Craved (Twisted Book 2) Page 4

  At first I thought he was making fun of me. ‘I don’t want you to dance. Can you just please show me your…’ He didn’t dare to end the sentence, but his eyes dropped onto my hotpants. I obliged his request, sure that it was some kind of a spoof. I waited and waited for him to end his bizarre joke and wipe the dumb expression off his face. When that didn’t happen, I was amazed by the depth of this… tragedy.

  That’s impossible!

  Okay, maybe a forty-year-old man who has never looked at a pussy in his entire life is not that big a deal. Not everyone is meant to go through what my sisters or I did. And I get the point that most people live modest lives sexually. But this guy has been married for almost twenty years to the woman he loves.

  ‘My wife has never appeared naked in front of me,’ he’d explained earlier. I thought to myself that I could bet a million bucks that she has never blown him either.

  Oh my…

  Okay, I don’t judge and I am trying to be grateful, because this pussy-virgin guy is the first and – I suspect – the last client I’ve convinced to have a dance with me tonight. The situation is so bad that I barely made enough to pay this week’s levy. It’s a complete disaster.

  The first days’ shivers have passed, but still I make nothing. I feel crappy. Unlike in Luxembourg, there is no pressure. There is no ‘daily norm’. I owe the club nothing but the levy, which is the cost of two dances per night and is reasonable. Except for me. There is no one or nothing to hassle me but myself. The sight of the other girls making money swallows up my mind. I truly try to stay focused and work on my confidence. But questions like, ‘Am I not good enough?’ or ‘Is it because her tits are bigger than mine?’ take over and my efforts come to nothing.

  The worst part is that there is nothing or no one to blame my failure on. The staff and the girls are friendly. The clients are not the most inferior I’ve seen either, but no matter what I do to play it cool, they still sense my self-doubt like predators smell the fear of their prey.

  I keep bullshitting myself that tomorrow will be different. But it’s my second working week and, as another night starts rolling, it rolls anywhere but to me.

  I suck at this job… I really do.

  ‘So what is…’ his voice quivers and he clears his throat, ‘where is the clitoris?’ He runs his hand through his thick dark hair and his face frowns as if it hurts him to say the word.

  ‘You’ve being staring at my pussy for almost half an hour and you are still ashamed of looking into my eyes.’ I want to understand who I feel sorrier for: him or his wife? ‘Come on, you can do it.’

  He shrugs and produces a weird noise that is likely a giggle. I sigh.

  Wow, I would never have imagined that a species like this even existed.

  ‘Okay, let’s make a deal.’ I lean towards him with my legs still wide open, and take his face in my hands. ‘You look in my eyes and ask me your questions, and in return I’ll answer them and masturbate in front of you.’

  I let go of his face and fall back again. He repeats his plowing-the-hair move. This time his left leg starts bouncing up and down too.

  Maybe I’ve gone too far. But what the hell?

  ‘Okay.’ He presses his lips together, then lifts his eyes and looks straight into mine. The rosiness of his face turns a vigorous red. He exhales, ‘Show me your clitoris.’

  I can’t hide my amusement.

  ‘What did you say? I can’t hear. The music is too loud.’

  He takes a deep breath. Louder, this time: ‘Show me your clitoris.’

  I smile and move my lips apart. I point to the middle, and then tingle it a few times.

  He leans forward and frowns. ‘That’s it?’

  I laugh out loud, ‘Yep! But don’t underestimate it. This little thing can turn a woman’s world upside down. It also can shoot her to the stars and bring her back just in the moments of…’

  ‘I get it.’ He licks his lips, and wheezes, ‘Show me.’

  I smile, spit on my fingers and start circling my clit.

  I close my eyes. The pleasant sensation fills my body. It’s surprisingly powerful. I’d almost forgotten how good it feels. It’s been a while. The last time I came was… was with Ali… The memories flood my head, moving fast from arousing to unsettling. Our ‘break-up’, the cheap clients I had to do, the rape… I stop and open my eyes. My heart is racing.

  ‘What hap– Why did you stop?’ His voice is troubled, as if someone’s life depends on my orgasm.

  ‘Nothing. I thought you were enjoying it too much for me to come too quickly.’

  I can’t take this away from him… He’s been robbed of his life already… Besides, another song will help me. I could fake one, at least.

  I close my eyes again, caressing my slit. I frown and bite my bottom lip, start moving faster, produce a few moans – just like a porn film. I move faster and faster until…

  Three… two… one…

  ‘Oh God!’ I tense my muscles, throw my head back and jerk my pelvis a few times.

  Here we go… even better than a real one… more dramatic, I would say?

  I get up, assuming our ‘lap dance’ is over, and start dressing. He is still frozen, with a knocked-out expression on his face as if he just witnessed the birth of Jesus Christ.

  ‘It’s a thousand please,’ I repeat, louder.

  ‘Sure.’ He blinks a few times, reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and gives me the money.

  ‘Thanks Julia.’

  ‘No problem. Use wisely.’

  8

  I walk out of the private room and head through the heavy Saturday crowd to the bar. I need a break and some refreshment to wash away the squeamishness I feel after the last client. That dude is another candidate for a solid course of multiple sessions with a shrink.

  When I approached the short black man, who looked lost and detached at a corner table, and invited him for a lap dance, he agreed suspiciously quickly. As soon as I slid the door of the private room closed, he dropped onto the couch, took a handkerchief out of his pocket, pulled his leather belt away from his round stomach and pushed his hand inside his pants, placing the white fabric under his fly.

  Ignoring the puzzled expression on my face, he waved for me to start the dance.

  ‘We have to wait for a new song…’ I tried to explain, but he interrupted me – ‘No need to wait’ – and touched his crotch as if checking that the handkerchief was still in place. I started my usual routine – slowly waving my hips and touching my body with my back to the mirror that hangs in front of the couch. He frowned and gave me a cut-this-bullshit wag with his hand: ‘No need for this, just take off the bottom.’

  I doubt that this is what those dull and indistinguishable women’s magazines mean when they suggest that, in order to find a partner for a solid, happy relationship, you look for a man who knows what he wants.

  ‘The bottom comes off only on the second song,’ I objected. But he did his wave again, leaned over to pull my hotpants with my G-string down to my ankles, and turned me to sit on his lap, my back to him. The next few minutes were close to rodeo riding. I held tight to the couch while he jumped and jerked beneath me. All I had left to do was to watch myself in the mirror and roll my eyes at my reflection.

  Oh my gosh, I look like a nodding dog toy!

  My bull, while seriously agonized, was a sprinter, too. Even before the end of the first song, his body tightened and he squeaked briefly. That was it! He soon caught his breath and, in the same orderly manner, pushed me away, got up, removed the wet handkerchief from his pants, paid, and left the room without a word.

  Yeah… whatever… you’re welcome!

  Lena and Mark are glued to those bar stools. They’ve been there for the past two weeks since the first night they met.

  Every single night.

  ‘Hey Mark, how are you doing?’ I kiss him twice on the cheeks. ‘If you get bored of this one...’ I smile and wink at Lena. ‘Let me know, I can replace her.’ We
all laugh and I drop onto the bar stool next to them. I order rooibos while watching my sister and her new beloved staring at each other with love and adoration.

  I understand why Mark is staring at Lena – she is a beautiful girl with an unbelievable body. But what is Lena’s story? He is short and bald. He’s in his mid-thirties with quite a round waist. His identical, oversized plaid shirts and shapeless black jeans cry out, ‘I am ugly but I won’t do anything about it!’ But then I see the way she looks at him, as if he’s George Clooney. It amazes me how Lena’s brain operates. As soon as there is a serious relationship or marriage possibility, it stops perceiving information as it is, creating unreal images to fit her dream world. I think she could fall in love with the straw man if he could propose and produce kids.

  ‘Jul?’ Lena draws me back from my thoughts. She is excited and looks at Mark as if asking for his permission to say something. He nods, and she turns to me. ‘Mark wants me to move in with him. Isn’t it amazing?’

  Here we go!

  ‘Wow… that’s quick,’ I mumble, but then fake a beam and add, ‘It is! Hmm… I mean, it’s amazing.’

  ‘I’ll pack my stuff tomorrow. I spoke to the manager and the bastard told me I still have to pay my accommodation, even though I am not going to live there. But at least you girls will have more space in that tiny cupboard, right?’

  I hug her, climb back onto my stool and light a cigarette.

  ‘What is it, Jul? You don’t seem okay lately.’ She touches my shoulder and gently squeezes.

  ‘You mean since we came to explore this wonderland?’ My voice is bitter.

  ‘Jul, take it easy. You’re doing great... We all are proud of you!’

  I turn away. My eyes fill with tears. Crying in front of everyone is the last thing I want to do. But I can’t help it.

  ‘It’s not working, Len, and I don’t know what to do about it,’ I say quietly, wiping my tears to save my make-up. ‘It’s just too much...’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Natalia appears from nowhere.

  I wipe my face fast and before Lena can say anything, sky-high, I deliver, ‘Good news, Nata. Our sister is moving in with Mark!’

  9

  I get up from another ‘maybe later’ customer, scan the place with impassive eyes and walk to find the next one. Nikita grabs my elbow.

  ‘Come with me,’ she orders and quickly heads towards the stairs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I shout through the music while watching the steps.

  These shoes, if not used with caution, kill the girls more than drugs do in this business.

  ‘To VIP,’ she throws back, while adding to her speed.

  ‘I’ve just been to VIP. There is no one there.’ I roll my eyes.

  ‘I am talking about the R&R, silly.’

  ‘What?’ I stop and look up at her.

  Is she on drugs or something?

  But she keeps walking and I race to catch up with her.

  ‘The Reading Room.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  We pass the mezzanine and stop at the closed door of one of the private rooms.

  ‘You’ve been working here for a month and you don’t know about the Reading Room? Give me a hundred,’ she says, while raiding her own purse.

  ‘Why? Are we going to buy library cards?’

  ‘Ha ha. We don’t have time. Come on.’ Along with the money, she pulls out a lipstick and a small mirror and hurriedly touches up her lips.

  I hand her the note. ‘Spend it wisely. They say Hemingway and Fitzgerald are seriously overrated.’

  She cocks her head and narrows her eyes. ‘Really?’

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry.’ I giggle.

  ‘We have to cheer the bouncer up, or he may not let us in,’ she flips her hair and slides the door open.

  To my surprise, there is no couch, but a bouncer standing at a carved, dark-wood door with a sign on it that says R&R.

  Unfuckingbelievable. She isn’t raving!

  Nikita shoves the bills to the bouncer. He stashes them and opens the door for us.

  ‘Have we just bribed the man?’ I ask as soon as the door behind us is closed.

  She gives me a look again, but doesn’t say anything.

  The large dim room is showily decorated. A small, round, poled stage in the middle, encircled by four two-seater Chesterfield sofas, dark vintage flock wallpapers, silver candle-holders on the carved three-legged console tables, crowned with massive framed mirrors. And, despite all my doubts: three ceiling-high shelves with lines of books.

  There are about a dozen clients including a few women. Three waiters make sure their glasses are never empty. A couple of dancers are on stage, moving seductively to the booming music and tacky laughter, and another four here and there are flirting with the clients.

  ‘This is the VIP of VIP. It even has a separate entrance for privacy. These guys pay big money to be here.’ Nikita scans the room. ‘We stand a chance of getting a nice cut. All we need is to convince one of these jerks to go in private with us.’

  She knocks me with her elbow and walks towards two men.

  They sit on one of the couches, staring at the stage.

  ‘What’s the occasion?’ Nikita’s red lips widen and she drops between the men, leaving no space for me.

  ‘More dolls! I love it here!’ One of them shouts in excitement.

  I try to land on the lap of the other one, but he gets up and walks away without a word.

  ‘Never mind him, he’s a good friend of mine. He’s just afraid to go wild.’ The remaining one presses his lips together, ‘But who cares if he’s even more afraid of his bitchy wife.’ He pushes Nikita to the left, making space for me. I sit down.

  ‘I’m Steve. And you girls?’ He puts his hands on our legs and mashes our inner thighs.

  Steve is in his thirties. The wandering eyes, the jumping foot in his flip-flops and a shiny snot under his nose give away the fact that Steve is having a good time.

  ‘My name is Nikita and this is my friend Julia!’ Nikita shouts through the music and grabs a glass of champagne from the tray with which the waitress surfs the room.

  ‘I want to have some fun in one of those rooms.’ Steve nods towards the bookshelves.

  Nikita’s eyes lighten up. ‘No problem. It’s two and a half thousand each for half an hour.’

  ‘And what am I going to get for that?’ His foot starts jumping faster and his hands move higher, now almost touching our fannies. ‘And don’t even start with your dancing bullshit.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Let’s double the time and you’ll get a full house!’

  ‘I like your idea.’ He gets up and walks towards one of the shelves.

  ‘What’s the plan – you want to fill me in?’ I whisper to Nikita as we follow Steve.

  ‘Don’t worry. There are no cameras, so we are allowed a little extra. The guy is paying ten grand. Twenty per cent goes to the club. It leaves us with four each. You can’t make that in an hour on the main floor.’

  He touches the switch and the shelf slides open revealing another room. My eyebrows shoot up.

  ‘Awesome. Those books are fake?’

  Nikita giggles and we walk in.

  The room is small and decorated with hints: paintings of naked parts of women’s bodies on the pink and grey, stripy, papered walls, a large, low, red, heart-shaped sofa, a dark glass coffee table, a few dimmed floor lamps, a shower in the corner, and a piercing smell of some cloying air freshener.

  Before we close the door, the waiter brings a bucket with a bottle of champagne and leaves.

  ‘I guess we can start.’

  Steve takes a little plastic bag from his pocket and drops it onto the table, takes off all of his clothes, drops onto the sofa and starts making lines. My stomach clenches.

  ‘Let’s party!’ Nikita loosens her dress and starts opening the bottle.

  The fear and doubt swallow my mind. It’s too much to handle but there is five grand,
four of which is mine.

  It’s not like I have to use.

  Steve rolls a note, sniffs with snorts and smacks of his lips and falls back with both hands behind his head. Nikita sniffs too and leans over to kiss Steve. His eyes stay open, he takes Nikita by her neck, pulls her away and then pushes her down.

  ‘Suck it, baby,’ he orders, and turns his stare at me. ‘Why are you just standing there?’ He rubs his nose. ‘Have some too then start with my balls.’

  I step towards the table. Shivers are running up my legs and through my body.

  Okay. I could suck his balls then pay my levy and have a break from my financial worries. But cocaine? Can I handle it? I could try to see how it goes, but what if…?

  I stop at the table, looking at the white lines. Turn around. Head to the door.

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t.’

  Nikita stops the sucking.

  ‘What the hell? What's your problem?’ Steve screws up his face.

  I tap the red button that opens the door a few times. ‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t be around drugs,’ I mumble and walk out.

  ‘Hey, doll, what are you waiting for? Keep sucking. Yeah... just like that,’ I hear as the shelf slides closed behind me.

  10

  My show music begins. I make my squeaky-clean entrance on the stage. I walk around playing innocent Little Red Riding Hood, while waving my basket and my frothy red skirt to show my lacy panties. The Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs song loses its naivety as the smoky voice fills the stage with carnal essence. At the end of the song I put the basket on the floor, bend down and theatrically check what’s inside. The second song, Benny Benassi’s ‘Satisfaction’, begins. Instead of pies and apples, I pull a big black dildo out of my basket. While the stage lights echo the penetrating electro house beats, I perform the role of a curious, naughty girl who tries to find out what to do with the bloody thing.

  I hear one of the clients exclaim and turn towards my grateful spectator. The man is in his late fifties. With amused and can-do eyes, he follows my every move. I smile and wink at him.