Chapter 7

It's a nasty word. Whore.

Alena stared at the word she had scrawled repeatedly in her notebook – 'Whore.' She had just finished researching the word, or rather the vocation of what was termed 'The world's second oldest profession, ' and began asking herself the questions she had avoided until this moment.

Do I really crave psychological abuse? Do I have low self-esteem? I don't think so. But there is the question of economic survival. I needed money to keep going, which was certain enough. But how many feminists did I cause to roll over in their graves as I came on one cock after another and still ended up wanting more?

More to the point she realized she'd thoroughly enjoyed her night with the boys. And yet tonight she had another date with her middle-aged client who'd called her a slut as she walked meekly out of his hotel room, stuffing his money into her purse.

Aloud, Alena said to herself, "There are hundreds of reasons not to show up on tonight, just as there are hundreds of dollars telling me to get my skinny ass over there."

Alena wrestled with the problem for most of the afternoon. At one point she was convinced she wouldn't, couldn't go. But after leaving the campus following the last class of the day, her skin was crawling with a need for sex. She couldn't relax, couldn't eat, even Ellie, her oriental roomie knew enough to stay out of her way.

Exasperated at herself, Alena took an extra long shower, and carefully dressed for her appointment with Eric. She had to deliberately slow her pace so as not to reach the hotel too early, and still she did. Alena considered waiting in the lobby area but, her instincts told her the hotel would recognize her reason for being there and without any ceremony, ask her to leave. And so with some trepidation, she took the elevator to the

The elevator ride to the 7th floor was just as disconcerting. It was crowded with people headed for the rooftop bar, and the thought of going up there again made Alena cringe.

Outside the door, Alena stopped and looked at her watch. She was still ten minutes early. The hallway was deserted, so she sat on the carpeted floor with her back to the wall and settled down to wait the ten minutes.

At five to eight, Alena heard the elevator doors open and scrambled to her feet. She pretended to search for a key card in her purse, but needn't have bothered with the charade; it was him.

She ran her hands down her dress, smoothing any wrinkles and smiled at him, making her eyes smile as well.

"Have you been here long?"

"No, not at all."

"I apologize if I've kept you waiting." He swiped the lock and held the door open for me. "Please, come in."

It struck her as strange that he could be so friendly and polite until the sex happened, then he changed utterly, but there was something about the immaculately balanced duality that was both obscene and hypnotic.

The room was exactly as it had been before, a kind of sitting room affair with a pair of sofas, a desk with a laptop on it, a built-in entertainment cupboard with a wide-screen television in the middle, all done in endless shades of beige. The balcony door was shut, but I could hear the faint hum of traffic from the street below.

"Would you like a drink?"

It occurred to Alena that this was just another politeness, that she should refuse and get down to business.

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

"Do you mind if I have one?" he asked, shrugging off his suit jacket and laying it carefully across the back of one of the sofas. "It's been a long day."

"Please, go ahead."

He turned towards the bar fridge and then stopped, looking back at me. "Are you sure? I've got vodka. That's what you had the other night, wasn't it?"

"Okay, sure, if it's no trouble." She wanted to kick herself for being so wishy-washy.

He looked at me oddly again, and began to fix the drinks. The ice cubes clinked as he dropped then into the glasses. He brought the drinks over to where I stood and held one out for me.

"Thanks."

"Have a seat."

She nodded and sat down on one of the sofas. It felt hard and recently manufactured, and had that faintly acrid smell of new upholstery. He took the seat opposite and sipped his drink.

For a moment, the glass in his hand made Alena think of the old subliminal message research that documented images of skulls and naked women in the ice cubes of alcohol print advertising.

"I'm very pleased you decided to continue our arrangement." His voice was pleasantly casual.

"I hadn't really intended to."

"That's understandable. New paradigms are not easy to adjust to."

Alena laughed, unable to help herself. "A 'new paradigm'. That's an interesting way to put it."

He smiled and shrugged. "A new mode of being, then."

Alena gave another chuckle. "Yes, a 'new mode of being'."

"That's a very nice outfit you're wearing. What's under the skirt?"

Alena's chuckle evaporated. She cleared her throat. This time, when she'd dressed, she'd done so knowingly, choosing a top with no buttons, a silk halter wrapped around to tie at the back. The skirt was the same; more or less like a sarong.

"There's nothing under the skirt."

He sipped his drink and sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "And why is that?"

"I thought..." I shook my head, and started again. "I thought there wasn't any point in leaving another pair of panties here."

"So practical, so pragmatic; but all the same, a lie."

I felt my face color, the tendrils of heat climbed up my neck and onto my cheeks. "You tell me, then."

"You wanted to get fucked. You wanted cock as soon as you could get it."

Immediately, Alena recognized the change in his tone. It was like a door opening, or a light going out. It was harsh and nasty, and highly erotic.

"Show me. Spread your legs and show me."

Leaning back into the sofa, Alena inched her thighs apart until she was sure he had a good view. His plump lips pursed, his pupils dilated behind his glasses.

"Wider," he whispered.

There was something very specific about the way he consumed what he saw in her that sent a surge of electricity down Alena's spine. He didn't just look. Somehow, his eyes were mouths: tasting, chewing, and swallowing.

Suppressing a wanton moan, Alena spread her legs even wider, pulled the sides of her skirt away. Everything revealed to him started to heat up and burn: the inside of her thighs, her cunt, and even the skin of her chest and face seemed to sizzle.

"Touch yourself. You want to. I know you do."

How could he know? Alena asked herself. Then she thought, he's wrong, I don't want to touch myself ... I want him to touch me!

Nevertheless, she sent her hand down between her legs; her fingers slipping easily between the folds of her moistened labia, already infected by his desire for her.