Going Up and Going Down (20 page)

“‘Allo, Mees.
Fo… give me,  my…’ow you say…friend (I gasped in shock when I heard his
friend’s name, one of Simon’s clients) say to give you…a reeng! ‘Ee say ‘ow you
may …elp…wiz…ze…my…porbelm, oui?”

“Prob-lem, you
mean? I offered,

“Oui…erm…yes…prob…lem!”
I smiled as I was listening to his broken English, totally bemused.

“Is it a
problem of a sexual nature?”

“Erm…yes…je…I
‘ave a certain...’ow you say…needs…’eez zis…er ...cor rect?”

“Yes, that is
correct Monsieur. You want to organise a date?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle!
Je compren…non…I…er…understan…wot cost eez in uros (he pronounced it ooros),
yes?”

I took the
advantage whilst we were discussing money to tell him how much it would cost him
in pounds sterling.

“Certainement.
‘Eez ‘zis…er …prob lem…for you…my..’otel…(he told me its name)…Eathrow…Aeroport…sep…er…nine..teen…hundred…
heures, tomorrow?”

Well, this
promised to be fun. He didn’t bother telling me his room number, he said it was
hard to find and it would just be easier to meet me in the foyer. He would be
wearing a purple shirt, and talking into his mobile phone, near the reception
desk. I was not to approach him, or talk to him - just follow him, at a
discreet distance. I’d told him what I would be wearing and also that I would
use a purple clip in my hair.

I caught a
train to Heathrow, and opted for a short cab ride, instead of taking the
fifteen to twenty minute walk to the hotel.  Being a little too early, I
approached the bar, ordered a G & T. and sat down on one of the big squashy
sofas. I positioned myself so that I was able to see most of the reception desk
and beyond, took a book out of my satchel, and made a show of being engrossed.
For the next twenty minutes, my eyes felt like they were doing a dance,
glancing first at the book, up towards reception, then to my wristwatch. I’ve
always had a habit of checking my watch every thirty seconds or so when I’m
nervously waiting to meet someone for the first time. Each time I check I find
myself hoping that the pointers have miraculously jumped forward in time – so
eager to get the initial awkwardness over and done with.

I checked my
mobile next for something different to do, feigning writing and sending text
messages. My eyes darted back to my watch again, it was five past seven and I
started wondering if the call had been a hoax. I was on the verge of wanting a
second G & T, and as I stood up to go to the bar again, my client had just
appeared near reception, taking his mobile phone out of his shirt pocket.

He was stood
with his back to me, glancing towards the main entrance door. What the hell
would I do if he didn’t change his position, and continued to monitor the
revolving door?
He
was late after all, so surely he would expect me to
be here on time and waiting somewhere nearby. As I left the carpeted lounge
area, the noise of my heels on the tiled reception hall caused him to turn,
he’d noticed me. I quickly glanced down on the pretext of searching my satchel
for something.

He walked away
around a corner and away from the reception desk. I sauntered some twenty or
thirty metres behind him, still pretending to show more interest in my handbag
than in my surroundings. I looked up as he arrived at the lift, and when he
indicated that I was to hurry, I assumed that no-one was behind me, to witness
the handsome dark-haired French international footballer and a mystery brunette
entering a hotel lift together.

We exchanged
greetings as the lift began its ascent, his steely grey eyes quickly scanning
the goods on sale and his head nodded slowly in approval. I did a quick
appraisal of him. I had heard his name many times, but never having had an
interest in football, I had never even seen the guy before, not even his
picture in the sports pages of the national dailies. He was not my idea of
handsome. Acceptable, maybe! There was a slight bump on the bridge of his nose
and he had a sort of effeminate look about him. I didn’t feel any immediate
attraction and I was curious as to how this was going to pan out.

When the doors
opened at the ninth floor, he stepped into the corridor, checked the coast was
clear and indicated to me to leave the lift. All was quiet and as he used his
key card to unlock his door, I increased my pace and hurried into his room. He
quickly closed the door before putting the security chain in place.

He didn’t waste
a second. I barely had a moment to catch my breath before he’d removed all my
clothes. He gestured, since that would be the easiest way; that I was to do the
same to him. I unfastened his shirt, left it open and moved on to his denims. I
unbuttoned his flies, my intention being to pull his denims and boxers down in
the same move. As I was lowering myself with the movement, his swollen dick
sprang out of the boxers in front of my mouth. Nice. I reached a hand out, but
he took hold of it himself with both of his hands and placed it on my lips.

“Sucer…s’il
vous plait…pleez…suck.”

I was only too
happy to oblige, realising that my first impressions had been wrong.

“It will…make
things…much easier…if we don’t..have to…talk…no worries...about…translation.”

I managed to
get out, between my licks at his cock…a very
handsome
cock, and its size
– perfect! I carried on sucking and admiring, and he watched my every move with
approval, clearly enjoying the feel of my lips moving all over his length. I
took one of his balls in my mouth, sucking hard whilst I fondled the other. I
changed over within a minute, letting both testicles get their turn at
individual ecstasy. I let my fingers play in his pubic hair, teasing him. I
enjoyed listening to his moans and feeling his hands stroking and running
through my hair as he stood. Feeling the need to taunt him more, I changed
course with my fingers towards that sensitive area between scrotum and anus. He
was on fire, and I felt that fire myself. I could hear him panting with delight
as he pushed his hair from his eyes, the better to keep watching me as I
continued sucking on him. His eyes closed and his groaning got louder by the
minute.

“Oui…oh…oui.”

I thought he
was about to come, but it was his eagerness showing, and he started thrusting
way to the back of my mouth. I was no longer in control of his cock and I
started to gag. He quickly got the message and tugged me quickly across to the
bed. Somehow he managed to tell me to lie on my back. He knelt between my legs
first, wiggling just one finger about on my clit, through my pubic hair and
then into my pussy.

He repeated the
process again five minutes later, this time he used two fingers, and he watched
all the time, fascinated, reminiscent of two kids playing doctors and nurses.
The attraction of the thrusting fingers waned, and still kneeling, he pulled my
legs over his shoulders, and with his hand guiding his beautiful tool, he
wiggled it through my fanny hair, rubbed the end of it on my clit, it felt
beautiful. I gazed at the ceiling, eagerly anticipating the feeling, waiting
for that cock to stuff me good. His cock was out of my sight though. He was
fucking me with his tongue. He stopped what he was doing and licked all over my
vulva, concentrating on my clit again, and I was enjoying every minute, it was
breathtaking. His fingers had disappeared; how could he tongue fuck me without
his fingers on my pussy. He didn’t realise what I wanted him to do with his
fingers. I was on the verge of coming, but I wanted more, and he wasn’t getting
the message, so I showed him – I shoved my fingers up my pussy, and I groaned
as he carried on sucking my clit.

“Ah…je…I…do…zat.”
he said, moving my fingers out of the way, and he did it slower that I had
done, it was so sensual. I came in no time, not a fast burst but a beautifully
slow release. The intensity was….
very
intense. It lasted a while, not a
multiple orgasm, but one, long, and slow, and
beautiful.

“You…er…amour…love…fucking…yes?”

I wonder how he
had guessed. I was hot, sticky, wet, and wanting so much more.

“Yes, I love to
be fucked, and fucked again. Keep fucking me, please, use your cock now.”

So he fucked
me, right there, the missionary position, and he grunted hard with each thrust,
and I moaned, loudly. I was aware of giggling outside in the corridor, as
footsteps passing the room slowed in their progress. People were listening to
the loud and vocal fucking that was taking place, which was increasing in
volume as he neared his climax. Then with a few violent thrusts, he shouted
out, before biting hard on my breast, with his final squirt of come.

Rolling onto
his back, with his cock still inside me, he said,

“Seet…on…my...face…pleez,
oui?”

He just came
inside me, and he wanted to stick his tongue up there. You’re been paid, Helen,
just do what he client wants. I sat on his face and he licked his semen from
out of my hole, relishing the experience. I stayed in that position, waiting
for him to finish his meal, but I certainly didn’t expect the next
instructions.

“Leeft…your...’ow
you say…bot...tom, pleez.” I did so.

“Now…you…pees…dans..er…in…my…mous,
pleez.”

I couldn’t
believe it, what I was hearing.

“Wh…what…the…the
hell?” I stammered, “I don’t think I…let me get this right! You want me to piss
in your mouth?”

“Oui…er yes.”

The humour of
the words was not entirely lost, but I was too incensed to be amused.

“Listen. You
pay to fuck me. I do dirty, yes. I do dirty in a sexual manner. I do
not
do dirty as in a toilet nature. You will have to pay someone else to do that -
sorry.”

This was a
totally new experience for me. I had thought I was well past the stage of
feeling such shock, but I found the suggestion more than repulsive.

“I pay for, I
get.” he was indignant. I climbed off him, my earlier enjoyment almost
forgotten. He watched until I was almost dressed, before he came out with my
next shock,

“I get disc…er
..discount? Yes? For…er...non…pisser. You…er …get…five hun red…less.”

I wondered if
it was a thing with the French. Who actually did things like that? The sex had
been fantastic until that point, but I’d been totally turned off.

“Fine! Just let
me get out of here. Maybe some street girl will be happy if you pay her five
hundred pounds to piss in your mouth. There may be plenty of
them
around.” He shrugged his shoulders dismissively, as if it had been nothing!

“We…er…fuck…again…one
day…oui?” Amazingly, I got the impression he hadn’t been too offended by the
refusal.

“I don’t know!
Perhaps, but no…er…non pisser. Not ever! Okay?”

“Okay.”

I giggled
myself to sleep that night, two words running around my head, oui and piss! I
figured I was over the worst of the shock if I could laugh about the incident,
but I’d learned about an act that I didn’t really want to know about. I made a
mental note to mention the matter to Simon, the next time he called me.

I was
deliriously happy, singing out loud as I searched my wardrobe for something to
wear. Janet, my friend from the Hopkins Partnership had just called and asked
me to join her on a night out with all the girls. I couldn’t remember the last
time I had been out, other than my…little business trips! I had plenty of time
left to get ready for the evening but I just wanted to find the right clothes
early enough. I didn’t want to be searching wildly at the last minute, then
changing my mind every few seconds.

The taxi would
be picking me up at seven thirty and the timing could not have been better.
Anthony had left (leaving yet another envelope hidden in the greenhouse) on a
business trip the day before or so he said. At least I didn’t have to worry
about coming home drunk and him…I didn’t dwell on
that
matter too long.
I didn’t want anything to spoil the rest of the day. Janet had wanted to keep
everything from me – where we were going, what the plans were for the night. I
was just thrilled to have been asked, and I knew that whatever we ended up
doing, I would at least be in the company of my wonderful friends.

I was feeling
very emotional as the cab pulled up. I couldn’t believe it when they all
climbed out to greet me with big hugs as I walked down the drive towards them.

“Helen! You’re
looking great!”

“We’ve missed
you so much at the office!”

“How are you
feeling?”

“How are you
keeping yourself busy all day, Helen?”

The look on the
face of the cab driver was priceless – a typically male reaction to women being
over giddy and demonstrative - raised eyebrows and a shrug of the shoulders.
Not to mention the impatient glances at his watch. They all shouted and
chattered over the top of each other and I cried, touched by their concern and
evident excitement to have me back in their midst for a few hours. I realised
just how much I had missed them all. I couldn’t wait to ask,

“So tell me
where you’re taking me – I’m dying to know!”

They looked at
each other sheepishly, and Gillian finally asked the others,

“Should we or
not, girls?”

“Pleeeease tell
me, pleeease!” I begged like an excited teenager and we all laughed. Despite
the laughter, they still didn’t feel inclined to let me in on the secret.

All eyes turned
towards me as we approached the last two or three hundred yards of the journey,
eagerly awaiting my reaction. The instant I recognized the road and our
intended destination, I could feel my face start to drop as I stared,
open-mouthed, out of the cab window as we approached Jigz Club. My stomach felt
so queasy and I couldn’t imagine why this had been their choice for our
get-together.

“Helen? Helen,
what’s matter?”

I tried to snap
out of it. The girls were doing their best to give me a good night out and I
must have looked so ungrateful. I smiled, trying to look happier and said,

“Oh, nothing! I
just got...”

“Helen, if this
is to do with that guy from your school, Alec Barker-whatshisface…?” Leanne piped
up. I was pleased she’d interrupted me because I hadn’t had a clue what words
would have come out next, had she let me carry on speaking.

“No! It’s not
that…I’m fine! Really!” And before the subject of Alex cropped up again, I
asked, “Are we eating first then?”

I felt such a relief!
Everyone’s attention was now on food as we settled up with the cab driver and
made our way to the restaurant. All through our meal, I listened carefully as
the girls chatted about work - their work. Whilst they tried hard to include me
in the conversation, telling me any news on the other staff, or the clients for
that matter, I didn’t really feel a part of it anymore. They may as well have
been talking about aliens. About to change the subject to more common ground I
was suddenly curious about Leanne and her earlier comment about ‘that guy from
your school.’

“Leanne, what
was it that you were saying early about Alex Baker-Thompson, that’s his real
name by the way – you know, ‘if it’s about that guy from your school’…?”

“Oh, that!
Well…what I was going to say was, if it was about him…you know…why you weren’t
keen on coming here, well, I don’t think you have any cause for concern!”

I couldn’t
understand what she was getting at. I hadn’t told them what had really happened
that night, but I couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say.

“No, it wasn’t
to do with him. What made you think that?” I pushed my food around the plate
wondering what she would come out with, and I didn’t understand why I felt so
nervous. I even noticed goose bumps forming on my arms.

“You said that
he’d tried it on with you. I thought maybe that was the reason, because if it
was, you have no need to worry.”

I chuckled at
what she’d just said and tried to make light of the conversation.

“So why have I
got no reason to worry? I wasn’t worried about him anyway.”

“We’ve…um…been
back here three times since…since…you know, your parents’ accident. He was here
the first time we came, with his friends. He stared all night, looking over at
us all the time, probably wondering where you were.” The other girls nodded at
this, confirming that what Leanne said had been true.

“But he hasn’t
been back since – not when we’ve been here, anyway!”

Gillian added,
“He must have really liked you, Helen…to come back looking for you!”

I looked at
each of them in turn and they all looked guilty, as if they’d done something
wrong - Leanne was tearing her napkin into shreds, Gemma was busy wiping her
own lipstick off her glass.

“Girls, look! I
realise that Ted must have told you all that my marriage is over, but you
didn’t bring me here in the hopes that Alex was here did you? Please tell me
you didn’t!”

I looked at
their faces, trying to read their thoughts, to understand what their true
intentions had been. Suddenly feeling tired of the whole conversation, I stood
up,

“Enough! Come
on, we came here to enjoy ourselves, let’s do that!”

We headed to
the night club, to the loud music and dancing. The noise was a blessing to me.
Conversation was impossible and I was grateful for that. During our meal I had
begun to realise that I was alone – no longer a part of their world.
Conversations about accounts, boyfriends, husbands and holidays are just a part
of my past. I didn’t fit in – and if the girls, my friends, ever found out
about the new me, they would disown me. It was a depressing thought.

When the cab
dropped me at home around half past one, the girls hugged and kissed me again.
They had been delighted that I had gone out with them and told me they were
longing for my return to work at some stage. I didn’t have the heart to tell
them that I wouldn’t be returning, ever. I couldn’t.

I poured myself
a large glass of wine and sat in the armchair all night, mulling things over. I
had learned a lot from my night out with the girls. They led normal lives, with
loving husbands or boyfriends, nights out together, nine to five jobs. Then
there was me – no loving relationship, a menial job that satisfied my mental
health problems and a secret life as a call girl. Sordid visits to hotel rooms,
taking money for sex, sometimes perverted sex, being paid in addition to
achieving my own sexual gratification. I didn’t know myself anymore; I used to
be a different person, leading a very different life.

Sometime just
before daylight, and succumbing to sleep, I recognised a few similarities
between myself and Anthony.