The Girls of Club Aphrodite Ch. 01

'So, is this your first time?' she said.

I was naked, lying on my front on a giant bed in a private room. The girl who called herself Fatima had also stripped off and was massaging my back and shoulders. I was fifty-two; she was maybe twenty-five. 'This shouldn't be happening,' I thought. But with my head on my arms, I could see the naked Fatima taking care of me in the giant wall mirror, and she was a sight to behold -- tan skin, a petite body with perfect round buttocks, and long wavy black hair tied back in a rough ponytail. She was as physically beautiful as any woman I'd ever been with, and I couldn't bring myself to regret being here.

I hadn't been so sure to begin with. Club Aphrodite's website featured black-and-white photos of the girls in a variety of sexy lingerie, their faces pixeled out to protect their identities. The website also listed which girls were working that day and I arrived an hour before closing time, hoping the tall blonde 'Sabrina' was available. Unfortunately, she was busy with another client. The only girl left was Fatima, whose photo and profile hadn't really appealed to me. Indeed, I'd said no to begin with and only stayed when the hostess suggested I meet her first. Watching Fatima massage me now, that seemed like an ancient memory.

'Are you asleep?' she said.

'I was watching you,' I said. 'You are incredibly beautiful.'

'Thank you.' She pressed her thumbs into my shoulder blades. 'We don't have to talk,' she added. 'But I do enjoy a good conversation.'

'So do I,' I said.

'So... is this your first time to a place like this?'

'No.'

'Do you come often?'

'About once every two months, for the last couple of years. Ever since I turned fifty, actually.'

'You're over fifty?'

There was a note of incredulity in her voice which my male ego lapped up. I loved it that I looked younger than my years. It partly made up for the fact that I was average-looking to begin with.

'I'm fifty-two,' I told her.

'Wow! You look good for your age,' she said. 'I would have said forty-five at the most.'

'You're very kind.'

She continued the massage, shifting position to get more comfortable. I let out a sigh and closed my eyes. Fatima cleared her throat.

'So, why did turning fifty make you start coming to places like this?' she asked.

'I'm not sure,' I said, dreamily. 'I don't feel like I had a mid-life crisis. But my father started developing health problems when he was seventy-five and, if I share his genes, that means I've only got twenty-five years of good health left. And the big question was: What do I want to do with those years? I mean, I'm divorced and my son is a young man at university, so that phase of my life is over. I have zero desire to get married again or even have a girlfriend, especially after my last one. But I still feel too young to give up sex.'

'What happened with your girlfriend? If you don't mind my asking.'

'No, it's fine.' I turned my head to face the other way, eyes still closed. 'Well, I suppose the official answer is that we wanted different things. She was about my age, no children herself, divorced twice. Yet for some reason she still believed in Romance.'

'And you don't?'

'Of course not. I used to when I was young, but after marriage and divorce I realised that romantic love simply doesn't exist. In fact, Romance actually destroys Love.'

I felt the hands stop. Even through closed eyes, I could sense the girl was frowning.

'Why do you say that?' she said.

'For the same reason people stopped believing the earth was flat,' I said. 'The evidence piles up until it becomes undeniable.'

'What evidence?'

'Look, Love is real,' I said. 'I can feel it. I feel it when I look at my son. When I look at my family and friends. When I think about the women I was in relationships with. It exists in the real world, do you know what I mean? Whereas Romance is something we've invented; it exists in the mind. Romance is a picture of what we think Love ought to look like. And you can't focus on reality and fantasy at the same time. Does that make sense?'

'Yes, but can't you combine them?' said Fatima. 'I mean, when an inventor has the idea for an invention, that only exists in the mind. But then he builds it, bringing it into reality, right?'

'True.'

I pondered her question. The hands began moving again, rubbing oil into the flesh of my back. I opened my eyes and watched the naked young woman massaging my shoulders. She saw I was looking at her via the mirror and looked concerned.

'I hope you don't mind me asking these questions,' she said.

'Of course not,' I said. 'Are there men who do?'

'Sometimes.'

'Christ...'

'Well, I get it,' she said. 'I mean, a man comes here to relax and have a woman spoil him, right? Not interrogate him.'

'You are spoiling me!' I said. 'I'm in the hands of a beautiful, naked woman who is both massaging my body and engaging me in a really interesting conversation. This is Heaven!'

'Good,' she said. 'I'm enjoying it too, by the way.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' I said.

I only half believed it, but I didn't want to be rude. It occurred to me that pretending to be interested in a man was part of a sex worker's job, although Fatima didn't strike me as the type to pretend. Besides, her questions were intelligent and incisive. I liked it and I liked her. As if reading my mind, Fatima said:

'So, to get back to my original question: Why did 'Romance' cause you and your girlfriend to break up?'

I laughed. She was paying attention, all right. So, lying there in a half dream, feeling her hands on my body, I started telling her my theories about Love. How I believed that Love meant truly seeing someone and accepting who they are, whereas Romance was about trying to get a person to conform to the mental image of your perfect partner, which to my mind was the opposite of acceptance. Fatima shared her own thoughts and asked my opinion of them. My goodness, but how wonderful it was to have a beautiful young woman ask what I thought about something. All the women I'd been in relationships with had always wanted me to be the listener. I never realised how much I longer to be listened to.

Fatima was working the small muscles of my lower back, when she stopped and gasped.

'Shit, we only have ten minutes left!' she said. 'Come on, turn over.'

A little bemused, I turned over onto my back. Fatima pulled the hair-tie from her ponytail so that her hair hung loose. She squeezed oil onto her hand and started to massage my cock. It felt wonderful and I was hard almost immediately. I reached out to touch her bare thigh and buttock as she knelt next to me, her hand slowly going up and down the shaft of my cock. I looked at her bare breasts and felt the familiar tightening of my balls.

'Stop, stop,' I said, both my hands covering her hand on my cock.

'What's wrong?' she said.

'Nothing's wrong.' I hesitated. 'I, um ... I just don't want to rush this. I really like you. I mean, not that I've ever disliked a girl—'

'I know what you mean,' said Fatima gently.

'Well...' I stumbled on. 'I really enjoyed our talk. And to just fuck you, get dressed and bugger off feels like a bad way of ending the evening.'

Fatima looked amused.

'That's kind of how it works,' she said.

'Yeah, I know. But...'

I frowned and looked up at the ceiling. There were no ceiling mirrors in this room, perhaps fortunately, as I was feeling ridiculous. I was lying naked on a bed with a girl still holding my cock as she waited for me to make up my mind. I glanced at the clock and saw that there were now only five minutes left.

'Listen, here's what I want,' I said. 'I want to book another appointment with you, so we can take our time. If you're okay with that?'

'Of course.'

'Good.'

I let go of her hand. By now, my cock had deflated somewhat, and it was covered in goo. Fatima reached for the box of tissues and pulled out a couple of sheets. She smiled as she cleaned me up.

'A man who changes his mind about sex,' she said. 'I have to say, I've never had that one before!'