Post by Bola on Sept 1, 2011 9:40:41 GMT -5
Alright, so this is actually supposed to be quite raw in nature. I'm not sure I've succeeded, but some readers have mentioned that this made them cry, so I hereby warn you.
"I'm afraid that Mr. Chumps left."
"When?" I asked, taken aback by the reply. I for sure hadn't seen that one coming at all. My fingers tightened onto the edge of the bar. Mr. Baininwa merely continued drying glasses, acting as if he was only talking about the weather, and certainly having no clue what that little fact could have meant to the then nineteen-year-old me.
"At dawn."
"What?" I questioned, eyes wide. "Without me? When is he returning?"
Mr. Baininwa finally turned his gaze up to me then. "He isn't. He's left for Spain, when you still were asleep."
"That … No, that's impossible. He wouldn't leave me here without anything."
"I'm afraid that he did. If you would like to have a bed here, and food, that can be arranged, but of course you won't get it for nothing." He then eyed me closely, and I recall swallowing when he finally put the towel aside to give me his full attention, and a little smile of intimidation appeared on his face. I had never seen Mr. Baininwa as smooth or amiable, but right then he looked downright ugly. "We have quite some customers, but holding open a bar isn't very cheap nor lucrative." He used dainty vocabulary, even though his broken English made it sound funny sometimes. "We could do with basically every penny, and I'm sure that many of the male customers wouldn't mind paying some to be entertained by a lovely English girl your age." Most of the customer body existed of males, and I didn't need more to get what 'entertaining' in the eyes of the bar owner meant. I momentarily shook my head at that. "You have nowhere else to go… so I fear that maybe you don't really have another choice." I had run away at the place that I used to call home to make sure nothing like this would happen; that it wouldn't lead further to the father that hadn't been my father fitting his cock into me…
All had been nice until the daughter that hadn't been their daughter turned ten, and had begun turning into a woman. I had been rather early at that, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by the father that hadn't been my father. A change in our usual Gaiety Cinema afternoons on Sundays had announced itself at that age, when suddenly in the middle of a Laurel and Hardy piece his hand had slipped underneath my dress, and felt between my legs. It hadn't happened only once, but since then multiple times, so that in the end I had made sure to place the chair that usually stood by the desk under the bedroom door handle upon going to bed every night, just to make sure he wouldn't touch me when I was asleep. He hadn't tried it until my fourteenth, and that's the night, when I finally gathered enough courage to run, without anything… much like Ernie left me at the Café Rose four years after that. I was insanely in love with him, even though the age difference, and he had used me only for company for nearly a year, and then left without a word or any other notion. Indeed, I had nowhere to go, just like Mr. Baininwa said, and I hated to know he was entirely right.
So that very same night when Ernie Chumps left me just like that in Marrakech, I got dressed in something that was often worn by the women that lived on the street and had only their bodies to give, offering others – usually men – to enjoy it for some pennies. I wasn't any better than them while at the Café Rose, where I would stay until the age of twenty-one.
I followed what Mr. Baininwa had many times instructed me to do: be flirty with the men, and seduce. A few regular male customers had noticed me already earlier, and some of them appeared to have asked the owner if I offered certain services quite a few times as well. That's what I learned while actually offering them. The men sometimes slipped secrets of which I am sure no one else knew but them.
The very first customer whom I had to entertain had been one of the many strangers occasionally visiting the café. I never even got his name, yet I will never forget that first time; not only because of the smell that emanated off him and that still penetrates my nostrils when recalling – one that still succeeds to make me feel sick, just like back then – but because it was the beginning of the very same thing being repeated over and over again in the years to follow.
No air escaped me while quietly undressing, and lying down on the bed, legs wide. Fear ran through my veins and tightened my throat to the point of nearly choking me. The man was taller and stronger than me by far. I watched with nothing less but repulsion and utter fear as he easily undressed at the end of the bed, his erection jumping free.
It wasn't really the first time I saw a male's naked testes, but the veiny and seemingly solid size scared the then nineteen-year-old me immensely, especially when keeping in mind where it should, and would, be going.
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding onto the white bed sheets tightly and waiting for the pain that never came… "I don't wanna look at you. Turn over, and maybe you'll be getting something more," the stranger said in broken English, seeing that I certainly wasn't African, and guessing me to be European and to be getting English.
I didn't really get what the man wanted at once, until he repeated much louder, "Turn over!" and yanked me up rather hard by my arm, throwing me back on the bed with my face into the pillows. Even more than forty years later, I cannot really describe the pain that coursed through my body as that monster pulled my pelvis back over my knees, and drove his hard cock into my virginal cavern.
I still recall releasing a cry of intense pain and tears filling my eyes at once. He didn't like that, and pushed my head harder into the pillows to smother the sounds while pumping into me hard, rutting furiously for release. I nearly choked, strongly wishing for it to be over soon. It seemed hours later, even though it must have been mere minutes when a warm sticky liquid filled me up inside and he retracted in satisfaction, got dressed and left me alone there bleeding.
Mr. Baininwa was nothing less but furious upon rushing upstairs when I didn't come down soon after, and finding me in tears and shivering on the bed, a vivid red stain upon the sheet indicating that I likely wouldn't be able to do any more services that night. I continued bleeding most of it.
I soon figured that maybe it wasn't so bad to not have to look at them, and since that night immediately sat on hands and knees for the men coming to fuck me for money I never got any of. Most of the men following that first one appeared to be the same; no variety came at all. None of them appeared to like any better than me facing away, even though I never cried anymore after that first time. Most of my customers were strangers, and often I had longed for a different kind of stranger. In my personal opinion about men, which is mainly based on the time I worked as an entertaining girl at the Café Rose, men were all the same, even though there once was one that I will certainly never forget…
That man was a stranger as well, but one that was unusual in every other way. The man was just a little younger than the usual customers, and his English was far better just to begin with. He didn't really carry a smell, and was shaven and well dressed, unlike most of the others that came to me. I worked there in the Café Rose for about eighteen months then; eighteen months with no difference whatsoever in the work I did. Half a year later, I would find enough courage to run away. I had run away once. I could do it twice. I didn't have anything of worth in the Café Rose. I didn't have anything, but the few pennies which I had gathered since the unusual stranger's visit. I would like to believe he actually gave me the solution. When I ponder about it all now, I often wonder just why I didn't run earlier; why I didn't consider doing what the stranger made me see was possible.
I never got his name either. When he came up to my room that day, the first thought that came to me was that he was rather handsome. It was rather early, and he actually was my first customer for the day. I nodded at him, and rapidly undressed myself. That's why he had come, no? His fingers calmly fell upon mine not coincidentally when I began unbuttoning the dress I wore; one that barely reached my thighs. That stranger was the first to kiss me in the Café Rose. In fact, he's the one who gave me my very first kiss ever, lavishing my mouth while slowly continuing to undress me.
I sat on my hands and knees, once the last article joined the others on the carpet beside the bed, but he carefully chuckled, and said, "I would like to look at you, if you don't mind." I must have eyed him in shock, because he leant in to let his mouth connect with mine, while slowly guiding me on my back in bed. Unlike every other customer that I had had in the eighteen months I worked there, he didn't immediately crawl atop of me and push himself inside me. He was even tender, and touched me in places no one had ever touched me until then. He began kissing my cleavage; something no one else ever had done. He made me feel things I had never felt when kissing his way down over my body to that area between my thighs which usually was the only thing the men noticed and kissed me there. He eventually made me reach orgasm that way, and only then slid into me. He wasn't nearly as rough as what I was used to, and I can't say that I minded.
The experience with him would be the most near I ever had to making love; at least to how I imagine it to be and how I described it in my novels later.
Afterward, the man gave me some pennies for personal use. I suppose he must have had at least an idea that none of what the bar owner asked and got for my services would come to me. I asked every customer after him for some pennies for personal use. I took them in my mouth for it, but eventually I did gather enough to run one night after the café had closed; enough to take me to Egypt where I learned how to earn honest money, without having to open my legs. I worked there as a waitress in a few pubs, and chose to move to Italy where I still live until today.
I have had the luck that both my tries to escape first the father that wasn't my father and then my life at the Café Rose succeeded. I have had the luck that I could escape living life that way to lead a more normal and clean existence.
I haven't had the luck in life to find myself a man who really loved me again after Luigi.
I met him soon after my arrival in Italy. Luigi was the son of circus people. I ran into him at the market and I would like to believe it was pure love at first sight. These days, matters like that only exist in novels, but for me it was very real. I soon helped as an acrobat in the circus that eventually killed him.
Luigi had been working hard on some new dangerous acts with me, of which his father forced him to do one one night – the night he died – even thought it had not been fully perfected quite yet. His father had not been able to wait until it would be. He had needed the money or his circus and thus whole living would collapse due to the concurrence of others, who did more dangerous acts and succeeded to attract more visitors. Nothing could be dangerous enough. Ironically enough, the night love died for me on the Wall of Death, the circus had never been so full. I never found love again, and how I have searched …
I'm old now. Being deprived of love is like being deprived of oxygen. No one can survive without giving or getting love, yet I did it every day, until Carrozza 219 … ironically enough, again. Many people lost loved ones that day, when I gained them.
I certainly regret many decisions I have made, but I'll never regret living long enough to know what happiness is like described in my novels. I cannot say how long it'll last, but I'll never regret having felt it, even if it had only been a day.
"I'm afraid that Mr. Chumps left."
"When?" I asked, taken aback by the reply. I for sure hadn't seen that one coming at all. My fingers tightened onto the edge of the bar. Mr. Baininwa merely continued drying glasses, acting as if he was only talking about the weather, and certainly having no clue what that little fact could have meant to the then nineteen-year-old me.
"At dawn."
"What?" I questioned, eyes wide. "Without me? When is he returning?"
Mr. Baininwa finally turned his gaze up to me then. "He isn't. He's left for Spain, when you still were asleep."
"That … No, that's impossible. He wouldn't leave me here without anything."
"I'm afraid that he did. If you would like to have a bed here, and food, that can be arranged, but of course you won't get it for nothing." He then eyed me closely, and I recall swallowing when he finally put the towel aside to give me his full attention, and a little smile of intimidation appeared on his face. I had never seen Mr. Baininwa as smooth or amiable, but right then he looked downright ugly. "We have quite some customers, but holding open a bar isn't very cheap nor lucrative." He used dainty vocabulary, even though his broken English made it sound funny sometimes. "We could do with basically every penny, and I'm sure that many of the male customers wouldn't mind paying some to be entertained by a lovely English girl your age." Most of the customer body existed of males, and I didn't need more to get what 'entertaining' in the eyes of the bar owner meant. I momentarily shook my head at that. "You have nowhere else to go… so I fear that maybe you don't really have another choice." I had run away at the place that I used to call home to make sure nothing like this would happen; that it wouldn't lead further to the father that hadn't been my father fitting his cock into me…
All had been nice until the daughter that hadn't been their daughter turned ten, and had begun turning into a woman. I had been rather early at that, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by the father that hadn't been my father. A change in our usual Gaiety Cinema afternoons on Sundays had announced itself at that age, when suddenly in the middle of a Laurel and Hardy piece his hand had slipped underneath my dress, and felt between my legs. It hadn't happened only once, but since then multiple times, so that in the end I had made sure to place the chair that usually stood by the desk under the bedroom door handle upon going to bed every night, just to make sure he wouldn't touch me when I was asleep. He hadn't tried it until my fourteenth, and that's the night, when I finally gathered enough courage to run, without anything… much like Ernie left me at the Café Rose four years after that. I was insanely in love with him, even though the age difference, and he had used me only for company for nearly a year, and then left without a word or any other notion. Indeed, I had nowhere to go, just like Mr. Baininwa said, and I hated to know he was entirely right.
So that very same night when Ernie Chumps left me just like that in Marrakech, I got dressed in something that was often worn by the women that lived on the street and had only their bodies to give, offering others – usually men – to enjoy it for some pennies. I wasn't any better than them while at the Café Rose, where I would stay until the age of twenty-one.
I followed what Mr. Baininwa had many times instructed me to do: be flirty with the men, and seduce. A few regular male customers had noticed me already earlier, and some of them appeared to have asked the owner if I offered certain services quite a few times as well. That's what I learned while actually offering them. The men sometimes slipped secrets of which I am sure no one else knew but them.
The very first customer whom I had to entertain had been one of the many strangers occasionally visiting the café. I never even got his name, yet I will never forget that first time; not only because of the smell that emanated off him and that still penetrates my nostrils when recalling – one that still succeeds to make me feel sick, just like back then – but because it was the beginning of the very same thing being repeated over and over again in the years to follow.
No air escaped me while quietly undressing, and lying down on the bed, legs wide. Fear ran through my veins and tightened my throat to the point of nearly choking me. The man was taller and stronger than me by far. I watched with nothing less but repulsion and utter fear as he easily undressed at the end of the bed, his erection jumping free.
It wasn't really the first time I saw a male's naked testes, but the veiny and seemingly solid size scared the then nineteen-year-old me immensely, especially when keeping in mind where it should, and would, be going.
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding onto the white bed sheets tightly and waiting for the pain that never came… "I don't wanna look at you. Turn over, and maybe you'll be getting something more," the stranger said in broken English, seeing that I certainly wasn't African, and guessing me to be European and to be getting English.
I didn't really get what the man wanted at once, until he repeated much louder, "Turn over!" and yanked me up rather hard by my arm, throwing me back on the bed with my face into the pillows. Even more than forty years later, I cannot really describe the pain that coursed through my body as that monster pulled my pelvis back over my knees, and drove his hard cock into my virginal cavern.
I still recall releasing a cry of intense pain and tears filling my eyes at once. He didn't like that, and pushed my head harder into the pillows to smother the sounds while pumping into me hard, rutting furiously for release. I nearly choked, strongly wishing for it to be over soon. It seemed hours later, even though it must have been mere minutes when a warm sticky liquid filled me up inside and he retracted in satisfaction, got dressed and left me alone there bleeding.
Mr. Baininwa was nothing less but furious upon rushing upstairs when I didn't come down soon after, and finding me in tears and shivering on the bed, a vivid red stain upon the sheet indicating that I likely wouldn't be able to do any more services that night. I continued bleeding most of it.
I soon figured that maybe it wasn't so bad to not have to look at them, and since that night immediately sat on hands and knees for the men coming to fuck me for money I never got any of. Most of the men following that first one appeared to be the same; no variety came at all. None of them appeared to like any better than me facing away, even though I never cried anymore after that first time. Most of my customers were strangers, and often I had longed for a different kind of stranger. In my personal opinion about men, which is mainly based on the time I worked as an entertaining girl at the Café Rose, men were all the same, even though there once was one that I will certainly never forget…
That man was a stranger as well, but one that was unusual in every other way. The man was just a little younger than the usual customers, and his English was far better just to begin with. He didn't really carry a smell, and was shaven and well dressed, unlike most of the others that came to me. I worked there in the Café Rose for about eighteen months then; eighteen months with no difference whatsoever in the work I did. Half a year later, I would find enough courage to run away. I had run away once. I could do it twice. I didn't have anything of worth in the Café Rose. I didn't have anything, but the few pennies which I had gathered since the unusual stranger's visit. I would like to believe he actually gave me the solution. When I ponder about it all now, I often wonder just why I didn't run earlier; why I didn't consider doing what the stranger made me see was possible.
I never got his name either. When he came up to my room that day, the first thought that came to me was that he was rather handsome. It was rather early, and he actually was my first customer for the day. I nodded at him, and rapidly undressed myself. That's why he had come, no? His fingers calmly fell upon mine not coincidentally when I began unbuttoning the dress I wore; one that barely reached my thighs. That stranger was the first to kiss me in the Café Rose. In fact, he's the one who gave me my very first kiss ever, lavishing my mouth while slowly continuing to undress me.
I sat on my hands and knees, once the last article joined the others on the carpet beside the bed, but he carefully chuckled, and said, "I would like to look at you, if you don't mind." I must have eyed him in shock, because he leant in to let his mouth connect with mine, while slowly guiding me on my back in bed. Unlike every other customer that I had had in the eighteen months I worked there, he didn't immediately crawl atop of me and push himself inside me. He was even tender, and touched me in places no one had ever touched me until then. He began kissing my cleavage; something no one else ever had done. He made me feel things I had never felt when kissing his way down over my body to that area between my thighs which usually was the only thing the men noticed and kissed me there. He eventually made me reach orgasm that way, and only then slid into me. He wasn't nearly as rough as what I was used to, and I can't say that I minded.
The experience with him would be the most near I ever had to making love; at least to how I imagine it to be and how I described it in my novels later.
Afterward, the man gave me some pennies for personal use. I suppose he must have had at least an idea that none of what the bar owner asked and got for my services would come to me. I asked every customer after him for some pennies for personal use. I took them in my mouth for it, but eventually I did gather enough to run one night after the café had closed; enough to take me to Egypt where I learned how to earn honest money, without having to open my legs. I worked there as a waitress in a few pubs, and chose to move to Italy where I still live until today.
I have had the luck that both my tries to escape first the father that wasn't my father and then my life at the Café Rose succeeded. I have had the luck that I could escape living life that way to lead a more normal and clean existence.
I haven't had the luck in life to find myself a man who really loved me again after Luigi.
I met him soon after my arrival in Italy. Luigi was the son of circus people. I ran into him at the market and I would like to believe it was pure love at first sight. These days, matters like that only exist in novels, but for me it was very real. I soon helped as an acrobat in the circus that eventually killed him.
Luigi had been working hard on some new dangerous acts with me, of which his father forced him to do one one night – the night he died – even thought it had not been fully perfected quite yet. His father had not been able to wait until it would be. He had needed the money or his circus and thus whole living would collapse due to the concurrence of others, who did more dangerous acts and succeeded to attract more visitors. Nothing could be dangerous enough. Ironically enough, the night love died for me on the Wall of Death, the circus had never been so full. I never found love again, and how I have searched …
I'm old now. Being deprived of love is like being deprived of oxygen. No one can survive without giving or getting love, yet I did it every day, until Carrozza 219 … ironically enough, again. Many people lost loved ones that day, when I gained them.
I certainly regret many decisions I have made, but I'll never regret living long enough to know what happiness is like described in my novels. I cannot say how long it'll last, but I'll never regret having felt it, even if it had only been a day.
