Chapter 4: The World Turned Upside Down

‘I’m sorry, M’sieur, but Mam’selle Jacquelynne is entertaining a guest and will not be free for at least four hours.”

To say I was disappointed and annoyed would be a gross understatement. I had arrived at The House of Joy in the early afternoon, in fact The House had only just opened its doors to clients, or guests as the men looking for sexual relief were referred to. How could Jacquelynne be already engaged and booked for the rest of the evening? I didn’t know the name of the girl who I was talking to but knew she was one of The House courtesans and not in administration and was surprised she had been in the foyer on reception duties. I believed she was related to Madame Joy as she seemed to be closer to Madame Joy than the other girls. Maybe she stood in for Madame Joy as a meeter and greeter?

The girl continued speaking. “There are several other girls available and you will...”

“No, I want Jacquelynne and no one else.”

She shrugged her elegant, bare, shoulders. “Well in that case you have a long wait. I advise you to come back tomorrow. And anyway, after a four hour – err – consultation with M’sieu Vachone Jacquelynne will be in no...”

“Did you say Vachone? Hector Vachone?”

“Yes, I believe Hector is M’sieu Vachone’s given name.”

“What room are they in? I’m going to throw that bastard out and...”

A heavy hand descended on my shoulder. “I think it time you left, M’sieu,” a gruff voice said in my ear. I stiffened in fear. The House of Joy employed a doorman by the name of Obelix, he was huge. He usually greeted clients with a beaming smile but now his face held a scowl and his hand held most of my skinny shoulder in a vice like grip. He dragged me towards the front door but paused when Madame Joy appeared on the scene.

“Thank you, Obelix. I’ll deal with this.” She turned to the girl I had first spoken to. “Serena, my dear, you have a guest awaiting you in the Roman Suite. Sapphire and Ariadne will be joining after you start the festivities.”

Serena nodded, gave me a look compounded of sympathy and pity and then glided away to the Roman Suite where I knew, by hearsay only unfortunately, selected clients indulged in orgies with several girls. It was the most expensive item on The House of Joy menu and one that even I baulked at paying.

“Come, Philippe. We need to have a little talk my office.” Madame Joy said, linking her arm in mine. She led me to a small room off the reception hall furnished with an antique banker’s desk with a matching high backed oak wood chair. Another chair, a modern recliner type upholstered in black leather, and a tapestry covered chaise longue were the only furniture apart from a low octangular table set by the chaise longue. The parquet floor was covered by small rugs with an intricately designed motif of hearts, cupids and bows. Madame Joy sat in the recliner and waved me onto the chaise longue. She gazed at me in silence for some moments before sighing. She had a pair of prominent, well presented, breasts and the sight of her heaving bosom raised more than just my spirits.

“Do you know what the worst thing that can befall a girl in my profession is, Philippe?” she asked.

I shook my head but thought that catching the pox or getting pregnant would be high on the list.

“The worst thing that can happen to a working girl is falling in love with a John, aka client/customer/guest.” Madame Joy said.

I looked up at her sharply. Was she implying Jacquelynne had fallen in love with me? My heart swelled with happiness. All would be well. Now I had the money I could take her away from the House of Joy and we could marry, although I think there is a stipulation in the articles of Grenoble University that undergraduates must be single – but I would cross that bridge when I came to it. I came out from my day dream and answered her question. “No, Madame Joy, I didn’t know that.”

She gave a slight smile. “I didn’t expect that you would. But do you know what happens most often to girls in our profession?”

Once again I thought it would be either getting pregnant or the pox. But surely a whore would insist her John, client, customer, guest whatever, wear protection to stop both eventualities?

Actually I had not been asked to wear protection when engaging with Jacquelynne. When I say protection I am referring to contraceptives; condoms, English Hoods, French letters, Johnnies, rubbers – the names are legion. I assumed that as I was obviously a virgin I was allowed to ride bare back as I would not be carrying any disease. However, I shot streams of sperm into Jacquelynne every time I entered her and she must have taken precautions not to become pregnant by wearing a Dutch cap or spermicide ring, or perhaps she used a douche immediately after intercourse.

I am well up on the methods of preventing pregnancy as one of the bestselling product lines at my parents’ pharmacy was ‘Female health and hygiene.’ Young, and even the more mature, females not wishing to become pregnant would purchase Dutch caps or spermicide rings as well as the douches prepared by my mother using natural ingredients: herbs, flowers, and such like. Occasionally she would make up a douche to order containing a chemical I knew was used for cleaning drains, and I suspect the object of this douche was termination rather than prevention. My mother worked in close cooperation, rather too close as far as my father was concerned, with our local medical practitioner Doctor Ernst Blumm. Doctor Blumm was known locally for helping young women who had got themselves ‘in trouble’. However, according to my father it was usually Doctor Blumm who caused the young women to be ‘in trouble’ in the first place. He, my father, suspected Doctor Blumm was doing things that would have got my mother ‘in trouble’ had she not been contraception savvy and took all necessary precautions not to become pregnant, other than celibacy obviously.

Madame Joy answered her own question. “The thing that happens most to girls in our profession is having a John, a client, fall in love with her. It happens with monotonous regularity and is one of the clichés of the profession, whereas instances of whores, working girls, falling in love with a John are as rare as the UK winning the Eurovision Song contest.” She gazed at me, an earnest expression on her face. “Do you see where this conversation is headed, Philippe?” I did, but ignored her direction and chose my own.

“In this case, Madame Joy, both I, the client, and Jacquelynne, the who – the working girl – love each other, which might be even rarer than England winning the World Cup.”

“Jacquelynne does not love you, Philippe. She is fond of you, as we all are here at The House, but she does not love you, neither do you love her. You are infatuated with her because she is the first girl to make love to you. Naturally you feel a great sense of gratitude, but when you experience other girls Jacquelynne will become a memory, a pleasant memory, that will remain with you for the rest of your life. Trust me on this, Philippe, I have been a working girl and in love, but not at the same time.”

“But Jacquelynne said she loved me,” I said on the brink of tears.

“Of course she did. She is paid to make you happy, and will do and say anything you want her to do and say. That is what a good whore does and Jacquelynne is the best. You should be proud and honoured she is fond of you. She doesn’t like many of her Johns but she does like you.” Madame Joy patted me on the arm. “Try a different girl today. There are plenty ava...,” she paused in annoyance. “Buggeration! I’ve just remembered we have a full-scale orgy arranged in the Roman Suite. It’s Caligula Night and most of the girls will be involved.” She gazed at me thoughtfully for some moments and then smiled.

“How would you like to take a trip around the world?”

It was evening before I eventually staggered out of the House of Joy – and Joy – and tottered my way back to the Halls of Residence on unsteady legs.

I had circumnavigated Madame Joy twice; first clockwise and then anti-clockwise, berthing in every available port (hole). So this was what Gaspard had experienced with his mother’s mature friends. He was of a similar age as me but had experienced this sexual wonder when a mere boy of fourteen, what an introduction to the delights of fornication. I also discovered what significance the number sixty nine played in a carnal sense. It is better known as soixante-neuf, as it is undoubtedly a French invention and one I enjoyed immensely as I conjugated with Madame Joy in applied mathematical depravity. At times I hadn’t known if I was coming or going, although it was mostly coming, and was well and truly debauched and devoured by a middle aged woman in prime physical and sexual condition who had shared a carnal cornucopia of licentious conduct with me. I made my debilitated way home thinking on what Madame Joy – Bathsheba as she had been named at birth, Sheba, as she preferred to be called when not on duty as Madame Joy – had said.

She had been correct about many things, the first being that I already was having difficulty remembering Jacquelynne exactly as she had been. Sheba had tasted different to her, had made similar but slightly different sounds to her when approaching her orgasm, or the fake orgasm whores are able to produce at will. Sheba had moved, under me and on top of me, in a slightly different way than Jacquelynne had and shown much more athleticism than I thought a woman of her age would be capable of. I no longer loved Jacquelynne with the deep passion I once had although I recognised the debt of gratitude I owed her for teaching me how to please women sexually and emotionally. Sheba was certainly pleased with what I did to and with her, and in return I had been taken to places not visited with Jacquelynne.

“I don’t want you here asking for Jacquelynne again, Philippe,” Sheba had said after we had exhausted each other and were lying entwined on the chaise longue in a golden after glow. “Jacquelynne does have feelings for you but she cannot keep them any more than you can keep your feelings for her. She is a whore and you are, were, her John. You can have any other of my girls but now that you’ve been shown what to do by a professional you should find a young girl and show her what you know. Brothels are for teaching virgin boys the ways to please a woman; for old men to relive their conquests, and for men with low esteem to gain a modicum of confidence. You cannot buy love but you can buy gratification, satisfaction, and self-esteem for a brief period, but that is better than none at all. I will also be off limits to you. I gave up whoring when I became Madame of The House of Joy although occasionally I will take a deserving case into my bed, or in your case on my chaise longue, reclining chair, and the top of a banker’s desk, and I enjoyed every moment at every venue.”