Page 82 of Disgrace

“Take my details down, Bethany, and I’ll see you at three.” The light laughter is gone, and this is purely business. Her tone shifts, and she gives me everything I will need to meet her later.

After ending the call I am a little dazed. I now have a pretty good idea what “Late Night Calls” is, and yet I still agreed to meet with Mags. More interesting still is that I am actually a little excited about it.

The door to the Late Night Calls office was unnamed, and I almost missed it, nestled between the arches behind Waterloo station. I knew the pub to the left, The Hole in the Wall, but I had no idea there was office space too. I was half right; it wasn’t really office space at all. I press the buzzer and the intercom lights up.

“Please come on up, Bethany.” The same voice from earlier has lost a little of its sultriness with the accompanying crackle.

I climb the narrow stairs and tentatively open the only door on the landing. The room is more like a hotel lobby, luxurious and welcoming, a complete contrast to the slightly grimy exterior and not like any office I know.

“Hello, Bethany.” The girl behind a small reception desk smiles. “I’m Susan, and Mags is just on the phone.” She points to a closed door behind her. “She won’t be long… they never are.” She giggles.

“Please take a seat, and make yourself at home.” She gestures to the seating area, which resembles an adult playpen without the bars. I could choose from a large corner sofa, which takes up most of the room, or alternately, I could perhaps romp on the oversized cushions piled high on a faux fur rug. As no one can get up from those things with a modicum of dignity intact, I decided not to risk the lure of their softness and opt for the safety of the sofa. I sit on the edge, which is apt because I am on edge. I smile at Susan, who has returned to flicking through, what looks from here, like a lads’ magazine.

“No frowning, darling, you’ll get wrinkles.” Mags, I assume, enters the room with a dramatic swish emphasised by the flow of her chiffon three-quarter length bright pink jacket. She must be in her sixties and is immaculate. Her make-up is a little heavy around the eyes, and she has the brightest pink lipstick on. Her hair is cut in a sharp grey blonde bob, and her tailored suit and silk blouse perfectly fit her shapely curves. She’s wearing six inch gold Louboutins, and I know this because they are Sofia’s favourite, not because I am lucky enough to own a pair. After taking me in carefully, she sits beside me and sighs.

“Well, you are just as sexy as your voice. Pity we don’t do video calls.” She pauses. “Yet.” Her smile is warm, and she gives a light laugh. I don’t know why, but I find myself grinning back. She is warm and friendly, and I am about to be a huge waste of her time. I’m thinking it’s going to take a maximum of five minutes for her to conclude I am wholly unsuited to provide the type of service Late Night Calls offers. She squeezes my knee, her eyes soften and she looks intently into mine. I think that might be a record for interviews, not even five minutes, and I can feel a ‘Don’t call us’ heading my way. “Come on into my office; let’s give you a test run!” This woman has managed to shock me twice in the same day. She grabs my hand and practically hauls me across the room into her office and closes the door before I can change my mind. “Darling, don’t look so nervous. You know what we do, yes?” She raises her perfectly drawn on eyebrow at her query.

“Yes, Miss,” I quietly reply. She raises both eyebrows in surprise and almost imperceptibly utters, “interesting,” under her breath.

“Well, I will tell you the whys and wherefores, we will have a little trial and go from there.” She is very encouraging, and her face is alight with misplaced enthusiasm.

“Yes, Miss.” I hesitate and suck in a shallow breath. “I’ll try”.

“I run an exclusive service.” Mags continues proudly. “Top service, top quality, and top price.” She grins. “You work the hours you want, though I would like a minimum of one hour per day, I provide the phone and calls are directed through my switchboard. This protects youandthe client. You can work wherever you like, you can come here if that suits, and you can earn up to a hundred pounds an hour if you can keep them on the phone that long.” She chuckles and I’m starting to wish I was up to the task. She continues, “…or more if you provide one of the speciality services.” As the obvious horror on my face must show, she quickly adds, “Oh, darling, I don’t meanthatsort of service. I’m no Madam, although I’ve been called worse.” She laughs again. “I just mean we have dedicated lines, which cater to specific tastes.” She pauses and eyes me carefully. “Any questions?”

I am actually speechless, another indication of my unsuitability for a job totally reliant on speech.

“All right, then, let me hear your audition piece?” She fixes me with her expectant kind eyes.

“Oh.” I breathe. “Well, I’m not sure.” I hesitate and can feel my face flush.

Sensing my extreme discomfort, Mags smiles and hands me her phone. “Use this as a prop if it helps. Imagine it’s an actual call; all you have to do is imagine.” She is sweet and encouraging, but I am so out of my depth. I look at the phone in my shaking hand, sigh, and hand it back to her. “Listen, why don’t I let you listen to a few calls first, a few samples as it were, once the initial shock is over, I’m sure you’ll get the idea…what do you think?” She places her hand over mine but doesn’t take the phone back.

I am not given to running at the first sign of a challenge, even if I am so very far from my comfort zone and have no idea why she is being so kind, but I don’t want to disappoint her.

“Yes, Miss, that’s very kind. I’ll do that.” I am too embarrassed to raise my eyes to meet hers at this point, so she takes the phone, presses a few numbers and hands it back to me.

I am thankful she leaves the room as I put the phone to my ear and begin to listen to the sample calls. It turns out I wouldn’t need that much imagination, as the calls give me vivid flashbacks to many a conversation in the kitchen. The descriptions are full on, and the details are explicit, extremely explicit. It isn’t that I doubted my imagination or my ability to be detailed in my descriptions, but my actual lack of sexual experience is undoubtedly going to be a deal breaker here, and I know it. Still, as my face continues to flush, I continue to listen. The last call starts.

“I’ve got your big hard cock in my hand—”the breathy voice began “—can you feel my tight fist? I’m gonna pump you hard. I’m gonna pump you into my hot wet mouth… mmmmm.”

I can hear the caller’s deep inhaling breath.

“You’re so hard against my tongue; it’s hot and wet and I’m licking around the head and all the way down. I can feel your veins throbbing as I lap and lick it; it’s like velvet over iron and tastes so good I can’t get enough. Ahh, I can feel your rock hard cock twitching in my fist, I think I’m going to lick you all the way down to your balls. Mmmm, I’m cupping your balls with my other hand, and I’m fucking you with my fist, but I want more. Are you going to give me more?”She pauses and breathes loudly. I’m shifting in my seat, more than a little uncomfortable, as she continues.

“I am going to take your big hard cock and push it between my tight swollen lips, and take you deep, deep in my throat, and you’re going to fuck my mouth, yes?”

“Mmmm… yeah, that’s right.”The deep rasping reply of the caller was the first real indication there was someone on the receiving end of this call.

“Fuck my mouth, and make me swallow.” She gives a long drawn out satisfied moan. The line goes dead.

“Wow!” I say as Mags returns. If I thought I was red before, I must look like I’m about to haemorrhage.

“The endings are always a little abrupt, but they are paying by the minute, so what do you expect, really?” I am hoping that’s a rhetorical question because all powers of speech have deserted me. She hands me a glass of water, which I gratefully accept.

“I’d love to be that confident. I mean she seemed to really…” I’m struggling to articulate full sentences now, another stellar example of my ineptitude for this role. “And she was in control, assertive. I don’t think I would be able to…you know…but-”

Interrupting, Mags states, “You’re a virgin.” She smiles warmly.

---