FOUR IN THE afternoon.
The building was opposite the Barceloneta beach, in a part of the city which was far from salubrious.
I agreed to go, among other reasons, because this was the first time Susana had called me during the day, and I felt privileged. I wanted to show her she could always count on me. She had given me precise information about the very special client I was going to see, and as I went up to the third floor I felt well in control, dressed in jeans and a white blouse.
‘Don’t wear anything sophisticated,’ Susana had recommended, ‘just jeans and no make-up. He wants a schoolgirl, and you’re not exactly fifteen.’
That last gratuitous comment had infuriated me for a while, but gradually the idea of acting out this scene of an adolescent girl had started to excite me. At last, something different! I was beginning to be really fed up with men who just wanted a conventional fuck. After the failure with the two politicians I wanted something that broke the routine, and this sounded interesting.
When I entered the building, I found there was no lift. It was a very old, rundown place, and the ground floor was obviously where all the local youngsters met on a Saturday night: the walls were full of graffiti, and under the stairwell it was black and scorched where someone had tried to set light to it. There were Coke cans littering the floor, and as I went by a few kids started playing football with them, kicking them at me and laughing.
The client lived right at the top. I plucked up my courage and started climbing the stairs two at a time until I reached the fifth floor. I felt nervous, wondering what kind of a guy could possibly live in such a dump.
I had almost got to his door when my mobile rang.
‘Hello?’
I had to shout because the kids playing downstairs were making such a racket it could be heard all the way up here.
‘Aren’t you there yet?’ Susana asked me impatiently. ‘You’ve been half an hour in the taxi. What are you up to? The client is waiting for you!’
‘I was just about to call you. I’ve almost reached the front door,’ I replied breathlessly. I realized all of a sudden that someone was watching me from the landing.
A swarthy, heavy guy was glaring at me from the door I was walking towards, mobile in hand.
‘I have to go now,’ I told Susana when I saw him gesticulating at me to switch off my phone at once. He looked furious.
I put my phone away.
He ushered me in quickly without a word. Before shutting the door he glanced up and down the corridor to see if anyone had witnessed the scene.
Then, still without saying anything, he pushed me towards the living room. When we had reached it, he suddenly let rip.
‘Not exactly the soul of discretion, are you?’
Until then I had almost thought he must be mute. But his voice was so gruff I began to feel even more nervous.
‘I’m sorry! You’re right, I should have switched it off.’
‘I told your boss: no mobiles! I don’t want my neighbours to know I pay for a whore!’
I hated the word, yet he didn’t look like someone I wanted to get into an argument with.
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘I asked for a younger girl.’
He lit a cigarette. I said nothing. I’d already lied by taking eight years off my age. The atmosphere in the room made me even uneasier. It smelt of ancient furniture and dust, and I tried desperately to relax.
‘You’re so lucky to have a flat with a sea view!’ I said, moving towards his balcony.
‘You’re joking! Can’t you see it’s a shit-hole?’
He was right there. It was an old flat full of old furniture, with one crumbling sofa. The floor was covered in cheap tiles scored with black marks where the pieces of furniture had been moved over the years. The walls were covered in a faded yellow paper that was torn in several places, revealing the white plaster underneath. It was obvious that none of the tenants had ever looked after the place.
‘Yes, but you’ve got the sea,’ I insisted.
‘I couldn’t give a fuck about the sea! This is a shit-hole!’
Of course, he was bound to contradict anything I said. He slumped onto the sofa which was covered in an old check blanket, whose only functions as far as I could tell were to keep the settee together, and to produce filthy balls of fluff. This was going to be hard work. The guy was obviously a bitter loner and I was obviously not what he wanted.
‘Come over here so I can get a better look at you.’
By now he was flat on his back on the sofa. I went over to him, and he got me to twirl round so he could examine me front and back. Then he took his trousers down and told me to do the same. He stood up again, his underpants covered in fluff, and went over to the stereo. He put on a CD.
‘Do you dance?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, hoping a bit of music might calm him down.
Five minutes later he had had enough of music and dancing. He ordered, ‘Now, get down on all fours.’
He got the money out of his trouser pocket and threw it on the floor in front of me.
I stared at him for a minute, trying to understand what he wanted, then did as he had asked.
As I knelt down, he jumped on my back like a rider on a horse. By now I was convinced I was faced with a raving lunatic, whose only wish was to humiliate me. That was all I needed! He started riding me, then grabbed hold of my hair like a caveman. He was so heavy, my coccyx was grating against my lower back.
‘What are you doing?’ I shouted, trying to get up.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘What do you mean? You’re hurting me.’
‘I’m paying, so I can do what I want!’
‘Oh no,’ I said, red-faced, ‘that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t work for a sadomaso agency. If you want to humiliate a girl, there are people who specialize in that! But I’m not one of them.’
I could feel a sense of fear gripping my body, because I had no idea how this madman might react.
‘Yes, you’re right, I wanted to humiliate someone, and I thought any whore would do. But I can see you don’t want to collaborate,’ he said scornfully.
My heart was pounding uncontrollably.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m not any whore, as you call them. If you want, I’ll leave. You’ll only have to pay the taxi.’ As I said it, I was hoping against hope he would agree.
The atmosphere was unbearable.
‘No, no, don’t do that! Call your agency and tell them you’re staying the hour.’
By now I didn’t understand a thing.
‘No violence then, all right?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, looking daggers at me. ‘No violence.’
Despite myself, I called Susana. I really didn’t want to stay with this weirdo, and hoped she would be able to hear the fear in my voice and tell me to come back at once, without running any more risks. But she said nothing.
‘Now let’s go to the bedroom,’ he said as soon as I finished. I didn’t like this new tone of voice either.
He showed me into a small, filthy bedroom. In it was a single bed with a stained sheet on it. He took my undies off, and literally threw me onto the bed.
Then he disappeared into the bathroom. I took advantage of being alone to take a good look round me, trying to understand what kind of person I was having to do this with. On a bookshelf I saw all kinds of books with scary titles, and the complete works of the Marquis de Sade in Spanish. Next to them were fetish objects, and on the wall hung a very long whip and a leather mask. God, I’m in Hannibal Lecter’s house, I told myself.
He came out of the bathroom wearing only a tiny thong, and started pacing up and down like an exhibitionist.
‘Just look and say nothing,’ he said, with his wild, staring eyes on me.
The thong was squashing his genitals so much he soon had to tear it off. He put a condom on and leapt on me, searching for my vagina with clumsy fingers. Thank god pharmaceutical laboratories have invented glycerine!
He penetrated me roughly, howling obscenities. I had only one thing in mind: to finish as quickly as possible and get out of there. His revolting body weighed like a hundred-ton boulder on top of me, and every time he thrust forward, a wild animal smell filled my nostrils. As he came, his whole quivering mass started trembling and shaking uncontrollably. It was unbearable. When everything was finally over, I scooped up my clothes without a word to him, and ran to the door, putting them on as I went. I ran down the stairs and outside, where the youngsters from before were surprisingly quiet. I sprinted down the street like an Olympic athlete. I wanted to get as far away as possible from that freak and leave behind all the foul language he had slobbered all over me. I was hoping that as I ran, the wind would wipe me clean of his words. When I couldn’t breathe any more, I came to a halt and allowed all the tears I had been holding back, all my accumulated rage, to come tumbling out of me.