The sign said live nude models.
I walked by the place on the way to the thrift store and on the way back to my car I opened the grey door and went in.
To see what would happen.
It was a small vestibular waiting room.
From behind another grey door a woman’s voice said, just a minute I’ll be right there.
A faded poster on the wall by that door announced $60 for 20 minutes, $80 for 30 minutes, $120 for an hour.
There was a dingy upholstered chair.
As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, the door opened and a surprisingly pretty woman, 5′ 5, straight blond hair, brown eyes, in a little black dress with bare shoulders came toward me.
She stood very close. Can I help you? Her voice was soft and self-assured.
As she explained the rates on the poster, I felt embarrassed and turned away from her. She moved to stand facing me, adding, “and since we work for tips, we can be as naughty as you can afford.” As I considered this, she said, “and we take all major credit cards, visa, amex…” She smiled and I saw her eyes laughing.
I don’t know, I was walking by. I’ve seen this place forever. It was just an impulse.
It always is, she said.
So, who are the models?
There are several girls but I’m here now.
You’re more than acceptable.
Yes, she said, I know.
I don’t have a lot of money.
Do the minimum, see if you like it.
It was just an impulse.
Yes, it always is.
She opened the grey door and I went through into a short hallway and then through another door into a small, carpeted room, bathed in a deep red light. On one side, a beige leather upholstered chair, like a sofa without arms and before it, a long narrow bench, upholstered in black leather.
It’s completely private, you see, she said as she shut the door.
Is that a one way mirror? A large mirror with an ornate gold frame was on the wall above the sofa-chair.
Oh, yes, she pulled the bottom of the mirror away from the wall. See?
She sat on the leather bench and I sat on the sofa-chair facing her.
Since we work for tips, she said, you have to tip me so we know what we’re going to do.
Oh! The $60 is for the room.
I’m being careful with money, as you can see. Can I give you another $60.
Sure. She took my credit card. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back. She went out and closed the door.
I thought about undressing and then imagined myself standing there with my little pot belly when she returns and what if this is some kind of a scam? I nosed around looking into things and heard her heels clicking in the hall.
She came in, handed me my card and the receipt and a pen to sign it.
I should take off my clothes?
Whatever feels comfortable. But the more you get into it, the more comfortable I am and the more you get out of it. Right?
Since I was on my way to kayak I had on a bathing suit, t-shirt and flip flops. She had her little black dress off before I was undressed. Her body drew my mind out through my eyes. I instinctively reached for her shoulders, wanting to feel her body against mine. She resisted.
I’ll give you a good show, she said. You sit there and do this with me.
I want to touch.
Ok, she reclined on the upholstered bench with her legs butterflied in front of me, you can touch me anywhere but here, Ok?
But that’s my favorite spot.
Well ok. You are so beautiful. It hurts me to look at you.
She began playing with her pussy, rubbing her clit with the fingers of her right hand from above and inserting the fingers of her left hand from below. Come on, you play, too, she said, and we can both come. I’d like you to come.
I’d rather help you. I mean I’d like to. Just to watch you is intense.
Are you sure? Come on, I want you to come to. Look…
I like your feet, I said, kissing her instep and feeling the smoothness of her legs and the damp warmth behind her knees, My finger tips trailed gently along her inner thighs as she masturbated. Reaching under her buttocks, I pulled her toward my face… she tensed.
Don’t worry, I heard what you said. She relaxed and I lowered my face, inhaling, not touching.
Jerking off seemed wrong. Why touch myself with her body my objective.
There’s nothing about you that doesn’t turn me on now.
I see, she said.
What’s your name? Sorry. What’s the relevance?
Name? Do you like Sabrina.
I wasn’t going to jerk off so she pretended to orgasm. Not believable but so what. Propped up on her elbow watched me. I talked to her about Orgasmic Meditation. She asked questions, she was interested,
I feel comfortable sitting here with you, talking, as if we’re not naked in a dimly red-lit room in a dingy building on Pacific Highway across from the airport.
I walked through a taboo door and asked for something I wanted from someone who was ready to give it in return for money. She thanked me for being her voyeur.
I felt $120 richer but I was $120 poorer. Emotions are interesting.
My next stop was Ralphs. Lettuce, juice. I’m getting out of my car in the parking lot and the woman sitting in the car beside mine smiles at me with a cider house grin, tales me by surprise. It was a little after four; the middle school moms were “getting dinner” and for some reason, they were looking at me. I need to print cards.