I stood at the door for a few moments to let my eyes adjust to the light. The middle aged woman pointed toward her office. She told me to wait in there. I was scared. I thought about running up the stairs. The footpath was crowded. I could escape into the crowd. I hesitated. My semi-hard cock was still bulging in my damp jeans. I was worried about more people witnessing my embarrassment.
I asked her what she wanted. She replied that she just wanted to talk to me, nothing bad would happen to me.
I walked into her office and left the door open. There were two small desks and a collection of mismatched chairs. One of the desks had a mobile phone and a laptop on it. A few bills and letters were randomly strewn across the top of a filing cabinet. The carpet was an awful shade of green. I sat on a chair just inside the door.
I waited for a couple of minutes. I watched the woman talking to another, much younger, woman who took her place at the door. The middle aged woman poked her head into the office. She told me that she would be a little while so I should make myself comfortable.
I moved to a more solid chair and waited. I looked around the room and noticed that there was a door in the far corner. I went over and opened it. It was a small changing room. A couple of old towel hung on rails next to a grubby shower recess. There were half a dozen metal lockers with names scrawled across them in marking pen. One had a flower drawn near the bottom.
As I turned around the woman walked into the office. She looked me up and down. I tried to hide my wet spot by standing behind a chair which made her smile. She looked about forty. She was wearing a grey business suit with black shoes. Her dark hair was up in a bun. She walked over to the desk with the computer. She turned to face me and half sat on the office chair next to it. She crossed her legs and leaned forward.
"Don't worry, you're not in trouble," she said quietly "That sort of thing happens all the time here. That's why men like Steve come here." Her gaze fell on the pile of paper on the other desk.
"So why do you want to talk to me?" I said, trying to sound mature but I could hear the tension in my voice.
"It's hard to say." she said as her eyes met mine "To be honest, I'm not sure. Men come here to have fun. Single men, married men, old men, young men...they all want to have a good time. They watch strippers, they get drunk, some go into the back room and watch porn. They pull their own cocks. Sometimes they pull each other. Sometimes they take a woman back there."
"So?" I asked when she paused for breath. I thought that I could detect a hint of a European accent.
"So," she said as she looked away "sometimes they pay for a woman. I have a couple of girls who look after these things. They pay me a percentage of what the men pay them."
"Why are you telling me this?" I stood up as I spoke. "Just because I gave Steve a hand job doesn't mean I want to do it again."
"That's why I'm not sure what to say to you" as she spoke she stood up and took a step toward the door. "Do you have a job?"
I shook my head.
"Do you want one?" she asked as she walked to the doorway.
"I'm not a prostitute!" I cried as I took a step toward the door.
"I know you're not," she whispered as she stepped in front of me. She smiled as she put her hand under my chin in a motherly gesture, "You're not a whore, you're not even a slut. You're just another young guy trying to be a man." She dropped her hand and walked back to the desk.
"So?" I asked again. I was too stunned to say anything else. I watched her sit down. She seemed to have fair sized breasts but it was hard to tell through the shirt and jacket. She crossed her legs again before she spoke.
"So," she shrugged her shoulders before continuing "we have some work. We are looking for someone to do some cleaning, a bit of organising and maybe a bit behind the bar. Are you interested?"
