Chapter 18

I don't know what else I have to do right this very moment. To be truthful and honest with you, I don't know where exactly this is taking me to. Where precisely? I mean: this man here has just helped me out and I can't believe that I have to repay him for what he has done by sleeping with him and ending his life in the very conclusion. Is this it or what exactly? I am confused right now and I don't even know what to really and literally do. I am being truthful and veracious here; I mean it; for certain.

When he stares down at me, he sees and notices how nervous and uneasy I am. I really am pissed-up and upright erect on my toes. And I have to find a way to not let everything clear and revealed to him. What certainly do I have to carry out? The look and expression in his eyes ... it is tender and soft and gentle and mild; obviously and unquestionably mild! Damn it! Being emotional and feeling-moved here won't certainly or definitely solve anything at all. No, it surely and precisely won't.

"Are you okay?" He asks passionately and sympathetically. Crap! How am I supposed to respond to that?

"I am fine," I state and declare to him with a lenient and obliging smile, doing my very best to repress those hurting and aching tears that I can feel collecting and pooling up in my eyes. Here we are! At long and final last, gawping and smiling at each other quietly and soundlessly. Yeah! At least we are going somewhere ... somewhere where I can catch and ensnare him up. Duh!

"How about a glass of wine?" He queries me curiously and with deep, keen, apparently enthusiastic interest. No; there is no way I have to show it to him that I am desperate and eager and very much willing to lay him in this trap of mine and do his being up in the very end. Possibly not! And so, with a slyly shy and embarrassed smile, I look up at him, rubbing my hands gently and steadily on my behind, and then in a very firm and persisting voice, I tell him:

"I'm really sorry. Well, you see, I would very much like to have something cold and sweet with you, but I can't. I have to go off somewhere. Pardon me please." Well, like I expect and look forward to, there is a flicker of sadness and glumness flashing and streaking across his plain ivory-tinctured face. I see it—it is brief, cursory, and imprudent what's more. It is just there and in a moment it is all gone, vanished and dropped out of sight off somewhere. Whew! I have to wait and see what his reply to that will be!

"You mean you can't go with me to the counter for a drink or two or possibly more? Where is it that you are exactly going? To see ... a ... a ... a nightly boyfriend of yours who pays you that much more than I myself probably can?"

Sh*t! Has it come to this now? I mean I am all shocked and stunned and horrified here—margin! I wasn't expecting all this ... and just how exactly do I have to answer back? Well, my conscious has to step and interrupt in then—I surmise so! Yeah! She is pretty smart cool enough though. Is she really?

"I ... I ... what are you talking by that in the first place," I ask the cool, chilled, and calmly gentleman. His eyes flicker and flare up once again. They are a dazzling and effulgent jade green in color. Wow! It is such a brilliant and wonderfully fantastic color though. Yeah ... I mean!

"How much is your client paying you just for this night only?" Holy damn! He has the guts, doesn't he? Shit! I just don't know how to steer this conversation anymore. I honestly and truly and precisely don't ... I just don't...

"Let's say ten thousand dollars a night! What now?" As I ask this, all serious and grave and staid-faced, aiming and intending at doing nothing rather than thwarting and frustrating this stranger man down. Yes. This has to be enough and sufficient to get me out of his presence and influence and reach; because if I don't, I will end up killing him. For sure!

"Ten thousand?" He asks coyly and mirthfully, stroking and caressing his moustache with his chin as he does so. Well, I have defeated and cured him down, or have I not managed to do that? Come on; be serious, girl; I tell and brace myself. And there comes the reply: "Well, ten thousand is not that very much difficult for me to provide and fork out to you?"

What? Am I hearing things correctly—or not? I can't exactly tell, and so I ask him to repeat what he said and he surely and precisely does so. Screw him for it!

"I said that ten thousand is not a problem at all. I will pay you fifty thousand cash this very night. I have it—at my home that is. What do you say about that, miss, huh? Are you in for this game of sexual exploitation, or not?"

My mouth drops open; I am confused and staggered and punch-shocked and wordless. How can I ever deny that? I am in need of that amount like so, so bad ... and yes, I will go sleep with him right no if he says so. But death shall surely be his fate and portion for it. Yes! It definitely and precisely will be! Real time!

"What do you have to say about that, Elle?"

"I am in for it," I specify and make known to him. Yes. There is no going or swerving back now. I have to go on with this and end wherever it is that it is going to take me. I mean it!

"Very good then," the man smiles gladly and happily. Sh*t! He doesn't know what is lying in store for him, or does he? Seemingly not! Otherwise he would have ... attacked and assailed me. Good thing he does not on my part. Yeah ... good thing indeed!

I cannot escape this right now. It is quite pretty late; and we have to face the consequences and results, I guess. Real deal...

We are seated at the counter, waiting for the bar man to serve us our glasses of drinks. I have ordered a very frozen and chilled up cold drink while Doug—he tells me it is his name and I just don't know how true this is—orders a couple glasses of Russian and Slavic types of beer. Once we are served, Doug does not delay to sip and slurp his glass up. I watch him patiently and quietly, raising up and lowering down my eyebrows as I do so. I am puzzled up and flummoxed—honestly!

"So where do you stay?" I start to interrogate and query him. Hmnnnnn! Where am I going with all this? I hope that I don't have to look like an awkward, clumsy and so out-of-place interrogator, or do I have to look all this and so much more even? Huh, honestly you mean? Damn whichever direction it is that we are headed to with all of this! Dammit—I say!

He is legendary and much-publicized ... he is markedly divine and bitchin' awesome and world-class too, and here we have him today for a gee-whizz and jaw-dropping interview ... Cristiano Ronaldo—your best-liked soccer star!

1. How advanced in years were you first jacked up or had sex?

Nineteen years old.

2. Are you an aficionado and freaking fiend lover of BDSM?

Unquestionably!

3. What sex idée fixes and manias and fetishes do you have—if any have breath in you?

Ladies' Gee-string; I adore how their—girlies'—behinds and nicely butts are shaped and hewn just by putting on this kind of underwear.

4. Do you as well cosset (or have) a wonty moreish craving of leering and feasting eyes on porn?

Yes. It is a manly thingummy, I believe.

5. How frequently and oftentimes do you eyeball and take a butcher's dekko at porn itself?

Not many a times. At least half an hour in a day is as much as I need and necessary.

6. Do you ever masturbate and jack it off all by yourself?

Once in a while; when I am every so often lonesome and companionless and estranged!

7. What is your sex grouping classification?

I am straight. Not dykey please! Not that, I beg you.

8. What is your best-loved and choicest fave female body piece (ingredient that is)?