Sophie
The phone was a smartphone with all the regular apps. After George hung up I gulped down the rest of my wine and poured another glass up to the brim. I was in a whole world of mixed emotions. Telling him my story felt incredible, it felt like a weight off my shoulders to hear that someone actually cared. But did he care? I thought he must have done, he’s the one that asked.
The room had free Wi-Fi which I connected to the phone, and typed "BDSM" into the search bar. I spent the rest of the night doing research. George was only the second person I ever slept with, and the first was a boyfriend who I was only with for a few months when I was a teenager. I didn’t have the time, money or friends to go out to parties in school, so never had that life. I was scared that night with George, but he took command and knew what he was doing, and it had opened up my mind.
I was nervous about what I was reading though—why would somebody get pleasure from pain? I knew it was a common thing, so maybe I’d like it? Even if I didn’t I thought I’d be able to get through it; I’d been through a lot worse. I looked at pictures of BDSM and watched a bit of porn. It probably wasn’t a wise move. It all seemed too broad and wide-ranging, and I was being left with more questions than answers. I suppose it was a matter of wait and see... or not see.
The previous day I had woken up in a puddle of muddy water, this day I had woken up warm and cozy in what felt like my own bed. I put on the TV, made myself a coffee and just lay there for a few hours in my own bliss. It’s funny how you miss the little things, the creature comforts. I received a message on my phone that George wouldn’t be requiring my company until the late evening. He also said that he expected me to be looking my best, which was fair enough I suppose. I had no make-up, my nails were chipped and my hair was plain and washed with cheap conditioner. I was looking forward to treating myself.
I was still aware, however, of the time frame, six more nights. I thought, it will go quickly. I wanted to make sure I was in the best possible position to survive once the support was gone, living on the streets again after a week of luxury would be tough. I had to make sure I was prepared for it.
In the meantime I had tonight to worry about. Looking my best? What exactly did that mean? I thought it implied the usual beauty regimes, but what about clothes? Is that what the money was for? I thought I’d have to ask as I didn’t want to let him down. I wanted to make sure my hotel stay lasted the full seven nights.
“What should I wear? X,” I messaged him. I debated for far too long about whether I should include an "X" on the message, but I wanted to come across as flirty and friendly.
“Clothing will be provided,” was the response. Again, more questions than answers, and no kiss at the end of the message. I presumed he didn’t want me to be walking up to his apartment naked, but what is it I’d be wearing? Given the pictures and videos I’d watched the night previously, I thought it could be anything.
I eventually got myself out of bed and headed into the outside world to start on my beauty checklist. I firstly entered into a perfume shop—I was longing to smell nice. I tried a number of different perfumes before I settled on one and paid the price. I had to check myself for a moment. The day before I’d been in a desperate situation and here I was not caring about the price of expensive perfume. Not my money, I thought.
I booked into do my hair and nails and loved the beauty treatment. The smile on my face only seemed to widen as the transformation from homeless wreck to hotel beauty was almost complete. I kept trying to think about the next week and my uncertain future, but I didn’t want to for today. For a moment I wanted to make believe. For a few hours allow myself to play a fantasy of being a rich girl, parading around the shops getting her beauty treatments and buying her make-up.
Clothes shopping was next. If George had already decided what he wanted me to wear, then these clothes were just for me. A lot more stylish than my current plain look. I went to a nearby coffee shop for a break, checking the world news on my phone and generally enjoying my day when I got approached by a handsome looking man. He was speaking to me for a short while before asking if I was single.
“I’m taken,” I said, with the man unaware of the deep complexities behind my reply. I wasn’t really taken, I was owned. I tried not to think about that, tried not to think how this goes against everything I wanted to be. I wanted to be an independent woman who was able to stand on her own two feet, and not owned by a man who can have sex with me whenever he wants. I’ll get there one day, I thought, but at the moment this is the best I have.