realised she was dead serious. She honestly believed that what I did for a living was immoral and that I was likely to burn in hell for it. I’m not usually one for being stuck for words but I had no idea how to respond to her. Needless to say we stopped speaking soon after that. She got on with her life and I got on with mine. Sometimes, though, I can’t help but think about what she said and wonder whether she was right. The thought could pop into my head at any time. It didn’t matter whether it’d been a good appointment or not… It could just suddenly appear and then I’d spend the next twenty minutes or so mentally defending myself for my lifestyle choices; the end of the argument always being when I told myself I’m helping people. I’m giving them something that they feel they’re missing. I’m making them feel good for however long the feeling lasts. How could that be immoral?

  Chapter Seven

  I selected the option to pay for the petrol at the pump just as I always did and proceeded to fill the tank. Eyes down to the concrete - a spot I’d seen so many times before. It baffles me why more people don’t choose to pay at the pump. I don’t understand their fascination with paying at the counter. It’s not as though there is anything to benefit from going into the station, unless of course they need a little shopping or something. Watching them - from time to time and usually as I’m queuing to get to the pump, they fill their car in, they go straight into the station and up to the counter, they pay their money and they leave again with nothing in their hand other than a receipt. This way - paying at the pump - is so much easier and, added bonus, cuts out all the necessity to talk to someone. Not that you can really call paying for your petrol ‘talking’ to someone. They usually confirm your pump and amount, you agree, they ask for payment and whether you’d want a receipt or not. You say ‘yes’ - and then wonder why as you throw it in the bin later - and you head off back to your car. You jump in, you drive off. The end. It’s all pointless. Just slip the card into the pump, select the amount you wish to have and fill your car. There’s no more queuing to be done, there’s no need for conversation of any kind. Much easier.

  When the tank was full I replaced the hose back onto the pump station and climbed into the car. I hesitated a moment wishing my day was over and not only just beginning. Can I phone in sick? Would they really miss me? I don’t recall the last time I phoned in, or didn’t go. Surely I could get away with one day. One day to myself to collect my thoughts. I thought - since seeing Danni… I thought I was doin
g better, especially after the little role-playing session we had but - don’t know - today… Today just feels like a struggle. Been out of bed for about an hour and twenty minutes and wish I could just crawl back under the duvet and hide away from the world again. I need to see Danni. I’d emailed her immediately but she was busy. Of course she’d be busy. She’s a pretty girl. No, she’s not pretty. She’s beautiful. She’s a beautiful woman and - from what I have seen - extremely good at her job. I was foolish to expect no queue to see her, especially as her profile clearly states she only sees one client a day. Jesus - they must be lining the streets for her in anticipation of an hour alone with her. Guess that means I should book more than an hour for the next appointment but then - if I do that - I won’t be able to afford many more sessions until the following month. Not sure I could go weeks and weeks without a session. Maybe book an appointment and do a repeat booking immediately - whilst still with her - when she has her diary in front of her? Maybe that would be the easiest way?

  She said she’d see me on Monday. Today is Thursday. It’s four days to wait. Four days. I know it’s not long and yet it feels like a lifetime. Of course I emailed her back accepting the appointment. I also said that - if she were to get a cancellation - I’d be willing to take that slot instead. I figured she’d have more chance of filling an appointment further away than a last minute cancellation so I would be doing her just as much of a favour as she’d be doing me. She didn’t reply which depressed me further. Even an email correspondence between the two of us, her playing the part of Michelle, would be better than this unbearable silence. I know she is just acting a role, I know it’s a business arrangement between the two of us but there must be some way we can make it work so I can hear from her each day - not necessarily see, just hear from her. A text, an email, a call… Something… Anything - in the role of Michelle - asking how my day is, or was.

  I pulled my phone from my coat’s inside pocket and loaded through to the contact part of the handset. Her number. My thumb was waving over it. She’s probably busy, I get that, but - just one call? I jumped when a car sounded its horn from behind me. A look in the rear-view mirror and I could see a car right behind me, practically touching my bumper, waiting for the space I was occupying. At this distance I could see the driver’s face. He looked irritated at being held up from filling his tank. I switched the phone back to its home screen and waved the man behind an apology before pulling away from the spot I’d hogged. He should have paid at the counter, would have been quicker. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.

  *

  At work and I may as well have phoned in sick. My typing skills - inputting the numbers - are lacking today and every time my finger hits my keyboard I seem to be making a mistake. I think the most common key touched today is the delete button. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to concentrate. I keep thinking about Michelle and wondering whether there is a way for us to be together again. Mentally I’ve even tried working out how much it would cost to see Danni once a week, for a couple of hours, for a few months. It didn’t take long to realise that it’s way out of my price range. And to think - it’s not as though my wages are even that bad! When lunchtime came around - after what seemed to be hours - I found myself tempted to email her asking for a discount on block booking sessions. The only reason I stopped myself from doing it was because I remembered reading a part of her profile page which listed frequently asked questions and seeing that one of the main ones was enquiring about a discount on the rates. Her answer was polite but to the point; she offers a service of good value and her prices reflect that. Besides which, I think if I were to ask her that, she’d get offended and refuse to see me altogether and that would be disastrous.

  I pushed myself away from the computer desk and swiveled around to the back wall of my little booth to give my eyes a break from staring at the harsh white of the computer screen spreadsheet. My eyes feels as though they’re burning into the back of my skull as I feel one of my headaches starting to pound across my temple. Colleagues were walking past my booth, chatting to one another, as they headed towards the cafeteria. For the briefest of moments I contemplated calling out to them and asking if I could join them. Not sure, exactly, where that thought came from. Certainly nothing something I tend to do. Usually I slip out before they get a chance to see me, I grab what I want and then I retire back to the comfort and privacy of my little booth - often wishing it had a door that could be closed. Perhaps the thought of company was better than the thought of being alone for a change? I didn’t move from my seat despite the grumble of hunger from the depths of my stomach. It’s funny. I usually sit in this little booth wishing my week away by praying for the weekend and yet - now - I find myself sitting here wanting it to be Monday again. I shook my head and turned my attention back to the computer screen; if I don’t get a little more of these figures inputted then I won’t have a job to help pay for little luxuries such as this coming Monday’s appointment. Ignore the hunger, make up for the lack of morning productivity. Get your mind off the girl. Get the job done. Besides - busier you are, the quicker the time goes by.

  *

  Time has all but stopped as another singing contestant takes to the stage of the televised talent show; some program designed to find the country’s biggest talent and all I’ve been witness to so far is an unfortunate mess of the deeply talentless. My mobile phone is resting on the sofa next to me and on the other side of me - the arm of the chair - the remnants of my microwave meal; half-eaten due to the vegetables tasting a little funky. Next to my dinner - an empty glass which once contained my usual brand of whiskey. Just the one glass tonight. I haven’t gone on a bender with the drink for a few days now. Progress there, at least. Not sure how long I had been watching the show for now but it felt like a lifetime. I’d zoned out - lost in thought - at the start of the show and only just ‘come back’ due to a seven year old girl’s screeching on screen. The judges were standing, hands raised, clapping together hard. I can but only think they heard something that I did not. I glanced down to my phone wondering whether I should send a quick text asking what she thought of it all. She’s probably still busy but - a text - surely she’d find the time to answer at some point? To ignore it would just be rude. I went to grab the phone but stopped myself. She won’t thank me for texting. I do not wish to ruin the chances I have. Just leave her be. She’ll be more thankful for it in the long-run and - anyway - she knows where I am. For all I know she might text me about the show, or something else, in a minute. One could always hope.

  *

  An interesting development as I laid in my cold bed. I was staring at the ceiling, eyes closed, gently stroking myself. Usually it was Michelle in my mind and yet - now - it was Danni playing the role of Michelle. Even the voice - when the imagined woman told me how bad she wanted me to fuck her - wasn’t that of my Michelle but rather the acted version of her. It didn’t stop me in my actions as I continued to fondle myself; not in a hurry to ejaculate but rather because the sensation was nice as I played back the other night and the way she rode my cock. I tried to stroke myself in the way way she rode me; same tempo, same depth… Everything the same as I relived the experience of her pussy clamping around my hard-on. I put my hand over the end of my penis as an orgasm rushed through my body spitting my sperm into my waiting hand. Mostly caught. I long for the moment it’s not my hand. I feel relieved, slightly, but - even so - Monday can’t come soon enough.

  I reached for the box of tissues next to my bed.

  *

  Friday, Saturday, and even Sunday went by in much the same way. The only difference between the days being that I had to go to work on the Friday and had the weekend away from that hell-hole. Waiting for this appointment has made me realise one thing though - something I’ve known for a while now but never really admitted to myself. I hate my job. On the Saturday I updated my resume on my computer - a frustrating task in itself - and promised myself a purchase of the weekly jobs paper in the
coming week. I’m not foolish enough to leave work with nothing else to go to, despite the temptations, so getting the paper is a promise I intend to keep. Sunday was all about exercising and cleaning the home with the evening spent in front of the computer looking at pictures of both Michelle and Danni; sounds silly but I was holding up old photos of Michelle next to the screen to compare the differences between the two of them with a part of me wondering whether Michelle had a sister she never knew about. The likeness was that close.

  By the time Monday finally came around I felt as though I were going a little stir-crazy. I doubt it was to do with the lack of company; that was something I was used to after all these years even if I didn’t love the idea of solitude one hundred percent of the time. I knew - deep down - it was my choice to live such a life and sitting down to think about it pointed to the two truths of the situation; I wasn’t ready to move on with my love life and I wasn’t sure whether I was able to trust another person again after the hurt caused by Michelle disappearing from my life.

  Despite hating the job, I still went in. I need to earn money - more so now I am thinking about leaving. I don’t know, the more I think about that, the more I think it’s for the best. I could have a fresh start somewhere away from those who know me and those who think they know me when really none of them have a clue. Maybe after I lost Michelle that’s what I should have done; left the job. Found somewhere new and started everything afresh. New job, new woman, new life. It’s easy to say that in hindsight but, even if I turned the clock back five years to when everything had happened, I wouldn’t have been able to convince myself it would be for the best. Even if I knew what I knew today and was making the decision - back then I’d still have struggled to follow it through. Was that Danni’s fault? That little role-playing session giving me a taste of who I once was before disaster struck? Hard to say. For all I knew it could have been brewing for a while now but, regardless of the cause, I hope this new found sense of belief that I am worth more than I credit myself for continues to stick with me, if not even grow a little. The day itself seemed to go slower than usual no doubt because of the desperation to get out, home, cleaned up and back out to my evening entertainment.