The Girls of Club Aphrodite Ch. 02

Fatima

Club Aphrodite called itself a 'gentlemen's club'. It was open from eleven in the morning to eleven at night, and there was no need to make an appointment. You showed up at the blacked-out front door, pressed the buzzer and waited a few uncomfortable seconds for it to open. Once inside, you were greeted by the hostess, a woman in her fifties, who took you to a private room with a huge bed, a sink, and a shower unit. After a couple of minutes, the available girls would come in, one by one, to shake your hand and tell you their fake names. On good days, there might be seven girls to choose from and on not-so-good days maybe two. Then the hostess returned and asked which girl you wanted, for how long and whether you would like one of rooms with a jacuzzi. You could pay by cash or debit card and, once that was done, you sat on the bed or chair and waited for your chosen girl to join you.

Fatima was the first girl I had ever booked in advance and, as I made my way to the club at the appointed hour, I was excited. I was going to have sex with a beautiful girl who seemed to like me. I'm not saying she fancied me; I wasn't that deluded. But ever since I decided to treat myself to paid sex once every two months, I learned that there was a difference between professional friendliness and a genuine click.

When Fatima joined me in the private room, she seemed genuinely pleased to see me. We got undressed, I lay on the bed and she proceeded to give me the introductory back massage. While she did, she asked about my work, my background, my life and, before I knew it, an hour had almost passed. The hostess came back with the cash debit machine so I could pay for an extra hour and then Fatima agreed that it was time to have sex. It was all surprisingly civilised.

Unfortunately, 'civilised' is not a good word when it comes to sex.

The hand job was nice, of course. It's impossible to have a beautiful, naked girl massage your cock without it being a massive turn-on. But as she cleaned off the oil and rolled on the condom, I became worried about the lack of emotion on her face. Was she forcing herself not to register her disgust? Okay, I was in good shape for my age, but she was a woman in the full flower of her youth and beauty. How could she do this and not feel disgust? She started to blowjob me and I realised with dismay that she wasn't all that good at it. Or maybe she was, but my thoughts were sabotaging the process. I lay on my back, thoughts whirling in my head, trying to let them go and hand the controls over to my body. After a couple of minutes, Fatima stopped.

'Is everything okay?' she said.

'Yes, of course,' I said. 'Look, why don't we, um...'

'Have sex?'

'Yes,' I said, wishing she had used the word 'fuck'.

'Sure. Do you want me on top?'

'Um ... okay.'

I'd wanted to fuck her missionary style, but I felt uneasy about imposing my own wants. Fatima was the one having sex with a man she didn't fancy and if it made it easier for her to be on top, let's go with that. However, the sex was crap. Watching her ride my cock was curiously unsexy and both of us were avoiding eye contact. I was going to lose my erection if this carried on much longer.

'Listen,' I said, putting my hands on her hips to stop her. 'Do you think we could try it with me on top?'

'Sure.'

We changed positions and she added more lubricant to my cock before guiding me in. The first moment of pushing myself into her cunt felt great, but when I started fucking, my body failed to respond. I felt Fatima put her hands on my back and lift her legs, and for a moment I thought it was going to work. But her hands didn't move and, because she was small, I was reluctant about pushing too deeply into her. After a couple of minutes, I stopped.

'I don't think it's going to happen,' I said.

I gave her time to take my cock in her hand so that the condom didn't slip off, then pulled out. I lay on my back and grabbed a couple of tissues from the box, taking the condom off myself. Fatima lay on her back next to me, staring up at the ceiling. She looked troubled.

'Are you okay?' I said.

'I'm okay,' she said. 'But are you okay?'

'I'm fine. All right, I didn't come. But it's not the end of the world.'

I got up and dropped the scrunched-up tissue and condom into the waste bin. Then I got back onto the bed and lay next to the naked girl.

'I have a request,' I said.

'Sure.'

'I'd like to lie here and hold you in my arms. Would that be okay?'

'Of course.'

Fatima turned towards me, snuggling into my arms the way my girlfriend used to. She even put her leg over my leg in the same way. Suddenly, I felt like crying. I gave Fatima a squeeze and she put a hand on my chest. We lay like that for a while, holding each other in silence. I let out a deep sigh.

'You know, this is what I miss,' I said.

Fatima's hand gave me a friendly pat. I gave her a squeeze back. This was nice.

'So...' said Fatima, moving her leg against mine. 'How come you didn't finish?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'Maybe I like you too much.'

'But wouldn't that make it easier?'

'Apparently not.' I gave this some thought. 'Look, one of the things that comes to mind is that paying for sex is very different from having sex in a relationship. It's like there are different rules.'

'What rules?'

'Well, in a relationship, I'm with a woman who wants to have sex with me. Or, at least, they choose to have sex with me. But with paid sex, I'm the one doing the choosing.'

'Are you saying you didn't choose your girlfriends?'

'I suppose I am, yes.'

'Really? I mean, not ever?'

I lay on my back, thinking about this.

'Well, maybe my wife,' I said. 'But when I look back, I see that all the women I really wanted were out of my league. Sexy, good-looking women, you know? Not movie star looks, but ... well, girls like you. Apart from my ex-wife, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever had sex with.'

Fatima lifted her head to look at me. There was incredulity in her expression.

'Are you serious?' she said. 'Apart from your wife, all your girlfriends were women you didn't fancy?'

'To a degree,' I said. 'Look, I'm not saying that any of them were unattractive. I mean, there's a huge difference between "okay-looking" and "unattractive," right?'

'But you didn't fancy them?' she persisted.

'Let's just say they weren't my first choice. They were all women I got to know and like, but not as a potential girlfriend. Then, one day, they dropped a hint or said something which made me realise that they were interested in me. And that changed the way I saw them.'

'How?'

I looked into Fatima's lovely brown eyes, feeling wistful about her confusion. I put my hands on her bottom cheeks and gave them a squeeze.

'Listen, Beautiful,' I said. 'You may live in a world in which half the male population fancies you, but my world is completely different. I doubt whether ninety-five percent of the female population even notice me. So when a woman not only notices me, but actually finds me attractive, that does something for a man.'

'What, like an ego boost?'

'Oh, it's way more than that,' I said. 'When you've spent months and months alone, it's just so damn nice to have a woman want to have sex with you. Okay, so she's not my first choice. But as I'm no woman's first choice myself, why the hell not?'

Fatima shook her head.

'I think you're more attractive than you realise,' she said.

'You're very kind,' I said. 'But I did Internet dating for some years, and it was my experience that a man my age with my looks has no chance with even an average-looking woman.'

'But are looks really that important?'

'For sex they are! A relationship with a woman is hard work, my dear, so why would I put myself through it if I don't actually want to fuck her?'

Fatima leaned on my chest and looked down at me.

'Do you really mean that?' she said. 'Is a relationship with a woman really that much work?'

'It absolutely is,' I said. 'I'm telling you, my son at age three needed less attention than my wife. In fact, my son at age three needed less attention than any of the women I've ever been with. On top of that, he grew up!'

Fatima had her head resting on her hand as she looked at me. There was no anger there, no judgement, no condescension. She seemed to be thinking about what I'd said. I gave her body a squeeze.

'Sorry about the rant,' I said.

'Don't be silly,' said Fatima. 'It's nice to hear a man say what he really thinks. Most men don't.' She paused and her eyes narrowed. 'Actually, that's only true in my personal life. Most of the conversations I have with men in this place are super-honest. I suppose it's because a man can say what he thinks to me and there are no consequences.'

'True.' I frowned. 'Nearly true.'

'Why nearly?'

I put my arms around her and sighed.

'Because the way you're looking at me now is really nice,' I said. 'You're looking at me like you don't dislike what you see.'

'But of course I don't.'

'No, there's no "of course" about it. Having a beautiful woman look at me like that ... I don't know ... it does something. And I don't want to say something crass and have you look at me like I was a—'

There was a soft double-knock on the door. Fatima and I looked at the clock in the same moment.

'Shit!' said Fatima. 'That went fast!'

I lay quiet, considering paying for a third hour. I couldn't really afford to, but this intimacy felt too wonderful to end. How often did I feel connected to a woman like this?

'I could pay for an extra hour,' I said, tentatively.

'I have a booking,' said Fatima, laying her head back on my chest. 'I checked when I went to the bathroom. It's a shame, because I would have loved to continue this.'

'Me too.'

She turned her head to look at me.

'I hope I see you again,' she said. 'But if I don't, that's also okay. I want you to know that.'

'God, I like you,' I said.

'I like you too,' she said. 'But, unfortunately, you have to get dressed, and I have to clean up this room.'

And with that, she rolled off the bed and reached for her clothing.