Recreation: Yes You Do Look A Little Familiar...

'RECREATION'

  “Yes, you do look a little familiar…”

  by

  Chris Graham

  © 2015

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  The year is 2004. The location is England's West Country.

  You are about to meet Lena Fox for the very first time.

  A short story prequel to Chris Graham's, the 'Lena's Friends' novels.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters in this work and any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Nothing is intended or should be interpreted as representing or expressing the views and policies of any department or agency of any government, Church, or other body.

  All trademarks used are the property of their respective owners. All trademarks are recognised.

  The right of Chris Graham to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Contents

  1 - Coming Home to a Call

  2 - The Punter

  3 - Afterwards

  4 - Away from it

  5 - Morning

  6 - The Girl in the Road

  And Now

  Available

  1 - Coming Home to a Call

  The young man in the hot hatch lifted his foot off the throttle and backed off, letting his car drop in behind the motorcycle. He'd intended to show its rider who was boss, and carve it up as he headed for the turn off, but the fit of the rider's leather jacket and faded jeans suggested that this wasn't some overweight mid life crisis biker on his flashy custom bike, it looked more like a woman. A well formed woman at that. Carving a woman up in the traffic wasn't the best way to impress her, should she be worth impressing.

  At the bottom of the slip road where it joined the roundabout, he pulled his car alongside the bike as it waited for the heavy traffic to be stopped and for his lights to change to green.

  Glancing to his left, he could see that it was definitely a girl in the red open faced crash helmet. He could see her striking copper coloured hair hanging out from under her headgear to fall over the collar of her traditional black leather jacket. He couldn't help thinking that the colours of the hair and of her helmet should have clashed terribly, but somehow she managed to get away with it.

  The girl glanced across at him, her expression carrying more of a 'don't even think about it' vibe than one of any kind of flirtation. He assumed it referred to him not cutting her up, rather than him not thinking about 'it'.

  He certainly was thinking about 'it'. She was undoubtedly gorgeous looking, sitting astride that low slung shiny machine as its exhausts burbled away to themselves and the afternoon sunshine glistened off the chrome and the bright metallic paintwork. The bike wasn't too bad looking either, even if it wasn't really his cup of tea. He'd ridden dirt bikes as a kid, but had never bothered to gain a motorcycle licence.

  She glanced back and smiled briefly at him as the lights changed, before accelerating smartly away to tuck in behind the last of the red light jumpers on the roundabout. He followed behind her, lowering his window a little to allow him to savour the sharp and slightly staccato sound from the bike's short exhausts as they echoed off the sides of the underpass. It didn't sound the same as most of these cut down chopper style bikes, even to his inexperienced ear. He didn't know that most of them were Harley-Davidson V twins which gave a particular note to the exhaust. If he'd looked more closely at the bike, rather than it's rider, he'd have seen the protruding heads of an old BMW twin cylinder engine sticking out into the breeze, though it may not have meant anything to him.

  As they left the roundabout, he let himself drift over to the outside lane and began to accelerate hard but was surprised that the girl on the bike was pulling away rapidly from him. He dropped a gear, but she was still quicker than him so, resignedly, he pulled back into the nearside as the road became a single carriageway.

  As he caught up with her at the next roundabout, she peeled off to take the first exit. He carried on to take the next one, then went straight on up the bypass.

  * * *

  As Lena Fox pulled into her driveway, she switched off the engine, and in what was almost one fluid movement she kicked down her bike's sidestand, laid the machine's weight onto it, and dismounted.

  She removed her helmet, and very carefully placed it on the ground. It was a very expensive French made 'Ruby', hand fitted in the company's small factory in Paris's fashion quarter to her measurements by craftsmen who believed that even protective clothing should be beautifully styled and made with care.

  As she fumbled in her jeans for her garage key, she could hear her phone ringing in her jacket pocket. She answered it. It was a friend, that she'd worked for some while ago, asking her for a big favour.

  Lena Fox was what is politely known as an 'escort'. A prostitute by any other name, and she was quite OK with that. To those of her friends that were in the know, she cheerfully referred to herself as a tart, though she would draw the line at using the word 'whore'. Somehow that didn't reflect the higher echelons of the business that Lena now worked in.

  Clients that could afford Lena's rates certainly didn't use 'whores'. 'Courtesan' may have been more acceptable to them, if indeed they even thought about putting a name to it.

  The friend that had called her ran what was euphemistically referred to as a massage parlour. Though still a little on the sleazy side, it was one of the better ones in Bristol. The girls that worked there were all exceptionally good looking, were clean, well turned out, and actually wanted to be working in the sex industry, rather than being forced into it by poverty, drug dependency, or the lack of the necessary documentation to work legally or to claim benefits.

  The girls were well paid, keeping most of their own takings after paying a reasonable commission to the 'house' for the room and for laundry and service charges. The parlour's rates reflected this. It catered to a clientèle from a more 'white collar' demographic, rather than the boozed up lads that fancied a shag after a night in the pub watching the big match on a large screen TV. In fact this establishment closed its doors well before the pubs chucked out. There were plenty of cheaper massage parlours around that were more than happy to cater to a less discerning customer base. They were open for business until well into the small hours of the morning and they would all employ 'security' to deal with any drunks that got a little too out of hand.

  Annabelle, the parlour's manageress, had called Lena because she was temporarily short staffed due to several of her girls having gone down with a flu bug. She was particularly hot on girls not coming in to work if they had colds or flu, or any other contagious ailment. In her business, any bodily secretions needed carefully controlling.

  Lena had worked the odd shift for Annabelle in the past, as a favour to her old friend, though it wasn't really worth it as far as the earnings were concerned. She did, however, quite enjoy returning to her roots, as she thought of it, where she'd once worked alongside Annabelle to support herself while working towards her degree at the university. Now Lena had moved upmarket, and Annabelle ran the old place.

  With her phone held to her ear, she abandoned putting the bike away till later and after picking up her helmet, she let herself into the cottage so she could consult her diary.

  She already had a booking that clashed with one of the shifts that Annabelle needed covering, but she agreed to help with a couple of the others. It didn't bother her at all that in a couple of shifts at the parlour she would probably earn only a very small percentage of what she would be paid by her own pre-booked client, even though, wit
h her stunning looks, she'd probably be chosen by up to half a dozen punters during a shift rather than just the one gentleman at his luxury apartment in one of nearby Bath's glorious Regency buildings.

  Working there for the odd shift might even be a lot of fun. There was often a real sense of camaraderie between the girls working the same shift in a well run parlour, provided that there were enough punters to keep them all busy and that no one lost out on business.

  Fortunately, the standard of the girls that Annabelle took on was particularly high, and their individual looks were nicely varied so it was rare that any one girl would be less likely to be chosen over the others.

  Each punter has his own idea of perfection, with some of them preferring a curvy blonde, while others liked a tall slim long legged girl, the fresh faced 'girl next door' look, or maybe a slightly severe Goth or even dominatrix style.

  Annabelle tried to cater for all tastes, but even amongst some of the undoubtedly beautiful girls that worked in her parlour, Lena's striking red hair, and the elegant look that she would adopt when working, would always make her stand out from the crowd.

 

  2 - The Punter

  The man stepped out of the wind into the half shrouded entrance and pressed the doorbell. He glanced up towards the small camera in the corner. A buzzer sounded. He pushed the door open and entered the building to find himself in a small reception area decorated predominantly in red and black. There was a desk in front of him, where a well dressed middle aged woman sat. On the desk were a telephone, a desk diary, and a small TV monitor for the camera in the vestibule. The man wondered how she could tell from merely looking at the screen, what kind of man had rung the bell.

  There were sofas against two walls at right angles to each other, with a table in the corner between them. In the diagonally opposite corner to the entrance was another doorway, with a beaded curtain, that led elsewhere. Sat around on the sofas were four barely dressed women who all looked up as he entered.

  “Good afternoon, sir…” the woman at the desk smiled at him, “Would you like a cup of coffee?” There was no attempt to ask him what he was here for. That was taken for granted, only the details needed to be decided with his chosen girl, once they were in the room. To all intents and purposes, the woman on the desk was only there to open the door, greet the visitor, and introduce him to whichever girls were available.

  As far as anyone else was concerned, anything that took place between a customer and a girl, other than the time allowed for the massage, was strictly between the two of them. Any 'extra' services that a girl might offer a client were entirely a matter between the two of them, but she wouldn't be working there long if customers weren't completely satisfied by the time they walked out of the door. In reality, negotiations rarely took place unless a punter required something different to the usual 'full personal service'. The woman continued, “Or perhaps you'd prefer tea?” The man shook his head,

  “No thanks… I'm fine”. The receptionist nodded, then stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked out from behind the desk,

  “Today we have Alison, Skye, Scarlett, and Lena…” She gestured to each of the women in turn, “…or if you would like to wait a little while, then Coral will be available shortly”. By coming here at the time he had, he'd arrived while two shifts overlapped, giving him more choice. Soon the two afternoon girls would be finishing, leaving only three girls for the busy evening shift.

  The man thought to himself that the name Scarlett would be more suited to the red headed woman than to the dark eyed brunette that had been pointed out to him. He thought that he'd been with the redhead once before, but had forgotten her name. He didn't realise that, unlike so many of these girls, Lena was in fact her real name rather than one that she only used when working.

  Normally this man would choose a girl he'd not seen before, as he firmly believed in the old adage of variety being the spice of life, but attractive as they undoubtedly were, none of the other girls held a candle to this amazing looking woman so he chose to go with Lena. She smiled warmly as she stood up and took his hand.

  “If you'd like to follow me please, I'll show you to the room”. She led him through the beaded curtain into a dimly lit corridor, then turned to him again,

  “What's your name then, my love?” She thought that she'd seen him somewhere.

  “It's Tony”, he replied, “actually, I think we've met here once before… a while ago”.

  “Oh… Really?…” she smiled at him, “Yes, you do look a little familiar.” She opened a door, “In here please, Tony… and I'm sure that we'll be getting even more familiar in no time at all.” She smiled again as she showed him into a small room with mirrors along one wall, and a divan with a large white towel spread along it taking up most of the space along the other. There was also a small chair with more, folded, towels on it, alongside a corner table bearing a box of tissues, and a bowl full of condoms.

  Tony reached into his back pocket for his wallet and took out a small folded wad of banknotes,

  “Here… We'll get this bit out of the way first, shall we?” he held out the cash, “It's the right money”. Lena took it from him, glancing briefly at it, satisfied that it looked correct,

  “Thanks.” She indicated the small shower cubicle in the far corner, “If you'd like to take a shower…” then pointing to the chair, “there's towels for you there. I'll be back with you in just a moment”. She flashed him another devastating smile as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

  He undressed and stepped into the shower. At least the water was hot here. He'd been in places like this before, where it had been barely lukewarm.

  Once he was certain that he was fresh and clean, he stepped out of the cubicle just as the girl re-entered the room. She picked up one of the towels and began to dry his back,

  “Thank you, Lena.” he said, remembering her name, “I don't usually get this kind of service.” She laughed,

  “That's OK, I won't charge you any extra for it”. He took the towel from her and finished the job, then sitting on the divan, he watched as she casually removed the short salmon pink satin dress that she was wearing to reveal matching silk French knickers, a suspender belt, and a bra in the same colour. She raised her leg, resting her foot gently on his bare thigh.

  “Would you give me a hand, please?” She grinned at him, “Could you help to take my stockings off for me, Tony?” He reached forward, to unclip the suspender fastenings, then carefully rolled the first stocking slowly down her long and very shapely leg, taking great pains not to ladder it. As he reached her ankle, she lifted her foot slightly to allow him to slip the wispy garment over it. She dropped her foot to the floor and between them they repeated the operation with the other leg. For some reason, Tony suddenly began to feel underdressed as he sat naked on the divan.

  Lena stood there in her underwear and asked him to lay down on his front. He did as he was asked. He was in no position to argue. She asked him if he preferred oil or talc,

  “Oh… Talc, please”. Most men chose talc. Baby oil was messier, unless the girl spent more time massaging it into the skin. That time could be far more interestingly employed. These 'appointments' were on a paid for time basis, after all.

  She bent over him, sprinkled on talc, then began to gently massage his back and shoulders before working her way down his body. When she'd finished, she turned him over to begin on his front. As he watched her, she paused to remove the rest of her underwear, before joining him on the divan, kneeling astride him as she massaged his chest. He reached up to gently caress her breasts.

  She smiled down at him, then sat herself upright, took a condom that Tony hadn't noticed her placing on the bed beforehand, and after turning herself around, she rolled it onto him before bending to administer to his now evident needs with her soft wet mouth.

  Tony reached forward and slipped his hand between her legs from behind to gently stroke her. He felt himself smile on hearing her bare
ly audible, murmured appreciation as she moved her head slowly up and down, her flame red hair tickling him as she did so. Whether those appreciative noises were genuine, or merely her playing a part to make him feel good, hadn't even entered his head. He was already completely lost in the moment.

  3 - Afterwards

  Tony Birdham felt nicely relaxed as he made his way back round to the tyre fitters. Fitting tyres was one of the few jobs that he preferred to delegate to others, though he was quite prepared to remove and refit the wheel himself as tyre shops only like to fit motorcycle tyres to a loose wheel.

  His new tyre had been fitted, so using borrowed tools, he busied himself with replacing the wheel on his bike while his friend Bob, who owned the business, went off to put the kettle on. Fortunately Tony's late fifties BSA had what were known at the time as QD, or quickly detachable, wheels so refitting his rear wheel actually took less time than it would have on a more modern bike. So much for progress, he thought to himself, as he finished tightening the spindle to the sound of Bob calling out,

  “Tea's up, Tony!” He put the tools back in Bob's toolbox. He'd have a quick cup of tea, followed by a nice ride home in the sunshine to scrub in the new tyre on perfectly dry roads, after having already had an hour of nicely meaningless recreational sex with an exquisitely beautiful woman in the nearby massage parlour.

  Once back home, he'd have a long soak in a hot bath, followed by dinner, the venison casserole that was already in his slow cooker.

  Later on, he would be meeting an old mate for a pint or two in his local. Sometimes life could be just a little too good, but he wasn't complaining.

  * * *

  Lena arrived home that evening and prepared herself a quick meal from the remaining half of a small cooked lobster from the fridge, with a little left over potato salad, some sliced beef tomatoes drizzled in a garlic and chilli vinaigrette, and a large dill pickle. She opened a chilled bottle of a decent Sancerre to wash it down with, then settled herself and her tray in front of the TV to watch the late evening movie.

  Tomorrow was to be a day off, before a chauffeur driven car picked her up in the early evening. She had a working weekend away booked, with a wealthy client that wanted a no strings attached glamorous partner to accompany him to a country house party.