Big Bang 2013: Have Hatred and Gravity Won - 13/19
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Part Thirteen
Jensen drummed his fingers and glared at the small time criminal who approached the hard bench he was sat on. The man backed off. In the corner of their cell, a drunk spewed into a stained and leaking toilet. Jensen looked through steel bars at a clock on the wall and inwardly cursed. He couldn't imagine what was taking so long. This particular favor was going to put him more than even with Danni.
An officer came to release Jensen into Misha's care, just after dawn. He signed a form, and his belongings were returned to him. Misha kept a straight face until they were through the doors of the police station and onto the sidewalk. “Dude, you were epic,” Misha laughed. “Save me, oh, save me mister police chief, save me from this crude, drunken lout.” He mimicked distress with a hand to his brow. “How could anyone not rescue the damsel in distress?”
“And then fuck her into the mattress, table, wall …well, whatever was handy knowing Danneel.”
Misha tutted in fake disapproval. “And him a married man too.”
“Hunky though,” Jensen added, licking his lips.
“Yet you didn't hit on him?” Misha raised his eyebrows at Jensen. “We're on holiday, man and you haven't hit up a single dude. Did your dick get chopped off, or something?”
“Or something,” Jensen replied, before he changed the subject, “I need a shower and some sleep. When Danni finally does the walk of shame, tell her she's buying lunch.”
***
A parasol shaded them from the fierce heat of the sun, at the table of an outdoor cafe. Misha pushed his sunglasses high on his head and settled back in a chair while children dashed by, and tourists strolled past. A cat lurked by the table, begging for food, and JD scritched its ears. Jensen sipped thick, black coffee and watched it all, while Danni scrutinized tourist pamphlets for their next excursion. It should have been heaven, but Jensen felt alone and empty.
On the table next to them, an elderly English couple sat for a rest. They leaned in to each other and chatted animatedly about riding camels, and the view from the Kasbah. He overheard snippets about vacations in Tenerife, Rome and Bangkok, and he eyed their affectionate touches with a sense of longing. They were comfortable with each other, and comfortable in their own skins.
“Ross!” JD kicked his chair. “You awake in there? Danni wanted to know what you thought of the Atlas Mountains.”
“They're tall and made of rock.”
“I'm booked up,” Misha said between slurps of weak beer, “I joined the local knitting circle. We're going to dye our own yarn.”
JD groaned, “I'll pass. It's too much like exercise for me.”
“Don't call me Ross.” Jensen blurted out unexpectedly, even to himself.
His friends stared at him, and even the old couple turned to look. He put his coffee cup down, and shrugged, “It's a rubbish name,” he said, lamely.
“Is there something you want to share?” JD asked, with concern evident in his expression. JD had looked at him like that a lot over the ten days they'd been in Morocco.
“No, sorry, that was stupid.” Jensen was glad he was wearing shades.
“Any particular name you prefer?” JD wondered.
“Just forget it, okay.”
“Prickly,” commented Danni. “We should find you some locals to kill. Hang on…” she rooted through her leaflets, “I've got it. Hours spent relaxing, interspersed with bashing brains out and gutting things.”
The old couple looked over at them again. Misha gave them a wide scary grin, and they hurriedly looked away.
“A fishing trip,” she clarified.
“Huh?” Jensen was suddenly engulfed in memories. He recalled joyful laughter by a lake in cold rain, and the warmth of a guiding hand on his arm. His cup went crashing to the table with a spreading black stain, and he stood. He pushed his chair back and walked away. Misha got up to follow him, and JD pulled him back. “Give him space.”
Jensen wandered, without knowing where he was heading. He watched tourists buying postcards, writing short greetings to friends and relatives and posting them. He browsed souvenirs that families bought for grandma at home, the neighbor looking after the cat, and work mates. In the end he picked up a cheesy card of the Kasbah and paid for it in coins. He stared at its neat lines for a message and address, and then stuffed it in his pocket. He checked his bank accounts and walked back to the villa they were renting.
When JD, Danni and Misha returned to their villa, Jensen was gone, his room cleared. A toy camel rested on Misha's bed, a bottle of Jack Daniels was on JD's nightstand and a banker's draft was under Danneel's pillow. Jensen’s cellphone was on the kitchen work top.
On the second Friday after Jensen abandoned Jared, Gem slipped in to Jared's room to help him get ready.
His hands were soft, and his nails were manicured. His hair was colored auburn and restyled, shorter but still mussed. It made him look younger. He guessed that was the idea. He slipped on the suit and starched shirt, made sure the collar was straight, and Gem fixed his tie. She showed him how to apply a little foundation and just a shade of kohl and tinted lip-gloss. His bruises were still evident in black, greens and yellows, and his cuts were defined by stitch marks, but the swelling was gone and he could see the difference. It still hurt to move, but Tylenol dulled his physical pain.
In the last week, Madame Ferris had kept him busy with gentle tasks, at the back of house. He learned to answer telephones and use the appointment diaries. There was a schedule to make meals, send working clothes to the laundry, and tidy, and he shadowed others until he knew each task. For the last two days, he had been assigned to Clif during the evening, to watch the halls outside the working rooms for trouble, or to replenish stocks as necessary. He didn't think they really needed him. He was aware it was probably to let him see the business rooms, and the things he would be doing for the clients who visited the Road House. It simultaneously fascinated and terrified him.
Friday and Saturday were busiest evenings. Customers used the bar or social areas to mingle and meet the 'children', and they could take their time to choose from the Road House 'menu'. Friday was therefore the day when Madame decided Baby Blue should be introduced to life at front of the house, as a greeter and general helper for Clif, and Matt, their barman.
Gem pulled Jared along by his hand, and they peered around the staff door to the guest area. Madame Ferris sat in a brocade covered chair, beautifully dressed in a slip dress and stiletto shoes. Her hair was in a soft bun. She was a formidable sight, and unmistakably in charge. She smiled when she saw them, and beckoned them forward. “Come in.” They stood up, with their backs straight and eyes to the floor, for her to inspect them. “Oh, now, what a beautiful pair you make, and perfectly on time.” She pulled at Gem's tight white school blouse until more of her cleavage and blue lacy bra showed. Gem’s kilt was short enough to tease with the sight of white cotton panties, and her over-knee socks and flat shoes completed the costume. “I think you should read school books over by the Tiffany lamp. It will make your hair glow,” Madame told Gem.
Chad, and Mouse, the girl who had a room next to Jared, stepped in together, looking like a porn version of Hansel and Gretel, in cute, tight lederhosen.
The remaining residents of the house, Bunny and Mia were immediately after, in silk and lace baby-doll sets, their hair in plaits, and holding a soft toy each.
Jared waited to be dismissed, until all the others had been inspected, and when she was through, Madame Ferris returned to him. She cupped his chin and caressed his neck and he didn't pull away. “Such a good boy. Look at me. Tell me the rules you'll be following this evening.”
“I am not for sale today, so I will not flirt with the customers.
Customers are not allowed to grope me or handle the goods before they buy. If it happens to me, or I see it happen to any of my co-workers, I will tell Matt or Clif, quietly and promptly.”
She nodded encouragement, “You can tell me too. Carry on.”
He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, “I will keep the area clean, tidy and safe. I will not engage customers in conversation unless they talk to me first. Political debate is not permitted in the house.
The door must be answered promptly and customers greeted warmly. No weapons or narcotics are permitted in the house. If I suspect a customer has any, I must signal Clif immediately.
I will tactfully delay showing a customer off the premises until I have confirmation that all is well and any extras have been paid.
I will not interfere in the activity between a customer and a co-worker. If I suspect that there is a problem I will tell, Clif, Matt, or my Madame.”
“Very good, and what about you personally?”
Jared blushed, “I am not permitted to touch myself or have an erection. If I feel it may be a problem then I must report to you, to have a cock cage fitted.”
“So pretty, when you're shy. Do you think it will be a problem? We could get Chad to help before it gets busy.”
Jared didn't think he could be any more embarrassed, “No, Ma'am, I don't think I will have a problem.”
The buzzer for the front door sounded, and Madame Ferris patted his ass. “Well then, first customer. Run along Blue.”
***
Mouse sat on the lap of a middle-aged businessman. She twirled her hair in her fingers and tittered at his jokes. It was nothing like her usual raucous laugh. Jared picked up glasses from their table, and wiped the surface. It was past eleven o'clock and he was weary. His bruised ribs screeched a complaint every time he moved, and his lip scabs were stretched and dry.
“Does daddy want another drinkie?” Mouse lisped.
Jared closed his eyes and counted to five. The first time he had heard the endearment, from Bunny's lips, he had frozen and dropped the glass he was holding. He was lucky, it was empty, and the fall had been cushioned by thick carpet. Jensen's face had come to mind, and he'd wondered why the mercenary had called him baby boy, that first time. He thought he knew the answer, and it made his skin crawl with humiliation. Jared had been nothing more than a whore and a job to Jensen, and Jared had fallen for it all. Madame had taken Jared aside, to regain his composure, and to remind him that breakages were added to his ledger. Now, after eight hours of hearing every variation of daddy, sir and master, Jared was almost used to it.
Mouse's customer was fondling her tits. He squeezed them hard, and she gave a squeaky gasp as he spoke, “You want to bleed daddy dry, don't you?”
She wasn't distressed. Her lips parted slightly and she leaned her head back on her client’s shoulder, as she ground down on his lap, Jared was rapidly learning that the drinks they sold had a mark-up that made them every bit as profitable as the girls and boys. The customers resented it, but they could still be persuaded to part with more cash with a tease and fluttering eyelashes.
The man looked up for a moment and eyed Jared's name badge, “I'll have a beer. My little girl will have some lemonade, with a straw.”
Mouse cuddled in to him, with her head on his shoulder, she kissed his neck, “Thank you, daddy.”
He kissed her back and smiled, “I bet you want your little friend Blue to have something.” He leered at Jared, undressing him with his eyes, “Have a soda on me, Blue.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You would make a pretty play-date for my Mouse, another day. Would you like that, Mouse? Shall I ask Madame.”
Mouse wriggled on his lap to express her excitement. “Oh, yes, yes, daddy.”
Jared tried to look enthusiastic, damping down his horror. He hadn't considered the possibility that he would be required to have sex with his co-workers. They were becoming friends, and it felt wrong. He nodded an acknowledgment and hurried back to the bar, to place the order.
Matt set up a tray for the drinks. Presentation matched price. Jared had to admit that Madame Ferris kept her house classy. It was more like a gentleman's club than a street bar. There was nothing seedy or dangerous about the atmosphere, aside from the whole, losing what virtue remained thing. There was one altercation during the evening, between two men, vying for Bunny's next appointment, Clif had broken it up easily, and Madame had sternly warned the customers not to upset her 'children'.
“Sit. Take a break, you look shattered,” Matt told Jared.
“I'm not exactly working like the others.”
Matt poured lemonade onto crushed ice. “You've been run off your feet, and you're still recovering. Take a moment.”
Jared plopped down on a bar stool, gratefully. He liked Matt. He was slightly older than everyone in the house, good looking and fit, but still lean. He treated everyone with respect, was calm and professional behind the bar, and kept a friendly eye on all of Madame's 'children'.
Jared watched him work. “Can I ask you something?”
Matt laughed, “I wondered what was taking you so long. Fire away.”
“Were you one of Madame's children?”
He shook his head, but he didn't seem offended, “No. I've always worked a bar. I managed one a few streets away, with a fancy restaurant, but the customers treated everyone like shit, and every weekend was a series of brawls. Madame offered me a job here, and it seemed like a safer option. It is. I can keep it clean and have decent conversation, and nobody throws bar stools at anyone else. I don't ever fuck the customers, if that's what you're asking.”
Jared dipped his head, Matt was perceptive.
Matt continued, “I'm not disgusted by anything that happens here. I don't think you are bad, or dirty or wrong. It's a job. I know you're curious about that too. It's sex and role-play.” He shrugged. “So, there's payment. I've seen worse where there's no money changing hands. You're professionals and tax payers, the same as me, and you make people happy, in a healthy, admittedly kinky way. Hell, what I serve causes liver disease and anger issues. What does that make me?”
It made Jared smile. He hadn't considered it like that.
Matt pushed a Pepsi to Jared and picked up the tray. “I'll take this to Mouse. Watch out, Katie and Gem are heading your way.”
Jared looked across the room. He avoided catching the eye of the old man opposite, who drank his beer with a content look on his face. The table in front of him was draped with a cloth, and Jared was painfully aware that under it, Chad was kneeling, and had been for the last three hours. Gem had given his story in hushed tones and now Jared knew that the guy, Lou, had been a regular since Madame Ferris worked the house. Old age meant he could no longer get it up, so he liked to settle in his favorite chair, to watch others, read his newspaper, and have his limp cock warmed by a sweet young, naked thing, who he would pet through the evening. That he tipped generously didn't alter the queasiness Jared felt, knowing that he would be the boy under the table one day soon.
Gem's make-up was refeshed, and she wore a clean pink bra under a fresh blouse. She rubbed her ass and stood by Jared, careful not to appear to be drinking at the bar. “The goddamn ruler stings more than the cane,” she complained.
Katie grimaced, “At least you didn't have to lasso the cowboy, as you rode the steer. My guy had no stamina.”
Jared tried not to choke on his drink. Katie had a knack of making him laugh and it hurt his chest, but it made his evening easier. He'd been surprised when she walked in, tall and confident, in tight black leather. Several similar women had settled in the bar over the course of the evening, and he found out that Madame didn't employ them, but on busy evenings, she rented time and space to a few select professionals, to offer variety for customers and passing trade. Whatever his fears about being a rent-boy, Jared was impressed with Madame Ferris's business.
Their Madame headed for the bar with a purposeful expression. Gem and Katie scattered back into the guest area, and Jared slipped off his stool in a hurry, mortified to be found slacking, with a drink in his hand.
“Ah, there you are Blue.” Her observant eyes raked over him. “Matt's right, you look exhausted, and that won't do.” She grabbed his soda from the bar, and put it in his hand. Take off, get some soup and a sandwich from the kitchen, it's all prepared and waiting. Then shower, and go to bed. No chores in the morning, I don't want to see you up until midday. It will be another busy night tomorrow.”
Jared looked at the others still working, and shook his head, he'd failed on his first day. “I'm fine. I don't want to let you down.”
Madame replied sharply, “I wasn't giving you a choice, boy. How do you think it looks to our customers or to an inspector if one calls? You already have bruises.” She smoothed a hand over his shoulder and softened her tone as she continued speaking, “You've done very well, Blue. Everyone loves you. I've had a lot of inquiries for when you're better. I actually think your injuries have sparked more interest; our daddies want to care for you. You have appointments in your diary and a bidding war for your first night. That will help to reduce your ledger, won't it?”
Jared obeyed with a weary nod. He didn't taste his Supper, and a hot shower couldn't get him clean. He was grateful for his exhaustion because it allowed his eyes to close despite the anxiety that welled in him. He didn't want this life, but he didn't have a choice. Jensen should have left him for the firing squad.
Jensen bought a postcard of modern art, for a few dihrams, in a gallery in Marrakech. He didn't understand most of what was displayed, but something about the shade and energy of the painting, reminded him of Jared. A French lady admired his taste and they had coffee together, on a crafted wooden bench, surrounded by colorful canvases. She told him about her divorce, and invited him to her hotel room. He let her down gently, describing all the ways that the vibrancy and strength in the painting reflected somebody he knew. She patted his knee and told him his boyfriend was a lucky man.
He walked toward the riad where he planned to stay, through narrow alleys, between crumbling buildings. Girls offered company, and when he passed by without a glance, boys took their place. There was such a beautiful choice. In the past, he would have chosen one, or four, and wasted most of the night rutting and sweaty with a stranger.
Jensen only paused when a boy, with olive skin, and sinful eyes, enticed him into a cafe with promises of kif. Jensen paid Sami for the night, and shared a hookah. As he relaxed, he ran his mouth for hours with the awful things he had done, the wonderful things he had seen, and every detail of Jared. Sami giggled and encouraged him, but he didn't understand, or speak any English. Jensen floated on a high and didn't stop to wonder that this was the first time he had ever spoken of any of it. He took out his postcard and showed Sami the colors. They floated and swirled and surrounded him with warmth. Jensen decided he was better like this, drifting with the flotsam and jetsam of life, meeting people who lived with passion. No guns, no grenades, just love. Later, they lay on the roof of the cafe, under a midnight blue sky just staring at the shimmering moon, and constellations of crystal stars. Jensen thought he would visit Madrid next.
In Madrid, Jensen went to a bullfight, but he left before it was over. He wandered the streets, taking in architecture, and watching people pass by. He went to the central mosque, removed his sunglasses and shoes, and sat in contemplation with men who came to talk and pray. The next day he stopped at an ornate catholic church. He stepped into the cool, genuflected to the altar, and continued to the confessional booth. He waited for a priest to come, slid the window, and made the sign of the cross, “Forgive me father for I have sinned…” He let old sins and new tumble from his lips. He spewed them into the dark space, letting the priest take them to his Catholic god. He didn't think it mattered if the priest understood his language, only that his god did.
In Paris, Jensen took pictures for three couples at the top of the Eiffel Tower. He shared dinner in a park with a vagrant, and purchased a postcard of Notre Dame for a few Euros. He stopped by a synagogue and spoke with the rabbi, in schoolboy French. He lit four Yarzeit Candles, one for Sophie, one in memory of all the people he had killed, one for a twelve year old boy called Alec, and another for Alec's father, who died on the day that Jared was born. Jensen walked in the rain without a coat or umbrella. He felt it freshen his skin, and decided that he wanted to dance in the rain in London.
Part fourteen
Part Thirteen
Jensen drummed his fingers and glared at the small time criminal who approached the hard bench he was sat on. The man backed off. In the corner of their cell, a drunk spewed into a stained and leaking toilet. Jensen looked through steel bars at a clock on the wall and inwardly cursed. He couldn't imagine what was taking so long. This particular favor was going to put him more than even with Danni.
An officer came to release Jensen into Misha's care, just after dawn. He signed a form, and his belongings were returned to him. Misha kept a straight face until they were through the doors of the police station and onto the sidewalk. “Dude, you were epic,” Misha laughed. “Save me, oh, save me mister police chief, save me from this crude, drunken lout.” He mimicked distress with a hand to his brow. “How could anyone not rescue the damsel in distress?”
“And then fuck her into the mattress, table, wall …well, whatever was handy knowing Danneel.”
Misha tutted in fake disapproval. “And him a married man too.”
“Hunky though,” Jensen added, licking his lips.
“Yet you didn't hit on him?” Misha raised his eyebrows at Jensen. “We're on holiday, man and you haven't hit up a single dude. Did your dick get chopped off, or something?”
“Or something,” Jensen replied, before he changed the subject, “I need a shower and some sleep. When Danni finally does the walk of shame, tell her she's buying lunch.”
***
A parasol shaded them from the fierce heat of the sun, at the table of an outdoor cafe. Misha pushed his sunglasses high on his head and settled back in a chair while children dashed by, and tourists strolled past. A cat lurked by the table, begging for food, and JD scritched its ears. Jensen sipped thick, black coffee and watched it all, while Danni scrutinized tourist pamphlets for their next excursion. It should have been heaven, but Jensen felt alone and empty.
On the table next to them, an elderly English couple sat for a rest. They leaned in to each other and chatted animatedly about riding camels, and the view from the Kasbah. He overheard snippets about vacations in Tenerife, Rome and Bangkok, and he eyed their affectionate touches with a sense of longing. They were comfortable with each other, and comfortable in their own skins.
“Ross!” JD kicked his chair. “You awake in there? Danni wanted to know what you thought of the Atlas Mountains.”
“They're tall and made of rock.”
“I'm booked up,” Misha said between slurps of weak beer, “I joined the local knitting circle. We're going to dye our own yarn.”
JD groaned, “I'll pass. It's too much like exercise for me.”
“Don't call me Ross.” Jensen blurted out unexpectedly, even to himself.
His friends stared at him, and even the old couple turned to look. He put his coffee cup down, and shrugged, “It's a rubbish name,” he said, lamely.
“Is there something you want to share?” JD asked, with concern evident in his expression. JD had looked at him like that a lot over the ten days they'd been in Morocco.
“No, sorry, that was stupid.” Jensen was glad he was wearing shades.
“Any particular name you prefer?” JD wondered.
“Just forget it, okay.”
“Prickly,” commented Danni. “We should find you some locals to kill. Hang on…” she rooted through her leaflets, “I've got it. Hours spent relaxing, interspersed with bashing brains out and gutting things.”
The old couple looked over at them again. Misha gave them a wide scary grin, and they hurriedly looked away.
“A fishing trip,” she clarified.
“Huh?” Jensen was suddenly engulfed in memories. He recalled joyful laughter by a lake in cold rain, and the warmth of a guiding hand on his arm. His cup went crashing to the table with a spreading black stain, and he stood. He pushed his chair back and walked away. Misha got up to follow him, and JD pulled him back. “Give him space.”
Jensen wandered, without knowing where he was heading. He watched tourists buying postcards, writing short greetings to friends and relatives and posting them. He browsed souvenirs that families bought for grandma at home, the neighbor looking after the cat, and work mates. In the end he picked up a cheesy card of the Kasbah and paid for it in coins. He stared at its neat lines for a message and address, and then stuffed it in his pocket. He checked his bank accounts and walked back to the villa they were renting.
When JD, Danni and Misha returned to their villa, Jensen was gone, his room cleared. A toy camel rested on Misha's bed, a bottle of Jack Daniels was on JD's nightstand and a banker's draft was under Danneel's pillow. Jensen’s cellphone was on the kitchen work top.
On the second Friday after Jensen abandoned Jared, Gem slipped in to Jared's room to help him get ready.
His hands were soft, and his nails were manicured. His hair was colored auburn and restyled, shorter but still mussed. It made him look younger. He guessed that was the idea. He slipped on the suit and starched shirt, made sure the collar was straight, and Gem fixed his tie. She showed him how to apply a little foundation and just a shade of kohl and tinted lip-gloss. His bruises were still evident in black, greens and yellows, and his cuts were defined by stitch marks, but the swelling was gone and he could see the difference. It still hurt to move, but Tylenol dulled his physical pain.
In the last week, Madame Ferris had kept him busy with gentle tasks, at the back of house. He learned to answer telephones and use the appointment diaries. There was a schedule to make meals, send working clothes to the laundry, and tidy, and he shadowed others until he knew each task. For the last two days, he had been assigned to Clif during the evening, to watch the halls outside the working rooms for trouble, or to replenish stocks as necessary. He didn't think they really needed him. He was aware it was probably to let him see the business rooms, and the things he would be doing for the clients who visited the Road House. It simultaneously fascinated and terrified him.
Friday and Saturday were busiest evenings. Customers used the bar or social areas to mingle and meet the 'children', and they could take their time to choose from the Road House 'menu'. Friday was therefore the day when Madame decided Baby Blue should be introduced to life at front of the house, as a greeter and general helper for Clif, and Matt, their barman.
Gem pulled Jared along by his hand, and they peered around the staff door to the guest area. Madame Ferris sat in a brocade covered chair, beautifully dressed in a slip dress and stiletto shoes. Her hair was in a soft bun. She was a formidable sight, and unmistakably in charge. She smiled when she saw them, and beckoned them forward. “Come in.” They stood up, with their backs straight and eyes to the floor, for her to inspect them. “Oh, now, what a beautiful pair you make, and perfectly on time.” She pulled at Gem's tight white school blouse until more of her cleavage and blue lacy bra showed. Gem’s kilt was short enough to tease with the sight of white cotton panties, and her over-knee socks and flat shoes completed the costume. “I think you should read school books over by the Tiffany lamp. It will make your hair glow,” Madame told Gem.
Chad, and Mouse, the girl who had a room next to Jared, stepped in together, looking like a porn version of Hansel and Gretel, in cute, tight lederhosen.
The remaining residents of the house, Bunny and Mia were immediately after, in silk and lace baby-doll sets, their hair in plaits, and holding a soft toy each.
Jared waited to be dismissed, until all the others had been inspected, and when she was through, Madame Ferris returned to him. She cupped his chin and caressed his neck and he didn't pull away. “Such a good boy. Look at me. Tell me the rules you'll be following this evening.”
“I am not for sale today, so I will not flirt with the customers.
Customers are not allowed to grope me or handle the goods before they buy. If it happens to me, or I see it happen to any of my co-workers, I will tell Matt or Clif, quietly and promptly.”
She nodded encouragement, “You can tell me too. Carry on.”
He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, “I will keep the area clean, tidy and safe. I will not engage customers in conversation unless they talk to me first. Political debate is not permitted in the house.
The door must be answered promptly and customers greeted warmly. No weapons or narcotics are permitted in the house. If I suspect a customer has any, I must signal Clif immediately.
I will tactfully delay showing a customer off the premises until I have confirmation that all is well and any extras have been paid.
I will not interfere in the activity between a customer and a co-worker. If I suspect that there is a problem I will tell, Clif, Matt, or my Madame.”
“Very good, and what about you personally?”
Jared blushed, “I am not permitted to touch myself or have an erection. If I feel it may be a problem then I must report to you, to have a cock cage fitted.”
“So pretty, when you're shy. Do you think it will be a problem? We could get Chad to help before it gets busy.”
Jared didn't think he could be any more embarrassed, “No, Ma'am, I don't think I will have a problem.”
The buzzer for the front door sounded, and Madame Ferris patted his ass. “Well then, first customer. Run along Blue.”
***
Mouse sat on the lap of a middle-aged businessman. She twirled her hair in her fingers and tittered at his jokes. It was nothing like her usual raucous laugh. Jared picked up glasses from their table, and wiped the surface. It was past eleven o'clock and he was weary. His bruised ribs screeched a complaint every time he moved, and his lip scabs were stretched and dry.
“Does daddy want another drinkie?” Mouse lisped.
Jared closed his eyes and counted to five. The first time he had heard the endearment, from Bunny's lips, he had frozen and dropped the glass he was holding. He was lucky, it was empty, and the fall had been cushioned by thick carpet. Jensen's face had come to mind, and he'd wondered why the mercenary had called him baby boy, that first time. He thought he knew the answer, and it made his skin crawl with humiliation. Jared had been nothing more than a whore and a job to Jensen, and Jared had fallen for it all. Madame had taken Jared aside, to regain his composure, and to remind him that breakages were added to his ledger. Now, after eight hours of hearing every variation of daddy, sir and master, Jared was almost used to it.
Mouse's customer was fondling her tits. He squeezed them hard, and she gave a squeaky gasp as he spoke, “You want to bleed daddy dry, don't you?”
She wasn't distressed. Her lips parted slightly and she leaned her head back on her client’s shoulder, as she ground down on his lap, Jared was rapidly learning that the drinks they sold had a mark-up that made them every bit as profitable as the girls and boys. The customers resented it, but they could still be persuaded to part with more cash with a tease and fluttering eyelashes.
The man looked up for a moment and eyed Jared's name badge, “I'll have a beer. My little girl will have some lemonade, with a straw.”
Mouse cuddled in to him, with her head on his shoulder, she kissed his neck, “Thank you, daddy.”
He kissed her back and smiled, “I bet you want your little friend Blue to have something.” He leered at Jared, undressing him with his eyes, “Have a soda on me, Blue.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You would make a pretty play-date for my Mouse, another day. Would you like that, Mouse? Shall I ask Madame.”
Mouse wriggled on his lap to express her excitement. “Oh, yes, yes, daddy.”
Jared tried to look enthusiastic, damping down his horror. He hadn't considered the possibility that he would be required to have sex with his co-workers. They were becoming friends, and it felt wrong. He nodded an acknowledgment and hurried back to the bar, to place the order.
Matt set up a tray for the drinks. Presentation matched price. Jared had to admit that Madame Ferris kept her house classy. It was more like a gentleman's club than a street bar. There was nothing seedy or dangerous about the atmosphere, aside from the whole, losing what virtue remained thing. There was one altercation during the evening, between two men, vying for Bunny's next appointment, Clif had broken it up easily, and Madame had sternly warned the customers not to upset her 'children'.
“Sit. Take a break, you look shattered,” Matt told Jared.
“I'm not exactly working like the others.”
Matt poured lemonade onto crushed ice. “You've been run off your feet, and you're still recovering. Take a moment.”
Jared plopped down on a bar stool, gratefully. He liked Matt. He was slightly older than everyone in the house, good looking and fit, but still lean. He treated everyone with respect, was calm and professional behind the bar, and kept a friendly eye on all of Madame's 'children'.
Jared watched him work. “Can I ask you something?”
Matt laughed, “I wondered what was taking you so long. Fire away.”
“Were you one of Madame's children?”
He shook his head, but he didn't seem offended, “No. I've always worked a bar. I managed one a few streets away, with a fancy restaurant, but the customers treated everyone like shit, and every weekend was a series of brawls. Madame offered me a job here, and it seemed like a safer option. It is. I can keep it clean and have decent conversation, and nobody throws bar stools at anyone else. I don't ever fuck the customers, if that's what you're asking.”
Jared dipped his head, Matt was perceptive.
Matt continued, “I'm not disgusted by anything that happens here. I don't think you are bad, or dirty or wrong. It's a job. I know you're curious about that too. It's sex and role-play.” He shrugged. “So, there's payment. I've seen worse where there's no money changing hands. You're professionals and tax payers, the same as me, and you make people happy, in a healthy, admittedly kinky way. Hell, what I serve causes liver disease and anger issues. What does that make me?”
It made Jared smile. He hadn't considered it like that.
Matt pushed a Pepsi to Jared and picked up the tray. “I'll take this to Mouse. Watch out, Katie and Gem are heading your way.”
Jared looked across the room. He avoided catching the eye of the old man opposite, who drank his beer with a content look on his face. The table in front of him was draped with a cloth, and Jared was painfully aware that under it, Chad was kneeling, and had been for the last three hours. Gem had given his story in hushed tones and now Jared knew that the guy, Lou, had been a regular since Madame Ferris worked the house. Old age meant he could no longer get it up, so he liked to settle in his favorite chair, to watch others, read his newspaper, and have his limp cock warmed by a sweet young, naked thing, who he would pet through the evening. That he tipped generously didn't alter the queasiness Jared felt, knowing that he would be the boy under the table one day soon.
Gem's make-up was refeshed, and she wore a clean pink bra under a fresh blouse. She rubbed her ass and stood by Jared, careful not to appear to be drinking at the bar. “The goddamn ruler stings more than the cane,” she complained.
Katie grimaced, “At least you didn't have to lasso the cowboy, as you rode the steer. My guy had no stamina.”
Jared tried not to choke on his drink. Katie had a knack of making him laugh and it hurt his chest, but it made his evening easier. He'd been surprised when she walked in, tall and confident, in tight black leather. Several similar women had settled in the bar over the course of the evening, and he found out that Madame didn't employ them, but on busy evenings, she rented time and space to a few select professionals, to offer variety for customers and passing trade. Whatever his fears about being a rent-boy, Jared was impressed with Madame Ferris's business.
Their Madame headed for the bar with a purposeful expression. Gem and Katie scattered back into the guest area, and Jared slipped off his stool in a hurry, mortified to be found slacking, with a drink in his hand.
“Ah, there you are Blue.” Her observant eyes raked over him. “Matt's right, you look exhausted, and that won't do.” She grabbed his soda from the bar, and put it in his hand. Take off, get some soup and a sandwich from the kitchen, it's all prepared and waiting. Then shower, and go to bed. No chores in the morning, I don't want to see you up until midday. It will be another busy night tomorrow.”
Jared looked at the others still working, and shook his head, he'd failed on his first day. “I'm fine. I don't want to let you down.”
Madame replied sharply, “I wasn't giving you a choice, boy. How do you think it looks to our customers or to an inspector if one calls? You already have bruises.” She smoothed a hand over his shoulder and softened her tone as she continued speaking, “You've done very well, Blue. Everyone loves you. I've had a lot of inquiries for when you're better. I actually think your injuries have sparked more interest; our daddies want to care for you. You have appointments in your diary and a bidding war for your first night. That will help to reduce your ledger, won't it?”
Jared obeyed with a weary nod. He didn't taste his Supper, and a hot shower couldn't get him clean. He was grateful for his exhaustion because it allowed his eyes to close despite the anxiety that welled in him. He didn't want this life, but he didn't have a choice. Jensen should have left him for the firing squad.
Jensen bought a postcard of modern art, for a few dihrams, in a gallery in Marrakech. He didn't understand most of what was displayed, but something about the shade and energy of the painting, reminded him of Jared. A French lady admired his taste and they had coffee together, on a crafted wooden bench, surrounded by colorful canvases. She told him about her divorce, and invited him to her hotel room. He let her down gently, describing all the ways that the vibrancy and strength in the painting reflected somebody he knew. She patted his knee and told him his boyfriend was a lucky man.
He walked toward the riad where he planned to stay, through narrow alleys, between crumbling buildings. Girls offered company, and when he passed by without a glance, boys took their place. There was such a beautiful choice. In the past, he would have chosen one, or four, and wasted most of the night rutting and sweaty with a stranger.
Jensen only paused when a boy, with olive skin, and sinful eyes, enticed him into a cafe with promises of kif. Jensen paid Sami for the night, and shared a hookah. As he relaxed, he ran his mouth for hours with the awful things he had done, the wonderful things he had seen, and every detail of Jared. Sami giggled and encouraged him, but he didn't understand, or speak any English. Jensen floated on a high and didn't stop to wonder that this was the first time he had ever spoken of any of it. He took out his postcard and showed Sami the colors. They floated and swirled and surrounded him with warmth. Jensen decided he was better like this, drifting with the flotsam and jetsam of life, meeting people who lived with passion. No guns, no grenades, just love. Later, they lay on the roof of the cafe, under a midnight blue sky just staring at the shimmering moon, and constellations of crystal stars. Jensen thought he would visit Madrid next.
In Madrid, Jensen went to a bullfight, but he left before it was over. He wandered the streets, taking in architecture, and watching people pass by. He went to the central mosque, removed his sunglasses and shoes, and sat in contemplation with men who came to talk and pray. The next day he stopped at an ornate catholic church. He stepped into the cool, genuflected to the altar, and continued to the confessional booth. He waited for a priest to come, slid the window, and made the sign of the cross, “Forgive me father for I have sinned…” He let old sins and new tumble from his lips. He spewed them into the dark space, letting the priest take them to his Catholic god. He didn't think it mattered if the priest understood his language, only that his god did.
In Paris, Jensen took pictures for three couples at the top of the Eiffel Tower. He shared dinner in a park with a vagrant, and purchased a postcard of Notre Dame for a few Euros. He stopped by a synagogue and spoke with the rabbi, in schoolboy French. He lit four Yarzeit Candles, one for Sophie, one in memory of all the people he had killed, one for a twelve year old boy called Alec, and another for Alec's father, who died on the day that Jared was born. Jensen walked in the rain without a coat or umbrella. He felt it freshen his skin, and decided that he wanted to dance in the rain in London.
Part fourteen