Back in Service

by Heidi Lowe

  “Oh, Erica. You’re really something,” she said, once the laughter had died down. She beckoned me forward, and I straddled her on the couch.

  “Not very sexy, was it?”

  She kissed me. “You’re always sexy to me.”

  The moment was, thankfully, recovered with her kisses. And before long she removed my bra and thong, my remaining items of clothing, and I was riding her fingers to climax.

  I stayed like that for a while as we kissed, her fingers still inside me. When she exited, I refused to move from that position. Her kisses were like a drug to me.

  “Why did you ask me to send my driver to pick you up from a motel? Were you on another date?”

  An hour later, after graduating to the bed and screwing again, we were eating strawberries and drinking mimosas.

  “No...” I stuffed a strawberry into my mouth, tried to stall. Then, “I kinda live there.”

  “Kinda? You’re living in a motel? When did that happen?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Not you, too, I thought to myself. While her concern, along with Dana’s, was admirable, it made me feel lousy, like something to be pitied.

  “Because it’s no one’s problem but mine.”

  She was quiet for a while, then she got up. “Get dressed.”

  Dumbfounded, I blinked at her. “Where am I going?”

  “You’re coming with me. I want to show you something.”

  Uncertainly, I did as she asked, climbed back into my sexy nurse’s outfit as she pulled on her clothes. Then we left.

  She stayed tight-lipped about where she was taking me, though in fairness we were lip-locked the whole twenty-five minute journey.

  “We’re here, Mrs Mirchoff,” her driver announced, cutting the engine.

  I separated myself from Algebra, peered out the window. A block of condos towered over us, maybe six stories high.

  She got out and I followed suit. She smiled upon seeing my confusion. “Let’s go inside,” she said, and started off in the direction of the entrance. I quickly followed behind her. We rode the elevator to the third floor, all the while she smirked.

  “Is this where you live?” I asked her, as we stepped into the corridor.

  “No,” was her sole, mysterious response.

  She led me along the corridor until we came to apartment eight. She selected a key from her bunch and twisted it in the lock.

  “Okay...” I said, once we stepped inside and the lights buzzed on. The place was completely bare — not one piece of furniture. The decor was an immaculate, neutral white, the room spacious. Units divided the living area from the kitchen area.

  “We’ve had it on the market for eight months. Our realtor thinks we should rent it out, but I’ve heard too many horror stories. Besides, it’s not as though we need the money for the mortgage. We paid cash.”

  The living room window had a nice view of the communal gardens. I wondered if the other three blocks shared the same garden.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “My reluctance to rent stems from not trusting people I don’t know. But you...” She prowled toward me, her high heels clicking against the laminate tiles. “I know you’d look after it.” She put her arms around my neck, dropped light kisses to my lips.

  “Me? I couldn’t afford this.”

  “You wouldn’t have to,” she said with a laugh. “Well, not with money...” She started unbuttoning my coat.

  “You’ll let me stay here in exchange for sex?”

  “You make it sound so dirty.” She started on the dress next. With no curtains to conceal us, I feared just about everyone in the surrounding condos would see.

  “You just want to get out of paying me,” I laughed, as she kissed and sucked at my neck. “I accept this and then what?”

  “You’re available whenever I want you.”

  “I’m available whenever you want me now,” I said. My schedules didn’t normally clash. I’d never had to cancel or postpone with her.

  “I can come here whenever I want... and I come first.”

  She pulled me down to the floor, and we lay on my coat, kissing.

  “You know I can’t accept this, don’t you? Not that I wouldn’t love to live here. It’s just... I go back to London soon, and the motel is only temporary. I’m going home again.”

  She got out of her clothes so fast I hadn’t even noticed her undressing.

  “Just think about it.” That was the last thing she said before she mounted me in the sixty-nine position — her sex at my mouth, her mouth to my sex. I’d done this with her once before and had failed miserably, unable to concentrate on my own task of gobbling her down while she munched and feasted on my offering. It seemed as though my pathetic attempts to pleasure her made her work more diligently, more fervently.

  I fared better this time around, giving as good as I got, though it took real concentration. Her tongue was relentless in this position. I squeezed her thighs, could hear the lapping and slapping of our tongues hard at work. I didn’t care that someone might have been watching our display. Getting her off, and allowing her to do the same to me, was all that mattered.

  I came hard, before she got there; but not wanting to appear selfish, I continued eating her until she expired.

  “I hope we have plenty more nights like this here,” she said.

  When her driver pulled into the motel parking lot, Algebra drew me into a kiss that was both sensual and sweet. She’d insisted on taking me home, despite my protestations.

  She didn’t get out of the car, but wound down the widow to take a look at the miserable place that had been my home for three weeks. She scrunched up her face.

  “Tell me you’ll think about it,” she said.

  I laughed, pecked her on the lips through the window. “I will.” I waved goodbye, and watched the car pull out of the parking lot before speeding away.

  My head was still spinning from the offer, from the sex, from the affection as I unlocked the door to my room.

  “Was that one of your clients?” I heard behind me.

  Startled, I spun around to find Moses standing at my door.

  “W–what the fuck are you doing here?” My heart was pounding so fast, through anger and fear. His presence at my home, absent Jo, could only have spelled trouble.

  His smile was sinister against the nighttime backdrop. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d visit my favorite dyke escort.”

  I tried to close the door, but he pushed his way in.

  “If you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police,” I said, rummaging through my purse for one of my phones, my palms sweaty.

  He boxed the phone out of my hand, slammed the door shut, laughed. “What are you gonna tell them, huh? That you’re a selective whore who only fucks women?”

  “Get out!” I screamed, as he skulked toward me. “I swear to God—”

  “I’ll pay, don’t worry. I’m nice like that.”

  I searched for something, anything, with which to hit him. Maybe the desk lamp. No, my stiletto heel in his eye would do the trick. But as I went to kick them off, he charged at me, knocking me to the floor.

  “Get off!” I screamed, trying to wrestle my way free. He wasn’t going to do this, I was certain of that, because there was no way I would let him.

  He pinned me down, looked at me with a heinous grin, getting real amusement from my struggles. “I’m not going to do anything to you,” he said. “I just want you to know what it feels like to have a man on top of you.”

  I screamed and he released me, got to his feet. I scrambled to my knees, retrieved my shoe and held it up threateningly.

  “Get the fuck out of my room.” My voice was trembling, so too were my hands. But if he tried anything again, I knew I could do it, could defend myself by any means necessary. “When Jo hears about this—”

  He cackled. “Like she’d believe you over me.”

  I di
dn’t think he would leave so easily, but he did. As soon as he was gone, I dashed to the door, locked it. Then I hugged myself, completely shaken up.

  TWELVE

  I wandered into the living room early the next morning, rubbing the grit from my eyes. My head felt like it weighed a ton, like I’d been drinking heavily the night before.

  “Morning, love,” my dad announced in his cheerful way.

  I yawned out a good morning, sat at the table. My mom peered down at her coffee, made a conscious effort not to look at me.

  “Did you sleep well in your old bed?” Dad continued. He was already ready for work, so it must have been close to eight.

  “I guess.”

  “You seemed pretty upset last night. You wanna tell us what happened?”

  He’d opened the door for me the night before, because I was too tearful to do it with my key, still trembling from my encounter with Moses. I’d run right into my dad’s arms without saying anything, and let him comfort me. I felt so safe there. My dad wasn’t the biggest guy in the world, but he could easily have snapped that little dick Moses in half.

  Of course he wanted to know what the matter was, and of course I didn’t tell him. I just asked him to get my bags from the trunk and bring them inside, which he did without question. My mother had said nothing, though she’d brought me a glass of water and changed my bedsheets. Such small gestures, but so meaningful in my time of need.

  “Oh, it was nothing,” I said dismissively.

  “Didn’t look like nothing.” He wasn’t going to drop it, not after last night’s display. “Did something happen at the motel?”

  I didn’t tell him about Moses for the same reason I didn’t tell the police about him: the little shit had a big mouth, and there was no way he would keep my secret profession to himself.

  “I missed you guys, that’s all,” I said.

  He didn’t believe me, and a hint of irritation at my obvious lie passed across his face as he bit into his toast.

  After he left, I made myself some cereal, then sat back at the table with my mother.

  “Are you staying?” was the first thing she’d said to me since I got back. Her posture was stiff, her tone frosty.

  “Unless you don’t want me here.”

  She didn’t answer that, but said instead, “What really happened last night? Did it have something to do with...what you do?”

  “No.” The weirdness between us was still so apparent, and probably would be for a long time to come, now that she knew about me.

  She took a deep, unsteady breath. “I want you to stop, Erica.”

  I gave her a steely-eyed look. “I can’t do that.”

  “I won’t keep lying to your father.” With that she left the room.

  I went back to sleep until the work phone buzzed and woke me up in the afternoon. I reached blindly for it on the night stand, my head buried in the pillow. When I could be bothered, I looked at the screen. A message from Dana.

  The butterflies in my stomach went wild, as they usually did when I thought about her. This only infuriated me. I didn’t want to feel that way about her, not after our last night together. I wanted to hate her, to be strong enough to stay away from her, but my stupid heart had its own ideas.

  She wanted to see me, tonight.

  What I did next was silly, and childish, but I couldn’t stop myself. As I typed out the words, “I’m busy, but I’m sure your husband would keep you company”, my heart pounded against my chest. As my thumb hovered over the send button, I felt light-headed. If I sent it, that would have been the end of whatever we were. There would be no going back. If you really do hate her, prove it, my inner troublemaker goaded.

  I pressed delete instead, erasing my angry words. A relieved sigh escaped my lips. Because, despite my fury at her, I had no right to it. How could I despise her for loving the man she’d married? I couldn’t see his appeal, but she clearly could. And as much as it pained me to admit it, it was obvious that he loved her. He’d walked in on her naked, in bed with another person, and he hadn’t freaked out. Whatever their arrangement was, he didn’t feel threatened by me; he knew he didn’t have to. They were rock solid. I had to accept that.

  I sighed, then messaged back letting her know I was free.

  It was easy to forget that she wasn’t mine alone when I was on top of her, her hands roving over my breasts, hardening my nipples against her palms. Or when I had my tongue and fingers between her thighs, simultaneously stimulating her; my tongue circling her nub while my fingers prodded and pounded deep inside. Or when she was murmuring loudly and crying my name, telling me how great I was, how amazing I felt. Or when we were scissoring, facing each other, holding hands, never breaking eye contact. Or, or, or... Every moment we spent together felt like I was her one and only, that there was no husband. And every minute I spent in her embrace made it harder for me to accept that she was someone else's wife.

  “I feel better knowing that you’re back at home, not in some filthy motel,” she said. A couple of hours had passed, and we were sitting up in bed, me between her legs, while her arms were around my waist.

  “My dad’s happy at least.”

  “Not your mother?”

  “My mom...” I didn’t know what to say but the truth. “She knows about what I do.”

  “You told her?” she said, shocked.

  “She overheard me talking to Jo. That’s why I moved out.”

  “And what did she say? God, I can only imagine.” I heard the distress in her voice, like it was her mother who’d found out that she was selling her body, like this nightmare was hers.

  “She wasn’t happy, let’s just put it that way. But it’s fine now. My dad doesn’t know.”

  She fell into a pensive silence to the point that I thought she’d fallen asleep. I twisted around to look at her, and there was something in her eyes, something pained and tormented.

  “Maybe you should think about giving it up,” she said finally.

  “I can think about it all day long, but my bills and living expenses still need to be paid,” I said with a laugh.

  Her face was serious. “Do you want to give it up?”

  I shrugged. “I kinda like the attention.”

  She said nothing else on the matter, just kissed the back of my neck.

  These were the moments I cherished most — our little talks, the cuddling, the musings. Even before we’d slept together those moments had been precious. I felt as though I could tell her everything.

  “Something happened to me at the motel...” My tone suddenly darkened.

  “What?”

  “Jo’s boyfriend, the asshole I told you about, he attacked me.”

  She twisted me round to look at her, eyes huge, alarmed. “What? Did he—”

  “No, not like that. Well, almost like that. He was waiting for me when I got home, pushed his way inside, and pinned me to the floor.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He let me go. He wanted to show me he could do it, I guess.”

  I could almost hear her blood reach boiling point. “I hope that son of a bitch is in jail now.”

  I looked away. “I couldn’t go to the police. He knows about me, remember?”

  “So he gets away with assaulting you?” Her voice was raised, her face had turned red with rage. She reached for her cellphone on the bedside table.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I'm calling the police. We need to get him off the street.”

  I grabbed the phone from her, set it back on the table. “There’s no point,” I said calmly. “I have no proof. He pinned me down, that was it. If I go to them with that, they laugh me out of the station.”

  She let out an exasperated breath, reluctantly backed down. “Have you told Jo at least?”

  That was the thing I dreaded the most. I shook my head. “It will kill her. For some unknown reason, she likes that jerk.”

  “You need to tell her.”

  She was ri
ght. I couldn’t put something like that off, not if it meant Jo was in danger. What if he did the same, or worse, to her?

  “Can you just hold me,” I said, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

  She cuddled me tighter, and I closed my eyes, relaxing in her embrace once more.

  Two days later, when I'd run out of excuses to keep putting it off, I pulled into Jo's driveway, armed with courage. I noticed her car. She was home, so there was no backing out.

  Her mother opened the door. “Evening, Erica. Joanna's upstairs.” She was heading out. I said goodbye to her, took two deep breaths, then slowly ascended the stairs.

  I knocked on the door. “Hey, Jo, I need to tell you something,” I said, and tried the handle. Locked. I knocked again. “Jo?”

  Moments later, I heard the lock twisting, then the door flew open. A flustered, red-faced, messy-haired Jo greeted me in a vest top and shorts.

  “Your timing is terrible.” She laughed nervously.

  “Why?” I needn't have asked. Within seconds, a shirtless, pant-less Moses crept up behind her and put his arm around her. The callous, victorious smirk he gave me went unnoticed by Jo.

  “Come back to bed, babe,” he said, kissing her head.

  “You piece of crap!” I couldn't take it. Seeing him there, cuddled up with her as though he hadn't assaulted me a few nights earlier, caused a rage in me I'd never felt before.

  Jo's eyes nearly popped from their sockets. “Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

  “Why don't you tell her what you did to me the other night, you disgusting pig?” I pointed a furious, shaky finger at him.

  His smirk quickly switched to a look of pure innocence and confusion when Jo spun around to look at him. I couldn't believe it. He was playing dumb.

  “I have no idea what she's talking about, babe.” He even gave a little laugh, like I was crazy.

  “Wednesday night, I came home and he was waiting outside my room at the motel,” I started, my breathing erratic. “He barged in and pinned me to the floor...”

  “What the hell? She's lying. I was working on Wednesday night, I told you that.”