Twisted (18 page)

This can be unpleasant, but it’s not the end of the world. All call girls are rejected once in a while.

The moment my teammate left, one of the guys called my pimp to ask for a replacement. Alexandra apologised, explaining that it was a weekend and all the girls were busy, and promised to send somebody as soon as possible.

We decided to wait a little while drinking, smoking green goddess, talking and laughing a lot. Then my clients left the room, ‘to have a word with each other’, as they put it. When they returned, they timidly explained that they both liked me, and asked if I wouldn’t mind fucking both of them. Either because I was already quite smashed, or because the guys were really fun, the idea didn’t seem that bad at all, and I agreed. As a result, we ended up performing all sorts of sandwiches in the fusion of drugs, fun, and lust.

So, after two weeks of intensive whoredom in Istanbul, I’ve made $1,560. Of course I want to make more, but I am not disappointed.

I am not feeling used and have nothing to complain about. It is my choice to do what I am doing. I could choose another route, like most of my schoolmates: enter the Kherson State Pedagogical University and go to work in a school, teaching history or Russian literature. Of course, one salary would not be enough for me to live a decent life. No matter how many extra hours I’d work or private lessons I’d give, there would still be days when I would go shopping for some basics like food or clothes, and would have to choose the tights over the kilogram of bananas because I wouldn’t be able to afford both. Eventually, I would get married to some decent husband, not because I’d be madly in love with him, but simply because our union would hopefully help us both to pay the rent or make our lives more affordable.

No, this is not the way I want my life to be. My situation is not the model of perfect living, but at least it is a realistic attempt to grab a chance to improve things.

The lively melody of my cellphone interrupts my thinking. I see Alexandra’s name on the display.

It is about ten o’clock in the evening. I am standing at the front desk of a very fancy residential building in Şişli. Inside and out it looks like a luxury hotel, the only difference being that these are fully serviced apartments instead of rooms and suites. I am waiting for the receptionist to check if I am an invited guest. He nods a few times into the receiver, then shows me the way to the elevator.

‘Floor seven, madam.’

I smile my thanks at him, and head towards the wide, shiny elevator doors. Inside there are predictable full-length mirrors. I take in my reflection critically, trying to judge my appearance as objectively as I possibly can. My fairly pretty face is enhanced with skillful make-up (something good and useful, at least, from my friendship with Masha – all her life she suffered from a fear that she didn’t look feminine enough, so she mastered the art of war-paint perfection). My wavy blonde hair flows down my shoulders. I’m in a modest, chic outfit – short-sleeved, light-blue blouse, knee-length flared white chiffon skirt, and some elegant silver high-heeled sandals that are high, but not overdone. I look sexy, but without the candid ‘I AM A UKRAINIAN WHORE’ look. I hate those I-know-who-you-are-and-why-you-are-here looks of the staff and guests of these hotels, and try to make sure that each time I cross another lobby, I at least plant a seed of doubt in those minds and make it harder for them to draw such conclusions. I’m happy with the reflection in the mirror, except for the obvious weariness in my eyes.

I look and feel exhausted! No wonder – it is my third call for today.

First, Alexandra woke me up in the afternoon from a comatose sleep resulting from last night’s job, which I’d generously supplemented with some heavy consumption.

‘Victoria, I have a job for you. Özgür from Ortaköy – I’m sure you remember him. He will be waiting for you in the same place as last time, at 3 p.m.’

I switched autopilot mode on and threw myself into a cold shower. It always worked – at 3:10 p.m. I was at the required destination.

Özgür was a ringed creature who was quick to come, always while wearing a condom, and generous to tip. To put it differently – a model client.

My 5 p.m. also wasn’t bad, but the emptor lay on his back like a cripple on the bed, inducing me to spur him on to a gallop for the whole, endless hour.

At 7:30 p.m. I got back home, took a shower, and had dinner. As soon as I’d comforted myself with the remote control and a bottle of beer on the bed, my phone buzzed again.

Trick number three turns out to be no older than 25 and answers to the name of Ali. He is a short youngster, although well-built. He is definitely a regular in one of the local gyms.

I don’t even look at his face until he hands me a glass of whisky on the rocks.

Wow …

His big, dark-brown eyes are charming and very naughty. He gazes into my eyes with a delightful and genuine smile, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. Apart from the looks, it is his sensational confidence that makes him a truly attractive man.

Hmmm … interesting ...

I quickly scan the dwelling: huge, open-plan lounge with modern furniture and up-to-date gadgets. It looks like there is only one bedroom, so he definitely does not live with his parents. I also try to spot something to suggest a live-in girlfriend, wife or any other permanent fuck-mate, but fail to find anything – it is a typical bachelor’s lair.

Okay … let’s take the rose-tinted glasses off and think rationally about this. He is handsome, young, attractive, confident and rich. There’s got to be something wrong with him. What is it? A small dick? Some kind of perversion?

‘You look tired, Victoria,’ he murmurs, his voice full of genuine concern.

He is kind as well! Seriously – what’s wrong with this one? He can’t be this faultless. What’s it going to be?

I shake my head energetically. ‘No, not at all, I feel great, but thanks for asking.’ I try to add as much get-up-and-go to my expression as I can. He smiles again and requests me to take a seat on his stunning white couch. It’s in front of an enormous flat-screen TV that hangs on the wall. There’s an unusually designed white glass coffee table between them.

‘I have something more serious for you.’ He pulls a little plastic bag of white powder from his pants pocket. ‘I hope you will join me.’

Oh my fuck, he is perfect! It’s my lucky day …

Questions about what he does, or how he achieved all of this – especially considering his age – begin to climb into my curious brain. And I guess my face does not want to work with me, making my thoughts clear as a bell instead, as if they were written on my forehead …

‘No, I am not a successful businessman, or some talented artist … I am an average student in the Faculty of Architecture at Bosphorus University. For all of this –’ his eyes take a trip around the room ‘– I have my parents to thank. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, my mom and dad are wealthy people who love me and spoil me a lot.’ I pick up the sorrow in his words.

I sniff a juicy line with cold neutrality on my face while nodding vaguely. I always feel confused, angry even, when the rich and spoiled fish for sympathy about their lives that are ‘so hard’.

The next question that begins to bug me even more is why the hell would he call Alexandra in the first place?

‘I am not doing this because I need to pay for sex.’

Damn! What is it tonight? Is he some kind of psychic, or is it my face that keeps failing to cooperate with me?

‘I just like beautiful, intelligent and sexy women … women like you, who don’t think of sex as a duty they have to perform to reproduce. I mean, I like to be with a woman who sees lovemaking as a great gift that we, as humans, are blessed to enjoy. But, unfortunately, most women I meet just use sex as a tool that helps them to get married; or even worse – they are ashamed of it, as if it is something dirty.’

I try hard to concentrate on what Ali is saying, but the tender touch of his fingers, which play with my neck while lightly tousling my hair, makes my skin prickle and my brain freeze.

He is wearing a white T-shirt, loose light-blue jeans, and nothing on his feet. One of his legs is folded under his thigh and the foot of the other is feeling the wood of the floors. It is sexy … everything about him is extremely sexy, composed, seductive.

Ali leans forward. Without touching my body, he kisses me, passionately sucking and biting my lips.

Oh my … he is good …

No, no, no … what is it? Is he a mutant with two dicks? Or … is his tool missing? I wonder which of these would upset me more ...

He stops abruptly and relaxes back, placing his arm again on the top of the couch so he can go back to playing with my neck. I sigh but don’t open my eyes, trying to prolong the unreal lust into which my whole body has just dived. It feels so heavenly and intense down my stomach. Eventually I open them. Ali is watching me with a contented smile on his face.

‘Have a drink, beautiful.’ His voice is calm and comforting. ‘Tell me more about yourself, your childhood?’

I begin the story about my sisters and their trip to France, which I couldn’t take with them; and how my friend Inna, who I bumped into about a month ago, is the reason for my being in Istanbul. He keeps asking leading questions, demonstrating his deep interest in my tale, pressing me for more details.

Without taking his eyes off my face, he slowly starts undoing the small pearly-blue buttons on my blouse, and pulls my bra cups slightly down, just enough to get better access to my nipples. He starts playing with them.

I automatically reach my arm out towards him, to answer his arousing strokes. Ali stops me, gently replacing my hand. ‘Don’t, beautiful … please continue … you were saying?’

No one has ever done anything like this to me before. Usually my sex-mates, clients or boyfriends lose interest in my boobies quickly, after a few squeezes and rubs. Men ignore them throughout intercourse, seeking compensation in the other parts of my body. Because of this lack of stimulation, I didn’t even know that my nipples were erogenous zones, capable of discharging so much warmth down to my crotch.

I understand that me talking at the same time as being stimulated so strongly is a part of Ali’s game. He gives me a simple task – to entertain him with some tales – and watches me fail to do it, because of the desire that fills up my body and mind. It’s pure amusement for him to see how, with only a few touches, he has changed me into his horny puppet. Without a doubt he can call the night a success, because my face is red, my voice becomes hoarse, my pulse and breathing quicken and all of my body tenses in its obvious plea to be fucked.

Some time later, when it turns into insanity and my pussy is swallowed by desire, and the only thing left in my entire world is how I’m dying for satisfaction, he slowly starts undoing his jeans. Next thing, he is tearing apart the foil of the condom. He rolls it over his not very long but thick and promisingly firm member.

My legs open slightly in irrepressible anticipation. My mouth opens to inhale deeply.

‘Lift up your skirt, beautiful. I want to see how much you want my cock inside you.’ I follow his instruction and reveal my splashing slit.

‘Good girl. Come here. Let’s see what I can do for you.’ He smiles, drags me up and places me on top of him. Then, tightly grasping both of my wrists behind my back with one hand, he searches through the layers of my skirt with the other, moves my panties to one side, grabs my ass, and nails me on his erection.

The flash of disappointment at being on top again dissolves in a loud, wild sound that breaks out of my throat, echoing the powerful wave of inconceivable pleasure that pierces my whole body, violently smashes into me, and scatters to my limbs like a million butterflies.

He straightens his back, making it easier for him to move me, control the rhythm, and suck and bite my nipples while keeping my hands still. One strike after another. Until I collapse.

For the next couple of days all I can think of is that night. It could hardly even be called a night – unfortunately it was over soon after I hit my really big O. But it was
the
night because of the divine sex I had with an awesome guy while consuming a perfect amount of the good stuff.

After I came, Ali didn’t give me much time to recover. My vagina was still convulsing when he brusquely lifted me up and put me back onto my weak, shaky legs behind the conveniently tall and wide armrest of the couch. Then he bent me over, throwing the white chiffon of my skirt over my head, and tugged my panties down to my knees.

‘Hold your butt cheeks with both your hands, beautiful, and do not let them go …’ His voice sounded calm but extremely demanding. I complied, shifting my feet, trying to get more sureness in my position. ‘Stay still and do not let them go,’ he repeated, with more affection this time, and forcefully penetrated me.

He fucked me hard while pulling back my hair, which he’d tied in his fist, saying over and over, ‘Don’t let your hands go, my angel. Good girl …’ until he came loudly, making me scream too from how he painfully pulled my hair even more …

Then he brought some wet wipes from the bathroom, apologetically explained that the next day he had very early classes and had to get some sleep, paid my fees, and showed me to the door.

That night was not only the best sexual experience I’d ever had, it was the only time I’d ever climaxed with a man inside me. Its not like I don’t know what an orgasm feels like; I’ve been a big fan of masturbation since I was thirteen. I’d been pleasuring myself almost every day, in the shower or in bed before going to sleep. Even zonked out Inna under the same blanket never stopped me. I grew up with two sisters, sharing one room, and I got used to them being a silent and non-participative presence while I was busy flying to another Promised Land.

Hmmm … coming with Ali felt so different. I guess that was what they call hitting the G-spot or a vaginal orgasm.

The sexual desire that built up and filled my body with the power of an avalanche during his foreplay was as frighteningly good as it was surprisingly intense for me too. I could never have suspected that my body was capable of that feeling. But when Ali started shoving me down on his cock, I simply lost it … The inner hit that stormed every inch of my insides dissolved my body, crushing me into countless colourful lights, like a 4
^th
of July discharged firework.