I can’t drink anymore of this. It’s almost 4 anyway. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen at this point.
I took a last sip of lemonade and threw it away after the beer I had been chugging in an attempt to alleviate my anxiety.
I walked away from the trash can I had been drinking next to, and went to lean against a wall in front of the tube station.
I wondered if I was buzzed or if it was just my fever.
A suburban looking woman gave me a dirty look as she passed me.
I saw a Middle Eastern looking guy with glasses and curly hair as in the photo and wondered if that was him, hoping it wasn’t because he looked creepy with his messy stubble, and he was a bit fat.
But who cares what he looks like? As long as he pays me.
I had been telling myself this over and over.
Then I saw a guy coming from the opposite side of the street towards me, waving and smiling.
This is him, huh, I thought, bored. He’s not hideous I guess.
I felt blank. I could feel instantly that he wasn’t out to hurt or cheat me, but there weren’t any positive emotions either, or even any relief in seeing that he wasn’t going to kill me.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hey there.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Emily.”
He pointed in the direction we were supposed to walk and I followed him across the street.
“Justine, or Julie.”
I wondered why he had such a feminine name.
As we walked he asked me general questions about how I liked London, about school, told me about his busy day, told me about how he was a hotel designer…
The entry to his apartment had so many stairs. I started panting immediately, due to being weak from being sick.
He mimicked me panting.
I laughed, embarrassed.
“Do you smoke or something?”
“Yeah. I guess I should stop. I’m very out of shape, obviously.”
His apartment was incredible, with huge windows everywhere. He was obviously wealthy. His furniture was all beautiful. He had two huge Louis Vuitton suitcases just lying out in front of his closet, and a Leica M8 camera lying on his desk.
I complimented him on his apartment. He said that he had designed it himself.
“Feel free to sit down,” he said motioning to his couch.
So I did and I took off my sunglasses, hoping he wouldn’t think I was ugly underneath them.
“Do you want a beer or something?”
“Yeah, a beer might be nice.”
He gave me some Thai beer that would have been nice if I wasn’t completely sick of alcohol after my previous week of binge drinking brought on by the excitement of being legally old enough to buy alcohol in England.
He gave me a cigarette that was very harsh on my sore throat.
We talked a bit more.
And then to my surprise he said, “Let’s get this out of the way.”
He reached into his wallet and gave me 200 pounds.
I counted it and put it in my bag. I was a bit disappointed it wasn’t the 220 pounds he had implied he would give me in his emails, but I was too shy to say anything.
“I’m sorry, am I taking too long or something?”
“No, don’t worry about it. I want you to relax.”
He set music on.
I realized it was Lady Gaga and I started to laugh.
I think I offended him.
I took off my shoes, and he perked up, but then settled back after he saw I went back to drinking.
I wasn’t paying attention and the cigarette butt burned me and I dropped my cigarette on his table.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.”
He made some funny sarcastic remark like, “Thank you for ruining my furniture,” and cleaned up the smoking ash I had dropped.
I drank more and more.
I want to get this over with, I feel bored and sleepy I want to go home I want to go to sleep.
I thought about initiating sex with him, but felt too embarrassed.
“Oh fuck it. I don’t fucking care,” I said and stood up. Facing him but avoiding his eyes, I undid my belt and started to unbutton my dress. I could feel him staring at my breasts. I had never felt nervous like this before having sex with someone. I wondered why I was so anxious.
I unzipped my dress and took it off completely. Then off came my bra and tights and underwear.
“Where are we going to do it?” I asked.
“It’s in there,” he said, pointing.
I followed him into his bedroom.
I caught a glimpse of my face in his vanity mirror and thought I looked trashy and hideous.
His bedroom was also big and gorgeous.
“Your bed looks so nice!” I said, thinking how soft it must be compared to the rock hard hostel bed I had been sleeping in the past week.
“What?”
“Nevermind.”
He got undressed behind some wall in his room as I lay in the bed.
He lay down on the other side of the bed.
He wasn’t saying anything. I wondered what to do.
“Do you want me to give you a blowjob or something?”
“Or something?” he kind of laughed. “Yeah, that might be nice.”
I thought his cock tasted and smelled sweaty, but I thought of all the sushi and margaritas I would be able to buy after this and kept going.
He was moaning a lot and seemed to be enjoying it. I could feel he was pretty hard now. I wondered if he would ask me to stop and fuck him. But he didn’t say anything. I just had to keep going and going. I wondered if I would be forced to give him head for an entire hour.
I couldn’t take it anymore so I finally just started to give him a hand job and looked at him.
He sat up and started to grab and suck on my breasts. I fake moaned. He started to kiss my inner thighs and began playing with my clit, with his fingers first, then his tongue. I continued to force moans, though I was thankful that at least it wasn’t painful when he played with my clit like it usually is when men do.
He came up from between my legs.
“Do you have a condom?” I asked.
“Do you? Yes, of course I have a condom.”
He reached for a condom on his bed stand and unwrapped it, but then indicated toward his flaccid penis.
I felt a bit offended that eating me out had been that big of a turn off for him.
I started blowing him again for a bit.
“You know what? Maybe just a hand job.”
I did it kind of lazily with my left hand. I was so sleepy.
“Not so into that huh?” he said and I took my hand off and I sat up against the pillows on his bed. He began to masturbate, while staring at me. He pulled my legs further apart.
He just sat there, staring at me, while masturbating, seeming like he might cum.
He grabbed my breasts and then fingered my clit again.
Then he just went back to playing with himself.
I wondered what the hell he was doing, but I figured that if I get paid for just this it’ll be pretty good.
But then I started to wonder if this was some secret plot to fuck with me without a condom or just to cum inside me somehow. I imagined myself pushing him off of me and scrambling from his bed.
“Why don’t you try playing with yourself?”
I was relieved to finally be given some direction.
“Oh okay. I was like ‘I don’t know what’s going on.’”
“What?”
I started to rub my clit slowly, again with a lot of fake, loud moaning.
I pinched my nipples with my free hand which he seemed to like.
I wondered if he would be more turned on by watching me rub my clit or fingering myself.
He seemed to like both equally.
“Ah, okay.”
He got a new condom and put it on.
I was lying against the pillows and he was hovering above me.
“How do you want to do it?” I asked.
“Like this is fine,” he shrugged.
While penetrating me his cock felt big and good, but then this feeling rapidly declined.
He stopped.
“I can’t do it like this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Yeah, this is my first time paying for sex.”
“Me too!” I said excitedly.
I realized that he probably hadn’t been able to notice my own nervousness, being so consumed in his own.
“I thought it’d be alright if I did it with an American, but I guess not.”
Did he have some American fetish?
“Why an American?”
“My girlfriend’s from America. She’s living in New York right now. She said that this is the only way it’d be okay.”
“If it was with an American?”
“No, if I paid for it. She said (he put on a stern voice), ‘you can’t flirt with any girls at bars or club, you can’t go on dates. none of that. If you need sex, you pay for it.’ But I guess I need to go back to Skype sex…”
There was some silence. I didn’t know what to say or do. Probably neither of us did.
“I’m sorry this didn’t go the way you wanted.”
“It’s not you at all. If I had seen you at a pub or something I probably would have hit on you. My girlfriend wouldn’t have liked that…”
He got up and got dressed so I did too.
We went out of his bedroom and stood in his living room.
“Do you want another cigarette before you go?”
“It’s okay. Can you tell me how to get to the tube station?”
“It’s really easy. You just turn left from my place, and then you take a right and another left, and you’re there.”
“Thank-you.”
More silence.
“It was pretty cool meeting you, I guess,” I said.
“You seem pretty cool, Emily.”
We talked some more and he showed me out.
And then I was by myself again, same as before, but with money.
I started to laugh to myself.
“I can’t believe I got paid for that.”
I went back to my hostel and triumphantly took a nap.