Sonder

Laura nodded. The woman walked her past several closed wooden doors until she reached the appropriate one. A large tattooed individual stood outside the door impassively.

"Laura," started the woman in a softer voice. "I know how hard this is going to be for you, so I fixed you up with Mr Paulson. He's an easy man to please and doesn't have a penchant for pain or any real kinks. All he needs is some attention and a few things his wife won't do any more and he'll be happy to leave you a sizeable tip. I'm sure you could use that."

She pursed her lips and looked at the young woman. Even for a street-hardened brothel owner, it was never an easy sight when a girl, barely past her teens, was forced into the world's oldest profession. It gave her some solace knowing she had taken young Laura under her wing.

"Chris is counting on you," were her parting words. "Remember that."

She smiled, all too aware of the last fact. The sentinel opened the door and stepped back. Inside there was a four poster bed with transparent satin hanging from the wooden spires. The bed itself was spacious and covered with a svelte red cover.

"Hi," said a voice to her right, startling her for a moment. She turned her head to see a man with a round face and thinning hair. The man seemed more nervous than her.

"Hello, Mr Paulson."

"Please, call me Neil," he said. "As you may have guessed, I'm new to this and haven't yet gotten the hang of it entirely."

"Here, sit down," said Laura, patting the bed beside her. "Let's talk first. Tell me about yourself."

"I'm an executive for a Miami based consultancy. I've been married for ten years and have two gorgeous children. Despite what you may think of me, I love my wife with all my heart. It's just that of late our sex life has come down to nothing. Between our jobs, we can hardly find the time and when we do, she's always too tired."

"I don't judge you. Look at me," she said plainly, putting her hand on his thigh. "I'm here to make your fantasy come true."

"I appreciate that, Miss..."

"Laura. Call me Laura," she said with a smile. "Now what do you wish your wife would do more often?"

"Well, it's a little embarrassing," Neil said, growing a shade redder. "During the first few years of our marriage, my wife would get on her knees and take me in her mouth. Do you think you could do that?"

"A blowjob?" Laura asked disbelievingly. All of the others wanted more.

"Yes, and it would be especially nice if you could take me in your throat. I love that feeling."

"Sure," said Laura and promptly knelt between Neil's legs. He fumbled with his belt and zipper. Within a few seconds, she was looking at his organ. It was of average length and girth, pulsing and throbbing with pent up desire. Sensuously, she encircled his shaft with one hand and began slowly jerking him off, leaving her free hand to cup his balls.

Neil threw his head back and let out a soft groan. Laura's eyes were fixed on the smooth head of the cock in front of her. She parted her lips and took the head into her mouth, letting her tongue brush over the sensitive part. His hands came down to her hair and pulled her head into his groin. She massaged his member with her tongue, running it along the underside and swirling it around the head repeatedly.

Her silky lips wrapped around the hard cock, coaxing pleasure out of it. She pulled the cock out and held it upright, running her gaze down the thick shaft. She stuck out her tongue and ran the very tip down a prominent vein, grazing the sensitive glans. She licked all the way down and back up before she turned her attention to his hanging balls. Laura took one in her mouth and swirled her tongue around the loose skin. She repeated the motion on the other, simultaneously using her fingers to brush his sensitive head. Her tender ministrations made him close his eyes and surrender himself to the awaiting pleasure. She took him back into her mouth again.

He slowly rocked his hips to and fro, sliding his cock into her warm, wet mouth. Her tongue slurped away and her fingers continued toying with his testes. Laura sensed that her client's climax was imminent. Taking a deep breath, she sucked all the way up the length of his cock until her face was pressed against his abdomen. He looked down at her with wide eyes as his turgid member nestled in her throat. There was a complete still for a few seconds until Laura felt hot semen dripping down her throat. Slowly, she slid the cock out, leaving a few white droplets of cum dribbling down her lips and chin.

"Wow.. that was.. I mean," the poor man spluttered incoherently for a few seconds. Laura immediately rose to her feet and planted a kiss on his lips. There was a hint of his own fluids in that kiss, but he didn't care.

"Thank you," he said. "Would it be too much to ask for you to do that again? I've got some Viagra."

"It would be my pleasure," Laura said.

Half an hour later, she left the room, counting a large wad of notes. The madam saw her out with a comforting pat on the shoulder. She took the subway, almost feeling the stares of all the strangers she passed. If she looked around, she could surely spot some who pointed and whispered.

After all, she was every inch the hooker she was dressed to be. So what if she didn't get her johns on street corners in the middle of the night. It didn't make her any less of a whore. She got off her at her station and walked to the nearby Apple store. All the while, the stares of random passers by remained firmly on her lithe body dressed in the embodiment of sluttiness. Such was her job requirement.

Laura almost smelt the condescension from the store clerk who gave her the iPad she wanted. She was sure he opined that no one should be allowed to buy Apple products using such ill-gotten gains.

She was getting pretty good at ignoring all the unsaid taunts and jibes. If only she could block out the stares too.

As she walked into her modest apartment complex, her first stop was the mail box. There was another woman passing through, who shot her a look dripping with judgement. She turned her head and watched Laura all the way to the end of the corridor, as if she was an alien entity.

Laura shrugged it off and unlocked her mailbox. There was the expected number of overdue bills, some of them with threatening red envelopes for emphasis. She carried them up the rickety elevator to her apartment. She rang the bell and waited outside. The door opened, revealing an older woman who gave her a wrinkly smile.

"Thanks for looking after Chris while I was gone, Mrs Delvecchio," Laura said sweetly, fishing into her pockets for some cash. The lady grabbed her slender hands.

"No need for that, dear. Chris was an angel," she replied. "Do you have enough now?"

"Yes, I do. I have enough to get started. I'll need more soon though."

"Well, I don't know how to say this..." began the old lady. "I have some money stashed somewhere. It's not much, but if you ever need it..."

"I wouldn't do that to you," said Laura, hugging her.

"God bless you, Laura," she said, wrapping her bony arms around her. "You probably know how everyone in the building has something to say about your activities, but I think you're the best among us. I can't think of anyone else who would do what you do."

Laura smiled and let the old lady out. Chris sat on the far side of the couch, playing with his toy cars. She crept into the bathroom and changed into something more comfortable before she walked up behind him and hugged him tightly. The mere sight of her brought a grin to his face.

"How's my little man today?" she asked, pulling his cheeks.

Chris giggled in response bumping his toys against one another. Normally, he should have thrown the toys out much earlier, but his autistic mind found a calm happiness clinging onto them.

"I've got something for you," she said, taking out the iPad and handing it to her pre-teen brother. She had downloaded one of the best apps for autistic children. It gave them a chance to play with colours and shapes, associating them with real world objects and words. Instantly, Chris went wild with the touch screen, creating a beautiful pattern of red and blue swirls and smiled at his handiwork.

"Thank you, sis," he said, kissing her on the cheek.

"That's not all. You can go back to school soon and meet your friends. I'm sure they miss you by now."

Momentarily, he took his eyes off the screen and looked at her. Laura smiled. There were times when she saw an explosion of happiness on his simple face and it made her daily struggle worth it.

"How you... money?"

Chris had intervals of remarkable perception. She cradled his face in her hands and looked at him tenderly. He was so precociously innocent that she had to be there for him.

"Mom and Dad sent it. Didn't I tell you?"

Chris' gaze went across the room to a picture on the mantelpiece. Laura saw him looking in that direction, so she went and fetched it. It was a picture of all four of them -- Chris, Laura and their parents. It was from their camping trip last year, before her parents were shot and carjacked on their way back from a restaurant.

"Where are they now?" he asked her. She bit her lip tersely before holding his hand.

"Follow me."

She led him to the open window. The starry night unfurled in all directions. She pointed up and said. "See that star over there? To the left of that triangle? That's where Mom and Dad have gone. They can see us from there. Wave to them."

Chris stuck his hand out and waved in the direction of the star.

"How did they send... money?"

Laura pondered over it for a second before blurting out. "They asked an angel to deliver it."

Spontaneously, Chris wrapped his arms around her waist. Laura was taken aback for a few seconds before she began running her fingers over his back, tracing long circles.

"Thank you, sis. They chose the right angel."

A second later, Chris may have felt a spot of wetness on his shoulder, right under his sister's eye. It was something she had held back all day and finally let past her defences because she couldn't help it any more.

Unknowingly, Chris had given her a gift too. Laura Hadley now had the courage to face her reality once again.

* *

"Calm down, Amy," said the older man. It had little effect on the tiny seething woman across the bed. "I'm sorry. You tell me, what could I have done?"

"You could have told your wife about us, for a change," spat out Amy, grabbing her dress off the chair. "Do you have any idea how much I was looking forward to our week long getaway to Vail?"

"I was looking forward to it too," came the regretful reply. "My wife found the tickets while searching for some papers and asked me about it. Of course I had to say it was a surprise for her. I had no choice."

"You could have finally left her, like you have been promising to do for the past year."

"It's not that simple," he began in a grave tone. "I'm sure you're aware of the fact that my father-in-law is also the chairman of the company. Do you have any idea what he would do if he found out I left his daughter for my secretary?"

"Oh, so I'm only your secretary now, am I?"

"Amy, you know I didn't mean that," he said, brushing her hair off her face. "I love you so much, but I can't leave my wife. Not yet."

"Just get out," she said bitterly. "I need to be alone."

"All right," he said, collecting his personal effects from the dresser and putting on his coat. "But, while we're on the subject of the moral high ground, you should remember that I paid for your necklace, that little car you take to work nowadays as well as the last bit of your student loans. How about you show some gratitude instead of getting all high and mighty?"

"Fuck you," she hissed, glaring angrily.

"I even bought you this apartment."

"You mean your little love nest?" Amy said in an unwaveringly calm tone. "Maybe I should tell your wife."

The man laughed while draping the scarf around his neck. "You and I both know you won't. Drop the moral outrage, okay? I'll see you at work tomorrow. Have the Dawson file on my desk by afternoon."

Just like that, he left. Amy collapsed onto the couch, trying to make sense of the jumble of contradictions in his mind. The only clear thought was that she needed to get out of this place as fast as her legs would let her.

Simply being in that apartment made Amy Fleming feel dirty. A good Catholic girl like her in a situation like this? If only her parents could see her now. While she rushed out, she saw another woman collecting her mail. The copious amount of bad make-up suggested she actually got paid to whore herself out, unlike Amy who did it for love.

Love -- this ethereal drug that enveloped her and made her feel a fluffy warmth all over her body; the castle in the clouds she built brick by brick, only to tear it down again; the happy delusion that fooled her into thinking the world was a better place while it lasted.

Like most drugs, love was addictive. It also had a withdrawal. Every time she felt the floor ripped out from under her, the fall seemed to take longer. This time, she was falling faster, faster than she thought possible. She kept falling, until her soul begged for the crash.

She opened her eyes, finding herself on a lonely road, then she started running. She was running away from all the memories of her last love. Tears streamed down her face and fell on the cold, unfeeling street. Somewhere in her heart, the last ember of the love she felt for her boss died.

It felt terrible each time that happened. Amy's only consolation came from praying it wouldn't happen once more.

She did not know how long and how far she had run when she finally came to a stop. She doubled over and caught her breath. She looked around, seeing brick walls and darkened windows. The only light came from a late-night bar across the road.

"Why not?" she said to herself, walking through the lit doors. The tables and chairs were neatly stacked away on one side as the bartender began to shut down for the night. There was only one customer left at the counter, a sandy haired man.

"Last round, buddy," he said to the man and went about counting his earnings for the day. Amy sat beside him and ordered a single drink for herself. It would help with the numbing process.

A small sob caught her attention. She turned to the sandy haired man. He looked like a wreck, leaning over and sobbing quietly into his own beer. Amy recognized a kindred spirit. She mustered up the courage to ask. "Wife or girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend," he mumbled back, still looking straight into his glass. She pursed her lips before shifting closer to him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Am I that drunk?" he said wistfully, turning to face her. Amy studied his face, all the way from his crystal clear eyes to his smooth chin. It resembled a hollow mask, streaked from hours of crying. She knew that look from the mirror.

"I know how you feel, friend," she said, placing her palm over his. "The drinks will only help for a while. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face the reality that someone you love doesn't love you nearly as much."

"You too, then?" he asked, forcing some mirth into his voice.

"Yes, me too," said Amy. "Would you like to talk some more over coffee tomorrow morning?"

The man looked at her contemplatively for a few seconds before his lips broke into a weak smile. Amy returned the favour and extended her hand.

"Amy Fleming," she said.

"John Mendel," said the man, shaking her hand.

And all of a sudden, the world wasn't as lonely any longer.

* *