The Girls of Club Aphrodite

After my experience with Carla, I stayed off the Club Aphrodite website for more than two weeks. When I did resume checking, I saw that she worked pretty much full-time. It frustrated me. On the one hand, I knew I would never choose her again. On the other hand, I didn't particularly want to see her face-to-face, shake her hand, and then choose a different girl. That felt tantamount to saying to Carla, 'The sex with you was crap'. My rational brain said, 'She wouldn't care' but some instinct warned me not to take that for granted. People who act like they don't give a shit very often do. Not every girl could be like Fatima.

Speaking of Fatima, she hadn't been working for a while. The website still carried her profile, so maybe she was just taking a break. I kind of missed her and smiled at the memory of her saying she would like to see me again. It was a nice thing for a sex worker to say, even if it was just to please me. Perhaps that's why I saw it as a sign when I saw the name Fatima under 'Working Today' but not Carla. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and biked to Club Aphrodite. It was early afternoon, which usually meant the club wasn't too busy, but if Fatima was already with a client then so be it. I liked her, but I didn't want to seem desperate.

The hostess greeted me warmly at the door and led me to the private room.

'We have four lovely girls available,' she said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. 'You wait here and I'll get them to introduce themselves.'

The first two girls walked in, one after the other, shook my hand and left. I didn't even remember their names. Then Fatima walked in, petite and as lovely as I remembered her, her long, dark hair tied back in a frizzy ponytail. She smiled as soon as she saw me.

'Hey there!' she said. 'Nice to see you!'

'You too,' I said as we shook hands.

She seemed to want to say more, but there was still one more girl to come in. Fatima gestured that she had to go out again and I gestured back that I understood. We grinned at each other like schoolkids sharing a joke. Then she walked back out, a bounce in her step, and I smiled. I already knew who I'd be choosing.

But then ... Denisha walked in.

I think my mouth might actually have dropped open. Denisha was tall, with dyed blond curls and bright blue eyes. Her designer pink underwear cut slightly into her flesh, her breasts bulging out of her top, and she walked in silver high heels like she was born in them. Her tattoos were mostly pictorial, but in my mind she had 'awesome fuck' written all over her. She gave me a dazzling smile as she told me her name, shook my hand firmly, and walked out with more confidence than I felt standing there fully clothed. I could still see her long, fabulous legs on my retina even after she'd left the room.

The hostess came back and said: 'So, which of these girls take your fancy?'

'Hard to choose,' I said.

The hostess gave a small laugh, like I was complimenting her girls. But as I stood staring in agonised thought at the framed Gustav Klimt print on the wall, she slowly realised I wasn't just being polite. She shifted her feet and put her hands together, looking like a schoolteacher biting her tongue while a backward student gets his stuff together. Finally, I said:

'Fatima.'

I heard the lack of conviction in my own voice. Maybe the hostess heard it too, but she wasn't taking any chances. She said immediately:

'And how long would you like?'

'One hour,' I said. 'No, make it two.'

Given my past experience with Fatima, it was going to end up being two hours anyway, so may as well bite the bullet now. I paid by debit card and was told by the hostess that Fatima would be along shortly.

I didn't have long to wait. Fatima came in carrying towels and the usual vanity bag which contained condoms, etc. As I took off my clothes, she conversed politely but made no move to take off her own black lace underwear. As I climbed naked onto the bed and watched Fatima wash her hands at the sink, I began to wonder if her initial warm reaction at seeing me had been an act after all.

'Is everything all right?' I said.

'Yes, of course,' she said, without turning around.

'Are you sure?'

Fatima turned off the tap and leaned on the sink, her head bowed. Then she dried her hands and turned around to face me. I was sitting in the middle of the bed with my back against the bedstead and she gestured for me to move aside so she could join me. She climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged looking at me.

'All right, there is something,' she said. 'I was a little bothered by how long it took you to decide.'

I looked away, feeling terrible. Fatima sighed and continued.

'You see,' she said, 'after introducing ourselves to a client, we're supposed to go back to the lounge to wait. But when I saw it was you, I waited in the corridor, thinking that you would choose me. And you did choose me in the end, but...'

She tailed off and gave a theatrical shrug.

'I'm so sorry,' I said.

'You don't have to be sorry.'

'Well, I am.'

I sat forward and looked her in the eye, making no attempt to touch her. Fatima had a rounded face which, along with her smallness, gave her a girlish air. But her dark eyes were serious, and she had a wary intelligence which was not girlish at all. I had the feeling I was being scrutinised for bullshit.

'When I saw on the website that you were working today,' I said, 'I jumped in the shower and came round with the intention of seeing you. I noticed that you haven't been working for a while and ... well, I wanted to see you.'

'But you didn't phone first to check I was available,' she said. It was not a question.

'True,' I said. 'But I've learned by experience that phoning first doesn't guarantee that the girl will be available by the time I get here. And also ... I wasn't a hundred percent sure about it. I had the thought: If it's meant to be, it'll happen. And if not, it won't.'

'Is this because of what happened last time?'

'Partly. But I also remember that when we did have sex...'

I hesitated. What's a good way of telling a girl that the sex was crap?

'Go on,' said Fatima with a sigh. 'You can tell me.'

'Well ... we have great conversations,' I said. 'But that doesn't seem to translate into great sex.'

Fatima laughed ruefully, shaking her head. Then she nodded.

'Yes, I remember,' she said. 'And I'm not really sure what to say about that. Although I will say that if you want to spend the first hour with me and the second hour with another girl, I'd completely understand.'

'No! That would be ... I mean, um...'

Fatima put a hand on my leg.

'Listen, we both know why you're here,' she said. 'And I'm the last person in the world who is going to judge you for it. But let's be honest -- if I'm not your type, I'm not your type.'

'But you

are

my type!' I said. 'When you strip off and walk naked around the room, I can barely take my eyes off you.'

'So, what's the problem?'

'I don't know. When we talk, it's wonderful. Honest, interesting, challenging. But when we have sex, I feel like I'm using you.' I shook my head at myself. 'Damn it, I

am

using you! I come here and pay money so I can use a woman for sex! And usually I don't worry about it, but it's not the same with you. With you, it bothers me. I don't like the thought of using you, even though you tell me you're okay with it.'

Fatima was silent. She had already removed her hand from my leg and now she looked at me sadly. I felt the sudden urge to tear her black underwear off her body, to lift her bodily onto her back and penetrate her bare flesh. I swallowed and closed my eyes. Then I heard movement and felt Fatima take my penis gently in her hand. I opened my eyes and looked at her.

'Are you forcing me to do this?' she said.

'I'm paying you to do this.'

'And did you force me to accept the money?'

'No.'

'So how are you using me any more than I am using you?'

I had no answer to that. Besides, my cock was growing harder and Fatima's hand was gently stroking it. In a few seconds, it would be a full-blown erection. Fatima looked down at it, then looked back at me and said:

'I think we should fuck.'

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

We did fuck.

We fucked missionary style. We fucked doggy style. I even fucked her in the position where the woman lies on her side and lifts her leg -- something I'd never done with a sex worker before. But each time, I experienced the same pattern: the thrill of seeing a beautiful, naked girl getting herself into position, the delicious feeling of pushing my cock into her cunt, and then ... fucking. In, out, in, out. Feeling the sparks of an orgasm flare up around the edges, only to die out and disappear.

I no longer doubted Fatima's sincerity. She was doing everything she could think of to get me to come. Well, within her own personal boundaries. At one point, I felt the strong desire to kiss her on the mouth, but rather than ask directly, I said:

'Sometimes, for some extra cash, a girl might do some kissing.'

'Yes, I know,' said Fatima. 'But I'm not really comfortable with that.'

So, instead, she held her knees apart with her hands while I fucked her. Or she braced herself against the wall while I fucked her from behind. Or, while being fucked from the side, she reached over and tried rubbing my nipple with her fingers. We even tried Carla's trick with the pillow under the hips.

But eventually we stopped. Or rather, I stopped. Fatima was ready to keep going. But when I told her that I really did want to stop, she wrapped herself in a towel and left the room. I half sat, half lay on the bed, staring at the Gustav Klimt on the wall. What was going on with me? Fatima came back in, threw her towel across a chair and climbed naked onto the bed. She curled up next to me, putting her head on my chest, and I put my arm around her shoulder. For a while, we just lay there in silence.

'I'm sorry about this,' she said.

'Don't be silly,' I said. 'It's not your fault at all.'

'I feel bad about not kissing.'

'Well, don't!'

'But I want you to know that it's not you,' she said. 'I have a thing about putting my mouth on a client. I'm okay giving blowjobs, of course, but other than that, I need a certain amount of distance.'

'I understand.'

But even as I said it, I didn't quite believe Fatima was 'okay giving blowjobs'. I remembered Sabrina eyeing my erect cock, like she couldn't wait to get started. Now

that

was a girl who was 'okay giving blowjobs'. I felt Fatima's hand touch my neck.

'Do you think I'm faking?' she said quietly.

'Faking what?' I asked.

'Liking you,' she said. 'Do you think I'm pretending to enjoy our conversations to get money out of you?'

'No,' I said and winced. 'Ninety percent no.'

'What's the ten percent?'

I looked up at the ceiling as I considered her question. Her body was still snuggled warm against me and her hair slightly tickled my shoulder and arm. I held her close as I pondered. It was very brave of her to take the conversation in this direction, and I wanted her to feel that I was not going to get angry.

'There are times,' I said, 'when I feel like there's a real connection between us. I don't know what to call it, but it's more than I expected possible between...' I hesitated. '...between a man and a woman in our situation. But I'm also painfully aware that I'm an average-looking man in his fifties, while you're a beautiful young woman of twenty-nine. And there's a part of me which is so desperate for this connection to be real that I'm afraid of making a fool of myself.'

Fatima lifted her head to look down at me. There was that serious look again. Part of me was nervous about what she was thinking and another part really didn't care so long as I could look at that face forever.

'You are such an honest man,' she said. 'And I totally understand where you're coming from. But, for the record, I'm telling the truth when I say that I really enjoy spending time with you. I also feel we have a connection -- it's not just wishful thinking on your part. Plus, also for the record, I am truly okay having sex with you. You act as though I'm forcing myself to do something I don't really want to do, and I'm telling you: You're wrong about that.'

'Okay.'

'Do you believe me?'

'Yes.'

'Is that a one-hundred-percent yes?'

I laughed. This woman was using my own tools against me. I loved her for it. I put my hand on her bottom and smiled at her.

'You are a very smart girl,' I said.

'So, it's not a hundred percent?' she said.

'No, it's not.'

'Why not?'

I inhaled a lungful of air and considered her question. Fatima turned so she was leaning on my chest with her arms, paying close attention to my face. I found my answer and returned her gaze.

'You say you're okay having sex with me,' I said. 'Just like you said you're okay giving blowjobs. But the thought that comes up is: there's a difference between being okay with something and having gotten used to something.'

Fatima smiled. The smile turned into a laugh. Then she pushed herself up to a kneeling position and slapped her thighs.

'You see,

this

is why I like you!' she said, wagging a finger at me. 'You come up with really good answers! Do you know what a pleasure it is to have a man actually listen to what I'm saying? And I'm not just talking about clients; I'm talking about men in general! The men in my

life!'

'Really?' I said.

'God, yes! Ninety-nine percent of the men I know either get defensive or give me some generic bullshit to shut me up. In fact, the last man I met who did what you do was that self-help author in the States. He would dig into our questions and come up with things that were totally spot-on. That's why he inspired me so much! That's why

you

inspire me so much.'

That took my breath away. I felt so moved, I couldn't speak. Fatima looked concerned.

'Have I spoken out of turn?' she said.

'No,' I said. 'You've just paid me a huge compliment. In fact, it's so huge that I'm not quite sure how to take it.'

'Is it because I'm a sex worker?'

'No!' Again, I winced. 'Ninety-nine percent no. Listen, ever since I can remember, the world has been telling me that if it weren't for us men, women would have happier lives -- that men are basically a curse on women. So when a woman tells me I inspire her, it goes against everything I've been told to believe. And the fact that you're a sex worker and I'm a client adds an extra layer to that. Do you know what I mean?'

'Yes, I know what you mean,' said Fatima. 'But we're not all feminists, you know.'

Fatima turned her head to look at the clock. I followed her gaze and saw that we had almost half an hour to go. Makes a change, I thought.

'We have enough time, if you want to try again,' said Fatima, looking back at me.

'You mean sex?'

'Yes.'

I frowned. Fatima reached over and touched me.

'Listen,' she said. 'You were right about me not being completely okay with sex work. It's more like fifty-fifty: things I'm okay with; things I've gotten used to. I've certainly gotten used to the money. But one of the things I'm definitely okay with is that I decide what I do with my vagina. So if I say we can fuck, you don't have to worry about "using" me.'

'Okay, I hear you,' I said.

'And what does that mean?'

'It means, I understand.'

'You understand, but you don't believe me?'

'I don't know.'

'I think you do.'

Fatima climbed off the bed. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at me.

'Do you believe in exploiting women?' she said.

'No, of course not,' I said.

'Well, I don't believe in exploiting men! You've paid a lot of money to be here and if I let you leave without at least one orgasm, I'm exploiting you!'

'I don't see it like that.'

'Well, I do! I know we have great talks and all that, but we're also here for sex and I don't much like being rejected.'

'I'm not rejecting you!'

'What are you talking about? You kept me waiting in the hallway! We spent half an hour fucking and you didn't come once! And now I'm inviting you to have sex with me and you're like

"Hmm ... yeah ... I don't know..."

How is that not a rejection?'

I stared at the girl, gobsmacked. Carla's look of disgust was still strong in my memory and I'd assumed Fatima felt the same way but was better at hiding it. But her anger was clearly genuine and it turned everything upside-down. I wasn't sure of anything anymore. Fatima sighed and shook her head. She sat back onto the bed.

'Listen, you're the client,' she said. 'I shouldn't be—'

'No, don't do that!' I said. 'You're doing great. If I'm making assumptions or doing something to piss you off, I want to know.'

Fatima regarded me. Her eyes narrowed and she sat up straight.

'All right...' she said. 'Then I'm just going to say it. You're holding out on me. There is something you're not saying which is creating this tension.'

I took a deep breath and let it out. I looked over at the wall as I considered what she said. Damn, she was right.

'Okay,' I said. 'There is something.'

'What it is?'

'I'm afraid to tell you.'

'Do you think I'll judge you?'

'No, but I think it crosses the line.'

Fatima moved closer to me and put her hand on my arm.

'Listen, so long as you respect my right to say yes or no,' she said, 'there is nothing you can say which is going to upset me. Trust me, I've heard some weird shit in this job and I never judge. Never ever.'

I looked into her dark, serious eyes. My God, she was beautiful. But I also saw that if I refused to trust her now, I might never be looking into those dark eyes again. Besides, I was being a hypocrite. I was always advising my son to tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may. 'You can't control how people will react,' I told him. 'But if you don't tell the truth about your own feelings, you'll never find out the truth about theirs.' It was clearly time to heed my own advice.

'Okay, I'll tell you,' I said. 'But I want you to know that I'm telling you want I feel, not what I expect.'

'All right, understood,' she said.

'Fine.'

I took a deep breath.

'I don't just want sex with you,' I said. 'I want to make love to you. I want to kiss you and penetrate you and come inside you. I want to watch you walk around naked with my come in your belly. I want to ravish you into a million pieces. I think ... I think I'm in love with you.'

There was silence.

I was sat cross-legged with my back against the headboard, arms folded, staring at the far wall. Fatima sat on the side of the bed, one foot under her, the other foot on the floor. Although I wasn't looking at her, I could see she was staring down at the mattress, her hair falling over her face. And I knew, in that moment, despite everything she'd said, that I had indeed crossed the line. The word 'love' seemed to hang in the air, thick and suffocating, like cigar smoke in a men's club.

Fatima cleared her throat and pushed the hair back from her face.

'Okay, listen,' she said, a slight crack in her voice. 'I totally respect your honesty. And I don't judge you at all. But I also have to tell you that I can't give you what you want.'

'I know,' I said.

'I'm sorry.'

'There's no need to apologise. You've done absolutely nothing wrong.'

Fatima nodded and tried to smile. She shook her head roughly, as though shaking off the awkwardness, and tried to laugh.

'You know, I wasn't expecting that!' she said. 'I thought you might be into some kind of fetish and were too embarrassed to tell me!'

I looked at her. Fatima looked uncomfortable and glanced back at the clock.

'Look, we still have fifteen minutes,' she said. 'Why don't I give you a massage?'