Loser

by Valerie J. Long

  “No? But everyone has one today!”

  “Not me. I never had enough money to make it worth having one.”

  Dora raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you stay with us, that will surely change. Tonight alone you’ve earned two hundred Euro.”

  “Two hundred?”

  “That’s your share after deduction of our agency and service fee. Lydia will tell you the rest.” She nodded toward the redhead and turned away.

  Lydia headed for a door and waved for me. “Come.”

  I gave the guard an unsure glance. “My stuff?”

  “Are already on the coatrack in the staff room. Would you like a coffee? Or water?”

  That reminded me of another issue. “I didn’t have anything to eat today yet.”

  “No dinner? Then let’s go to the bistro first. This way.”

  She turned right behind the door. The next room was furnished with tables and chairs. I only had eyes for the goods on the counter. Submarine sandwiches, salad plates, fruit—where should I start?

  No.

  “There are no prices.”

  “It’s free for active members. Grab some.”

  She didn’t have to say that twice. I reached forward and loaded my tray with fruit and salad, all that stuff that we had had so seldom at home—day-old bread had been cheaper.

  “You want to eat all that?” Lydia asked. “It looks as if you hadn’t had any for days.”

  “Since lunch yesterday, to be precise,” I corrected.

  “Oh damn, Johanna. And we let you go to the room hungry. That’s not acceptable. What happened to you? No—tell me later. Eat now. Meanwhile, I’ll tell you something about our wellness center, okay?”

  I nodded and took a forkful of salad. First, I wondered about the unusually intense taste, then I told myself that the ingredients all didn’t appear cheap here. So they could certainly taste better, as on the few occasions when I had joined Gülcan and her family for lunch—a vegetable trader had good things, after all. I hadn’t been there often, because I had felt embarrassed. We couldn’t afford to return the invitation to Gülcan.

  “This house—as many others later in other large German cities—was founded by Eva Keller. She started as an Escort for Dora, that is, as a company for men for dinner, for theater and later to bed—and at some point she decided to use her wealth to improve the situation and reputation of us prostitutes. She wanted to pull us out of the grubby corner. She doesn’t want to change the world—there will always be men in need of sex, and there will always be men less proficient in grabbing a woman. Men who are willing to pay for a nice evening. In exchange, there will always be women who don’t care to please such men, and who can’t get along in the job market. We bring these parties together and make sure that it’s pleasant and fulfilling for both sides.”

  “Sounds great. That works?”

  “We make it work. Mutual respect is part of it. A man following his urge isn’t bad for it. A woman who wants to please a man and have her own fun isn’t bad for it. The unbalanced distribution of genders—there are a lot more men who don’t find a woman—affects the money flow. That’s the principle of supply and demand.”

  “What about those men who just want a quick fuck?”

  “It’s not about quick or slow. It’s about respect. Guys who don’t understand that aren’t welcome here.”

  “Can you recognize them?”

  “Not always. But we manage. Beginners like you—don’t argue, you may have had a few fucks, but you don’t know what you’re missing—are assigned the nice regular clients, who like to have a change. Such as Mark, who’s an extremely nice client. New clients and potential problem clients only go up with the experienced girls. In the spectrum between, it depends on what you like. Anal, oral, threesome—you determine your profile, and if you don’t like a client, you stand back. On the screen you can see who’s coming in.”

  She pointed at a screen above the door, which showed the entrance hall, and which I hadn’t noticed before.

  “If you see a guy you like, you can go out and say hello. If he looks unappealing to you, you can pass. Otherwise Dora—or whoever’s at the desk—will come here and have a look who’s a potential match. Of course, your income depends on how picky you are.” She assessed me. “You’re young, slender, and have a pretty face and pretty tits. You should have a wide choice. As a rule of thumb, you shouldn’t turn down more than two in a row. The third one should be yours. Rule of thumb.” She looked deep into my eyes. “If there’s a whole gang of assholes, you can call it a day. It’s only about your attitude to work here at all, okay?”

  “Naturally,” I answered with full mouth. “I’m here to have sex.”

  “Fits. So, and now about your education. Our clients like to have a chat here and there. What about that? Done with school?”

  “No. It would have been another half year until my university-entrance diploma. I’ve canned that yesterday, too.”

  “Canned? Yesterday? Tell me.”

  I recapped my story.

  “This Selina is an asshole. But why can the diploma? Do you hate school?”

  “No. Boring or sucking, but I more or less got along.”

  “Would you want to finish your diploma?”

  “In Wiesbaden? With that pack? No.”

  “No. Here in Frankfurt. You’ve moved. We’ll find a school for you. So far, you’ve only missed a day, so we can explain that. Then you’ll go to school during the day and finish your diploma, and in the evening you’ll come here. Oh no, of course you’ll live here. And you’ll do your sports course, too. We need girls who are able to keep an all-too-bothersome guy at distance to her and others. We also have a few very delicate violets here, and you’ll meet them sooner or later. So, and now about your Mom. Do you have a phone?”

  I shook my head. A phone was something that cost money even if unused. In a household like ours, an unnecessary luxury.

  “Then you’ll send your mother a postcard. Needn’t tell much, only that you’re well and have a job and a place. That she can visit you if she changes her mind. That will help her once she’s overcome the loss of your father. Then she’ll feel less guilty to have kicked you out. That might save her life—and that’s better for your conscience. Believe me.”

  I wasn’t convinced. I didn’t think I owed my mother anything. But Lydia was my role model now, and a short postcard cost me nothing. Perhaps I owed that to myself—to tell that I had found my way.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “How did it go?” Lydia asked and placed her teacup next to me on the table, before she sat down.

  “Better than expected. A clear Good.”

  “Congrats. How did you do that?”

  “Mmyes—the courses in Wiesbaden were all between Satisfactory and Fair, so I should have arrived there. But the majors here went better, and the exams were okay, too.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “I think yes. It was more challenging.”

  “How do you mean that?”

  “Before, I’ve always been bored. School was bleak blather, the teachers’ questions were ridiculous, and my classmates’ answers were dopey. Here, I had to catch up an incredible lot. Moreover, I don’t have to worry about money. In Wiesbaden, I was always thinking about how to scratch up the money for the next decent lunch or new pants.”

  “Oh. Really so bad?”

  “Isn’t that the reason for most of the girls to come here?”

  “No,” Lydia replied to my surprise. “We have some who really need the money, yes. We have girls who are working as a supermarket cashier and want to treat themselves to some more. We have students who will become doctors one day and earn some pocket money. Some only come once or twice a week or on appointment.”

  “Oh, that’s why.” I had noticed the coming and going, but I hadn’t asked. The reason to work here was each one’s own business.

  “It’s easier to find a client here than through a student portal. And we’re offe
ring a certain protection, a framework within which we act.”

  I remembered being bilked and nodded. The house guaranteed my income and collected money from the client. All clean, legal, and transparent to the tax authorities.

  There was movement on the screen. I rose. “Clients.”

  “Hello. I’m Johanna, and what’s your name?”

  The client smiled at me and watched my nude body. “Jerome. You’re looking very cute.”

  “Thank you!” I made a nice curtsy. He looked quite appealing, too, and he seemed to be a newbie. “What’s on your mind today?”

  “Honestly? Nothing complicated. I only want a simple fuck.”

  After about three quarters of a year, I believed myself somewhat able to assess the men who came here. This one seemed to be easy, so I’d get along with him.

  “Fine. Come with me?”

  “Sure.”

  So I led him to one of the more plain rooms. Only a simple fuck?

  Once the door closed behind us, I began to check him out. I wrapped both arms around his neck and gave him a French kiss, while pushing one of my legs between his. He was already hard anyway, the thin summer pants’ fabric stressed to ripping.

  He endured the kiss—I could feel that he wasn’t in his best mood. But I needed a little time to get into the mood myself. To feel his cock and his impatience helped me with that.

  To keep him from thinking I was ignoring his wishes, I reached down with one hand and began to stroke the fabric around his member. He was already opening his pants. All well. I helped him there, let go of his neck, and placed his hands on my tits. That pleased him and he started to caress me. He still didn’t appear truly convinced, so I quickly unrolled a condom over his boner, briefly turned around to show him my ass, and then reclined on the bed with legs spread. “Like this?”

  “Yes!” In no time he was on and in me and began to push rhythmically. Two minutes later, it was all over.

  “Excuse me,” he said contritely. “I’ve been very self centered today. If I may, I’d like to return and take more time for you.”

  “If it’s so, then I’m looking forward to it!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Jo, good that you’re here,” Dora assaulted me, when I stumbled in through the back door, breathless and sweaty. I had just finished my thirty-kilometer run and only wanted a shower.

  “What’s up?” I thus asked rather impatiently.

  “Uncle Bob has called, he’ll arrive soon. He asked for crisp fresh meat. That would be something for you—the other girls will only come in the evening.”

  “Uncle Bob? What crisp fresh meat? Cannibalism?”

  “Uncle Bob is past seventy. He’s more or less through with sex, as that’s physically too strenuous for him. He comes once a year and enjoys a performance. You have Bi on your profile?”

  “Yes.” I had added that because many clients asked for a threesome. It didn’t bother me to cuddle with another girl and caress her a bit—the same happened in the staff room, too. Who else? They were all well-groomed, with agreeable manners and nice. Like sisters.

  It appeared stupid to me not to use this source of income, and I wasn’t stupid. Even if I had to share the income from one client with a colleague, it paid, because if I was good, the client would book me alone and for a longer session next time. And I could learn a lot I didn’t know yet from the colleagues.

  “What does performance mean, then?”

  “You do it with a colleague, and he watches. He pays extra if he likes it.”

  I frowned. “No sex with him?”

  “He’s more than happy if his member becomes a bit harder. He doesn’t want to be touched. He only wants a good show. Interested?”

  “With whom?”

  “Would Lydia be okay for you? She’d like to do it.”

  “Sure.” I quickly took off my soaked top. “Can I shower first?”

  “He’ll be here in ten minutes. Then you should be ready.”

  “Uncle Bob sets a high value on real passion,” Lydia briefly explained. “Fake moaning only makes him angry. I have to do you, okay?”

  “Okay.” With a threesome, in the end, it was the man who brought me to orgasm. To be done by a woman was a new experience. But Lydia was nice, so I didn’t worry. I was rather curious how she’d do it. Wait.

  “And I’ll do you, right?”

  “Uncle Bob is pleased by the sweet agony in the faces of very young girls with little experience. But if you want to do me, too, we’ll try that. Watch for my hints.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lydia knew her business. Her tongue in my crotch was an unforgettable experience, and my clitoris cheered under her treatment. In the beginning, I still noticed how Uncle Bob grunted contently and his member swelled, but with ongoing stimulation, I only rolled my eyes and enjoyed.

  Naturally, Lydia made sure our client had a good view of my wet crotch. Several times, she had to push my leg down when I had moved it into the line of sight. I memorized that.

  Oh damn, was that good! I hardly missed the lack of pressure in my channel, I only longed for the climax—now! I wanted to shout out my lust, but only managed a breathless squeak. Whatever. Breathe in—breathe out—air! What had made me so breathless?

  After my orgasm had faded, it was my turn—after all, the performance didn’t consist of just a single act. So I rose and signaled Lydia to recline and open her legs for me.

  I had never before satisfied a woman—except myself, of course. I knew what I liked, and I had just learned what Lydia believed would please me. That had to do. Stop. The foreplay between man and woman should work, too. What did the clients do to heat me up? Or if they weren’t immediately ready again? I developed a few ideas.

  As a minor side condition, I had to make sure to hold my crotch in Uncle Bob’s direction as often as possible—Lydia advised me of that by little nudges, at least in the beginning.

  I began by sucking her neck and her breasts. With my bush, I brushed her thighs. My knee approached her waiting cunt several times. When she tried to help herself, I pushed her hands away. No, sister, I’ll determine the pace.

  My tongue moved along her thighs. My tits touched her lower legs again and again. With my pubes I teased her toes. I felt her shivering. So I was on the right path, which I followed by tonguing circles around her pubes—again and again I approached her rosy pearl of lust, again and again I took a detour before reaching it. My hands moved to the fold between Lydia’s buttocks and her legs, with my fingertips I teased her protruding outer labia. Finally, I felt as if I had tortured her long enough. My fingers pulled her labia apart, and with my tongue I began to slowly circle her swollen clit. I noticed saliva running from my mouth, but I couldn’t stop now—the saliva had to drip into Lydia’s crotch and merge with her lubrication there.

  Lydia’s body trembled under my treatment. A long moan escaped her throat. I focused entirely on my licking, licking, licking—only this single small knob, which I would suck away! Again, I had to push Lydia’s hands away—no, you’ve no need to fumble here!

  The moaning changed to an elongated wail. Lydia pleaded, begged, howled, but mercilessly I alone determined the pace of my love play. Steadily, I increased the pressure, accelerated my tongue to a fast beat. Lydia clawed her hands into the sheets, bent backwards and pushed her pubes toward me, rested only on heels and shoulders—then her loud yell rang in my ears, and she collapsed.

  “Oh my god,” she groaned. “Jo!”

  I smiled at her. “Did you like it?”

  “Like it?” she protested, breathless. “That was the best cunnilingus of all my life! Jo, you were magnificent!”

  A quiet wheeze turned our attention to our spectator. I had completely forgotten him in the course of events.

  His member pointed steeply upward, and a white drop still hung from the tip. On the carpet in front of him, thick white stains gave evidence of his ejaculation.

  “This is a kind of applause, too,�
� I commented, grinning.

  Uncle Bob smiled back. “Do you have any wish, young lady?”

  I voiced what came to my mind spontaneously. “A bicycle.” Then I realized what I just had said. It was very immodest. “Oh. Excuse me.”

  Uncle Bob didn’t let me continue. “A bicycle. For a certain purpose?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I’d like to train for the Ironman.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “The Ironman? You believe you can do that?”

  “Don’t know. Running works, I haven’t tried swimming and bicycling yet.”

  “You should practice swimming. Terrible unfamiliar movements. You’ll feel pain.” He leaned forward. “You shall have your bicycle. Here?”

  I nodded.

  Uncle Bob turned to Lydia. “And you, Lydia. I believe it may sparkle, right?”

  Chapter Thirty

  With a little distance, this event appeared strange to me. In the end, it was a pure meat-market scene, a porn performance without camera. We turned our insides out and let a stranger share our intimacy without including him. When I served a client, at least it was a joint experience, then he was part of the intimacy, then he gave something of himself. Nevertheless, I hadn’t wasted a thought on this outside view during my act with Lydia. It had only been about giving her pleasure, and this per se and been good and right.

  Lydia definitely wasn’t unhappy about it. She beamed a happiness that I hadn’t seen in her before. “What’s up with you?” I finally asked.

  “You’re up with me.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll learn that. Ten, twenty years in this job can blunt you, no matter what you do. Sex every day except during the monthlies—at some point you know it all, or at least you think you know it all. The lust won’t go away, don’t worry, only it’s no longer this super kick. At least that’s what I thought until yesterday. Then you came.”

  “I’ve only improvised,” I objected. “I don’t have experience with women.”