I really, really hate it when Sly's cynical appraisal of humanity turns out to be correct. It makes me feel like the naïve WASP 'princess' he first called me. Of course, it's a million times worse, though, when I'm forced to admit that to him and have to endure his scorn and his patronizingly superior attitude. Having grown up on the streets, he can be really rough when he wants to be,
Sorry, let me give you a little background before I continue. Sly and I run a small two-person business. We sell sex. More specifically, we sell me. Like any small business, the partners have to assume multiple roles. Sly is management, sales, and security, while I handle customer satisfaction. We've been doing this for a while now, and quite successfully, too, ever since Sly blackmailed me into the work. We made a deal, then. By servicing Sly and some paying 'friends', I was able to buy back the incriminating evidence.
In the process, though, I found that I was actually quite good at the work and rather enjoyed both the sexual and the adventurous parts. When the blackmail account was satisfied, Sly proposed that I continue with him, but now on a partnership basis, I agreed. I didn't give up my day job with a law firm, but my nights are a lot more fun than I'd ever imagined when growing up in a strait-laced upper crust Connecticut family. Oh yeah, he money's not bad, either.
By now Sly and I have learned to respect one another, each for the talents we bring to the enterprise. Judging by our success, we are quite good at our respective jobs. However, we disagree on the basic nature of men. Sly mocks me for my trusting attitude and has warned me on numerous occasions not to freelance, but to rely on his judgement in choosing safe clients for me. Too, he's usually around just in case anything gets squirrely. He's a big guy, and you don't want to mess with him.
Most of the time, I listen.
But not always.
I have a strong independent streak, and don't do well under patronizing. And sometimes I just want to be an ordinary girl again, hanging out and occasionally meeting some nice guy and spending the night with him. No fee, just fun. This pisses Sly off no end. He can't understand how I can give it away for free. He also thinks I have no judgement and that I risk damaging our sole merchandise (me). Which would not be good for business.
This time he was right.
It was a night off for me. Sly had no clients lined up when I called to check in. So, I put on my little black dress, my dark stockings and heels and headed out. My intent was to go to a club I like to see what might develop, but I stopped in a deli for a light snack to fortify me for the evening. I was sitting eating my salad when this guy comes over. He says he's a stranger in town. Okay, that's a dumb line, but the guy was really good looking, clean cut and very well dressed. On a lark I asked him to join me. I mean, if nothing came of it, I still had all night left.
"Thank you," he said as he sat down. "People in this city seem so cold and unfriendly, it's very nice to find someone who isn't. Tell me, are you this friendly to all strange men?"
"That's a rather personal question, don't you think?" I was beginning to regret my invitation.
"Yes, it was. I'm very sorry. It's just that you are so beautiful, I'm sure lots of men are attracted to you, as I am."
Well, that mollified me a bit. Who doesn't like compliments?
"Perhaps you would help me," he said. "I really do feel lost. I'd be very appreciative if you could tell me more about the city."
I was beginning to warm up to the guy. He seemed decent, and kind of cutely naïve.
"I'm staying at the hotel next door. Would you be willing to come up with me and tell me more about the city?"
I did a double take. Either this guy was a babe in the woods or one of the fastest workers I'd ever met. But he really was cute, and I had already decided I liked him. So what the hell. I've said before that I'm a risk-taker. Bedding him seemed like a reasonably good idea.
"Sure. I'd like that," I said. "Let's go."
I should have sensed something was off when, as we walked next door and rode the elevator, he made no attempt to explore my body. Well, he held my hand, but it had more the feel of not wanting to let me get away rather than anything flirtatious. But I missed the signals. Or maybe he
was
sincere about wanting help.
When we got into the room, though, all that changed, and suddenly. Hardly had the door closed when he was at me, pawing my breasts and fumbling at the zipper of my dress.
"Hey! Slow down, lover," I said, backing away from him.
"No," he grated. "I know you for what you are: a sinful woman. Your body is a trap for good men. I can spring that trap and not be tainted by you. Christ Jesus gives me that strength."
I didn't know what to say to that that wouldn't make things worse. I shut up.
Oh God, what had I gotten myself in for? Clearly the guy was a nut. Like most guys, he apparently wanted to get laid, but he couldn't just accept that, and instead had to square it with some weird anti-sex or misogynistic religious dogma by turning his normal male desire into some kind of divine mission. In short, a fanatic. Now I was really scared.
He was pawing at my dress, driving me backwards. He was immensely strong. I had two choices: I could resist and likely get hurt and raped, or I could give him what he really wanted and more, and then count on his post-coital enervation to slow him down enough to give me a chance to talk my way out of this mess.
I stopped fighting.
