Something inside me broke.
I turned around and ran. I didn’t care where I ran, simply straight ahead, away, trying to escape the pain. I ran as if I had the devil on my heels. I don’t know how many drivers evaded me cursing and hooting—in any case nobody ran me over. I simply didn’t notice them.
I was in good shape, so it took a long time before I started to see red stars. No, I couldn’t keep on. I couldn’t run any longer, but I neither could stand to face my pain. I simply broke down, dropped into the dirt and cried.
It’s just sex, a voice in my head said. Only sex, forget that asshole.
I saw him before me, with his curly head, his pointy, funny chin, from which the first red fluff was growing. I felt his kisses on my lips, his hands on my breasts, his cock in my crotch, and my chest burst from unsatisfied longing. He was my first great love, I knew that for sure!
But he had betrayed me. Not even twenty-four hours since our first date, and he already had another—and I was everybody’s fool!
What should I do? I couldn’t go back and face the humiliating glances of my fellow students! See the hussy there, she’s easy to get!
It’s just sex, the voice repeated. Only sex. That’s got nothing to say. A simple physical function, like peeing or farting. Having sex doesn’t make you less.
But having been betrayed made me less. When a loved friend became a foe, that hurt. The trust was shattered—no, not the trust in the traitor…or yes, that, too, but it didn’t count—the trust in my own judgment was shattered. If I couldn’t reliably tell whom I could trust, whom could I trust then? Could I trust myself?
For the young girl I was, that was simply too much.
“Can I help you? Is anything wrong?” A hand touched my shoulder. I looked up. A stranger stooped over me. He looked kind, but what did that mean? Nothing.
“Lovesick?”
I nodded. He handed me a paper tissue, which I gratefully took to wipe snot and tears off my face. What did that look like, after all? If a classmate would have seen me this way, I’d have been the crybaby, too.
The stranger’s appearance helped me to pull myself together. It sufficed that I knew I was a loser. Others didn’t need to see that. I let myself be helped up—the situation couldn’t be embellished anyway—and brushed off the dirt. My best jeans were stained, and my blouse was ripped from falling. I had saved my money for months to buy it, had worn it the first time today, and it was bound for the bin. Sure, such happens to losers.
Crying didn’t help it. At least the thin fabric still held together enough to keep my tits covered.
“Better again?” the stranger asked. “Shall I bring you home?”
“No. I can’t show up like this at home—my mother would have a fit and my father would beat me black and blue. I have to clean myself first.”
“How will you do that?”
Good question. The way I looked, I couldn’t inconspicuously procure new clothes anywhere. I didn’t have a lot of money either—actually, I never had a lot of money. If I hadn’t just finished a job, I rarely carried more than five Euro around.
“Don’t know. Washing saloon? I don’t know how much that will cost.”
“I can offer you my washer. If you like.”
My parents always had inculcated little Johanna, “Don’t go with strangers.” The big Johanna would have figured his intentions out. But I just had shed off little Johanna like a snake its old skin, and big Johanna wasn’t ready for her first entrance, not hardened yet. At this moment, I was the lost and betrayed Jo, who had to find her way around her own life yet, who had to build a relationship to her body first.
I simply didn’t know what to do, so every proposal was welcome, even the invitation into a single man’s apartment, to drop my pants there. I just didn’t notice how stupid I was at that moment.
Chapter Fourteen
My host did nothing to alarm me. He let me enter his car, drove me the few minutes to his apartment, led me upstairs, and showed me his bathroom. The washer stood in one corner. He fetched detergent and a towel from behind a curtain. “If you’d like to refresh yourself at the basin. You can take a shower, too. You know how to operate the washer?”
I nodded. With his last sentence, friendly and innocent, he covered his tracks. That he just had enticed me to undress entirely, including my panties, was totally forgotten. Instead, I checked the washer’s buttons. Temperature, program, detergent drawer, start button. “It’s okay,” I confirmed and filled it with a cup of detergent.
“Fine,” he said, turned around and left. Naturally, I expected him to stay outside and me inside, until the washer had finished and I had put on my jeans.
I waited until he had closed the door behind him, then I gave it a closer look. No key. Well, what would you need a bathroom key for if you were living alone? He hadn’t spoken about it—probably he didn’t think about it. I ignored it with a shrug, took off my jeans, turned them inside out, shoved them into the washer and started the process.
I treated my blouse in the basin as good as I could. The reddened face watching me out of the mirror wasn’t mine, or was it?
I felt tainted beyond the real dirt. It was time to rinse away the remnants of my former life thoroughly—not to mention the sweat from running. I remembered my host’s proposal and stepped under the shower. Ice-cold!
Thereafter, I rubbed myself dry. That felt good.
How long would the washer need? An hour, one-and-a-half? Enough time to digest the course of events and find an attitude toward it.
Okay, Jo, you’ve given a blowjob to a mighty asshole and fucked him after. Has it been fun? Yes, sadly. No! Not sadly. You’ve used him as much as he used you. So you can toss him into a corner like a wet clout, too. He gave it to me, thanks and goodbye. You owe him nothing, no loyalty, no grief. You’ve lost your virginity—so what? A piece of skin, a brief, unpleasant pain, a few drops of blood. Nobody needs it, nobody misses it.
I was a loser, and I had lost my innocence. So what, that matched! I had lost a guy who wasn’t worth a tear. I had lost tears. I had torn a blouse. Shit on it.
I was still me, just the same lonesome loser as two days before. I was at the bottom from where all paths led up, at least I guessed so.
At that moment, my host pushed the bathroom door wide open. He was as stark naked as I. The shape of his penis didn’t leave any question on his intentions unanswered.
“No,” I firmly said.
“Only some fun. It will ease your mind!” He approached me quickly and took hold of my upper arms. I couldn’t escape anywhere and still was too shaken to kick his balls with determination. “You want it, too,” he lied to himself.
“No!” I protested aloud and suppressed my rising panic. “No, I don’t want it. Please!”
In looking back, it may appear astonishing that I stayed so calm in the face of an imminent rape. But while my mind had already begun to process the disappointment about Stef’s behavior, my heart wasn’t that far yet. It had turned away from the world and simply refused to notice the new horror.
My plea remained unheard. My host forced my belly on the vibrating washer, turning my arm on my back into a hammerlock, and felt my pubes with his free hand. It felt unpleasant, but I suddenly realized that I couldn’t do anything about it.
It’s just sex. Only sex. A natural physical function. Let it happen, it can’t take long. You don’t have to feel embarrassed that your body reacts and you’re getting wet—this way it hurts less. That simply happens when a cock pumps inside you.
He only needed a few minutes, then he came with a loud wheeze. I briefly felt him cramping, pushing twice, then he pulled out. The washer just began to tumble.
My host let me go and made a step back. I rose, shook my arm and looked into his eyes. “No,” I repeated with astonishingly firm voice.
“Aww well!” he uttered, turned around and reached out of the door with one hand. Obviously, he found his wallet there, opened it, and conjured up a
fifty Euro note. “You’ve been nicely wet and not bitchy, so you’ve earned it.”
Fifty Euro. That was a lot of money for me. A lot of money for letting him put his cock in for a few minutes.
It was just sex, a natural physical function, of which I just before had decided that it was of no importance to me, except that it could be fun while it lasted. Moreover, I was a loser anyway. I couldn’t choose where my life went, so I had to take what I could get.
I took the note and thus accepted my new side job. “Thanks.”
Part Three—Street
Chapter Fifteen
Fifty Euro for a quick fuck. Easy money for a girl without pride and without the feeling of shame, I told myself. I was of legal age, so it was my say. I could now get myself a job as till girl or waitress and earn a plain life, or I could try to get the most out of my young and quite presentable body. I only had to pretend to the men that I’d enjoy it. Only—it wasn’t that easy.
From my first fee, I procured a box of condoms, a short skirt and a top reading Bitch. Then I waited for Friday night. For my walk through Wiesbaden’s night life, I simply left off the panties. That had to do, hadn’t it?
On my way, I met many men whose glances followed me with interest, but they left it to that. I also met many young girls in similar short skirts. I simply was one of them, and as long as I didn’t indecently pull up my skirt—which of course I didn’t—none of the respectable men made me the disrespectable proposal I was waiting for.
In private I was glad about that, because I wasn’t entirely convinced of my new job. Or did that show? In any case, I realized that I didn’t know enough about this business. Whom did you ask in such a case? Google.
“Hello, Gülcan. May I come in?”
“Sure.” My friend stepped aside. “What’s up?”
I pointed at the writing on my chest. “This one. I thought I’d better know what I’m pretending to be, before someone takes it to the letter.”
“Bitch.” Gülcan appeared indecisive.
“Drama queen or whore. If someone understands the second term, I’ve got a problem.”
“Oh. Sure. And now?”
“I’d like to google. Where I probably shouldn’t go in Wiesbaden, what the rituals are, and so on. So that I can recognize and avoid business initiations.”
“Business initiations…Nicely put, Jo. I have to run an errand for my mother. You know where the computer is. Start without me, I’ll be back soon.”
Even better!
I wasn’t very experienced in dealing with search engines, but that wasn’t really necessary. I knew a few terms from school. Those I entered, and then I browsed along the hits. I soon found out about the alternatives—brothel, own apartment, hooker alley. I didn’t have my own apartment, and I didn’t want to work in a brothel. Waiting in the nude all day long, for clients who then pay a flat rate for laying you? Or the street, for the quick fuck in the car?
No, there was another option—I could offer my services on the Internet and schedule individual appointments with my clients. There were countless relevant, even if concealed, offers. Those also gave me a first impression on the pricing level, handjobs, blowjobs, fuck, or the all inclusive evening rate, and, most importantly, all including rubber. Soon I found the next lead—health authorities. Next followed the rather disgusting aspects of this business—sexual diseases, injury risks, abuse by violent clients, pimping. Especially the last term made me think. I didn’t want to deliver my hard-earned money to some guy who’d fund his Porsche and his golden necklace from it.
When Gülcan entered, I had already drafted my market entry strategy. I’d need a few photos in which I’d conceal my face, but show off my legs and tits. I’d need a barely veiled description of my services, which I could then reuse again and again—hot schoolgirl will come to you, with you—then an account with the respective student portals, and I should probably have regular Internet access, perhaps initially via Internet café. Moreover, I should intensify my running exercises and start to learn martial arts—initially cheap, and later, once I’d earned enough, I’d afford a good teacher.
“Well! How far did you get?” my friend asked happily.
Ready for business, I thought to myself, but I didn’t voice it. “Far enough, I’d say. The street prostitution happens somewhere else, so the city center is safe.”
“So you can wear your top without worries.”
“Yes. Thank you!”
“Sure. Shall we have a stroll?”
“Gladly.” No, actually not. Strolling for me meant to walk along showcases and through stores with Gülcan for hours and watch all those goods that I couldn’t afford. Okay, those that I couldn’t afford yet.
At the same time, I could learn for school, could train, or could investigate how a woman best can satisfy a man—although I didn’t urgently need the latter, for now I played the young, inexperienced schoolgirl. For my clients, a wet, tight hole had to do.
Chapter Sixteen
In my short skirt, the thin blouse, and without underwear, I was a bit too lightly dressed for the autumn temperatures. I’d only been waiting for a few minutes and already felt the chill. Or did the trembling come from my nervousness? After all, I’d truly been in business for a few weeks so far and had only served three handfuls of clients.
There came my client. Dark-blue BMW 5 Series, Mainz license plate. I only entered cars for which I knew the make and license in advance, and rental cars or non-residents were out of the question. I wasn’t inclined to show up in the news one day as victim of an unknown sex offender. Discretion was all nice and well, but I wanted to know my clients.
The moment he stopped, I slipped into the passenger seat. “The parking lot is right around the corner, under the bridge,” I explained. “Hardly frequented, nobody will bother us there.”
Until he had cut off the engine, I remained silent and watched his well-shaved profile, while my right hand began to play in my crotch. It was easier if I was already wet. The hair shrank back around his temples, I noticed. Oh yes, and the blue-and-yellow-stripe tie with the rose shirt and dark-gray suit was a fashion catastrophe. Did he also wear brown shoes with it?
“And now?” he asked and stared on my slowly moving right hand.
I lifted my hand, pulled my blouse open and showed him my tits. “How do you want it? If you move your seat back, I can ride you. Or shall I suck your cock first?” My left hand slowly moved up his leg and inward. “Are you already hard? Come, show me.”
The question was unnecessary, as the bulge was clear to see, but all this was a game with fixed roles. Part of my role was the insatiable craving for a firm male member, which I had to stimulate in every thinkable way—the rest of the man wasn’t my business. My client’s role was even easier—he had to please me with his erect presence. So he opened his fly and released his boner into the open.
He was well prepared, as he wore no underwear, either. In a car it could be cumbersome to force an already erect cock through an access flap, so this solution was better. I conjured up a condom and unrolled it with an experienced grip. Then I reached past him, pulled the lever for the back rest and pushed him down. Who’s laying whom, I thought, amused.
Again I showed him my pussy, while I carefully moved my right leg past the wheel and placed myself on top of him. His left hand helped me by supporting my right breast, his right hand tried to reach between my pussy lips. Patiently, I waited until he had sampled my wetness.
“I’m so horny for you!” I whispered, while I slowly lowered my pelvis on his joystick. The rest was routine—always nicely up and down, contracting my muscles, lustfully moaning—and at least trying to enjoy the sex. If I sold my body, in my opinion, I was at least entitled to have my own fun.
So I also claimed my right to hold my client back, if he went too fast for me. “Not yet!” I moaned. “A bit more! Yes, yes, yes, now! Aww!”
My client moaned, too.
What a wonderful orgasm!
It was just sex. It was just fun. This was the way I wanted it—the job had to be fun. This was normal in business life.
“Ey, you came, too?” he asked.
“Yees,” I wheezed.
“Great, ey. Man, that feels so different if you have fun, too!”
I placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for holding back so kindly. This way it’s nicest for both of us!”
“Yes, indeed.”
Thereafter, I slowly dismounted, gave him another moment to admire my pussy—the guys like to see where they just had their fun—and then helped him out of the condom. It went into a little plastic bag that was otherwise meant for used tampons. The clients appreciate if you protect their upholstering from stains—I had quickly understood that.
For the same reason, I squatted kneeling on the passenger seat until he had packed his manhood away and gave me seventy Euro. I raised an eyebrow when I took it. We had agreed on fifty, my fee for a normal fuck.
“You’ve been so Dragon-horny, you’ve earned it,” he explained. “Will we meet again?”
“You know how to contact me.”
After, I left. So easily and so pleasantly you could earn your money, I thought back then.
Chapter Seventeen
With long, woolen thigh-highs, a thicker wooly mini skirt and a tight turtleneck, I could bear the autumn chill, but I decided instead to move my appointments to a warmer place toward winter. I simply had to look around for an appropriate place.
Or I’d have to adopt a different look. Perhaps a long wrap-around skirt that I could quickly drop?
When would my client come? I didn’t want to linger in one place for too long and attract attention, so that I didn’t burn my meeting point.
Loser Page 4
