I was born in a brothel.
Brothel is the word for it. It wasn’t so pretentious as to be called a bordello or house of ill-repute. They weren’t whores though. We were a family. When my mother died in childbirth, they took it upon themselves to raise me. I cried in their arms (rarely), suckled at their breasts, and slept in their beds, a different one almost every night. I grew up happy, surrounded by love – or something like it. After a while, I died. A sixteen year old virgin, stone digging into my back, cloth covering my eyes, and oblivion onrushing.
A year older, I woke up.
I was muzzy-headed, and the morning sun was fierce through the window of… whoever’s room I was in. I was nearing a man’s age now, but the girls still passed me to and fro as if I were some pet to snuggle to at night. The first time I woke with a hardness between my thighs (and hers!) I was embarrassed, but soon enough it was commonplace. My aunt laughed, of course. A teddy bear with a man’s equipment, how humorous.
I groaned and shielded my eyes from the unrelenting rays. My other hand subconsciously went to my penis, which was sore in need. It felt so good to hold it that I carried on and stroked it lazily, groaning as I did so. I knew I should stop; I would get no thanks for soiling sheets, but I also knew that I was alone, which was rare, and it felt so good, like I hadn’t pleasured myself for a long time. Soon enough I was spurting all over the sheets, and seconds later I was halfway across the decidedly foreign room. After I spilled my seed a pair of golden symbols had risen from my penis and were hovering just above the bedclothes.
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They soon disappeared – not quickly enough for me. I gaped at the empty bed, then grabbed the sheets and looked around this strange place. No room of any of my aunts’ looked like this. There were richly dyed fabrics, expensive, well-crafted pieces of furniture, and books filling a bookcase in the corner. It was extremely well-kempt; I had a hard time believing anyone lived here.
First things first: being nude in a strangers house wasn’t ideal. The chest of drawers was lacking in underpants, or indeed, any clothing whatsoever. I almost panicked and left the room, but there was a sturdy green sack at the foot of the bed that yielded results. Wearing underclothes that weren’t mine wasn’t ideal but, needs must. Although… it was seeming more and more likely that they were mine, I just couldn’t remember them.
I cracked what I thought was the door out. It was an empty closet, with a mirror mounted on the back of the door. I stopped and stared. More strange than the clothes I had managed to don was the face above them. Smooth pale unblemished skin, blue eyes, cropped blonde hair, a strong lantern jaw. I was poking and prodding at ‘myself’ as the woman knocked softly and came in the door.
“Morning John!”
“Mmmorning…”
“Breakfast in five minutes!”
I just nodded. Best to say as little as possible, try to work out what was going on.
I found my way downstairs easily enough. There was a man drinking something, reading a broadsheet at the head of the kitchen table.
“Sorry I wasn’t here last night when you arrived, had to work late. Big journey, huh, you must have been bushed. I’m Derek.”
I nodded, and sat at the far corner of the table, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. He chuckled.
“Not a morning person, eh, fair enough.”
“Breakfast!” the lady of the house trilled, as she entered the room. Plates came out of the oven and food from pans onto the plates. I tucked in; Derek did so, more reservedly. I nodded when she asked my opinion. Derek said something to her and she smiled.
“Of course sweetie. I’m an absolute bear in the morning before I’ve had my coffee!”
So saying, she poured me a cup of something hot and dark. I finished my plate and was sipping at it when a girl came into the kitchen. A young woman, really. She ignored the plate laid out for her and set to making her own breakfast, some sort of heated pastry. Her mother (I assumed it was so) pushed the plate towards me as I eyed it.
“Well if Sadie’s not going to eat hers, you can have it sweetie.” she said, with a smile. I tucked in. It wasn’t exactly what I was used to but I wasn’t about to turn down free food. Before Sadie’s breakfast was done I had finished, and drained my lukewarm coffee. Juggling the obviously piping hot pastries the young woman headed for the door.
“Oh, Sadie? You wouldn’t mind giving John a lift to school would you? Since you’re going the same way and all.”
I wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be a note of iron underneath the sugar in this woman. With that, her looks, and her willingness to please, she would do well as a prostitute, definitely a top earner back home.
“Sure thing mom.”
Not wanting to rock the boat, I stood, took my dishes to the sink, and followed Sadie out the door. As soon as we were outside, her face settled into a scowl, and she moved quickly to some sort of wheeled contraption in the street. I copied her actions, hopefully concealing my inexperience, and with a horrible roar from the thing, we left.
Sadie abandoned me as soon as possible. Thankfully, though, not before she pointed out the building I was to enter. I came through a pair of double doors and there was a middle aged woman with skillfully-done makeup behind a raised counter. She might have been of an eye-level with the old me, but I had grown at least a foot during my death and she had to look up to meet my gaze.
“Hello.”
“Oh, you must be John Harrien. Hi! If you’ll just take a seat, someone will be with you shortly.”
She had a lovely smile, I couldn’t help but respond with one of my own.
“Thank you. You look lovely, by the way. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Oh, I’m Janine.”
“Janine.”
I looked into her eyes; green, with darker flecks. She looked away, blushing, then glanced back covertly as I sat down. I stared at the wall, trying to catch up with what had been happening to me over the last few hours. Some sort of alarm sounded; I looked at Janine but she gave it no mind. I returned to my musings.
“John?”
Another woman, in an unflattering suit, with minimal makeup on stood before me. I stood and shook her hand.
“This way please.”
She led me down the corridor to her office and closed the door behind us. Her high-heeled shoes made her behind sway alluringly, a contrast to her clothing.
“As you can see, my name is Alison Brody and I’m the head of admissions for the school here. You may call me Ms Brody.”
“You may call me John.” I said, with a hint of her businesslike manner.
I grinned. She didn’t.
“Yes.” There was a long pause. “Well, we need to see what sort of level you’re at, so if you wouldn’t mind filling this out. It’s a general practice test, the questions will get harder as you go on.” So saying, she placed a sheaf of papers before me and abruptly left.
Over the next hour I explored the room. There weren’t very many interesting features, barring a bottle of some sort of alcohol in a locked drawer. The lock was a complex design, and it took me some minutes to figure out. Thankfully there was an abundance of small metal things on the desk that I made use of. I took a swig and replaced the bottle, then relocked the drawer. About five minutes later the alarm rang once more and soon after Ms Brody reappeared. I was sitting back down in front of the desk, lost in my thoughts. She picked up my test and leafed through it.
“Beneath you, is it?”
It seemed like she would appreciate the direct approach. I looked her in the eye and kept my voice steady.
“I can’t read, Ms Brody. I was never taught.”
My cheeks flushed. It wasn’t entirely the alcohol. Obviously reading and writing was treated differently in this odd place; everywhere I looked, the written word was displayed. Though I couldn’t read anyway, none of it looked remotely familiar to the letters I had happened to see before this morning.
“Ah. You were homeschooled, weren’t you.”
I nodded on general principle – everyone seemed to know more about me than me in this new place. A strange word, home-schooled. Fitting though. My home schooled me; I doubt they were subjects taught at this place, though.
I felt she softened towards me then, a little.
“Well that makes things trickier than I had expected. I think, to start with, we should go through this test verbally.” She began to read out the questions, and I answered them as best I could.
“Well.” That seems to be what she says when she doesn’t know what to say. “Well”
Ms Brody seemed to find a way forward.
“You know, there is a place that might suit you…”
After school, I waited at Sadie’s vehicle. On Sadie’s vehicle. From my perch on the front I could see her approaching, and three girls moving to intercept. I stand up and move forward a little, in case things get physical. They exchange a few words and Sadie’s shoulders slump as she flees.
“What do you want?”
I try to look humble. It’s pretty easy, after the day I’ve had.
“I’d be grateful for,” I try to recall the word “a lift to your home, if you happened to be going there. I’m happy to find my own way, otherwise.”
She stared at me, an inscrutable look on her face.
“Get in.”
We travelled in silence for a short while, then Sadie pulled over. It was starting to rain and I wondered if she was being cautious, but then I noticed her tears. She began to cry properly then, and after a moment I clumsily retracted the restraint and held her as she did. She broke free of restraint and sobbed in my arms. Then suddenly her lips were on mine and we were kissing, golden symbols dancing in my vision
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MAKEOUT SESSION +15
my hands soft on her face as I closed my eyes, her mouth frantic and her hands clutching at me, at the air, at my clothes. Then pushing me away. I stared out at the rain. Did I do something wrong? Was it my breath? Was I a bad kisser? I stared straight ahead, my cheeks burning, unable to look at her. Eventually she started the vehicle, and we returned to the house in silence.
We’d barely stopped moving before Sadie dashed inside. I followed at a more reasonable pace. For the rest of the afternoon I stayed in ‘my’ room. Until I couldn’t hold it in any longer and had to relieve myself. I slipped out of my room and crept around the floor, opening door in search of a water closet. Eventually I opened the right door and found Sadie naked, getting ready to bathe. I closed the door swiftly, but not before I saw every last inch of pale skin, soft curves, and blushing cheeks. I fled to my room, a guilty smile on my lips.
That night, after a ridiculous amount of food and exploration of the bathroom, including acquainting myself with the ‘shower’, I lay awake, the scene running through my mind over and over. I couldn’t be sure if it was my imagination colouring the image, but I think she was smiling too.
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