A few more days go by and my chopping has returned to its formerly proficient level and Chantal’s magnificent tongue has gone a long way to alleviate the soreness of my orifices as well as my bruised pride. My nose is almost healed and things are settling into a routine and I’m beginning to feel kind of comfortable as things are going. Sure warning signs for me.
I’m setting out for the restaurant in what are called the pre-dawn hours when Chantal awakens and sleepily calls me to her for a send-off kiss.
“Chérie, would you like another customer this afternoon when you return? I have a special one for you, rather young and very nice. You’d like more of those lovely euros for your fund, too, n’est-ce pas?”
“Maybe, Chantal. I’ve been thinking about it. Who is it?”
“Does it matter? Il s’appelle Bernard. One of my regulars. I have known him, it seems, my whole life. He is still in his twenties, though. You will like him, je suis certaine.”
“D’accord, Chantal. I’ll do it. Set him up. Is 5 okay?”
“Parfait. J’espère que tu passes une bonne journée, ma puce. Jusqu’à plus tard, à cinq heures.”
“That’s great. I’m excited. I’ll be here early to get ready for Bernard. You, too, have an excellent day, Chantal.”
“I will have your bustier and other things ready and waiting for you, Rosie. Your new uniform, for such days.”
I am excited, and the thought of getting it on with a 20-something guy has my juices running. It’s still sort of weird to me, though, having sex with random strangers who pay a lot of money just to get inside a girl’s pants. If he’s nice enough, I’d probably do it for free. But who am I to complain? I can sure use the bread and if they want to pay for it, I’ll take it. But why does a nice 20-something guy have to pay for it? There’s always that question. I don’t know. I suspect with a lot of guys it’s a power thing, more than just a sex thing. The thought of buying any girl they want and fucking her. Takes all the hassle out of it, that’s for sure. This I can understand.
Bernard is indeed a very nice young man. He has a ruggedly handsome face, tanned from working outside in the sun, and a strong, supple body that he’s proud to show me once he’s out of his clothes. And a cock to die for. If I could, I’d probably pay to have him rather than the other way around. But I’m not complaining as he fills me to the bursting point and plows me so hard I can almost feel him coming out of my mouth. I don’t know what the whore protocol is, and I don’t care, as I come about fifteen times for every one of his.
I forget sometimes how brutal a young guy can be, and I adore every savage thrust Bernard gives me. And, ça alors, there are lots and lots and lots of them. He’s relentless, like he hasn’t had a girl in ages. And I’m a screaming banshee the whole time, probably scaring the other girls and maybe the neighbors, too. The bed is a swamp by the time we’re done. All that’s missing are the alligators.
We’re both dripping sweat from every pore and it all feels so primal. As good as sex with Sid can be, it’s never like this. He’s too into himself and too restrained to totally lose his cool, something Bernard doesn’t seem concerned with. And while Sid pays in kind, Bernard slides two 100 euro notes into my hand as he kisses me good-bye, once on each nipple, chewing on them as he does, and then on my mouth, all very hard, like he really means it. Well, I hope it’s not good-bye. This is one customer I’ll be happy to see again.
I’m still lying on the flooded sheets feeling how drenched I am between my legs when Chantal knocks and enters. She places some notes on the dresser.
“Your cut, Rosie. Four hundred euros. And I assume Bernard tipped you? Pas très mal for a couple hours entertainment, non?”
No, not bad at all. Even if it wasn’t as good as it was.
After I’ve regained my senses and showered, I spend two hours playing naked at the piano, and by the time the evening winds down and the last girl has left I’ve racked up six hundred and sixty euros to my side of the ledger. Not too shoddy, indeed, for an evening’s work. As I play I’m thinking maybe I’ll take a few customers, not too many, maybe one every other day, and if I do, I could average a couple thousand euros a week. Chantal seems comfortable letting me turn tricks now, and in a month, I’ll be set to do whatever it is I decide to do.
Chantal orders in some dinner and we eat it sitting naked and cross-legged on her bed. We’re having coq au vin over rice with the obligatory bottle of vin rouge. I’m feeling pretty relaxed, as I’m entitled to feel from the good food and wine on top of a screwing such as Bernard gave me.
“Did you have a good time with Bernard, chérie?”
“Oh, man, Chantal. Did I ever. You were not kidding when you said he was very nice. Nice isn’t the word. He’s a regular hottie. I’d pay to fuck him, he’s that good.”
“Bon. I’m happy for you, mon oisillon. I thought you would enjoy one another.”
“Oh, that we did. I know I did.”
“You needed someone like Bernard. And he you, je crois.”
“I guess I did. He’s so much more unrestrained than Sid. I must have come like a zillion times. I hope that’s okay.”
“But of course. He probably liked that. Men feel accomplished when they make a woman come. Even better when it’s real. They always are suspicious a whore is pretending.”
“Then he must feel like a total virtuoso. Though it’s odd, you know, thinking of myself as a whore.”
“It was you who said you were a whore, was it not? Taking what Sid and other men had to offer you? You said that, non?”
“That’s true. I did. I guess this is a little closer to the reality, though, and not just allegorical.”
“No, not really. I guess not. So how do you know Bernard?”
“Bernard? Oh, he’s my brother. My youngest brother. The baby of the family.”
I have a fork of chicken and rice halfway to my mouth and my eyes shoot open and I drop the fork and the food on the bed. I’m sure if it had made it to my mouth it would now be all over the room. It’s a struggle not to choke on my own spit, which is going down the wrong pipe, and to force out some words.
“Your what? Your brother? You’re joking, right? Please, Chantal, please tell me you’re busting on me.”
“No, chérie. Bernard is my brother. He’s the only one of my siblings, en vérité, the only one in my family, I stay in touch with. He was just 5 when I was sent to Lyon to be with my uncle and aunt.”
“Omigod. So you weren’t kidding when you said you knew him your entire life? Oh, Jesus.”
“Yes, that is true. But I hardly knew him then, he was so little. But it happened that he felt out of place, as did I, and when he was 16 he ran off from la ferme. He got to Paris, and somehow he managed to find me. He never forgot me, even the short time he knew me. His special sister, le mouton noir.”
“That’s incredible. How did he find you, Chantal?”
“Bernard is very ingenious, and I never changed my name. This was all much before the Internet, you know, so he had to track me down with conventional means. But he did. And by then I had the business some years and I was doing well. I couldn’t have him stay here with me, so Simon and I found him a nice family to live with and I insisted he go back to school.”
“Wow. What a good big sister you were. You are.”
“I suppose. I supported Bernard for several years, until he managed to leave school and get a job and a place of his own.”
“How does he have the money to come here and pay for the girls like that? He looks like he works outside.”
“He does work outside. He’s a laborer. And no, he doesn’t have the money. This is something I do for him. I pay for the girls. I even give him the money for the tip. It’s a gift.”
“Why, Chantal? Why do you do this for your brother?”
“He’s a man like any other, non? He has his needs. And I have a resource many sisters don’t have. So why should I not share it with him? I want to make my brother happy, and satisfied. Like I said, he’s the only one in my whole family I am close with. Bernard is mon ange, my angel. And I his.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Chantal? I’m starting to feel like I’m being used. First Roger, and now Bernard. Now this.”
“Used? Pas du tout. I thought you and he would make a good pair. And if I told you, what would you have done?”
“I don’t know. What did you think I would have done?”
“I think you perhaps would have refused. And if you didn’t, it might have caused you to treat him differently. I wanted him to be just another customer to you. And he was. There was no point in causing you to think of him any other way. C’est tout.”
“C’est tout to you, Chantal. Not to me. And I’m so embarrassed, telling you how it was fucking your own brother.”
“So? Fucking is fucking. Bernard is a man before he is my brother. I hope he fucked you well. And you him.”
“Yeah, that we did.”
“Did he come in you, chérie?”
“Did he what? You’re really asking me that, Chantal? Well, okay, yeah. I know your clients are tested. So we didn’t use a condom, and I let him. Was that wrong?”
“Non. C’est merveilleux. So you have his ADN – DNA you say – in you, and he has yours. So it is like we are now sisters.”
“Geez, Chantal. What? Only you could think of that.”
“You never think about how you are joined with a man through his semen? And how you are then tied to others in his life?”
“No. I don’t. But fuck me. I guess I will now. I’ll probably never get the idea out of my head. So we’re really sisters?”
“Oui, in a way.”
“So I just had sex with my brother? This shit is getting weirder and weirder. Even for me.”
“Calme-toi. Can you use your imagination, chérie? Can you imagine what I am saying, that in a way, we are sisters?”
“Okay, sure. I’ve got a good imagination. We’re sisters, Chantal. I’ve never had a sister before, so now I have one. And you were already a mother to me. And I screwed our brother. And he was good. Very good. Very, very good. Can you imagine?”
I’m beginning to sound hysterical. Chantal laughs out loud as she picks up a piece of coq au vin on her fork and shoves it into my mouth, shutting me up.
“Bon appétit, ma sœur. You are a funny one, my sister.”