Copyright Oggbashan June 2020 Edited July 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
I was sitting at the desk in my room in this budget hotel typing up my notes of today's meeting and agreements. Normally I would be staying at a much better class of hotel but this was the only one close to the factory I had visited today. I didn't want to drive fifty miles in the wrong direction and thought I could endure a basic hotel for two nights.
As I had come up in the elevator to this floor I had shared it with a short man and a small woman. They had walked a few doors beyond my room. As he used his pass card to enter she smiled at me but he scowled.
There was a faint knock on the door. I had just saved my document. I opened the door. It was the petite blonde woman I had seen a quarter of an hour ago. She slid past me with her finger to her lips. I was surprised because she was wearing only a satin bra and a short slip that barely covered her panties. She was barefoot and clutching a small purse. I shut the door behind her.
"Thank you," she said. "I needed somewhere safe from him."
I must have looked puzzled. But I remembered my manners.
"Like a coffee?" I suggested.
"Yes, please, and then I'll explain." She said.
She sat down on the bed. There is only one chair in the room. I made the coffee and gave a cup to her. She moved aside for me to sit on the bed too.
"I'm the hotel whore," she stated baldly. "but tonight's customer wanted me to do things I wouldn't. When he went to the toilet I rushed out of his room, I knew you were here and I didn't think I'd get to the stairs or the elevator before he caught me."
"Without your clothes?" I asked.
"I didn't have time to grab them. I only had seconds."
"So you're the damsel in distress?"
She laughed. That was the first time she hadn't looked scared stiff.
"Damsel? No. I'm the hotel whore. Distress? Maybe. Dis-dressed is more appropriate."
"And you need your clothes back?"
"Yes, that would be nice but..."
"I'll go and get them for you." I said.
"I'd like them back. The stockings don't matter. The dress is cheap, but the shoes were expensive and comfortable. But won't you be at risk?"
"From him? I don't think so. He'd be embarrassed and I'm much larger than he is."
"But you are also much older, sir," she said.
She seemed concerned for me.
"Don't worry. I won't. Stay here. I'll be back soon. What room number?"
"Number forty-eight. But..."
I left the room, walked along to number forty-eight and knocked loudly on the door. He opened it.
"What the fuck do you want?" He growled at me.
"The lady's clothes, please?" I said.
"Lady! She's a fucking whore!" he shouted.
"Whatever she is, she needs her clothes, please?" I repeated.
He went back in the room and shoved the clothes and shoes at me.
"Now fuck off!" he said.
"Thank you," I said as he slammed the door in my face.
I went back to my room and handed the clothes and shoes over.
"Just like that?" she queried.
"He did swear at me, but yes, just like that."
"Thank you. I owe you."
I turned my back as she dressed.
"You can turn around now," she said. "I'm Helen, Helen Pusey."
"Hello Helen, I'm Robert Simmonds."
"Thank you, Robert. I'm grateful for the safety and the clothes." What can I do for you in return?"
"I don't need your professional services," I said, "I'm not desperate for sex."
"Desperate? Many of my customers aren't desperate. Yes, they want sex, but they want companionship more. Their work can be lonely, away from home during the week."
"How did you become the hotel whore?" I asked.
She didn't seem an obvious professional lady.
"It's a long story, Robert. Have you got time?"
"Yes, if you have, Helen. Another coffee?"
"Yes please."
I looked. We were out of milk.
"I'll have to go down to reception and get some more milk. Can you wait?"
"Yes, while you're down there, can you tell the night manager where I am? They keep an eye out for me in case there is any trouble."
"Yes, Helen."
I told the night manager that Helen was in my room.
"Helen? She said her name was Helen?" he queried.
"Yes. Why?"
"That's her real name, not one of her working names, so she must see you as a friend, not a customer."
"I hope I am. She took refuge with me, fleeing from an awkward customer."
"Thank you, Mr Simmonds. She is one of our casual chambermaids as well as the whore on call. We see her as one of our family of staff and try to look out for her."
"When she leaves I'll go with her just in case."
The night manager looked up at me.
"With you? I'm sure she will feel safe."
I returned to my room. Helen made coffee for us before sitting down on the bed beside me.
"Thank you, Robert. Where were we? Oh yes, you had asked why I was the hotel whore."
I nodded.
"My parents weren't happy with the man I married. Although they helped me to buy my small house, they made their distrust of him plain by making sure the house was only in my name, not ours. For the first couple of years we were happy. I was working as a chambermaid here, on the basic wage, and he was a packer in a local warehouse. We struggled with money but apart from that we were OK together. But then I became pregnant. He couldn't face the responsibility of a child although we had discussed it several times beforehand. He started drinking. It didn't help that my pregnancy was awful, life-threatening. I couldn't work and our finances, always fragile, were in a mess."
Helen stopped to sip her coffee.
"The birth was terrible and I was told that another pregnancy would probably kill me so I was offered a hysterectomy which I accepted. But after our child was born my husband started taking drugs as well as the drink. I kicked him out, and with my parents' help, divorced him. My parents had to support me financially as well as emotionally. After about six months I returned to work as a chambermaid with my parents looking after my daughter while I was at work. But, even with accepting as much overtime as was offered, I couldn't keep up with the bills. One evening a hotel guest offered me fifty pounds for sex. I had had similar offers before but had rejected them, as had most of the younger chambermaids. But this one was young and attractive. I knew I couldn't get pregnant and fifty pounds would pay the most urgent bills. I said yes and enjoyed it -- and was paid."
Helen stopped talking and leant against me. I wrapped an arm around her as she rested on my shoulder.
"He was the first and I started accepting more offers, some from repeat customers. Soon I was making far more from sex than being a chambermaid but my work as a maid was suffering. The manager interviewed me and said that I couldn't continue as I was. Because of the time taken for my other activities I wasn't effective as a chambermaid. I would have to choose. I could stay as a casual chambermaid when they were short of staff and become the on-call hotel whore. The sex I had been offering had meant that the other chambermaids were propositioned less often and if they were tended to give the hotel guest my mobile number. If that was formalised, the hotel could offer sex to any guest who wanted it and the chambermaids could refuse sex without offence. Of course, he and I knew that some chambermaids would accept a proposition if the customer was attractive and they fancied him, but there would be enough for me."
Helen snuggled closer to me.
"There was. I was usually available from Sunday to Thursday nights when business men and tradesmen used the hotel. On Friday and Saturday nights the guests tend to be families but I could be available if needed. My parents looked after my daughter during the day and she sleeps at their house overnight. I was around for breakfast and the school runs -- she's now six -- and at bedtime."
"What does she think about your job?" I asked.
"She doesn't know. When I leave her I'm wearing my chambermaid uniform. I change in my house. My parents haven't told her either. They don't like me being a whore but they know it is the only way I can earn enough. I have reduced my mortgage term and should clear it completely in a couple of years. I know my work is risky and I can't go on for ever. Another five years might be my limit but if I own my own house and have some capital I could go back to being a full-time chambermaid."
"What went wrong tonight?"
"I'm not wholly sure. When I saw him earlier and arranged a time he seemed normal. When I arrived he was furiously angry, not with me, but something had upset him. He wanted me to do things that I wouldn't and worst he wanted to be bareback. I never do that. I can't get pregnant but if I catch something it could end my career immediately. I had seen you go into this room. For all I knew the others might be empty. So I knocked on your door because he might have caught me before the stairs or the elevator. You let me in and now I'm grateful and owe you."
"Grateful? I don't need your services, Helen."
"Maybe not, but you are lonely, aren't you, Robert?"
"Yes. It will seem worse tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Why?"
"I had allowed two days for my negotiations but they finished in one. I had thought, if I had time, that I would visit some of the places near here that I last visited with my wife when she was alive. But on my own it wouldn't be the same. I would be constantly reminded of what I had lost when she died."
"OK, Robert, how about this? You take me out for the day tomorrow, not as the hotel whore, but just as a friend. I would like a day off work and tomorrow is Friday. My daughter will be at school and I don't usually work on a Friday, and almost never during the day."
"That sounds great, Helen. Have you got clothes suitable for visiting a stately home?"
Helen laughed.
"Yes, this is one of my working outfits. I have normal clothes as well. Shall I meet you at reception at ten o'clock tomorrow morning?"
"Yes, Helen, that is a date. But now we need to get you home safely. Is your home far away?"
