The Sexopaths

  Blog by Anonymous – 3

  OMG! Just having a drink to settle my nerves. I’m in my bedroom at mum’s. Was doing an incall half an hour ago and mum came home right slap-bang in the middle of it! She’d not long gone out for the afternoon, but she’d left her ciggies and lighter by the tv. Thankfully I’d put the chain on the front door so it gave me a minute to think. She knew I was in and started shouting through the letter-box. I was naked except for pvc thigh-boots and the strap-on I was fucking the guy with – I left it sticking in him! He was seriously tied up, so I just had to leave him on the bed and chance it. OMG!!! I jumped in the shower for five seconds and went out with my hair dripping in her pink frilly dressing gown – I use her room for incalls! (It’s got the double-bed and ensuite shower.) OMG she’d kill me! I told her I felt safer when the chain’s on when I’m in on my own, because of the break-ins there’s been in the flats lately. Junkies. I was sure she’d notice how jumpy I was – like I was keeping myself between her and her bedroom door and willing her to go. Luckily she was in a hurry because she wanted to get to the bingo on time and I said ‘I’ll just put the chain back on’ so it didn’t seem so odd that I followed her into the hall and saw her out. She did give me a bit of a strange look – like ‘Are you on something?’ – but her mobile rang and she just kissed me and went. I’d told the guy it was my flat-mate – I’d put a ball-gag on him so he couldn’t say anything! It must have only been 2 minutes anyway that I’d left him and he seemed okay when I just started up as though nothing had happened. I gave him extra time and let him come over my boots. He said he’d like to see me again and could my flatmate join in next time (!) – punters always assume if you have a flatmate she’s on the game, too. I said I’d be able to arrange something – but maybe I’ll book an apartment like the girls who come round on tour. I don’t reckon Sarah would let me use her place any more – unless she was in charge. Anyway, this punter wasn’t her sort – she only takes the executive types. I can’t be so choosy. She did call me round for a two-girl one night last week, but in the end I just had to stay out of sight in the lounge. She said she was trying something a bit risky with a client and wanted someone there in case there was a problem. She never told me what it was. I noticed there was nothing lying around – she must have put everything in the safe. When she’d finished she gave me the usual amount – I was surprised as I’d not really done anything – but she seemed pleased with herself and even offered me a vodka Red Bull. I wondered if she was going to ask me to stay over, but she wasn’t drinking and said she needed to drive. I didn’t get the impression it was an outcall, though – she wasn’t getting ready or anything. She called Liz to pick me up and said to put the fare on her account. I’m still shaking from mum surprising me like that. Excuse me while I go for a little top-up.

  Chapter 4

  End of September – Edinburgh, Scotland

  ‘She’s coming here - it’s an early birthday present.’

  ‘What! What?’

  ‘For you… for both of us.’

  ‘Monique – like… how come?’

  ‘My darling – did we not say… the other night?’

  ‘I thought we were… teasing.’ Adam finds that for some reason he skirts around the word ‘fantasising’.

  ‘We can cancel if you prefer. I thought you would like it.’

  ‘Well… I might, but…’

  ‘So there is no problem.’

  ‘But I can’t believe you’ve gone and done it.’

  ‘I thought I should strike while the iron is hot, as you say!’

  ‘You’re fucking crazy.’

  ‘So you are pleased?’

  ‘I don’t know what I am. You’ve booked a threesome. With a… call girl. I’ve not got a stock answer. Fucking tomorrow! I mean – what am I supposed to say? I feel like I’m in that restaurant scene when Liza Minnelli tells Dudley Moore she’s a hooker.’

  ‘I think you’ll like our hooker.’

  Adam recognises the same nervous giggle she’d greeted him with a few days earlier, fresh from her sauna experience. He’d noticed she was drinking more than usual while she prepared their meal. Maybe building up to this. He shakes his head in exaggerated disbelief and reaches for the wine bottle and re-fills their glasses. The overhead lights are dimmed to faint stars and two candles burn steadily between them. Leaning against the table he can feel his upper body ever so slightly rocking to and fro as the extra blood his heart is pumping seeks somewhere to go. He tries to select the right question to ask – most of those rudely crowding his thoughts are queuing prematurely.

  ‘It’s definitely a girl?’

  She laughs. ‘Of course it is a girl, my darling.’

  ‘And you fancy that?’

  ‘Why not? We talked about it. It is harmless. Interesting..’

  ‘That depends on what happens. Are you sure you want me in on this?’ He doesn’t mean it but he feels he has to sound as though overwhelming excitement isn’t his first reaction.

  ‘My darling, don’t be ridiculous. Of course. And I want you to do whatever you want. Although I have some ideas too.’ Her eyes glint decadently over her glass, like a performer in burlesque.

  ‘I daren’t ask.’

  ‘You know what I like… in the movies.’

  He thinks he knows what she likes, but wonders how that service could be supplied. When they play one of their continentally sourced R18 movies as a backdrop to lovemaking, it’s the scenes of two guys on one girl that set her off.

  ‘But I couldn’t imagine us… well… are you making this my turn so next time it could be… a bloke, or something?’

  ‘Something?’

  ‘I don’t know… a couple, swinging… whatever. I do know I don’t want anybody else – a guy – to be with you. I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘It is just a girl, and that is all I want us to do. It will be fun. A bit crazy. It will spice up our love life.’

  ‘I didn’t know we needed that.’

  ‘My darling – we don’t. But… you can always add a different spice to a dish.’

  ‘You’re not trying to get even with me? So I can’t complain about your Russian massage?’

  ‘There is nothing to complain about. And, so – no, I am not. I’d like to feel what it is like with another girl. And it will turn me on to see her with you. And the three of us together. I thought this was your fantasy.’

  ‘I can’t believe you want me to screw someone else.’

  ‘What happens will just be like a film. It won’t be real. As if an actress from our movie has come to life and joined us on the bed.’

  ‘I must be dreaming this.’

  Monique giggles, this time more confidently. ‘So long as you don’t fancy her more than me. I have picked you a sexy one. I’ll show you.’

  She rises and returns half a minute later with her tablet. She quickly finds the web page she’s looking for and spins the machine across the table to him.

  He’s silent for a few seconds while he gathers his thoughts. Unbelievably, the website is the same one that Xara uses to advertise her services.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘She looks a bit like you.’ He hastily adds: ‘Not as nice, obviously.’

  ‘I can always tell when you lie.’

  He shakes his head slowly, as if to say she’s wrong but she doesn’t know it. He tries to appear like he’s seeing the website for the first time; he fights the urge to make the two taps that will transport him to Xara’s familiar homepage. The blurred-faced blonde girl now on screen he has also viewed before.

  ‘Jasmin – early twenties, ’ he recites.

  ‘I think she is a bit older than it says.’

  ‘What made you pick her?’ He realises in saying this he has revealed something of his knowledge of the website – that alongside this page are many others. But Monique seems not to notice.

  ‘It says in her biography that she sees couples. Lots of them do two-girls, but not couples.’

  �
��You sound like quite an expert. What’s the difference?’

  ‘With a two-girl it is two prostitutes and one client.’

  He finds her unfazed use of the word prostitute a little shocking, calculating. He prefers the softer euphemisms. Even hooker doesn’t have the same clinical ring to it. The image visits him of Monique plying that trade, some time past – her familiarity with its methods returning in the heady Russian sauna; performing oral sex as the guy grins in the gloom, detached doorknob in hand. Adam shakes his head, like a fly-ridden horse uses its mane as a switch. He backtracks to correct his earlier slip:

  ‘And there are more of them?’

  ‘Yes – there are about fifty girls in Scotland on that website.’

  He navigates around, clumsily, as though experimentally. What if Monique had found the website when, disoriented by adrenaline, he’d left it on-screen the night they’d got back from Mykonos? Right now it doesn’t feel like she’s laying a trap – it wouldn’t be her style to weave a patient and complex web – she’d just come swinging out of the shadows, down him, sink her fangs into the flesh of his neck. He tells himself to keep calm, he says:

  ‘Oh yeah. Gallery. I see. How did you find this site?’

  ‘I just Googled escort services in Edinburgh. It was top of the natural search.’

  ‘Angels365.’

  ‘Did I make a good choice?’

  ‘I’m sure you did. Do you think they get a day off when it’s a Leap Year?’

  Monique cocks her head as if to say ‘Who knows?’

  He itches to check Xara’s page. The field report of her cavorting with a couple he recalls, but not whether she openly advertises this particular service. Could she have been a candidate in Monique’s recruitment process? Jesus – imagine opening the front door to find her on the threshold! While he’d be dumbstruck she’d stay calm, assume control… drop clever little remarks to tantalise his fears... knowing his body, his likes, desires… that look in her dark eyes saying now I really own you.

  He blinks and refocuses upon the prostitutes’ website before him. Though Monique has handed him permission to browse, he refrains from exploring further, ere his disobedient fingers default and rush like unleashed hounds to the spot where they once caught a rabbit unawares.

  Instead he scrolls down the introductory page, its bubblegum-card portfolio inviting the boys to collect. He wonders to what extent these girls are mutually acquainted; some advertise their ‘two-girl’ services in tandem with other named individuals on the site. Do they pore over one another’s web pages, and amuse themselves with punters’ field reports? The gallery displays a single photo of each woman, her pseudonym, her grading (Jasmin is ‘Adventurous’) and her approximate location for incalls. A ticked box indicates that out-calls are also available. Curiously – a small fact he hasn’t previously registered – Xara’s is unchecked. There is a mixture of blondes and brunettes – though more blondes than would be seen in the typical street, which he suspects says something about the girls’ perceptions of client preferences – and of skin colours, shapes and sizes. More salient is the variation in degrees of undress, from shots that might grace a high-quality lingerie catalogue, to the positively pornographic full-frontal, judiciously placed spread fingers preserving what little shaven modesty is left to the imagination.

  He homes in upon Xara’s picture – while her head is turned away from the camera, her pose invites the viewer to concentrate upon her polished tawny buttocks, drawn tight by the semblance of a g-string slicing between them. He wonders if Monique considered her, indeed what thoughts entered her mind as she first scanned this page. He finds Jasmin’s photograph. Like Xara she conceals her identity, a side-swept blonde veil revealing just a glimpse of nose, full lips and one sparkling blue eye. She numbers among those conservatively attired, posing in expensive-looking matching bra and pants. She has a bearing of intelligence, sophistication even, and perhaps of being in control of why she’s there. Could that be what influenced his wife’s choice? Had Monique delegated this task to him, Jasmin would not have been his pick; the more provocative would have won out.

  He guesses this adventure of Monique’s has been taking shape for some time. He can’t believe that their charged exchange, riding the sexual high in Jurmala – what, only three nights ago? – stimulated such a prompt and decisive outcome. And there are other little details that suggest premeditation. For the past few weeks she has intensified her exercise regime, daily throwing herself into aerobics in front of the tv; in Latvia each morning she’d unfailingly visited the hotel gym. She’d also told him in passing that she’s brought forward her regular beautician’s appointment; it’s rescheduled for tomorrow. Initially, other motives had crossed his mind. Next week she has a Board meeting in Paris; something she hasn’t mentioned of late. But perhaps these extra efforts are all about the girl. The explanation appeals to him. Naturally, she’ll want to look her best – he can understand that. He reflects on Jasmin’s superficial resemblance to Monique. Has Monique subconsciously selected a female not dissimilar to herself – or, indeed, intentionally so – and would that be for her pleasure… or to limit comparisons on his part? Would she secretly yearn to experiment with the extreme contrast of an exotic brunette (like Xara)? Maybe. But would she want him to do so? Oh – to get inside her head!

  ‘We can change her to another one.’

  Monique’s voice recalls him from his musings. Does she think he’s disappointed? But how does he deal with this – is enthusiastic delight what she wants to hear? He says:

  ‘No – she seems fine, really.’

  ‘She’s more expensive than most of the others. I thought that was a good sign.’

  Adam chuckles. ‘That’s not like you’

  ‘You get what you pay for, my darling. Except in my case, of course, when I give you everything for love.’

  ‘You’re too generous.’

  ‘Maybe I shall start charging you after this.’ She giggles.

  He doesn’t doubt she could charge as much as any of the girls before his eyes. He says:

  ‘You’ve spoken to her, I take it?’

  ‘Three times.’

  ‘Three times! How come?’

  ‘Just to make arrangements. Girl talk. She sounds very nice. We are quite good friends already!’

  ‘I don’t believe it. What are you like?’

  Adam reflects on this feminine aspect; even hardened call girls prefer a few minutes of seemingly inane chit-chat, when intuition does its silent work, like the coded circling before felines lock in combat.

  Now he asks:

  ‘And do you think she’s genuinely into… liaisons with girls? Or just making that up to widen her customer base?’

  ‘I asked her that. She told me she has been dating a girl – until recently. She says she is really looking forward to it. Of course, my darling, I have told her how sexy you are.’

  Adam shakes his head again, for her benefit, a kind of visual rendition of pinching himself.

  ‘And she’s coming here?’

  ‘Nine-thirty. I booked for two hours. Camille will be fast asleep and we shall have plenty of time to get ready and have some champagne or maybe a nice cocktail.’

  ‘Are you sure about this? Camille could wake up.’

  ‘My darling – you know she never wakes up. I feel better that we should do it at our home, where we are most comfortable.’

  She’s thought it through. Her territory. Her imposing battery of make-up and the full force of her wardrobe close at hand. Her bed. He wonders if she weighed these benefits against what he sees as the glaring risk of revealing their address, of inviting an unknown escort into their home. But, then – they’re a married couple – it’s not as if there’s anything to hide. As far as he knows it’s a legal commercial transaction. It’s not so different from having a visiting beautician or hairdresser… or masseuse, come to that. And he and Monique are hardly kiss-and-tell material – anyway, most of the people he knows would pr
obably be secretly impressed.

  Monique is looking at him quizzically, as if she detects his uncertainty. She says:

  ‘I said we would phone her tonight. So you can introduce yourself.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Look – it is easy. Just like talking to a normal girl – not like you would expect.’

  ‘Really?’

  A sense of premonition creeps like a spider from between his shoulder blades and systematically raises the hairs on the back of his neck. Conversing in the presence of his wife with someone who shares a web page with Xara doesn’t feel like a good idea. He attempts a weak delaying tactic:

  ‘What if she’s… working?’

  ‘Then she won’t answer, my darling. Try.’

  His mobile is lying at the end of table. Reluctantly he reaches for it. He looks up at Monique.

  ‘Should I withhold my number?’

  ‘They don’t answer – it says on the website.’

  ‘But she’ll get my number.’

  ‘What is the harm? She has mine already. Ring her. Put it on speaker.’

  Adam can’t think of a plausible excuse, and daren’t say he’d rather do it in private. Monique will ring if he won’t. He taps in the number displayed beneath Jasmin’s picture and lays the handset on the table. Staring intently at the computer screen, he asks:

  ‘Did you tell her our names?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There’s a muffled crackle and Adam holds up a silencing hand.

  ‘Oh hi – is that Jasmin?’

  ‘Aha.’ The voice is a little breathless.

  ‘Hi - this is Adam… you’ve been speaking with my wife?’

  ‘Who are you?’ She sounds like someone woken from a dream by a stranger.

  ‘Er… my wife - she’s called Monique?’

  ‘Do I know her?’

  He gestures to Monique and mouths: ‘Are you sure this is the right one?’

  She nods, confidently. He resumes the dialogue:

  ‘Jasmin? My wife, Monique, she found you through Angels365. I’m looking at a picture of you now. You’re wearing pink and black underwear.’