Panties for Sale (9 page)

A low whistle came from the front seat, as Alex slid into
the back seat of the black car, “So, is this your first time?” Ahmed sat up tall
as he tilted the rearview mirror to get a better look at Alex.

“Yes,” Alex nodded.

“Oh! A virgin!
 
My
favorite kind,” Ahmed chuckled to himself.

Alex leaned back into the well-worn leather seats and
watched the familiar houses on her street pass by.
 
She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but
damn, what was that smell?
 
Was it
outside? Alex wrinkled her nose and looked around the back seat.
 
Was it her own clothes? No, it wasn’t coming
from her.
 
She had sprayed RUSH all over
before she left.
 
She could still smell
the perfume on her sleeve.
 
It wasn’t
sweat or cigarettes. It was different. More spicy.
 
Pungent.
 
Oh god, she realized, it’s curry.
 
I hate curry!
 
It had better not
seep into my clothes, she worried, covering her nose with her hand.
 
God, she thought, I hope I sprayed enough
perfume to last the whole ride across town.
 
The last thing Alex wanted was to show up for her first appointment
smelling like cheap Indian takeout.

As Alex looked up, she caught the driver’s eyes staring at
her through the rear view mirror. She quickly looked down. She was so not in
the mood for this. First the stink of curry and now this?
 
Alex could not deal with being hit on by her
driver right now.
 
She was already a
nervous wreck.
 
It had taken her all
morning to decide on an outfit and to get herself ready; making sure every
square inch of her body was buffed and polished, lotioned and perfumed.
 

She was dressed in a black suit with shiny black
heels.
 
Under her suit jacket, she wore
nothing but a red lace bra which peeked seductively out of the low cut
neckline. Her makeup was light and natural, her hair swept up into a loose bun,
and only small golden hoops in her ears. She hoped she looked casual but
elegant.
 
She had tried to follow
Angela’s advice.
 
“Just dress simply.”
Angela had said over the phone when she called to confirm the appointment.
 
“Try to look like an everyday person.
 
Someone your client might see and fantasize
about on the subway. Well, not that this man takes the subway, but you know
what I mean, a naughty secretary.
 
Nothing too obvious though.
 
Understated, that’s the key.
 
But
make sure your underwear is sexy.
 
Really
sexy.
 
Remember,” Angela had said, “the
sexiest part about you is the part he hasn’t seen yet.”

“Yum,” the driver was licking his lips as he watched her
through the mirror. “I would like to be your first time.”
 
Alex pretended she didn’t hear and pulled out
her cell phone. “Ahmed,” he said.
 

Alex looked up. “Huh?”
 

“Ahmed, that’s my name.”

“Ah, nice to meet you.”
 
She glanced up at him.
 
But this
time, Ahmed was looking at her through the mirror with such an open friendly
smile; she relented and gave him a smile back.
 
Maybe I’m over reacting she thought. Maybe this guy isn’t a sleaze bag.
Maybe he is just trying to be nice. Yeah Alex, she chided herself, not every
man wants to sleep with you.
 
Just relax.

Ahmed, had mocha skin, short slicked black hair, dark
almond shaped eyes and a bushy moustache which almost covered his thin red
lips.
 
And although he was sitting, Alex
could tell he was tall with a strong but slim physique.
 
Actually, he had a nice profile. She had to
admit, without the lecherous comments and with the right clothes and a shave,
he could be handsome. If only he would stop looking at her through the rearview
mirror, his dark eyes eagerly darting back and forth from her face to her
chest.

“Nice to meet you too, Alex,” Ahmed said, emphasizing the
‘x’ at the end of her name, “nervous?”

“A bit,” Alex looked out the window.

“Yeah, I was too.”

“You? Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Ahmed asked, “same as you, that’s
why.”

Alex laughed. “You are an escort?”

“Yes. Of course,” Ahmed shrugged his shoulders, “and why
not? I am good too.
 
So good.”
 
He winked at Alex through the rear view
mirror and showed her a row of dazzling white teeth.
 
Rolling her eyes, she watched as the car
slowly turned onto University Avenue. “Ok.
 
Seriously,” Ahmed continued, “I am here to Canada
from India.
 
Delhi.
 
Have you heard?” Alex nodded absently. “But
you know, your country, it is hard for me to find work.
 
No one wants to hire me.
 
I don’t want to get a crummy job, you know,
like to work in Macdonald’s.
 
I have a
university certificate,” he raised his voice, trying to get Alex’s
attention.
 

Alex’s head was turned looking out the window.
 
She was listening; she just didn’t want to
encourage Ahmed.
 
It wasn’t anything
new.
 
It seemed like every taxi driver in
the GTA had that story.
 
Same story,
different countries. Yes, she thought, I know, it’s hard to come to
Canada.
 
Alex sighed.
 
She wanted to just once turn and shout, “If
it’s so damned awful, why did you come in the first place?” But she
didn’t.
 
She was Canadian.
 

“Finally I find Angela,” Ahmed continued, “Angela.
 
She is a good woman.
 
At first I am just driver.
 
But that’s not enough money. I want to make
lots of money.
 
So Angela suggests I try
to escort.
 
She takes some pictures, and
tries me out.
 
Yes, what I am telling you
is true. Oh!
 
I impressed her, let me
tell you. Of course, we are not so busy as you ladies, and so I am still the
driver.”
 
Ahmed stopped the car as the
streetlight turned red.
 
He twisted
around in his seat and slowly looked Alex up and down. “Mmm, you would be
surprised the things I could do for you.
 
For you, I would do it for free; it would be my pleasure.”

Alex’s rolled her eyes and tried to slouch as far back into
the leather seat as she could.
 
She
looked down at her cell phone.
 
One
missed call.
 
When did it ring? She
didn’t hear it ring.
 
She shook her head
as she dialed her voice mail.

“Hello? Alex?
 
It’s
your mother.
 
Where are you?
 
Why aren’t you returning my calls? I called
you yesterday and left you a message?
 
How is work going?
 
Did you call
the university?
 
See about teacher’s
college? I think you have to put the application in very soon. You need to get
on that.
 
Did you make your car payment
this month? OK, just wanted to say hello. You know, you can call me sometime.
Ok.
 
Good bye.”
 

Alex pressed 7 to delete the message and hung up the phone.

“So, what do you say?”
 
Ahmed was still staring at her. “We can stop.
 
I could remove those first appointment
jitters.”

“You’re married?” Alex pointed to the gold ring on his left
ring finger.

“So,” Ahmed shrugged, “my wife doesn’t know.”
 

“The light,” Alex pointed at the now green traffic light.

“Ok, ok,” Ahmed muttered and turned back around as cars
started to honk.

“She is a good wife,” Ahmed said as he drove through the
intersection, “don’t get me wrong. She stays at home and looks after my family.
Yes, she is a good wife.
 
But she wasn’t
my choice.
 
She was my parent’s
choice.
 
And she is always tired and now
she is getting fat,” Ahmed slowed the car down to honk at a young blonde girl
in a tight t-shirt. “Ah, I love women.
 
I
cannot give them up for one fat lady that only lies there and doesn’t enjoy
it.
 
And I have tried.
 
Believe in me, I have tried everything with
that woman.
 
No.
 
It is better this way.
 
Oh, now you are getting me excited talking
about this.
 
I love women.
 
Licking and sucking.
 
It tastes so good,” Ahmed sighed loudly.
 
“You Canadian women are all the same.
 
How can you think there is only one man for
you?
 
Hah! Obviously, you don’t think so,
eh?”
 
He tried to catch Alex’s eye
through the rear view mirror and swerved dangerously close to a parked car in the
process.
 
“You can’t get enough of the
men.
 
You see, that is why we would be so
good together.”
 

Alex had the door open and one foot out before the car had
even stopped in front of the Royal York, “Alex wait,” Ahmed called.

“Yes?” Alex leaned her head back into the car.
 

“I will be waiting for you.
 
If you are not down here in 50 minutes, I will call you.
 
You must answer. Then you will have 10
minutes to get dressed and come downstairs.
 
If there is a problem, please tell me.
 
Now go and have some fun!”
 
He
chuckled and waved goodbye as Alex slammed the door.
 

“Exquisite.”
 
Mr.
Smith, Chieko’s client of the hour was sitting in front of her, holding her
small foot, gently turning it in his palm as if it was a rare jewel.
 
“Small, delicate, perfectly shaped feet,” he
said.
 
Squeezing her ankle, Mr. Smith
leaned closer to her big toe and inhaled sending Chieko into a fit of giggles.

“I asked Angela for a lady with nice feet,” Mr. Smith said,
“but you know Angela.
 
She’s not terribly
interested in looking at her girl’s feet.
 
How lucky am I that she found you.”
 
Lucky, indeed, Chieko thought.
 
Angela never told her about this importance of clean pretty feet.
 
She had just told her that Mr. Smith was a
regular client, a nice young businessman. She was so thankful that she had
decided to splurge on a mani-pedi the day before.

Chieko leaned back in the pale blue arm chair and looked
around at the small hotel room.
 
Mr.
Smith had booked room 728 of the Howard Johnson’s hotel downtown.
 
When Dora had called to confirm the
midafternoon appointment, Chieko had been excited.
 
The hotel was right on the corner of Front
and Bay streets.
 
Right in the middle of
the banking district. So of course Chieko thought, the Howard Johnson’s would
be a luxurious five star hotel and her client would be a rich businessman or an
investment banker.
 
Maybe a CEO, a big
spender who wanted a little secret afternoon rendezvous, a late naughty
lunch.
 
Or maybe not. Chieko’s dreams of
re-enacting a scene from the movie Pretty Woman were pretty much dashed as the
client of the hour, who yes, was very meticulously groomed, was currently on
his hands and knees in front of her inspecting her feet in a tiny, cheap,
single hotel room.

But Chieko liked to think positive and even if Mr. Smith
wasn’t an extremely dashing, wealthy businessman who wanted to spoil her in the
lap of luxury, he was turning out to be a lot nicer than her last client.
 
It still made her stomach ache to think about
that man.
 
Baka!
 
He had been so insulting. And rude! And
worse, Angela hadn’t even bothered to call her afterwards to apologize.
 

Apparently, he didn’t like Asian girls. He had taken one
look at Chieko, dressed up in her new suit and rolled his eyes in disgust and
called Angela.
 
Since he had left the door
open, Chieko wasn’t sure what to do.
 
So
she followed him into the room listening while he demanded a new girl.
 
“You owe me, Angela,” he had shouted.
 
“I told you I don’t like Asian sluts.
 
What the hell are you doing sending me this
one?
 
I wanted a hot blonde slut.
 
One with big tits.
 
I mean huge.
 
And an ass.
 
I need something to
grab. This one is skinny.
 
Almost too
skinny to fuck.”

Chieko had stood against the door and listened as the
client shouted louder and louder.
 
“Damnit, Angela, you come down here,” the client shouted, “I’ve been
waiting all week to come up to Toronto.
 
I want to see a hot blonde on her knees sucking my cock.
 
You’re blonde ain’t you?” Finally, after
nodding and grunting a few times, the man quieted down and hung up the phone.
 

He had looked surprised to see Chieko still there. Maybe
she was supposed to leave.
 
She should
have left.
 
He had quietly walked over
and closed the door without looking at Chieko. “Don’t bother undressing,” he
had said with a sigh. “Just come over here.”

“You see,” he rubbed his hands over Chieko’s chest, “Angela
was supposed to send me someone with big tits.
 
No offense,” he laughed and pinched Chieko’s nipples. “You’re just not
what I ordered.” He turned her around, lifted up her skirt and snapped her
panties. “But, you’re here and I’m paying,” he said, “so bend over.” Chieko
wasn’t even sure if he put on a condom.
 
She didn’t watch him.
 
She
couldn’t.
 
She just bent her head down
and leaned over.
 

“Ohma!” Chieko gasped.
 
Mr. Smith had just put her big toe in his mouth and was slowly sucking
on it.
 
Chieko shivered as she felt his
warm wet tongue caressing her toe.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Smith looked up at Chieko. “Is this ok? I
just couldn’t help it.” He slowly dropped her toe. “Don’t move,” Mr. Smith patted
the tops of Chieko’s feet as one would pat a well behaved child’s head, then he
got up and went into the bathroom.
 
Chieko could hear the tap being turned on and the sounds of bags
rustling and things being moved about.

She watched curiously as Mr. Smith ran in and out of the
bathroom carrying out various sized bottles of lotions which he must have
brought with him. He arranged them in a circle around Chieko’s feet with a
pumice stone and a small stack of towels. Lastly, he brought out a large bowl of
steaming water and carefully placed it in front of her feet.
 
He hiked up his trousers, rolled up his
sleeves and then with a wink, got back down on his knees in front of
Chieko.
 
“I must apologize. I didn’t have
all this ready for you, but you never know who you are going to get.
 
I like to have Angela surprise me every once
in a while.
 
But the last girl she sent
had awful feet, and I wasted so much time getting ready before she came.”
 
He squeezed soapy liquid into the water.
“This way I can inspect the feet first.
 
Plus it only takes a minute to get ready,” he lifted her feet and slowly
placed them in the water.
 
“Is that
ok?
 
Is it too hot?”

“No.
 
Very nice.”

“Good,” Mr. Smith stirred the top of the water slightly,
just enough to create a layer of tiny bubbles, then sat back. “Now we
wait.”
 

Chieko smiled as she realized that she really wasn’t
expected to do anything with this client, expect relax; which she was quite
happy to do. It seemed that Mr. Smith on the other hand, was finding it difficult
to relax.
 
Chieko watched as he
rearranged the bottles and towels, inspected his own fingernails, picked lint
off of his trousers and then stood up and stretched.
 
Was he nervous? Or excited? “Ok,” he said
after a few push-ups, “let’s see how they are doing.”
 
He gently removed Chieko’s right foot from
the water and rested it in his lap on a towel.

He was quite handsome, Chieko thought as she watched him
meticulously dry her feet. A full head of light brown hair.
 
Nice blue eyes.
 
Early thirties, not going gray yet.
 
And so well dressed. Was that an Armani suit?
It was immaculately pressed.
 
Chieko
liked the pattern.
 
A dark navy suit with
thin pink pin stripes.
 
It matched his
white oxford shirt which had thin light blue and dark pink pin stripes. Strong
hands too, Chieko sighed. How odd. Out of all her clients so far, this was the
one she would have most liked to see naked.
  
He might even be fun.
 
And this
was her easiest appointment so far; no sex, no blow jobs, hardly any
conversation.

Mr. Smith’s strong hands and the smell of peppermint and
lavender foot cream soon over powered Chieko and she felt herself drift off,
floating back in time to a peaceful afternoon in Tokyo.

She had just returned to her dormitory after a long Sunday
afternoon of strolling through Ueno Park in her wooden clogs. She had had a tea
appointment that day, at the temple with a group of American businessman.
Ugh.
 
She hated doing the tourist
shows.
  
Tourists didn’t understand the
meaning behind the tea ceremony. Nor did they care to learn. This particular
group had talked the whole time. When they were finished, one of the older men
had asked Chieko if she would have dinner with him.
 
Or at least that’s what the translator had
asked her after much prompting.
 
She
could just imagine what the man had actually asked for. She remembered being so
furious at them for thinking what all foreigners assume about Geisha
girls.
 
Luckily, Chieko was still only a
Maiko and was not allowed out after dark or unaccompanied.
 
She had the translator explain for her and
hurried away.

She remembered coming back to her dormitory alone.
 
The other girls weren’t back from their
appointments yet.
 
Her house mother had
created a small stack of floor pillows on the tatami mat for Chieko to lean her
back against and had made Chieko a small pot of tea and put out the sweet rice
balls she loved so much.
 
Chieko
remembered that feeling of being at home.
 
Of sitting somewhere safe and secure and being wrapped up in the warmth
of her house mother’s concern, savouring the feeling of relief and satisfaction
of a long day’s work done.
 
She wished
she could be back in that quiet cool room, sipping her tea, watching as her
house mother brought out a large steaming bowl of water to soak her feet.
 

Chieko and her house mother sat together in the shady cool
room all afternoon, listening to the sound of water from the stream that
babbled under the floor boards, and talked about Chieko’s day.
 
Chieko remembered how her house mother, who
was usually so strict and bossy, had sat quietly beside her, listening and
nodding.
 
“Today my kimono was so hot,”
Chieko pouted and pulled at her silk collar, “why is it so heavy?
 
And why do you have to tie my obi so
tight?
 
It is already so hot outside,
with my obi on. I can barely breathe when I walk.
 
Oh why?
 
Why do I have to do this?
 
I hate
walking through those streets, especially in the park. All those loud tourists
who stop and point and laugh at me.
 
They
try to take my picture or follow me.
 
Damé!
 
They are so rude!
 
Why do I have to do the ceremony for the
tourists? They don’t understand.
 
Why
should they?
 
Even, I don’t understand
why I must study to be geisha. Why bother?
 
It’s so old fashioned. There is nothing special about it anymore.”
Chieko looked at her house mother, searching for an answer, but the older woman
just nodded her head and smiled warmly, her round face crinkling itself up
until her eyes were just tiny slits in a sea of wrinkles.
 

Chieko looked around the small, dark room, at the aging
paper window screens, the frayed edges of the floor pillows, the tired painted
screens hanging on the walls.
 
When she
had first arrived at the academy, Chieko had loved the traditional Japanese
decorations.
 
It had seemed magical to
her, like she was going to become a part of a fairy tale out of the past.
 
She had loved how the floorboards creaked
under her feet, how the smell of the tatami flooring blended with the freshness
of the grass in the small open courtyard to create a scent of newness and
growth.
 
Chieko would sit for hours in
this room, studying ‘The Way of Tea’ under her favorite large painting of four
chrysanthemum flowers in full bloom.
 
The
bright red, yellow and blue blossoms against the dark green leaves always
cheered her up and filled her with hope.
 
But not that day.
 
The flowers
were faded, the colours were dull and lifeless. There were brown stains along
the rice paper where the roof had leaked rain water and a rip in the bottom of
the embroidered frame.
 
Even the rice
cakes were flavourless.
 
They had lost
their crunch and seemed as bored with this room, with this life, as she was.

“The men in the temple today, said I should be proud for
upholding such a distinguished art.
 
Ha!
How do they know? They just say that because to them, I am a novelty. Something
interesting to do when they come to Japan.
 
Like drinking sake and going to karaoke. That is stupid.
 
Why not just let geishas die?”

Chieko looked out the door at the quiet peaceful garden,
between the dormitory and the main house with the tiny waterfall flowing down
over the rocks.
 
She watched the
gardener, lost in his own silent reverie as he raked his precious sand into a
perfect circle. “Nobody understands what we do, you know.
 
Everyone just thinks geishas are whores.
 
Well dressed, well painted whores.
 
You know, I think that American was trying to
get the translator to tell him how much it would cost to have sex with me? Oh,”
Chieko cried, “it was so awful.
 
Why do I
have to study this?
 
Why can’t I go back
to normal school?”