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Fantasy of the Month 7 (Prostitute)
He pulled up in a secure parking space in a small side-street off the main drag; there weren't any safe places closer to his destination. He locked the door of the jet-black Mercedes Benz and activated the car-alarm. It wouldn't stop anyone who was determined to steal it, but hopefully any prospective thieves might mistake it for one of the illegal security systems, the ones that used electric shocks and gas. He glanced up and down the dark street; no-one was about. He put on a pair of dark sunglasses, walked confidently towards the brightly-lit main road and turned left. This street was dotted with pimps, pushers, drunks and drug addicts, all moving to their own music; he walked through them resolutely. Occasionally, a garishly-done-up woman (tube-tops in bright, primary colours; very short leather or PVC skirts, black mesh stockings and thigh-length boots) would approach him as he passed and begin a sentence with "Hey, sugar", only to stop when he ignored them. Less frequently, similar propositions were offered by muscular men wearing tight tank-tops and leather caps. He passed them all. He walked past marquee displays edged in coloured lights, the occasional dead bulb breaking the illusion of movement like a missing tooth would ruin a smile, past signs promising LIVE GIRLS ON STAGE, HOT LESBIANS, BARELY LEGAL, SIZZLING 3-SOME, HARD-CORE 2 GIRL FANTASIES and variations on these themes, past saloon-style doors red-lit from behind. Eventually, the more seedy establishments gave way to buildings with not particularly inviting fronts, often with no more than a number and a gold-edged, mirrored glass door. He paused briefly outside number 97 and entered. The secretary behind the desk smiled in recognition as he approached. "Good evening! It's always nice to see a regular customer again... would you like to try something a little more, ah, adventurous? Or - " He cleared his throat nervously and replied, "No, thank you. The same as last time. Is Sally available?" The secretary checked her computer screen, pressed a few keys, frowned. "I'm afraid not, although she left a note with us to say that she really enjoyed her last session with you." He smiled. "We have a new girl, just started this week, who you might like." She pressed some more keys; a second screen, angled towards him, lit up with a colour image of a girl in her early twenties, short brown hair, metal-rimmed glasses giving her what he privately called the Fantasy Librarian look. He nodded appreciatively. The secretary picked up her phone, spoke quietly, hung up. "She'll be down in a few minutes." He waited, watching a third screen which showed some kind of blurry S&M scene, people wearing black leather ski-masks and handcuffs; the elevator at the end of the hall pinged, the young woman waved to someone still in the lift and approached him, eyes taking in his shoulder-length black hair tied back in a ponytail, his dark-grey suit, shiny black leather shoes, his mirrorshades. She was dressed for the part; faded denim jeans, white reeboks and an excessively fluffy black jumper. While handing his credit card to the secretary, he discreetly asked her, "Has she been briefed...?" The secretary nodded. "This is Jo." The young woman smiled. "Enjoy yourselves."
During the walk back to the car, some kind of invisible barrier seemed to have formed around them; the street sleazoids gave them a wide berth. Perhaps they'd been seen coming out of number 97; that place had a reputation. At one point, passing under one of the brighter marquees, he turned to look at her, saw her viewing the street-life and caught an ice-cold look in her eyes; the look of someone who had seen the worst humanity can dish up and had been entirely unmoved by it.
They didn't speak on the journey to his place; he led her up the steps into his apartment, took her into the darkened room where he had everything set up. They sat down on the unmade bed; she tugged a corner of the blanket over her legs and accepted a mug of steaming hot chocolate from him. He hugged her close and activated the VCR with a remote control; flickering blue light from the screen played across their faces. "Captain's log, stardate 41209.2. We are running at warp 7 to rendezvous with the science vessel SS Tsiolkovsky, which has been routinely monitoring the collapse of a red supergiant star into a white dwarf. What has brought us here..." |
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