TRIGGER WARNINGS
Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Fetishization of Scars.
READERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED
~~~~~
The dingy room was gnawing at my chest as I waited. The couch's hard cushioning ached my tailbone after "relaxing" on it for over an hour. I wondered if it was semen that got caked on this couch that made it hard and plastic-y. It was difficult to just accept that this hardening of the cushion was just from regular wear-tear. The room was so dim, that one could not even fathom flicking through a magazine or a coffee table book of any sort. Never mind, for fancying such unrealistic expectations on this seat, where I should be prepping myself just like many others do. I must discard my regular panties, juice myself thoroughly add lube if required, and keep doing it until the name is being called.
'Rina! RINA!'
I put on my micro thong (to be discarded soon enough) and began the show.
Before stepping up, I was given a brief requirement from the customer. I had to work around it and improvise as required.
The red light in the room gave off its usual ominous feeling. No matter how many times I enter this room, it always manages to make itself feel new and induce anxiety. I got to the center of the room, smiling an Oscar-winning smile, before starting the show. Only the first couple of minutes are painstakingly slow, the second half goes by in a snap as the customers are already done by the time I have only taken off my micro bra or in a little tough case, a minor fingering and I hear them pressed against the glass, jerking themselves vigorously.
Sometimes I get paid a bonus, other times I am harassed. They try to sniff me, fondle my boobs or even come up with propositions to fuck me.
Some people are nice. They are perverts nonetheless but nice. They pay their bonus, even chat for a while, or indirectly ask if I gave "extra" personal services. My occasional denial would earn me giggly laughs and awkward departures.
Midst the chaos of the choices of my life, a chance encounter swerved me out of my league and had me stand at the threshold of what I deserved and my reality.
~
A handsome payment was thrown at me by Karen, stating that a female customer asked for my service. After pocketing a quarter of the money and throwing some homophobic slurs into the air, she started walking off.
'You didn't tell me the requirements?'
'Uh? She said she would say those herself. Go. She is waiting.'
We met on that same pathetic couch. She wasn't sitting on it. I could sense, she was avoiding the couch like a plague. Her presence in that drab room, made it appear gloomier and I felt pathetic about sitting on that couch too, so I remained on my feet.
'You can tell your requirements to me.' I said.
She looked at my face and said the most bizarre thing I have ever heard.
'Pretend as if it's your bedroom,'
'And?'
'Undress as you would at the end of the day and just lie down on the bed.'
'Naked?'
'Yes,'
'That's it?'
'Yes,'
I could not hold my laugh, thinking she was an actual first-timer and a little shy, perhaps.
'This place doesn't give off a cozy home vibe. You know?'
'I know,' she said with a straight face that made me reconsider the laugh I had seconds ago.
'You pretend either way,' she spoke again before I could say anything.
'Ok.' I said and walked off.
Well, Easy job.
From inside the room, through the glass, I saw her standing. She must have decided to avoid using the provided loveseat in the viewing room as well. I started with the play pretend look on my face, and walked slowly through the room, touching and sighing. The job might have been easy but it was boring. I decided to improvise and start looking at her occasionally, to give her the benefit of the doubt- a facade as well. All voyeurs want to get caught. Don't they? Some sickness inside them makes them want to be discovered and accepted. Or maybe I was wrong. Because she didn't look impressed. Instead, there was a serene expression on her face. She was looking at me all right. But she wasn't looking at me at the same time. Standing in her perfect little red jump-suit, she continued to stare.
I started stripping and got into the bed with a seducing arch to my body.
It was weird to be on this bed and not touch myself. I averted my gaze just a little, only to a space where she once stood.
Karen handed me some more money, congratulating me on my big milestone and slapping playfully on my back.
~
She was back a week later but this time my easy money came with a catch.
'There is someone who would like to draw you,'
'Who?'
'My employer,'
I could not hold my laughter.
'I was asked to find an ideal body type for them to draw and you might just be the perfect fit for the job,' she said with a note of urgency, the most unrestricted I have ever seen.
'You will be paid hourly. Your fees are negotiable,'
'Um...what exactly is it that I have to do?'
'Nothing that would stretch your boundaries,' she proceeded to hand me a card, only with a name and a number. 'Call me once you've made up your mind,'
She cleared her throat as if waiting for me to say something. But I had nothing to say.
'Please don't take too long,' those were her words after which she was gone.
~
I called her. A little experiment and out-of-the-box experience never hurt anybody. I was given an address and a time on a weekday. I went with it because the weekends were already hectic for me in the club.
I stepped out of the cab and found myself standing in front of the huge skyscraper. It stood behind a big silver door, big enough for two humans to push it; two for each leaf of the door. Rich people and their unnecessary efforts to ground people below their status.
It would be an understatement to say, I was nervous. But the thought of earning good money fueled my brain and I gave her another call.
I waited outside the door for a whole five minutes, after which the door opened. I saw no man. No security guard. Nothing could prove my poverty then and there than me forgetting about automatic doors.
The woman saw me chuckling and waited for me to regain my composure.
"Oh, sorry."
"Should we go in?" she asked. No "Hello". No "How are you".
"Sure,"
I followed her in through the silvery door and stopped at the glass door entrance to the skyscraper. Calling this infrastructure, an apartment, would be downright humiliation to the architect.
She tapped in some code and the glass door opened, on its own. I knew this would happen.
The elevator too was spacious and had a lot of numbers for the floor. I could see that we were climbing to the floor which was in its twenties. We got out of the elevator on the twenty-fifth floor. The wall in front of my face had only two numbers 2501 and 2502 and two arrows marked left and right beside them. We followed the left arrow and towards the room 2501.
The door to 2501 wasn't that impressive. I mean it looked sturdy, other than that it was plain and gray with a small keyhole, under which was a long handle to open it.
She used a singular key to open the door and we entered.
'Wait here," she said and I think she meant to wait by the humongous couch which was a mile away from the door.
The place was a white void. The glass windows, large and vividly displaced other similar skyscrapers and the highway nearby. Other than the shine provided by the sun, the place was bland. But at least, the "employer" appeared rich. It was the right call to make.
I heard a door open and close somewhere and averted my gaze. I was still standing by the door, so I took a couple of steps in. I recognized one woman walking towards me, the one who visited me at the club. In front of her walked another woman, a little short in stature, brownish hair in a messy bun and delicate small face. She wore a black camisole under an off-white fluffy knit shrug, open at the front, and matching long pants.
"Miss. Rina. I hope you found the place without any difficulty," she said.
"Absolutely. Who would miss this?" I said awkwardly straightening my back.
"I am --" she introduced herself, bringing forth her hand.
We shook hands.
Her hand was squishy and damp. She must have washed them before meeting me.
"This is Lizzie. You have met her."
"Yes, of course,"
She didn't raise her hand or smile. She just stood behind her "employer" and tilted her head in my direction. I gave another of my awkward smiles.
"We should get to work,"
I was taken aback but when she stepped aside clearing the path for me, I blindly agreed.
She took the lead, and Lizzie and I followed her close behind.
She walked into a white door and I did too.
The room was huge and only had a single queen-sized bed in the middle. Right beside the door was a long wooden desk with lots of scattered paper, pencils, and incomplete charcoal sketches. The most astonishing thing about the room was the countless sketches pasted all over the walls. Except for the accent wall behind the bed, all three walls were filled with pencil or charcoal sketches of varying sizes.
Impulsively, I walked close to the nearest wall, the one above the desk, and looked at those sketches carefully. They were of women. Naked women. Some were close-ups of breasts, some of pussies, and in others, women were just naked, nothing explicit. I glued myself to the wall and walked taking in all the sketches. There were so many women. Some had their full body drawn with faces hidden, while some women had their faces along with their private parts on the paper.
"Do you like what you see?"
She got my attention. And Lizzie wasn't in the room with us anymore.
"So this is what she meant when she said, someone wants to draw you," I said and smiled at the hostess.
"You can call me, Ana,"
I was confused.
"I know I introduced myself as someone else before. But Ana is my alter-ego. Ana will draw you. I would like it if you address me by that name,"
Artists do have their set of quirks.
"Sure," I smiled.
"You can sit on the bed," Ana gestured me to do so. And she took the wooden chair by the desk.
When she sat by the desk, it seemed as if she belonged there. The desk reached right to the level of her elbow. She placed her hand on the desk and picked up her pencil.
"Do you know why it had to be you?"
"Lizzie never gave me the details. She just said my body shape was ideal or something like that." I confessed.
Although I walked in for the money, now I could not help but wonder if I made a mistake.
"Your foot-" a smile crept on her profile.
Instinctively, I looked at my feet.
"You have a scar," she declared as if she knew more about me than I did. An eerie shudder ran up my spine.
I looked up at her. She appeared to be scribbling something on a piece of paper. Then, I looked back down to my feet.
"My scar?"
