‘Fuck that … it’s not natural.’
‘You want sex or not?’
‘Look Serena, I’ve paid, okay? I’m not wearing one.’
‘Well you can go and get fucked elsewhere.’ She glared at him, hands on hips instead of removing her g-string, and then picking up her lacy bra from his chair instead. He was watching her coffee-coloured breasts pout tantalisingly in front of his face.
‘Serena, please ... I need it.’
She hesitated. It was a risk. Should she tell him? He was old enough to be her father, except he was white, with wavy black hair greying at the temples. Muscular, looked like a ‘brickie’, with a horny hard-on lusting after her body. Much like the others. Only this one wore decent clothes and didn’t smell quite as bad. Not down to the sewerage plant for a quickie, but back to his grimy bed-sit in Bridleton with a leaky shower, dirt rimmed sink and blocked–up toilet.
‘Twenty quid extra … and you don’t cum inside, okay?’
He nodded: ‘Come here baby.’
‘You want to play with this?’ she teased, pulling at her g-string. But not for long. Just enough to get him aroused and it would be over sooner. It was business and she had other customers waiting. She hoped. God, he was strong. Pumping like a run-away steam-engine, faster and faster, hot breath whistling into her ears.
And then he blew.
She struggled to get out from under him. Slapped him across his face; left a red mark. ‘Fucking asshole … I told you.’ That seemed to goad him. She could see his expression change. ‘Look, I’m sorry…’
But he flipped her over and forced her legs apart. ‘Fucking bitch,’ he spat. ‘Asshole, eh? Is that what you want? I’ll show you who’s an asshole.'
She’d had worse. At least it wasn’t his ham of a fist. Just bury your head in the pillow. Breathe deeply, and think of her next holiday in some exotic place with Carol, her sister. Maybe Benidorm or Costa del Sol. Blue bikini, red-striped deckchair and a Sangria cocktail, ice cubes crackling in the glass. Foursomes at night. She heard him grunt and withdraw. Turned her over.
‘Lick it off, bitch.’
Her dream faded away. ‘Fuck you, Mister. I hope you get HIV.’
He looked startled, but dismissed it as an idle threat. ‘Oh, so you ain’t finished bad mouthing me, eh?’
She saw him clamber off the bed, and over to the small sink unit, which doubled up as a kitchen drainer. Utensils, cups and plates strewn across the metal tray. Leftovers congealing on greasy plates. Something glittered under the glow of the naked light-bulb and circling flies. He moved towards her, a grin on his face. Showed her the blade: touched her body with the tip. Running it up and down. Not saying anything.
She flinched and tried to shy away, feeling vulnerable. ‘Look, forget about the twenty quid. Just let me go, ok?’
He shook his head. Pinned her down. ‘Too late for that, bitch.’
She felt a sharp pain deep inside, and then a dull ache. She dreamily watched her blood oozing onto the sheet. Carol giggling, asking for another cocktail. It wasn’t meant to be like this. He was too strong, she couldn’t struggle.
At the end, she sighed and let the darkness take her...