My eyes whip through the man’s figure: middle-aged, not too tall, not fat, but with a little beer-stomach, and not athletically built either. Then I stop my gaze at Inna. Her body is flawless. She is quite thin but with a nice ass and beautiful tits that make her look less bony and much sexier than me.
I join them and receive a glass of chilled champagne, which we clink and toast, ‘Şerefe!’[17]
I take a sip, while Inna drains the whole glass at once and hurriedly asks for another one. The man refills it and with a nervous smirk invites us to the bedroom.
He gives me a little camera and explains how to use it.
I hadn’t noticed when we came in, but see now that a big vinyl mat covers most of the bed. I switch the camera on and give a thumbs-up, indicating that I am ready to record.
He lies down on his back. His legs hang down without touching the floor. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath: ‘I am ready too.’
Inna stands on the bed with her legs spread so he is caught between them. The moment she does this, I know what is about to happen. I smile to myself, recalling my own experience of peeing in the client’s mouth while Natalia worked him, down on her knees.
But the chain of my thoughts is interrupted. What I’m seeing now makes me want to vomit. I cover my mouth with one hand while trying to hold the camera still with the other.
No fucking way!
Inna squats, her pussy right in front of his chin. He stares at it as if his whole life depends on it and slowly touches his organ. After a short moment, the crap starts running out of Inna’s ass right onto his chest. It is not even normal, ‘healthy’ ca-ca, but a loose and extremely smelly one.
The two laxative pills Inna took that morning make sense to me now.
While she relieves herself, producing some generous farts at the same time, he uses one hand to smear her stream all over his body, including his face and mouth, which he doesn’t even try to keep shut. With his other hand, he masturbates his pulsing, erect tool.
Oh my fuck! He is actually hard! What’s wrong with this man?
When Inna is done, she slowly stands up and carefully gets off the bed, leaving him alone in the mud of her crap. She walks out of the room and comes back in a second with some wet wipes and another full glass of champagne.
Unbelievable! What’s wrong with this woman?!
If I’ve understood everything correctly, her part of the job is done, but I still have to film the creepy movie.
He spreads Inna’s poop evenly over his body…
Oh, by the way, good job covering the bed with plastic.
Then, without standing up, he turns around so that his legs point towards the headboard. He slithers using his elbows until his flexed knees are touching the panel. Then he lifts his legs up into a fucking sarvangasana,[18] using his hands to support his lower back.
My right hand is tired; I shift the camera into my left hand without taking my eyes off the scene even for a second. The sickest, weirdest, weirdo-yogi ever is so flexible that when he lowers his hips to his head, his penis reaches his mouth. The rest takes him a few minutes – he sucks his own dick and ejaculates into his mouth.
Unfuckingbelievable! What on earth made him even come up with the idea of blowing himself?
Fifteen minutes later we are in a cab on the way home. We both light a cigarette and stay quiet for some time. I can’t believe that what I saw happened for real. I try to think positively and delete the images from my head. I switch to the $300 that I made in one hour just by being naked and holding a camera. I even start to think that I could get used to the creepy man and do it all again. Inna breaks the silence and pulls me out of my thoughts.
‘Yeah, he is totally fucked up, but he’s also the only one who pays this kind of money, Julia, so don’t shoot for the sky.’
I remain quiet and just sigh; in that one moment she’s made me forget about the yogi and dragged me back to my troubled thoughts about this trip. Just a week ago she was telling me what a moneymaking paradise this is, and now she’s saying ‘don’t shoot for the sky’…
Aargh! I know this run is going to be a fuck-up… Please, please, please let Natalia be wrong… at least this once…
‘Jul, what do you say we stop at Migros[19] to get some beers? I have a few Russian movies we could watch.’ I nod ‘Sure.’ Inna continues, ‘Trust me, there is no way we are going to be able to eat anything today anyway.’
I close my eyes and my body shudders with disgust.
34
For the first time in a few weeks I actually have a good night’s sleep; even the 5 a.m. call to prayer doesn’t wake me up. We get up at about ten, make some coffee, and both engage in finishing unpacking and organising all our stuff so it can fit into the small apartment.
Then we eat a quick lunch and head to a meeting with Inna’s present and my future employer – our pimp.
‘I have a few direct clients,’ Inna explains as we walk through the many narrow, busy streets, mostly paved with stones, towards the ferry station. Our whoremaster resides on the Asian side of the city, so we have to cross the Bosphorus Strait to see her.
‘I mean, I work for these clients without Alexandra’s mediation, like yesterday’s one. Please make sure you don’t mention this to her.’
I nod, taking a deep breath. The streets are filled with the smells of fried fish and freshly baked foods, wrapped up in the strong scent of the sea.
‘She is a normal mama, also from Ukraine, but I do hate her deep inside of me.’ Inna keeps a good pace; her words start to come out broken as her breathing gets puffy. ‘I hate her especially when she gets me some fucker who cannot come for hours…’ She pauses to look for cars before crossing the street. ‘I get fucked until my poor pussy falls off and then I have to share my hard-earned money with her.’ Inna interrupts her discourse as we stop to buy tokens for the ferry. We go through the turnstile and Inna heads straight for the deck. ‘Let’s sit outside so we can smoke.’ We settle on the right side of the ship, on a long bench that curves through the full length of the boat.
‘So yes,’ continues Inna, lighting a cigarette and passing me the lighter, ‘my cracked-up vagina versus a few damn phone calls does not sound fair to me at all, especially when she takes 50 per cent.’
I keep nodding while staring at the view. It is incredibly beautifuclass="underline" the Bosphorus glowing in the sun, the blue sky with soaring seagulls, the shore, moving away now, tightly stuffed with thousands of featureless buildings, and the mirrored skyscrapers, mosques, and ancient palaces and towers scattered here and there between them. The breathtaking view has such a strong effect on me…
‘Of course, I understand that somebody has to do her job,’ Inna starts again, ‘and I know she finds us more clients so we can make more money, but I cannot help it, Jul, and still hate the bitch.’ We both giggle and light another cigarette.
Alexandra is about 30 years old, a good-looking blonde with a petite body like mine. It’s obvious that this woman looks after herself. Her smile shows me a mouth full of perfect teeth as she checks me out from head to toe as if I were a sale item somewhere on the free market.
‘The demands are simple. You always have to be at your phone, and you need to learn to get ready as quickly as possible.’ I assume that her starting to explain the rules of the business means that I am a suitable item with a good chance of getting sold. ‘Most of the time, the client calls one or two hours before he would like his order to be delivered. Considering Istanbul’s traffic, there is usually very little time for long showers and complicated make-up. Although I hope I don’t need to mention that you always have to look your best.’