The Scorpion's Sweet Venom

A beautiful day dawned. I don't know why, but something happens inside me when the sun shines on a cold day. Everything feels
unreal, as if I'm in a waking dream: that bright light in the blue sky that doesn't heat up. A beautiful lie. This was the
first thing I saw when I woke up at ten o'clock in the morning. Soon the enchantment of this dreamlike scenario gave way to
the reality of my dilemma. Was this really what I wanted to do with my life? I knew that if I left it would be for ever. There
would be no going back. Not for me or my parents.

I packed a few items of clothing into my schoolbag. I couldn't walk out of there with a suitcase. As I was going through my
wardrobe, I saw so many beautiful clothes and was sad I couldn't take all of them. I packed some underwear, pyjamas, a T-shirt,
a top, a few bikinis to work in and, along with the clothes on my body and a coat, my luggage was ready. My little cat just
watched. I tried to hide her in my bag, but she didn't like the idea. Well, I thought, another thing I have to leave behind,
along with my designer clothes, bedroom and memories.

I went into the living room and sat at the dining table, pretending to do my homework. I was really watching my mother, silent,
with her back to me, making something in the kitchen. I recognised that she didn't deserve to go through all that. But it
was what I wanted to do. Or had to do. I sat there thinking that in a short space of time she had lost two daughters. My oldest
sister (who was also my godmother) had never come back from America.

I was euphoric on the one hand, but sad on the other. Watching that woman, who once upon a time had given up her own life
to get married and look after a house and kids, including me, who wasn't her natural daughter, I felt a strong urge to tell
her about my decision. To show her that none of this was because of her, but me. I could even follow in her footsteps and
sacrifice myself, do everything she had done . . . No. I'd made my decision.

I started writing everything I wanted to tell her on the piece of paper in front of me. It wasn't premeditated. It was spontaneous
and sincere, in a way that I hadn't been for a long time. I thanked her for everything she'd done for me, asked her to forgive
me for the pain she'd feel, but made it clear that I was going to seek my own happiness, wherever that might be. I hoped that
this would mean she and myfather could be happy again, without me, without my problems. I reread the letter, which looked
like a suicide note. I was unable to write things differently, however. In a way, something was dying in me that day.

I left the letter on the table and got my file and schoolbag. I always left through the kitchen door. I passed my mother,
leaning against the sink. 'Bye, Mum.' She didn't answer. She didn't turn round. I knew I'd never see her again. I stood in
the doorway for a moment, looking at her. Still she didn't turn round. I really regret the hug I didn't have the courage to
give her at that moment. I love my mum. She didn't know it. She didn't turn round. There was no word, no gesture. From either
of us. In silence, I closed the door behind me. Bye, Mum.

'Today I want to give it to you from behind.'

'But do you want my cunt or my arsehole?'

'Everything,' he whispers in my ear, while his hand roams my thighs.

His mouth brushes against my neck and I can feel his unshaven face. My hands between his legs make him go rock hard. He tugs
my top down and my tits pop out. He's like a kid with a new toy; I let him squeeze them firmly, but gently. My nipples go
hard as his tongue glides around them. His breathing is hot and heavy. He licks one breast, then the other, then squeezes
them together, trying to fit them both in his mouth like a greedy boy. In the jumble of quickly removed clothes, he pulls
down my knickers and runs his tongue down to my belly button. Then he stops and gives me a cheeky look.

'Do you want me to go down on you?'

'Yes.'

'Now or later?'

'It's up to you . . . It's your tongue.'

'But it's your cunt.'

'Then do it now.'

I come several times, without any special effort. It's really good. And we're just getting started. We climb the small spiral
staircase up to the bedroom. He quickly puts on a condom so he can make the most of my juices . . . then we adopt a very well-behaved
missionary position.

'Ride me,' he says after a while.

First I straddle him, then, when he's completely inside me, I swivel around to face the other way. After a little while he
pulls himself out and asks me to return the favour with my mouth. I suck him off until he comes, gently tugging at my long
hair.

We barely have time to talk. Still using my mouth, I revive him. In a delirious sixty-nine, he starts playing with my arse.
This turns me on. I can't help myself and climb on. Then, up to the hilt in my arsehole, he picks me up and sets me on all
fours. In the end, he asks to come in my mouth again. I let him. The CD ends almost exactly at the same time as our second
round. Game over. The end of the CD is the sign that his hour is up. If he wants to, he can have a bath, pay what we arranged
on the phone and . . .

'See you later.'

No hard feelings. Life goes on. Job done, payment received (and discreetly checked, without his noticing, of course). He was
the first client of the day. There are still five to go. With less than an hour and a shower between clients, I barely have
time to get ready again. I prefer to do everything in one go, and meet my goal of five clients as soon as possible, so I can
be free for the rest of the day. My system works. When I'm behind schedule or a client is late, the next one to arrive waits
in the foyer downstairs. Until it's time to do it all again.

This ritual of running through a checklist of my body and room when the intercom rings is always the same. My second client
is the really shy sort that you have to take by the hand. You have to lead him through the sex. It's mechanical. I'm unable
to come with him because it's a tense shag - for both of us.

The third, a total kid, has the energy (and speed) to do me three times. It's his third visit and I've nicknamed him 'rabbit',
although he doesn't know it. These quickies don't give me time to come. Never mind. We get along well and always talk a lot.

The fourth one brings his lover around for a threesome. A really interesting woman, who knows what she's doing. She isn't
beautiful, but she turns me on. If his girlfriend and I don't control ourselves, he might end up empty-handed. Of course I'm
not going to let that happen . . . She goes down on me, while he fucks me until I come. Not from the ride, but her tongue.

The fifth is the sort you'd take home to meet your parents. There's no chemistry, but we get along well. He is forty-something,
and manages to do something I've never seen before. He comes without me even touching his dick, while I suck his balls. Ah,
and he's brought me a lemon pie. Very nice. After riding him a little, our second round ends with him coming in my mouth.

The sixth and last of the day wants me to take him to a swingers' club. It's his first time. Yet another I'm about to lead
astray . . .

It's been a while since I've worn a dress, so I choose one that is really only a piece of cloth. It has a plunging neckline
and only just covers the essentials. I wear a pair of lace-up sandals. I want to be a knockout, and succeed, of course. I'm
the sexiest girl at the Marrakesh tonight. But after a bit of drinking and dancing, my client still hasn't got into the spirit
of the place.

'I don't feel relaxed in a room with so many people fucking.'

We go to the only room where unaccompanied men are allowed in. I sit on an empty sofa and he goes down on me. Then out of
the blue, some guys show up. Two sit on the arms of the sofa and another two just stand there, watching. When my client notices
them he gets a fright and we end up going to a private room, just the two of us. Since we have some chemistry going, I don't
even worry about swapping partners. He doesn't want to either. We go for it all night long. Blow jobs, tit-fucking, rimming
. . . Whenever I go to a swingers' club, I get excited at the possibility of swapping partners and getting it on with an interesting
woman. My client is in luck because today there are only middle-aged women. Nothing against them - they just don't turnme
on. Something almost happens with a guy of about forty who pulls me towards him, but he isn't accompanied. Although I don't
get to go down on another woman or swap partners, the night is worth it. I get home at 5.30 a.m.