Another Lonely Boy

Another Lonely Boy

Well it was a day where I needed reminding that I was still alive. I’d woken up in my hostel covered in sick. I was alone. The others had left. Out in the street, I found a girl in a glass box. She offered money for sex.

Sex with the girl in the glass box seemed like a good option. I could have just showered, had a wank, and gone to a coffee shop with a book and pretended to be someone clever. But I needed someone to touch me and tell me I was beautiful and OK. Without mother love I would continue to feel dead inside. I needed the girl in the box.

My counsellor would not approve of this. She gave me a book ‘The Power of Now’, to read in times of stress. I remember her words of wisdom. Her voice gives me a headache. She speaks as if everything is a question. ‘I just feel to combat your problems that you need a regular guide? Because your problems are all stress based? And you could benefit from having something regular to turn to? Maybe you could find somewhere quiet to read the book (?) sit down, have a hot chocolate, and read any section that makes you calm?’ There is a problem with her theory. The book makes me want to kill myself, because it demands that I ‘seize the day, the moment, seize your life!’ There is nothing to seize except my penis, or my iPod. Now is no good thing.

The girl in the glass box is in a cobbled alley. There are many other girls in glass boxes. Some look bored; they read magazines, or are on their phones. One is picking at her elbow. She catches me watching her, and smiles with a wink. Not being a people person, I turn around. Sorry. A Chinese man is with his wife. They are pointing at one very attractive black girl, maybe twenty five. The man takes a photo of the girl as she is posing. She gets pissed. Runs out of her glass box, and throws the camera on the ground, stomping on it. Furious.

‘No fucking photos asshole.’ He’s embarrassed, offers her a twenty, and leaves. She picks up his smashed camera, and tosses it into a rubbish bin. She goes back to her box and sits on her chair.

My girl is blonde, probably twenty one. I’m glad. I don’t like screwing people who look older than me. I gaze at her. She smiles back. In another world and body, I would rescue her from her trade, take her out for dinner, and ply with kisses. I’d be taller, and would protect her. But I am short. I have no money, and I’ve only been here three days – I don’t know any good restaurants.

I walk up to her and wave. You are a loser.

She smiles, knows who I am. I practically go and hug her. But she halts me.  

‘Eighty euros. Twenty minutes. No blowjobs’.

‘Okay, sure. Urm’.

I take my wallet out from my jeans. She sees my I.D

‘How old are you’.

‘Twenty five’ I lie.

‘Show me.’

She grabs the wallet, and sees that I’m a twenty year old boy.

‘You’re young.’

‘Please’. I beg.

She hands me back the wallet and nods. She’s a professional. She can pretend I am someone else. It’s a trick I wish I could master.

Opening my wallet, I take out the notes I have. Two twenties and a ten.

‘Urm,’

‘No. Eighty it the price. You want a fuck - you’ll give me eighty. You want to come in - you give me eighty. You need eighty, baby’.

I thought she’d be nicer, but I’m taking up her time. I need more money.

‘Okay, okay. I’ll find a cash point’.

‘Good boy.’ She strokes my face. I quiver and run.

I run out of the cobbled alley. Too many tourists are around, blocking my direction. Families are dumbly walking. I have a need. I need to feel alive again. I ask a man selling maps where I can find a cash point. He is slow. But he tells me there’s one at the end of this street. I thank him, and barge through the crowds. A group of drunken English boys try and block my path. ‘Going somewhere, mate?’ ‘On your own, mate?’ I try and shuffle through them. One wearing an England football shirt shoves me, and I trip. They laugh, and leave. A Dutch man yells at them. ‘I hate people who are not polite’ he says, helping me to my feet. I thank him, and he sends me on my way.

I find the cash point, and draw out a hundred. I may want to tip her.  I rush back to the street. Back through the crowds. I wave at the Dutch man, and he salutes me. I’m starting to feel normal again. Back down in the cobbled street, I go to my girl in the box. But she’s not there. Another woman is sat in the box. She’s older, fatter, and grumpier. She eyes me up.

‘I’m looking for the girl with blonde hair. She was here ten minutes ago.’

In a thick deep accent ‘She left. Her shift finished for the day. I am here now.’

‘Is she coming back?’

‘No. I told you her shift finished for the day.’

I sigh. But I think of the power of now. I have a moment to seize.

‘Well?’ she says.

‘Okay’. I agree.

I hand her eighty. She hands me back thirty.

‘It’s fifty for ten minutes.’

Pissed. I’m going to get my monies worth. Take for ever. Get her pregnant. Whatever. Power of now.

We go in to the box. She draws the curtain. A group of tourists look sad. One takes a photo and the black lady gets angry.

The room is small. A bed that .looks like a dentist’s chair.  A bowl filled with condoms. A spider plant is in the corner.

She looks about thirty five. I hope she’s not a mum.

Taking of her robe, she reveals a body that slightly sags.

‘Take off your clothes’ she orders. I do. I reveal a body scrawny body. She lies on the dental chair.

‘You can kiss, but not for too long. You can only last ten minutes.’

‘Okay’.

I lie on her, she holds my shoulders. I close my eyes, and rest my face next to hers. She guides me in. I wait to feel alive again. But it’s not happening for me. I slowly hump. It’s lonely. I think I fall asleep, because I am awoken to her slapping my arse.

‘Your ten minutes is up!’

I pull out dazed, not sure if I even arrived.

‘Did I….’

She looks at me.

‘No’.

She kicks me out. I try and thank her, but she has no time. I wonder the streets alone, and wonder where I am going. I find another alley. I sit down against a post. Hugging my knees to my chest, I try and remember what it feels like to be held by someone who loves you.