by James Grey
I’m so excited, I’m tempted to slide open the door and ask Sarah – the most almighty grin on my face – if she’d be happy to settle for twelve and a half thousand. Play it cool, Emma.
“Oh! Thank you Lucy, wow! Yes, of course, that would be fine!”
“I’m only allowing this because of the passive nature of the job,” Lucy continues. “The girls just have to lie there and take it. Nobody expects them to interact much – the whole thing is too macho. Or at least, the guys think it is.
“Anyway, you’re going to be responsible for Sarah, alright? You know there’s a process I’d normally go through, but I’ll make an exception this once for your friend. Let’s see what happens. She is groomed, I trust?”
“Oh yes, freshly!”
“Well then, I’ll text you the details shortly. As for you, young lady, we’ll talk in a couple of days. But I want you to go out and find yourself a man, okay? Not a client, just a man. See what happens.”
“Thanks Lucy…thank you so much, really!”
I hang up, take a deep breath of balcony air and turn around with a smile. I open the door and let myself in. Sarah’s gone into the bathroom. I can’t even wait. I walk across the carpet and tiles of the master bedroom, up to the door and yell through it.
“Get in the shower, girl! You’ve got a gang-bang to get to!”
Chapter V
I feel like a fish out of water. God, this is exactly what it was like for me at those awful high school discos! I’m dancing with my friends – in this case Alyssia and Sarah – and feeling unbelievably awkward about anything happening with a guy.
We’ve come out on a mission to get me laid this evening. After watching me stew for far too long, both of them insisted we hit the city as soon as a busy night came along. Well, it’s Thursday, but it’s only a couple of days until Christmas, so everywhere is packed. And somehow that’s making me even more self-aware.
I had completely forgotten how difficult all this going-out business is. It’s one thing to go out for a silly night of dancing with the girls – that’s easy. But when you’ve got some intentions of taking some guy home? I’ve never been much good at playing the game, so to speak.
And it seems more like a game than ever to me, now that I’ve been working as a hooker for a few weeks. I’m not sure I get this way of doing things any more. Why are these guys standing around the bar, beers in their hands, and watching us with obvious interest, but basically doing nothing about it? Well, I guess I know. We’re probably quite scary to approach. But what I don’t get is, if they want to get laid, why don’t they just call Lucy, or (if they’re on a normal person’s budget) get on one of those apps?
“I wonder if they know they could have you or Alyssia with a couple of clicks on their phones?” I yell in Sarah’s ear.
“Haha, good point!” she shouts back. “Funny, isn’t it!?”
I nod. Here we are, three prostitutes off duty, and reminding ourselves what it’s like for regular girls. And the game seems even sillier when I look at it that way. Men throw money at us to give us sex on an almost daily basis, but here in the normal world, where sex is free, everything seems altogether more difficult – for both the guys and the girls.
Maybe my logic is going wrong somewhere, but that seems the wrong way round. I have loaded clients lining up weeks ahead of time, but in here, someone needs to be brave enough to buy me a three-Pound drink. Or nothing will happen for anyone.
I feel a twang of pity for the guys in here. We women can get paid for sex, or have it any time we want – but they have to try pretty hard to get anywhere. Then again, whose fault is that? Why, when deep down I know that nobody here will say no to me, is it so difficult for me to approach a guy myself?
I’m starting to get the feeling that off-duty Emma isn’t nearly as confident as her working alter ego. Not even in one of my old haunts, over in Fulham, which is far away from the high-flying district where I’ve set up my new life. This part of town is for relatively normal folk. Plenty of Australians and South Africans around. Alyssia’s already chatting up a few of the former, judging by the Southern Cross tattoo one of them is wearing on his substantial forearm.
Sarah and Alyssia are annoyingly resolute about their intentions to get me hooked up tonight. I’ve tried to push them to look out for themselves, too, but both know I’ve got an important problem to solve. I get a warm feeling from their support, but I dislike being the centre of attention. I get enough of that at work.
Still, there won’t be any more work if my juices stop flowing. God, what a thought! I glance around at the other girls on the dance floor as I move to the beat, trying to imagine what’s going on in their lives. I doubt any of them have quite such an outlandish reason for being here as I do, somehow.
Alyssia keeps looking over at me. Two guys follow her glances. Sarah clocks it and elbows me as we dance. No doubt what’s going on here. Fuck, am I going to have to start talking to these guys now?
I don’t want to have to shout to make myself heard. I don’t want any small-talk chit-chat. Maybe it’s just the new trade I’ve entered, but what I want is to get past all that and get taken. I’m so horny that every time my bare legs brush against each other as I dance, it gives me a little tremor of excitement. I’m desperate for something between them. It’s been a good few days now.
And on this occasion I have a strong desire not to perform. I never have to act in my work, really, which is apparently why I’m so highly-rated. But client satisfaction is always in the back of your mind – even though (one particular cunt aside) they usually want to see you enjoying yourself. Tonight, though, I can just enjoy a guy in whatever way I want to.
Next thing I know, I’m being dragged off the dance floor by Alyssia. I’m reluctant and shy, all at once. Clearly I had nothing much to worry about in terms of getting chatting to anybody. This crazy Australian girl was always going to push things in that direction.
She introduces me to the two guys – Shane’s Australian but Ben is Kiwi, in fact – and then drags Sarah off towards the bathrooms. I’m furious at being left alone here. Even if the two guys do happen to be pretty striking. Ben’s particularly pleasing, with a blonde hipster beard and mesmerising silver-blue eyes.
Both of them are non-stop smilers, albeit in a genuine, Antipodean kind of way. It’s different from the smiles you might see from a Londoner. They’re the ones that make you suspicious that the smiler wants something from you.
We chat for a while, if chatting’s the right word for what passes for conversation amongst the house beats playing tonight. I have to yell in ears, which means I can only talk to one of them at a time. But I gather that they’ve both been living in Perth – where Alyssia’s from – until coming over to London on a grand overseas adventure.
It’s obvious they’re both interested. I’d certainly consider the broad-shouldered Ben. But I’m not really sure what the next step is, though. I never have been. Because nice English girls don’t come straight out and ask for sex, do they?
I’m glad when my two friends return from the bathroom. Alyssia walks straight up to me and whispers hotly in my ear: “Have you seen the toilets here?”
I shake my head and shrug. It’s not all that late, yet, and I’m only onto my second vodka, lime and lemonade since we left the pub and came here. So the answer to that question is no.
She leans in again: “If you want to do something in there, you could. It’s unisex, with nice, solid stalls and doors that close properly. Graffiti on the tiles and a little damp…but if you want to feel different from work…”
I roll my eyes at her and shake my head. I’m not going to fuck a guy in the club toilet!
“It’d be a first for you, wouldn’t it?”
Something tells me it wouldn’t be for her.
“It would be, yes. If I did it. Which I won’t.”
“Bet talking about it’s making you wet!” she teases.
I make a face and look away. She’s dead right
, of course.
Now the five of us are standing around in the flashing lights, conversation a bit of a challenge. Sarah and Alyssia, on either side of me, start for move to the music again, and quite deliberately so. They back away towards the dance floor, leaving me wondering what to do with these two guys again.
There ought to be something to say, even if it’s not completely coherent. I’m not hammered, but I ought not to be nervous. After all, we warmed up with three glasses of wine at the pub across the river. But no particular ideas are forthcoming, other than to ask something stupid about Ben’s beard.
And then there’s a tap on my shoulder.
“Emma?”
It’s a man’s voice calling my name. A familiar one.
I turn around, glad of a distraction – any distraction – from trying to chat with Shane and Ben.
Jack Wilson!
My heart does a somersault. I haven’t seen him in over a year. And what a shock it is to see his face: this guy a proper ex. By which I mean he’s someone I had a serious (ish) relationship with. We didn’t work out – we never could – but it didn’t end badly. It was me who called it quits, and not because of anything in the bedroom. We just didn’t have the kind of personality match you’d want.
“Oh! Hi!” His eyes are more amazing than ever: somehow they manage to twinkle charm even in the dark of the club. And he smiles with them too, like he always did. He’s so down to earth – just a regular London boy. My age. My sort of salary – until a short while ago, anyway. He looks good. Better, even, than before. His trademark white t-shirt is a little tighter than I recall, but for all the right reasons.
“So good to see you,” he says, placing a hand on my hip and lightly kissing my cheeks. The familiar, long-lost touches give me a flutter as they land. It’s been long enough now since we split – probably close on two years – that it doesn’t feel weird or dangerous to be this close to him. His simple, earthy scent is as I remember it. Very nice indeed.
This is some kind of timing.
“Likewise,” I shout in his ear, standing on my tiptoes to reach him. Just like old times. Jack’s not a short guy. I want to ask him what he’s been up to, but I’m fearful of having to answer return questions. Then again, I’ve had a couple of drinks, and this is a guy I feel I can trust. We may not have clicked exactly the way you want for a life partner, but he was always someone I felt I could put my faith in. “So, you still live around here?”
He nods and smiles. “No change in my boring life,” he says, raising his beer for a self-deprecating clink against my half-pint glass. “Same job, same place down in Clapham. Same bunch of lads in the house.”
I smile, pleased to hear that some things haven’t changed beyond recognition. It’s a surprising pleasure to meet a guy who’s still living in a house share. These millionaires in their mansions aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. I try not to let my face cloud over as Charles flashes across my mind. He’s given up calling and messaging me now.
“What about you?” he enquires. “You’re looking gorgeous as ever, by the way.”
I smile. I feel flattered. Somehow it’s nice to hear that from a normal guy who isn’t paying you. Even if the paying ones are being sincere.
It also buys me a little time. What will I say to answer his question? I can see Alyssia and Sarah, dancing behind him and watching me with interest. I’m not sure if Ben and Shane are still behind me, but I know that what I want to do now is talk to Jack.
Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to come clean, just a little. After all, he’s indulged in some highly intimate stuff with me. Some of the stuff I told Miss Jackson about on my first morning of training, actually – handcuffs and belting included. As far as I know he’s never breathed a word to anyone. And our social circles don’t really overlap. We never even got round to adding each other on Facebook, come to think of it.
It’s probably the vodka talking, or just the excitement of not having to make small talk that’s no more than a game, but I begin to spill a few beans. “No, I moved across town, nearer the City, actually. Quit my job.”
He looks pleased and raises his beer again. “Cheers to that. I know you hated it there. So…what are you doing now?”
I look away, more coy than I want to be. I start to fiddle with the button on my blouse. Then my eyes meet his again, and I can’t help but spluttering with laughter. “Oh, Jack, you’d never believe me if I told you!”
He looks very engaged when I say that. And drop-dead sexy, I might add. Is this what happens when you don’t see an ex for a year or two? That thunderbolt attraction comes back, even stronger second time around?
“Are you teasing me?” he mocks. “Come on, try me! I’m all ears.”
He leans in, putting his ear close to mine. I can smell his hair gel as well as his scent, and it feels like coming home. It’s like he’s daring me to nibble him there. Just like old times.
I catch Sarah out of the corner of my eye. She’s giving me a thumbs-up, with a questioning look on my face. Do I need to be rescued, is the age-old question. I give her a subtle thumbs-up in return, and her face breaks into a smile as she turns back to dancing with Alyssia.
This all feels very right, suddenly. Meant to be, somehow.
I change the subject as I speak into his ear. I’m just going with the flow, saying whatever comes to mind first. I have absolutely nowhere idea what happened to the old Emma, who was annoyingly careful about boundaries when it came to exes. I think that particular Emma might have been left in the Lachlan Room at Cranleigh House.
“So are you seeing anyone right now?”
I think there might be a naughty look on my face. One he’s going to know well. Jesus, I feel like I’m being swept along by a wave of inevitability here.
“Evading the question, I see. Very fascinating. I’m going to drag it out of you, you know. And no, I’m not seeing anybody.”
He straightens up for a minute, then an afterthought seizes him, and he leans back in. “Actually, I was hoping to bump into someone cute tonight. And it looks like I’ve done exactly that.”
He catches my eye as he ends his sentence, and a shiver of need courses through my body. I wish I could reach under my skirt and find out if I’m wet.
Purely for professional reasons, of course.
“Still a charmer,” I wink. “So, you really want to know?”
He nods, hungry for my secrets.
I beckon him to lean in again, really close this time.
“How about I show you in the bathroom?”
I watch a puzzled expression take hold of him, before a hopeful grin splits his face in two. I give him a smile back, so he knows I mean what he thinks I mean. I know I came out to get laid, but I don’t quite know this has happened so fast. I guess it’s the combination of me not wanting to try and chit-chat my way into a stranger’s bed, and Jack turning up at exactly the right moment. Life’s so weird like that.
“Not sure I follow, exactly,” he says, still sporting a Cheshire Cat smile. “But I’ll let you show me what you want to show me in the bathroom.”
I nod knowingly, drain my drink and put it down on the bar behind me. He puts down his half-drunk beer on the counter too, clearly more interested in other possibilities now. I take him by the hand and lead him through the gyrating bodies and the blue-purple lights, to the bathroom in the far corner.
Alyssia gives me a smile as I pass her. She looks very pleased with herself. Let her smile: she can claim the toilet idea, but I’m not giving her credit for me hooking up with my ex!
We ignore the people in the washroom, who are kind enough not to stare at us as we slip into the far cubicle. We’ll only have one neighbour at most, and luckily the music is loud in here.
I take a quick look around to make sure there’s nothing really disgusting going on in this stall, and I’m relieved to find that there isn’t. I put down the toilet seat, put my arms around Jack’s waist and let his tongue dive into my mouth. It feels like mag
ic; like a long-lost friend. Rose-tinted magic, maybe, but what better way to enjoy an ex than a quickie in a club toilet?
I’ve never done it in a club toilet before. As far as I know, I’m about the only one of my friends who can make that claim – at least for a fumble. Who would have thought I’d become a full-blown prostitute before trying something as comparatively tame as this?
Come to think of it, I’ve never done sex with an ex before, either.
It’s beautiful, this reunion of our mouths. He still knows exactly what to do with me. Our breathing settles into a desperate, eager and hungry rhythm as we devour each other for a minute or two. But I can feel his bulge against my abdomen already, and, given where we are, it feels like both of us are going to want to cut to the chase pretty quickly.
There’s still this urgent need to just be taken. Fucked like there’s no tomorrow. I know Jack can provide that, and I’ve barely given a thought to my wetness levels. Until now. Before we go any further, I need to check.
“Just a sec,” I gasp, disengaging from our wild embrace. Then I do what I wanted to go outside at the bar. I curl my hand under my black skirt, scrabble around my panties and slip a finger inside myself.
I’m slick with desire. Effortlessly so.
I smile to myself, pressing closer to him and breathing in the fabric of his t-shirt – Primark, probably, but absolutely all a good-looking guy like him really needs – and put my finger seductively into my mouth. It’s no show. After all that’s happened, this sweet nectar of mine tastes like exactly that.
I look into his eyes and grin. “One more second,” I tell him.
He growls, the corners of his mouth curling in frustration.
“I’m not teasing, I promise,” I smile. “Just let me get in position, tall man!”
He watches on as I reach in with both hands and take my panties right off. I stuff them in my handbag for the time being. Thankfully I’ve got my usual spare pair in there. Then I put one foot up on the toilet seat, hoping that will raise my pussy high enough for him to get at me. I rest my shoulders against the wall and give him an inviting look.
