Fatima had a booking, so we were unable to extend our time. I was relieved, to be honest -- the extra hour would have stretched my finances -- but Fatima was upset. She kept apologising as I got dressed, even though I kept saying it was fine. I was puzzled. I knew Fatima liked me, but I never thought she found me sexually attractive. Now she had the best of both worlds: money from a satisfied customer without having to go through the whole sex part. But Fatima was disconsolate and our goodbye to each other was awkward.
It was shame. I had felt so close to her, yet the moment I stepped out onto the street, my nasty inner voice started up again. It whispered that this was all part of Fatima's 'game': To keep me talking so I would pay for extra hours. I hated these thoughts and wanted to believe that Fatima and I had a genuine connection. The problem was, I wanted to believe it so badly that I was afraid to trust my own judgement.
On top of that, I was still chronically horny. As soon as I got home, I jerked off to a fantasy of Fatima and ejaculated without a problem. But the male sex drive is relentless, even for a man in his fifties. When I awoke the following morning, my hard-on was back, as welcome as the bloodstain in a haunted house. Going about my day-to-day business, I could hardly look at women's legs in the street or see the shape of breasts under a tight sweater without feeling the urge to rush home and masturbate. The problem was not so much that I wanted sex, but that the lack of it was driving me mad.
Finally, I woke up on Saturday with yet another stubborn hard-on and decided: to hell with the expense! I needed to fuck a woman. I checked the Club Aphrodite website and saw that Fatima wasn't working. Well, too bad, I thought. I'll just have to fuck someone else. I arrived at the club shortly after it opened at eleven in the morning, hoping to get a decent selection of girls. The hostess showed me to the private room and told me there were three girls available. The first two who came in to shake my hand were not my type at all, and I was all but resigned to go home and jerk off after all.
But then Carla walked in.
Carla was slim, of above average height and had pale skin, dyed black hair and red lipstick. She told me her fake name without a smile, gave a limp-handed handshake, and walked out of the room as though I had just interrupted her breakfast. But her elegant black lingerie and high heels showed off a beautiful back and long, slender legs, and the thought of seeing those legs open for me was already stiffening my cock.
I paid for an hour and Carla took me to an upstairs bedroom which had a jacuzzi tub as well as a sink. I frowned because I knew the club charged extra for jacuzzies.
'Is it okay to be here?' I said, nodding at the tub.
'There are three other rooms with jacuzzies,' said Carla. 'And who wants a jacuzzi before lunch anyway? I asked for an upstairs room because they only switch on the heating at eleven, and these warm up faster than the ones downstairs.'
'Why?'
Carla shrugged. She sat on the bed and started undoing her high heels.
'So, where are you from?' she said.
'England,' I said. 'And you?'
'Spain,' she said, with a thick Russian accent.
I was tempted to ask, 'Where in Spain?' and decided to let it go. Carla tossed her shoes out of the way and I noticed that her toenails were painted the same red as her lips. Carla looked up at me as she began undoing her top.
'Aren't you getting undressed?' she said.
'Yes, of course,' I said.
I took off my clothes and laid them on a designer chair shaped like a giant high heel. Carla was already naked, and I watched her lay out a large towel on the bed and line up the condoms, lubricant and box of tissues on the bedside table. She had a lovely body, with shapely buttocks and long-fingered hands. When I was naked, I got onto the bed next to her and we regarded each other. Her arched eyebrows and black eyeliner gave her a slightly stern expression, and I hoped it was part of her character rather than any disapproval of me.
'Right, Englishman, here's the deal,' she said. 'You get a massage, a blowjob and a fuck. You can fuck me in different positions if you like, but once you come, that's it. If you want anything more, we have to negotiate.'
'Fair enough.'
'So ... is there anything special you want?'
I was half-lying on the bed, propped up on my elbows, and I look upwards to think. That was when I saw the mirror on the ceiling. It was strange to see my naked body full-length from above, lying on a bed with black sheets. I was thinking that I looked in better shape than I expected, when Carla clicked her fingers at me.
'Hey, Englishman!' she said. 'Do you want something extra or not? You have to tell me now because I need the money up-front.'
'Okay,' I said, trying not to sound rattled. 'In that case, the usual service, please.'
'No extras?'
'No extras.'
Carla shrugged as if to say 'Your loss' and gestured for me to turn over and lie on my front. When I was ready, she squirted some lotion onto my back and began the massage. It was better than I expected -- way better than Fatima's massages -- and I could feel my body relax under Carla's firm, confident hands. But, unlike Fatima, Carla didn't talk, and my mind started worrying that I had offended her. Did she think I was being miserly by not wanting extras? Or did she simply prefer to concentrate on the job in hand? It was hard to tell.
When my back was done, Carla told me to turn over and she started to massage my chest. Despite her good looks, her unsmiling sternness began to trouble me and I found myself watching her reflection in the ceiling mirror. Her long, elegant back was on full display up there and watching her attend to my tall, naked body felt wonderfully decadent. The more her hands worked on me, the more relaxed I felt, and I began to appreciate her silence.
