A 21st Century Courtesan

by Eden Bradley

  “Oh, yeah, baby. Come for me. So good …”

  With my climax still shimmering through my system in small, lingering waves, I wrap my legs around him, beg him, “Please, Joshua. I need you inside me.”

  “Wait…”

  He reaches over the side of the sofa, comes back with a condom pulled from his pocket, I imagine. I'm just grateful he's thought of everything. Then he's kneeling up over me, slipping the condom on while I run my hands over the taut muscles of his stomach. He is watching me in that way he has as he lowers his body over mine. So slowly, making me need him even more, and his hands holding me down, pressing onto my shoulders, in that way he has which makes me feel completely taken over. That intensity is there, in the way his eyes glitter in the half-dark, in the tension in every muscle of his beautiful body, in the electric current in the air between us.

  When his cock probes at the opening to my body, I pull in a deep, gasping breath, my hands going to his hips, trying to pull him in.

  “Wait, Valentine. I want to enjoy every moment of this.”

  “Yes …”

  Yes, he's right. I am in too much of a hurry. I can't help myself. I know he'll make me come again.

  Oh, yes.

  He presses, and the tip of his cock slides right in, like steel over silk, I am that wet. My entire body throbs with pleasure, with anticipation. Then a little deeper. He stops, his expression one of exquisite pain, except that it is pleasure.

  “Jesus, Valentine. You feel so good, I can barely stand it.”

  My hand goes to his cheek; he is too beautiful at this moment for me not to touch him. Pleasure is like a thousand stars, burning into my body as he begins to move, just the tiniest surge of his hips against mine. And my chest feels tight, drawn, simply watching his face. My fingers trace along his jaw, over his lips, and he smiles. Then one hard, lovely thrust, and we are both groaning, panting.

  His hands bear down on my shoulders, really using his weight, until I am unable to move. I love this sensation of being held, of being helpless beneath him. Of being his.

  I am losing my mind.

  But when he starts to move, really pumping inside me, I am too lost in sensation to think anymore. It is just his body and mine, the lovely friction, the scent of him, the power of his touch, his dark gaze, and his smooth skin beneath my grasping hands.

  And as he thrusts into me, he moves one of his hands to my throat, presses just a little, just enough to constrict my airflow the tiniest bit, to make my body surge with alarm and hot, sharp pleasure. But I know so deeply that he won't hurt me. And I'm a little dizzy; desire acute, exquisite, incredibly intense. As intense as his gaze hard on mine, glittering. Bottomless.

  Pleasure courses through me in brilliant, stinging currents, burrowing deeper and deeper. It builds within me, taking me higher than I have ever been, before dropping me into that abyss, into his dark gaze, into him. And I shatter, coming so damn hard I am blinded, breathless, shaking.

  He tenses, pumps harder into me, so deep I can feel him hitting my cervix. Pain and pleasure all mixed together, and the hammering beat of my heart, the throbbing of my own climax still heavy in my body.

  I am spent. But so content to lie here with Joshua's weight on top of me, with the scent of sex in my nostrils. We are both damp, breathing hard. He lifts his head to brush a kiss across my lips. I want him to keep kissing me, but I truly cannot move, cannot speak.

  I am so afraid of what I'm feeling at this moment.

  I decide not to think about it.

  No, it's too good to think about him. About his softening cock still inside me, the warmth of his big body against mine, that lovely pressure holding me down, holding me together in some strange way. His skin is so incredibly soft for a man, with that hard-packed muscle underneath.

  I run my hands over him, feeling the texture of his body. And he begins to kiss my cheek, tiny, soft kisses that flutter over my skin like air. Only it's his warm lips on my cheek, then on my mouth. And as I sink into his kiss, my heart fills, warms, and I am crying. I can't stop. Quiet tears that slip down my cheeks.

  “What's this, Valentine?” he asks, his voice soft and sweet.

  “I don't know.”

  And I don't. It's all so damn confusing to me. I don't know why I'm crying, what I'm feeling. But the strangest part is that I don't want to run away from it, from this moment. I'm fine, with Joshua whispering to me, wiping my tears away with his hand. I really am.

  He doesn't ask for more explanation, and I'm grateful. I couldn't give him one right now.

  This is alien territory for me. And I'm afraid, yes, but also accepting of it. For now. There will be plenty of time to dissect it all later, in the safety of Lydia's office, perhaps. But for now, I just need to be here with him. It makes me feel strong, somehow. It's enough. It's more than I've ever had before. This moment is mine—ours. I'm not giving it away to the past. For once.

  Chapter Nine

  I COME OUT OF sleep with warm hands on my cheeks, his lips on mine. I don't want to open my eyes, don't want this to end, this lovely dream state where the world can't intrude, where everything is fine. And he is kissing me so hard I can't think.

  Finally, he pulls away.

  “Valentine, baby, I have to go.”

  Fuck. And there it is. Inevitable reality.

  “I know,” I tell him, my lashes fluttering open, my fingers curling around his wrist. His flesh is warm.

  “I wish I could stay with you all day. Just stay here in bed with you,” he tells me, his voice quiet, husky with sleep still. I can smell the soap from the shower on him. His hair is damp when I reach up to pull his face in for another kiss.

  He groans. “I really have to go to work.”

  “I'm sorry. I don't want to make you late.”

  “I'm sorry I can't stay.” He pulls back, his eyes on mine. “I don't want to leave you now.”

  My chest hurts, just looking at him, listening to his tone, his words. If he doesn't leave right now I feel like I'll crack, just break apart. I can't figure it out. He just gets inside me and it's suddenly too much to handle.

  He leans in, kisses me again, his fingers going into my hair. Ah, so nice. Too nice.

  Please go.

  I can't believe I'm even thinking this. But I need some time to assimilate everything that's happening inside me.

  “I'll call you tonight, okay?” He smiles, laughs a little. “Hell, I may call you at lunchtime. I don't know if I can wait until tonight.”

  I just smile at him, nod my head. I can't talk to him now.

  But he seems satisfied. He gives my hair a playful tug and then he's gone, leaving me alone with my whirling thoughts.

  I keep coming back to this confusing, frightened place. I can't calm down enough to really think. My body, my mind, crave the safety of sleep, but I know I'm too worked up to fall asleep again. Totally impossible, with my heart pounding, my pulse racing. Instead I get up and get right into the shower, blasting the hot water.

  It scorches my skin as I get in and stand under the spray, but I need it, need something that intense to get my mind off what I'm feeling. Something to focus on. I pick up my favorite bottle of liquid soap, squeeze it out onto my palm and run it over my skin until I'm slippery all over, smelling like orange blossoms and vanilla. Then I move under the water, letting the heat rinse away the soap, along with some of my anxiety.

  I really need to calm down. Just calm down so I can think this through.

  But even as that idea flits through my brain, the water hits my nipples, and they immediately go hard. And in moments I am thinking of Joshua, of his clever hands, his lovely mouth on my body, his cock inside me. I am wet, inside and out, swollen with need, needing him again. My hand goes between my legs, finding my throbbing clitoris. So damn sensitive, a little sore from my night with Joshua, but ready for more.

  Taking the handheld sprayer, I spread my thighs and aim it at my clit. Warm and wet, pounding against that tender flesh, pleasure s
weeps through me. The water from the ceiling-mounted showerhead washes over my body, and the sprayer pulsates against my aching mound, and I can see his face, his lush mouth, that small scar that makes me want to kiss him over and over.

  Oh, yes …

  My hips are pumping now, fucking the water, fucking his invisible hands, his mouth, his cock, milking him for pleasure.

  My orgasm hits so quickly, with such sudden intensity, I gasp aloud. Sharp, powerful, making my body bow, my sex pulse.

  Joshua!

  Oh, yes, it's always him, only him.

  I shove two fingers deep inside, driving my climax on. My sex clenches hard, and I am nearly crying with pleasure, with need. And then I am crying, my tears mingling with the water. I sink to the shower floor, unable to stand. Unable to understand what's happening to me. Unable to bear it.

  I don't even know what I'm crying for. Nothing. Everything. Because I'm finally happy and I don't know how to deal with it, maybe.

  Fuck.

  The water turns cold, finally, shocking me, and I stand, shut it off, get out and dry myself. As I run the towel over my skin, the postcrying numbness fades away, and I realize I feel less conflicted. Stronger. As though the tears have emptied something toxic from my system. I realize I am going to have to deal with this. I am simply going to have to find a way. I can't spend my life masturbating, or curled up on the shower floor. Fucking ridiculous.

  Calmer, I take my time doing my makeup, drying my hair, getting dressed, finding comfort in the daily ritual. I don't even know who I'm getting dressed for, what I'm going to do with my day. I don't know what I want to do.

  I slip into a cotton knit dress, a mossy green I've always thought looks good with my green eyes. A pair of gold hoop earrings, a few bangle bracelets to match, and a new pair of boots in a deep chocolate suede with high heels.

  I'm ready. I just don't know what for.

  When I move into the living room I see my purse sitting on the table in the entry hall. I'd turned my cell phone off yesterday. I know I should check for messages. I don't want to. I don't want to deal with anything. I am too at odds in my own body right now. But, being the good little hooker that I am, I pull the phone out of my purse, turn it on, retrieve my messages.

  It's Colin, wanting to see me today. Colin, of all people. My pretty, dirty boy. Filthy dirty. But perhaps he's exactly what I need to pull me out of this bubble in my head.

  I feel stronger today. Confident. A little more in control. And working will make me feel even more so. It always does.

  I dial his number, and we agree to meet at ten-thirty. He often likes to meet in the morning, rather than waiting for lunchtime or evening for his sex, like most clients do. Anything that makes the event seem a little more tawdry.

  He's given me the address of a small motel in the Valley this time. I have a cup of tea and some toast, water my orchids, watch the morning news, and then it's time to go. I get in my car and pull away from my house, from my little safe haven that no longer feels quite as safe as it once did. Nothing does.

  I follow the twisting road down from the hills and head for the 405, take it north into the San Fernando Valley. It's a bit of a trek, but everything in Los Angles is far from everything else. Taking the 101 cutoff, I head west, exit at De Soto, follow it north, up into Chatsworth.

  Chatsworth is the capital of the porn industry. I have no idea why so many porn studios film here. It's a thoroughly middle-class area. Too damn close to where I grew up, the street names all too familiar: Victory, Roscoe, Devonshire. But I can't think about that now.

  I swing onto Devonshire and follow it for a few blocks, until I find the motel. It's not nearly as bad as the last one off Sunset, but still sleazy enough to make Colin happy.

  I pull in and park, and Colin is standing by the door of a room on the first floor. He whistles as I get out of the car.

  “Classy today,” he says.

  Damn. I forgot to change into one of my slutty outfits for him.

  “Just trying to mix things up for you,” I tell him, trying hard to smile.

  Get into the groove, Valentine.

  “No problem. It's all coming off, anyway.” He takes my hand and pulls me inside.

  The room is nothing special: faded paint, an even more faded floral bedspread. Everything just a little ugly and old. Except the pretty and shining Colin himself.

  “You could have been an actor, Colin,” I tell him. And it's true. He's that pretty.

  “I would have made a lousy actor. I can't lie. Can't play anything off.”

  “Really? Where do you tell your wife you've been when you're fucking me in some sleazy motel?”

  Shit. Why am I baiting him?

  But he doesn't seem to notice. “I don't say a damn word to her about it. I save all the talking for you. So I can tell you exactly how I'm going to fuck you, Val. How hard, how deep. Whether I'm going to fuck your pussy or your amazing ass. Have I told you how amazing your ass is?” He moves in, puts his hand on my shoulder, dips his fingers beneath the fabric of my dress. I feel a shiver, but it's not anticipation, not the usual pleasure.

  Get it together!

  “How do you want it today, Colin?” I say, trying to work the usual purr into my voice.

  “Get naked and I'll figure it out.”

  I pull my dress over my head, feeling oddly exposed in my bra and thong in front of him.

  “All of it,” he says, his brilliant blue eyes gleaming.

  Why do I feel so uncomfortable? Every nerve in my body is screaming, my muscles tight all over as I reach back to unhook my bra.

  I cannot do it.

  Fuck.

  I stop, shake my head. I reach for my discarded dress, picking it up off the floor, and slip it back over my head. “I'm sorry, Colin. I don't know what's wrong. I'm not feeling well. I'm sorry.”

  His face hardens for a minute, his brows drawing together. But then his features relax, and he looks almost concerned. Maybe he sees me shaking. Maybe I'm pale. I feel pale.

  “You alright, babe?”

  “No. I'm not. I'm sorry. I have to go. I'm sorry.”

  I'm out of there so fast, I don't even remember how I get to my car, but suddenly I am sitting in it, leaning into the leather seat. My breath is coming in hard pants.

  Breathe. Just fucking breathe.

  When I look up Colin is standing at the open door of the hotel room, his cell phone against his ear. Maybe calling Deirdre. Maybe calling for another girl. I don't care right now.

  I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, heading back toward home. But what am I going to do there? Crawl back into bed, spend another day sleeping, dreaming, when my life is falling apart around me? While I let it happen?

  I am totally out of control. The strength I felt earlier, the strength Lydia talks about, was apparently just an illusion.

  I make it to the 101, my mind almost blank, a weird rage surging through my system, before I realize what I need to do. Pulling my cell from my purse, I call Deirdre. Her assistant puts me through right away.

  “Yes, Val?”

  Cool as ever. Cool as a cucumber. Cold as ice.

  “Deirdre, I need to talk to you.”

  “Alright. Let's set up a time, shall we?”

  “No, it can't wait. I'm sorry. I need to speak with you now.”

  “What's going on, Val? Is there a problem?”

  “Did you get a call just now from Colin Harper?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “Maybe. Probably.” I pause, pull in a deep breath, concentrate for a moment on changing lanes to get back on the 405. “I just left him and … I walked out on him, Deirdre.”

  “What?” Anger in her voice, beneath that slick surface. “Explain yourself, Val.”

  “I think … I think I need some time off.”

  She is quiet for a moment. I can almost hear her brain working, a faint click and whir, computerlike, assessing the situation in mere moments. “Yes, I agree. That's an
excellent idea.”

  “I'll call all of my clients.”

  “No, I'll have Cynthia call. If you need time off, then you shouldn't speak with any of them.”

  She's right. “Yes, of course. But, Deirdre, when she talks to Louis—”

  “We will handle it, Val. You do whatever you need to do. Are you seeing Lydia Foster?”

  “Yes. I had my first visit with her and I think … it brought up a lot of old issues …”

  God, I do not want to explain myself to this woman.

  “Very good. Keep seeing her. I'll be in touch. And, Val, do not contact your clients directly, do you understand what I'm saying?”

  “Yes, of course. I understand completely.”

  I don't want to talk with any of them, anyway. What could I possibly say? No, better to let The Broker and her staff handle it. More professional. And we are nothing if not professionals.

  Of course, currently, I am not even that anymore.

  I expect to feel some sort of dread, but all I feel is relief.

  We hang up and my next call is to my therapist. I tell her I have to see her, that I'm having a crisis, and it's true. She agrees to see me right away.

  Exiting the freeway, I make my way to her office. When I get out of the car I am struck by the ocean scent in the air, the quiet solidity of the greenery climbing up the old brick walls of her building, and I feel the tiniest bit better simply knowing I am here.

  I go upstairs and she ushers me into her inner sanctum, waves me to the chair. The moment I sit she hands me a box of Kleenex. I take it without protest.

  “Tell me what's happened, Valentine.”

  “I just… I think I …” but before I can get the words out I'm crying, tears washing in a mad torrent down my cheeks. I haven't cried this much since I was ten years old! But no matter how disgusted I am with myself, I can't seem to stop.

  It all comes out between choked sobs: my time with Joshua, the realization of my feelings for him. The epiphany of sex—no, making love—with him! The epiphany of being happy. Then today, my failed meeting with Colin, the absolute need to stop working for the first time in nearly a decade. How absolutely broken I feel. And how certain I am about the need to change my life.