Page 18 of The Masked King

Part of me wishes I could see Brian right now, but then another part of me, the part that has been involuntarily turned on by his voice alone, doesn’t want the anticlimax if he doesn’t live up to the illusion.

“You want to know what I think,” he begins. “On second thoughts, I’ll save it for next time.”

I hear movement. He’s on his feet because he’s ready to leave.

This hasn’t happened to me before. I usually leave the room while the client is coming down from whatever dizzying heights their fantasy has taken them to. Then, when they’re ready, the door is buzzed open and they’re guided towards it by tiny lights that appear on the floor.

“Stay, please.” I’m panicking. I don’t want him to step outside of the circle while I’m still here. It won’t go well for either of us. “You didn’t tell me what you would do to me if we were going to live out a new fantasy.”

“That’s easy… I would hold you in my arms and just talk. I wouldn’t touch you, even though you’re naked, even if you wanted me to. Tonight, would be all about gaining your trust and making you feel safe. I would make you feel special, wanted, desired.”

My breathing is growing shallow. I’ve no idea who Brian is or what he looks like, but I can already picture me sitting on his lap, curled up in his arms while I listen to his steady heartbeat and his gentle voice telling me how special I am.

“It’s what I would do to you next time that should scare you.”

My next client’s fantasy is a simple one: he wants me to make out with Calypso while he masturbates. There are contingency plans for this kind of request. ‘Calypso’ appears in the darkness, and we make a lot of slippery seductive noises while his grunts get louder.

Then we disappear while he cleans himself up with a tissue.

I go through the motions.

After, I get the bracelet removed by a guy who calls himself Michael Douglas. It might be his real name, and he’s simply cashing in on the actor’s popularity by using it to its full potential. It might not. I don’t dwell on it. Michael Douglas has olive skin, thick black hair turning silver at the tips that reminds me of cat fur, and a gap between his top front teeth.

“Anything to report?” he asks even though he knows exactly what went on in each of the rooms.

“No.” I give him a tired smile.

“Heading home now?”

We might be regular nine-to-fivers picking up our jackets and heading off to the grocery store to buy something for dinner.

“Think I might go for a walk first.”

My face is sweaty from the mask. I’m afraid to look in a mirror and find my makeup smudged and my hair sticking to my clammy forehead; better to cling to the same illusion of Nyx that I present to the clients. I couldn’t rock up in my pajamas and with curlers in my hair and give the same performance I gave tonight. I’m simply not that great an actress.

“Unwind. Good idea.” Michael Douglas smiles as if he wants to say more.

But I don’t give him the opportunity. I’m good at that, leaving before others can voice their opinions. Even Brian got it.

I head out the back door where the bodyguard escorts me along a narrow alleyway between buildings and out into the city that’s just starting to wake up. Earbuds in, I walk towards home. The streets are quiet at dawn, the only people out and about are shift workers and joggers, who all observe their own space on the sidewalk.

Brian’s parting comment has left me feeling uneasy.

Until that point, I’d enjoyed his company enough to open up to him about Enzo, I’d even come close to ruining everything by reaching out and touching him. I thought he was a decent guy. Convinced myself that even decent guys have sufficient funds and moments of madness where they choose to visit a club like JADED.

Because I still compare every man I meet to Enzo.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I broke my own rules and let him in, and he manipulated the entire session to his advantage. Replaying the conversation in my head, it’s obvious now that I never had control, not from the moment he sat down. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he played me straight into his hands before delivering the punchline.

It’s what I would do to you next time that should scare you.

It does scare me. I can still hear his distorted voice now as if he’s standing right behind me and whispering in my ear.

The problem is that it excites me too.

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