Well, for those of you out there who are wondering WHY this story is being
posted for a THIRD time, allow me to explain a few things:
First off, I AM Sailor Europa. But like a couple other authors I know, I posted 'Rouge' under a different name (Ciel Envoyé) because, well, it's not EXACTLY my typical stuff. I was afraid that it wouldn't be well received, and I didn't want my other writing, the pieces done under the name Sailor Europa, to suffer any kind of stigma a story about Usagi being a prostitute might get. It also allowed me a certain freedom to do something that "Sailor Europa" might not do. But I think that doing all this made it THAT much easier for someone to steal this story; which actually happened. However, it's all over, and I'm coming clean. ^^ I'm still going to post on FF.net under the name Ciel Envoyé, but I'll make sure to reiterate the fact that I AM Sailor Europa.
But for a week I had to fight, tooth and nail, to prove that I wrote this story. I'm not going to go into the gory details of how it went down (you'll have to wait for the book. ^^); just know that it's all over with and I don't wish anyone any harm. All is forgiven and I just want to be able to post in peace. However, during this whole thing, I was temporarily inactive and 'Rouge' was taken out of the database. So, in order to save time, I've smushed the two completed chapters together into one super installment! So you can read and have your eyeballs dry out all in one boring sitting! ^.^ For anyone who has had the good fortune to NOT have read this yet (RUN! Save yourselves NOW!), here are some old AN's -
First and foremost, this has moderately strong language, meaning it has some curse words, but since I'm not particularly fond of such terms, I try to use them sparingly, or at least keep the characters away from situations where they would be used. I say that because this story's setting makes that hard.
I am rating this R – (a low) NC-17, simply because of the main plot. I hate to spoil the surprise, but I've made Usagi a prostitute in the RLD in Amsterdam. The first chapter will pretty much have the bulk of what my friends have called "lemon scented" material; the remaining duration will be toned down even more than this, which, IMO, isn't at all bad. I know it may sound like I'm harping on this, but I really don't want anyone getting mad if they feel that this is sprung on them. However, I hope it doesn't sour you on the story. ^^ I believe the ending makes it worth it.
A few Dutch terms explained ahead of time –
"Liefje" = "darling"
"vrijster" = "lover"
"Walletjes" = another name for the Red Light District. Also referred to as Wallen.
And now that all the yucky, unappealing stuff is over with, I hope you enjoy and I greatly appreciate any and all feedback! I don't particularly care for flames, but I resign to the fact that I can't exactly stop them. I'd love to know what you think!
slr_europa@yahoo.com
cielencoye@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/sailorananke/ropaville/main.html
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
Rouge, Part I of ?
By Ciel Envoyé
The lighting was subdued. Each of the strategically placed oil lamps were dimmed this, as in every, evening. Even in the darkened atmosphere though, Mamoru could make out the chic, almost to the garish point, décor. The period pieces decorated and laid all over seemed so unassuming; so oblivious. The cramped quarters that blended so well into the classic architecture outside, were well crafted in the same fashion inside. Tiny cherubs smiled, nude and innocent, holding candles, ash trays and couches, gilded to a sheen. Their solid eyes had seen all there was to see, in this of all places. They had been there for centuries; living through a loving marriage in which they began their life as a principle gift, gently set aside the dwelling. And now, to weary travelers and regular clientele, they provided a refuge; a recovery from the modern.
The deep mauve undertones of the setting were mood-inducing, to be blunt. It was a happy coincidence that this business should select this location with its almost perfectly fitting emotional feel. It was at home in these furnishings, as if they had been made, hundreds of years earlier, under such opposing circumstances, to sit where they were now, for the purpose they now filled.
Velvet curtains were drawn aside in a classic fashion and led the raven haired gentleman further through the establishment. He was Asian, although one would have to be prompted to openly notice such a detail. His eyes were a deep navy hue, and his creamy, rich complexion off-set the contrast of the liquid pools. He was part American, proudly and openly. But his accent was laden with the tones of a native Japanese tongue.
He was obviously handsome, and unlikely as the skeptical might assume, not an uncommon site at such a business. The shunned and the shy were a staple; but the staff was accustomed to all varieties of clients. The well-placed clothing was a tip-off that the young man was looking for thrills from such an infamous establishment. To the entertainers and escorts of the Walletjes, nothing was surprising.
The gentleman, obviously a bit uncomfortable in his new surroundings, walked tentatively to the bar and sat. Perched at the edge of his stool, he leaned forward and stared straight ahead. The femme's in the room gave each other an amused eye; typical. While the man had, of course, never been to this type of club before, he knew what to do and what not to do. He didn't speak a word, and played it cool; or tried to, at least. His stance was so rigid, anyone could see with an untrained eye that he was all a twitter with nerves.
"He's cute. I wouldn't mind."
"Oh please! Do you ever?"
"Of course! What the hell kinda question is that?!"
"Well for God's sake, you can hardly keep those washed-up limbs of yours from…"
"You little whore! Shut the fuck up!"
The dark haired man looked up as the male bartender approached his side. With the flick of his wrist, he sent the servant away and let his calm façade droop; he stared at his shoes for minutes on end. The girls rated their consumer as soon as his attention was once again locked elsewhere.
"He's fresh. He won't be picky."
"Not like it matters. He doesn't need to be."
"Now if he went down the street…."
"It'd be like trying to find a flower in a garden full of weeds."
The few who participated erupted into laughter. His ears perked up from 50 feet away, and he tilted his head in their direction. One of the more brash elders moved to steal his gaze. With slow deliberation she licked her lips as if spotting her prey and anticipating the inevitable kill. A couple of the others picked up on his unease; or was it disgust? It didn't matter. The selection was narrowed down a bit at the sign. Once the introductions were over he would have weeded out her and those of her like. And those who knew the houses, knew that innocence was a rare and precious commodity. And sincere naiveté appeared to be nil. His choices would be few.
"Liefje…" Annemie snuck up like cat from behind and sprung, slipping her arm smoothly around his shoulders. A few of the newer members of staff watched in envy and admiration. To start up the relationship in such a bold and sassy approach was something only seasoned veterans dared to do. And slight show of self-consciousness was suicide to a girls career. Confidence was a necessity, and only a select dared to use it, while even fewer succeeded. Many a customer had been thoroughly turned off by such vulgar utterances and left without even ordering a drink. Of course, it often ended with a worthwhile tip; the sign of a cocky client who would, without a doubt, return.
"Hello." His dutch was broken, and even he could see her eyes immediately widen at such a simple word. His tone was indeed untainted; such a delicious sign of youth. He wouldn't be here if he weren't curious and yet, he wouldn't have stayed so collected if he were "inexperienced", either. This was the job women fought over.
"Do you have a name, vrijster?" She cooed into his ear. He was growing more visibly queasy by the second. She knew it wasn't going over well, and she backtracked at a last ditch attempt to save herself. "How are you doing?" She abandoned her previous approach and sat at the seat next to him. She slipped one leg expertly over the other and arched her back to get closer.
"Mamoru." He choked out. Silently she sighed. Lost cause, and she was not about to throw herself and risk a probation. Madame Isabelle hated to see her ladies act like anything else than she boasted them off. She needed the money, and being stuck with a week away from the house was not an option.
"I hope you enjoy yourself, Mamoru." She let his name roll off her tongue, curving the edge of her lips into a devilish smile, preserving and holding her reputation by a thread. She'd let someone else take a crack at the marble figure, now holding a Guinness in his left hand, untouched. Her movements away from the scene were as fluid as her approach had been, but her expression was defeated; a sight he couldn't tell from his vantage.
Two more tried the same with similar results. They had all seen their share of fickle customers, but rarely did they find such a well-bred foreigner who had his eye finely tuned to the point where he could tell within seconds if he would spend his money on you. The Student, as they quickly dubbed him, was rapidly becoming a-typical, as clientele ran. He was young and handsome, but looking for something in particular. Not a quick romp, pet, massage or the like, but a serious formulated plan. A few of the ladies in the establishment wondered why, with such tastes, he wasn't engaged in the act with a more serious and committed relationship. He was seeking their company, but wanted his own needs met and by someone he was willing to pick out.
"Mamoru, is it?"
Almost as if he had forgotten where he was, the broad shoulders jerked around into the cushions of his seat-back.
"Yes." He replied shortly. He bristled, waiting for her caress as the others had given, but instead found her hand thrust into his own and being shook vigorously. Shocked, he checked her glowing expression.
"Serenity."
She was short, and it was quite an amusing spectacle as she pulled herself, after much hesitation, onto the unoccupied stool next to him. He was watching her every move. She was different than those who had come before.
"Serenity…." He chewed on the name for a few seconds, and she cocked her head to the left, then the right, waiting to see his reaction. He could not sense her pounding heart, the same throb that occurred each time this event began. The initial exchange of formalities was grueling, for both parties involved.
Out of the corner of his eye, in the hushed lighting of the room, he watched her easy movements. They weren't seductive; at least not deliberately. He blinked and realized instantly that she was who he had come here for. Her long blonde hair was slightly curled at the ends of the pig-tails, which were in turn tied in duel buns on either side of her head, and he was hypnotized by the dancing light from the whale oil lamps at the corners of the bar. Her make-up was pointless. Perhaps he could request that she remove it. He gave a half-smile at the idea.
"Where are the rooms?"
*+-~-*+-~-*+
"I'm not sure how this works…." The young man had let his confidence slip around his ankles, and now stuttered slightly before his new purchase. Serenity was seating herself comfortably on the grand, four poster bed, watching him contentedly.
"Don't worry. Your nerves will let up soon…." Her painted lips urged lowly. She leaned back on her hands and slowly crossed one leg over the other, eyes locking with his. He stared at her light blue gaze for a few moments before removing his jacket and clutching it in front of him. He was obviously fidgeting mercilessly, and her cool persona was not wavering in the slightest. Mamoru could imagine that she was designed to be this way; steady in such shaky company. He mused that this must be what kept customers paying. She wasn't impatient, and a disconcerting question nagged him. How many others had been the same way as he?
Sensing his unease, she let her loose limbs unclench as she stood up to approach him. A reflex in his mind asked his body to back up; he wasn't accustomed to this. But he stayed. She was wearing an easy smile, dark liner circling her eye-lids expertly, covering any secrets she could have been hiding. Had he been in his natural state, he might have contemplated all the problems and mysteries a woman in her profession could have.
"Sweetheart…" She cradled his head with her arms as she spoke, stroking his cheek and letting her breath waft across his skin. His shoulders were unwinding with each breezy word she uttered. "Don't be scared. I won't bite." She stood on her toes to ruffle her eyelashes over his face in butterfly kisses. "Unless that's your fancy."
He was absently staring down at his shoes, but with her in close proximity, it was increasingly harder to avoid seeing her movements. She smelled like citrus and soap. He was praying that he could overcome his momentary fears soon; he had already laid down the money, and it would be such a shame to let it rot.
"Mamoru…." Her voice was low and lingering, testing the name and pretending to find it to her liking. She rather enjoyed this particular part of a job. The actual "act", so to speak, was not bad, but it had become meaningless and almost mundane. In these rooms, to the guests, everything was happening for the first time. But the girls saw the same walls of each of the six rooms more than once a week. The décor was romantic to outsiders; quaint and appropriate. But Serenity found it hard to see the charm in anything that took place in here; it all equaled out to payroll, and she couldn't imagine it any other way.
"Let me help you relax, Mamo-chan…." His head jerked upwards at her command of his native tongue. He hadn't any idea how she could have guessed his nationality; he was mistaken for a bloody American more than anything else. Either not noticing his shock or choosing to ignore it, she kissed his cheek tenderly, reminding Mamoru of a maternal instinct more than seduction. She lifted her arms gingerly from his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. "Close your eyes, love…" She whispered. He complied obediently. With expertise, she wove her fingers into the muscles in his back, bending and moving them at will. His whole body desired to please her and he felt immediately at her mercy. He had envisioned this experience to feel unnatural, but as she massaged his overworked body, he couldn't conjure up a more correct scenerio. The oddities that took place in the bar were in the past; a surreal dream. He hadn't a clue how he had wound up in this room with Serenity, but he was content with it. Very content.
Without asking permission, her speed escalated as she pulled the jacket from his grasp with little reluctance on his part. She was humming as she moved, but Mamoru kept his eyes closed. He was far too comfortable to change things, and she didn't request anything else. He found it a bit amusing that she was calling the shots, even while she now held his money in her wallet. He could feel her fingers tracing the seam on his white, button down shirt. As her fingers walked their way up to his neck, she pulled back his collar and lightly kissed the defined bone structure. He craned his neck backwards, his lips parting in the act. He wanted to smile, but felt it inappropriate.
There was a pause as her mouth detached from his skin, and Mamoru opened his eyes slowly, as if awakening from a sweet dream. Not even thinking, he held her serious gaze and placed his hands on her shoulders gently, then trailing them down her bare, exposed arms and back up again, finally encircling her svelte neck. Smiling slightly, eyes narrowed in precision, she lifted her hands again to his chest and fingered the iridescent buttons. She unclasped the bottom one slowly to begin with, and worked her way upwards. His mind had reverted to autopilot, and he voluntarily let his fingers unfasten each of the tiny buttons clinging to her skimpy black shirt in retaliation.
With the scene unraveling as expected, she hooked a finger through the belt loops of his khaki's and pulled his partially exposed body to her own. She gingerly pulled her arms around his neck and completely slipped the useless shirt from his frame, letting her hands trail down his now bare chest. His back was quivering at her deft actions, surprised and pleased at how she handled him. He sensed that his time was running low, and he found himself anxious for the accepted progression of events in such a case. His nerves were all but unfounded; he had banished all the misgivings he'd initially poured on himself during his trip up here. He was imagining it ascending to a higher level still tonight, even.
Instead of leading him onto the plush, velvet bed though, he found her pressing his upper body downwards into a deep red sofa, and then kneeling before him. He watched her intently, her expert hands pulling her body forward so that he appeared to be straddling her bust. She had entered the next level, slowly and deliberately avoiding his eyes as she tugged on his belt, finally unclasping it and leaning in to press another gentle, out of place peck on his navel. He found his mind falling into a blissful abyss, and drowning in whatever spell she had cast over him. He listened to her small, almost vulnerable giggle as she joined him in removing her top completely, revealing a pink lace bra underneath, almost ironically too innocent for such a professional. She placed her hands on either side of him and rose to her feet, yet bending over so that her face was centimeters from his.
The low light from a crimson bulb on the left wall was cascading onto her features, and he found the best look at his gift for the first time all evening. Her make-up was as heavy as he had first imagined, but after such an encounter, bits had worn off and he did a double take at a few stray freckles dancing across her cheeks. His breathed halted in his lungs, and he furrowed his forehead. His brain was thinking under his lusts' sincere contradictions, and his movements were paused. Arms laid dormant around her thin waist, and his brain ignored his companion's insistent urges towards progression.
"Mamo-chan…." Her voice rose in a high pitched giggle. His heart pounded in his ears, and even his lust and hormones receded when her innocent tone punctured his ears a second time. He pulled away.
"M…Mamoru?"
The vomit rose in his throat, and he stood, his feet barely able to stand still. His disgust was impossible to deny or hide, even from himself. His stomach lurched as he turned his back to her and crossed his arms over his exposed body, suddenly unbearably cold.
Serenity was kneeling still, on the floor where he had once been with her. She stood, mistaking his sudden change in mood for a second guess on his own part. She strode to his side and touched his back, beginning to massage it once more. He jerked around, slapping her arm violently away. His eyes roved over her body with an intensity that scared her, and she tried in vain to cover the exposed skin she had so willingly left vulnerable moments before.
"How old are you?" He hissed at her, and she felt her next breath freeze in her throat. The thick, seductive air had dropped like a stone, and along with him, she shivered at the latest mood.
"W….What?"
"How old are you, Serenity?" He asked once more, more sternly, his eyes almost horrifyingly abhorrent. She shook her head, unable to answer. "I know that there are limits here…."
"If you weren't happy with the service…" She began, scrambling desperately to cover the tracks she was leaving. This had never happened to her before; no one had ever been so bold as to question her ethics.
"It's not the service I'm upset with."
"Sir-."
"I want to know your age." His octave rose, and with a swift gesture, grasped her wrists in steel fists. She let a terrified squeak escape, and felt a few tears threaten to fall. The consequences of being caught were too awesome to think about, and no one had ever been able to approach her with this before….The tears fell eventually, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head violently. He jerked her body, not so gently, and practically snarled.
"Please….Please, don't tell them you know." She sobbed, staring downwards, practically falling apart. He unwound his fingers, and she immediately fell to the floor, hands pulling on the carpet, small, underdeveloped knuckles turning white with such pressure. He blinked at her, not sure whether to be angry with the young girl, or to pity her. She had known what she was doing was wrong, but had committed the crime anyway.
She looked so pathetic, a heap on the floor at his feet. Just a few minutes prior he had decided that nothing in the world was going to keep him from letting their relationship climax to a mind-boggling point. He was incredibly disgusted; with himself for coming to this establishment in the first place, with the sad, pitiful young woman in his company, and with the whole of Amsterdam for letting such an unforgivable indiscretion happen in the first place. It was no wonder he was attracted to her innocence; she was innocent to the core, even after living in this place long enough to be familiar with these lewd acts so well.
"Oh God, please don't tell anyone…." She whimpered, her whole frame collapsing at his feet. He felt his anger escape right from his fingers, and he shook his head. "I'll do anything…" She choked on the words.
The girl was so different, so completely naïve that he collected her up into his arms and sat beside her. He sighed heavily, holding her as she cried uncontrollably on his still bare shoulder. He mused at how similar this was to a few moments ago. But his emotions were tapered now, and he stroked her back in a more brotherly fashion.
"I suppose you'll want a refund now…." She whispered after she had pulled herself together again.
"No." They both rose, and he retrieved his discarded shirt from the floor and pulled his arms through the sleeves. She still stood, half naked and trying desperately to cover what he assumed was a body no older than 16. He handed her her own shirt and turned his back to button himself up.
When he turned around, he found her more composed, physically, at least. She was dressed, but her eyes were still frightened. He suspected she didn't believe his intentions were true; but he disregarded her fears. In a day or two she would realize he had not revealed her secret, and she could return to her normal routine.
If you could call it normal.
He exhaled through his nose, and walked to the door, listening as he heard her soft footsteps pad slowly behind. He heard the hinges squeak, and before exiting, he turned around and impulsively pulled Serenity's delicate frame into an embrace. He inhaled her scent, the one he was drunk with 10 minutes before, and then kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Startled she pulled back a bit, and gave him a confused look, trying to wriggle from his arms. He pulled her tighter and shook his head, saddened beyond belief.
"Good night, Serenity."
*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
Rouge, Part II of ?
By Ciel Envoyé
Mamoru wandered amongst the natives in a daze. The off-white orb that now hung in the sky, replacing the low rays of the sun from his last encounter with the streets, was cascading stray shadows along a few cafés and clubs and houses, leading his way back into the residential area of Amsterdam. He had only been in town a week, but he had made this trip many times already; his nerves had inevitably gotten the better of him before this evening, and he would always sway on a heel and walk the few miles in the opposite direction to his hostel. Most nights no one was home; with the exception of their care-taker, who, thankfully, had no idea of his intentions and thought nothing of his nightly humiliation.
But he had finally gathered up his courage early that morning, thanks to a few of his peers' glib comments about his wavering back-bone. It wasn't that he was afraid of the experience many of the other men swore by. The idea was merely disconcerting, to say the least.
And his awkward ordeal with the raw Serenity had proven his initial fears correct.
He shook his head, thoughts still swimming in a pool of revulsion as his mind caught swatches of scenes he'd lived through. The complete turn- around of emotions had sent him reeling, and he was still struggling to recover. He loathed himself for letting his lust impair his judgment; once the revelation of her crimes had struck him, it seemed as plain as the moon in the sky! How could he have missed it when he was suggesting the two retreat to a room not even 30 minutes prior in the bar?
And of course, his pity for the poor girl was evident amidst all other feelings. He couldn't resist the urge to shake his head in sympathy each time he thought of the look of pure shock and fear when he had questioned her. He had almost expected vehemence and flames to meet his inquiries; but tears? And her quick response, her expression crossing with horror within seconds had made him almost positive that the emotions were genuine. So how did her initially seductive, alluring persona match up with the scared, shaking little girl he left alone in that room?
He tried, futilely, to banish the thoughts from his head as he retrieved his room key from his pocket and entered the rather shabby hostel he was staying in. He exhaled in relief to find even the mistress out; shopping for groceries, he'd discovered after finding a note on the kitchen table. He moved about stealthily, attempting to seize any sound that might expose another warm-body in the lodging. He moved through the community room quickly, and jogged up the stairs, confident he had not passed another person on his trip.
Once inside the safety of his now empty room, he stripped down and stepped into his navy blue robe. He plucked a towel from the cabinet on the far wall, and grabbed his toiletries from the top of his dresser and finally exited the room, aiming blankly for the shared bathroom, praying that a warm shower would wash away the repulsive slime he felt covered in, as well as clear his grave mood.
He entered the sterile looking room, white walls recently scrubbed clean for its tenants. He flicked on the light switch and shielded his eyes, the already harsh rays of the bulbs reflecting painfully from the gleaming tiles around the shower basin and floor boards. He slipped the robe off and hung it on the knob as he slammed the door shut, unleashing some of his pent up aggressions on anything within reach. He tested the stream that emitted from the head before standing under the steady flow of muscle-relaxing liquid. Steam built up inside the tiny den he was encased in; he felt his sinuses clear, and his limbs go limp in their sockets as his body emptied into a hollow shell. His emotions no longer clouded his thoughts, and he smiled at the gradual relief quenching his heavy soul.
He tilted his neck to the ceiling, letting the hot water pound in his ears, covering his already slick, fine hair, and plastering to his face. He sputtered, blissfully struggling to breath, each new instance a different distraction from his thought pattern from that night. His back unwrapped the knots his muscles had found themselves in and he lifted a well sculpted arm to massage the back of his neck.
Through the roar of the shower, he heard snatches of laughter; a light, tinkling giggle; her fingers, masterfully unleashing his tension. Before he had a chance to deny it, his mind breathed a whispered reflection; he liked it.
He reacted instinctively, his eyes snapping open like a reflex. The water stung his vision.
"Damn it…" He muttered, partially at the pain his gaze was suffering from, but also from the lingering thought of his evening. His chest tightened. He was awash with thoughts, and he let out an involuntary sigh. The pounding waterfall kept rebounding from his exposed flesh; he suddenly felt wretched all over again.
Utterly defeated, Mamoru turned the dial until the squeak of the pipes echoed across the stark walls, and the stream of liquid dissipated. He pulled back the curtain and stepped onto the fuzzy, shag bathmat and pulled his towel from the counter where he'd left it, and raked it through his hair. He distracted his weary mind with the task of drying himself off, finally recovering himself with the robe once again.
He hadn't a clue how long he had been in there, but when he reemerged, he heard the voices of his peers coming from various points in the residency. His eyes shut immediately in dejection; he wouldn't be able to avoid the interrogation forever.
Once inside his room, he ecstatically found it empty. His roommate must've been downstairs with the others; or, he was still out painting this dismal town red. Either way, Mamoru didn't care. Perhaps he could side-step the questions all together, at least until the morning came and he returned to his classes at the University. Mamoru knew that they would all be expecting a full report; either on his latest, pathetic excuse for why he hadn't gone through with the task once again, or how the evening had faired at the club. All of those he was staying with were either natives to Amsterdam, and consequently on friendly terms with all of the girls at Wallen, or they had already taken the obligatory trip to the Red Light District.
Mamoru slung his damp towel around his neck, and pulled on his night clothes as quickly as possible. He hoped to avoid any kind of disturbance at all and sneak into bed, unbeknownst by the rest of the crew in the community room downstairs. Deep in thought, he yanked the drawstring of his flannel pants tighter, and then slipped into a cotton tee before tossing his wet items into the laundry.
He laid silently on his back, reluctant still to turn the lights in his room out. He knew that the illumination from the crack under the door was a dead give away, but the thought of lying awake for hours on end in pitch blackness, with only his soured memories of the last few hours to haunt him, was all together unappealing. He stared absently at the slightly dim ceiling and tilted his head to the right, contemplating the studded tiles as if they could answer all the oddities he couldn't seem to remove from his thoughts.
"Chiba!"
Completely startled from his personal universe and its problems, Mamoru lurched forward, finding his lanky, wild eyed roommate, Nicholas, standing in the doorway directly in front of his bed, still holding the knob in his left hand. The slightly shorter blonde Englishman leaned against the jam and nodded.
"Didn't even know you were home, Mamoru. When did'ya get in?"
Wishing to convey his annoyance, Mamoru turned over on his side, back now facing his companion.
"Been here."
"Why you up here all alone, then?"
"I'm tired. Is that all right with you?" He barked sarcastically, taught muscles rotating around quickly to face him. Nicholas did not take the subtlety and pulled up the chair from the single desk at the corner of the room, and deposited himself in it.
"It's perfectly fine." He replied calmly and planted his feet up on the skinny bed posts just next to Mamoru's line of view. The raven haired man frowned openly, staring angrily at the laces on his friend's Nike's. "Just as long as you're going to spill the details."
"I'd rather sleep."
"You know I won't let that happen until I get what I want."
Mamoru sighed and sat up. His mind raced to come up with some options for the situation before Nicholas would have a chance to call the other loud-mouthed jack-asses up here to slap it out of him.
"It went fine."
The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about them, and as soon as they wafted into his ears, he knew he couldn't take it back. The fib would have to be carried out.
"Really?"
"Yes. Why would I lie about it?"
"Then why all the sneaking around?"
"I wasn't sneaking around."
"The hell you weren't, Mamoru." He snorted. "It's barely 9 in the evening, and you're practically passed out on your cot." His voice displayed his disbelief quite well, and Mamoru realized he would have to hustle in order to make it sincere. "You couldn't have been in there more than 30 minutes; there's no way she would have worn you out that much."
"Look, I've told you guys before that this was not something I'm comfortable with doing." Mamoru's nerves were shattered from the experience he spoke of, however untruthful it was, and he was sensing that they wouldn't hold under this line of questioning. "I went to the club, and I stayed there this time. What more do you want from me?"
"God, you had sex, Mamoru! You didn't kill a man."
"I might as well have." He muttered as he fell back into his pillow and sighed. "This isn't under the circumstances I exactly relish. But I did it, and for the soul purpose of getting you and the rest of your bastard friends off my back." He gave a pointed look directly into the other mans clear brown eyes. "OK?"
"I pity the poor woman who had to deal with you for a full half hour, Mamoru." The door slammed behind the departing young man, and Mamoru exhaled in relief as he reached up to yank the cord on his bedside lamp.
"I do too."
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
"Serenity."
"Hm?"
The older woman approached the blonde, five inch heels clicking on the ornate marble floor before she paused directly in front of her.
"You aren't working today, are you?"
Serenity blushed and shook her head. She was still recovering from the previous night; she wasn't sure she could trust her fragile ego in the emotional state she had been thrown into. She had chosen to take her two days off this week in a row, and sleep at home without the possibility of disturbance. She had already started by buying herself groceries when she realized she had left her wallet in that damned room the night before. She couldn't even remember leaving the building early the next morning, let alone taking her personal belongings with her. So she had stopped off before the evening rush came, in order to take a look around.
"No ma'am. I just think I left some stuff behind last night. I wanted to come retrieve it." Her voice was shaky as she spoke, but she let her signature smile slide onto her now naked lips.
"What room?"
"4, I believe."
"That's vacant right now." Her employer pressed the key into her palm and smiled. "Try to be quiet. Veronique just took a client to 3; try not to disturb her business."
The blonde flushed a bright color at the very unromantic terms her Madam used when discussing the events of their profession. It always seemed cold to the younger girl; unfulfilling.
The identical sound of her shoes disappearing around the corner to the bar made her sigh and she started to ascend up the stairs, the same as she had almost 12 hours before. The fear and nausea crept into her chest and she drew in quick breaths to keep from panicking unnecessarily. She was seeing the stairway through fogged eyes; clouded with tears and marred by her memories. Everything from the night before had been a blur at this point. She could barely make out the mans facial features, his clothing, his body. From the second he popped the question, her emotions fell to her knees and she was having trouble pulling it back up again ever since.
Within moments she was behind the door and with a sudden hesitation, she shoved the key into the lock and threw the door open.
It looked so different. The natural light bathing the furniture in gold, instead of the gaudy red bulbs barely lighting the four corners. The bed was made and everything was spic and span; no signs of the scuffle she had experienced in such real, full color. She swallowed hard; it didn't feel like the same room. The ambiance was nonexistent.
Shaking her head in exasperation, she spotted her small wallet and package of gum on the night stand, right next to the emergency alarm. It hadn't even occurred to her to use it the previous evening. It wouldn't have done her any good, as it was; Madam Isabelle would have rushed upstairs, only to find her in tears on the floor, with a half naked John threatening to expose her secret. No, she would have been in even more trouble than she was now.
After snatching her possessions from the table she paused, seeing the large oak door from the opposite vantage point. She paused, thinking about the single incident that gave her the most distress from that night; his exit. He had held her almost possessively before wishing her a good night, and pressing a, oddly enough, tender kiss on her forehead. She barely remembered her tears halting in that confusing second. What could he have meant by it? And the way he embraced her as she wept….Serenity inhaled deeply, hopelessly lost in the significance of it all. He had been so afire with anger when the realization struck him, and yet so gentle when he whipped her tears away. She stopped as she gave the room one last burning glare.
What on earth had happened last night?
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
"And the revolution began after the….."
7:30 AM the next morning, and Mamoru was finding it close to impossible to pay attention. While his Dutch professor rattled off the causes of the French revolution in English, Mamoru sat in the back row of the stadium style room, holding at least 100 of his fellow foreign peers. He had always liked his World History classes, and he particularly liked the way this instructor taught all his courses in English. It had seemed more of a challenge, even though one of the requirements for attending this college program was an above-average fluency in the language, not all the teachers had to use it. Mamoru's Modern Psychology class, for example, was taught completely in Dutch by, oddly enough, an older French woman. He remembered vividly the first day of the semester, when she began her unorthodox teaching regiment; no one dared question the method, but odd expressions were exchanged between students throughout the three-hour period. Even now some of his peers would shaking their heads in amazement when she would rattle off case studies with a thick, Parisian accent.
But Mamoru could not seem to shake his mind numbing conversation with the other males at the hostel over breakfast. Word had gotten around, as Mamoru had expected, that he had been to the club the night before. He was pretty sure that Nicholas had leaked the word as soon as he had shut the door to their room, and when he walked groggily downstairs earlier that morning, each of the faces at the table were grinning from ear to ear. He wasn't about to bring the subject up initially; he was in no hurry to discuss the events again. He had thought about them all night, and the last thing he wanted to talk about was "how she was".
But that was exactly what they wanted to know. Now, Mamoru was a polite soul by nature, and not what his American friends would dub a "player". He did not kiss and tell, so to speak; so the blush that rose to his face when they approached him point-blank with the question of how his purchase had been was not a surprise. However, he wasn't sure he could get through the interrogation without humiliating himself anymore than he already had. He would either stumble horribly through the phony "gory details", or just bark some insulting remarks in their direction before stalking out of the door; the latter would only prove to get some more glib remarks later on, and the former was, well….too horrifying to even consider. So, he simply shut his mouth, and didn't respond to a word they asked him.
Mamoru sighed, watching his instructor blankly as he began writing the textbook assignment for Friday morning. A few stragglers had already risen and started towards the door as Mamoru tucked his still empty notebook under his arm and stood up, stretching. Besides being preoccupied with the little matter from last night, he hadn't achieved the goal of sleeping, either. He was subconsciously glad that he wasn't driving while he was in Amsterdam; he would surely have been a safety hazard at this point in time.
"Mamoru!"
He turned around just as he stepped outside, the cold winter air stinging his lips, which he promptly licked to soothe them. He watched his friend Andrew grin as he jogged moderately before he paused at his side, running a hand through the thick mop he called hair.
"Haven't seen you for a while, Chiba." He shrugged his pack farther onto his shoulder, staring straight ahead as he spoke. "Where ya' been?"
"You mean you haven't heard?" Mamoru answered bitterly, scowling into the frosty breeze. "I would have thought those jack asses would have spread it all around Europe by now." Andrew chuckled.
"Well, yeah, Nick couldn't stop laughing about it before Trig this morning. Just thought I'd give you the chance to spill first, though."
Mamoru sighed in annoyance and rolled his eyes. Andrew was one of the few decent people whom he could actually stand to be around voluntarily in this school. When Mamoru had arrived from Tokyo 9 days ago, he had assessed that most of the guys in the hostel were fair. Perhaps not his choice for friends, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't be tempted to break their legs before the semester ended. And he still felt the same….However, that was providing they stayed out of his personal life.
He'd already gotten the standard inquiries; who was he dating, did he have a picture, if so, did she have a sister? That type of thing. Photo's had been passed back and forth between the men the first night, and ended with typical displays of testosterone. Some cat calls, a couple lewd comments, a few obscene gestures. Nothing they hadn't been accustomed to. Mamoru himself, wasn't in a serious relationship, but the guys had taken a liking to the few photo's he did have on hand of Rei, his ex, in her Temple robe, and her friends. He didn't even have a chance to tell them she was still underage before he was thoroughly offended on her behalf. Sometimes, he had mused, he was extremely ashamed to be included in this gender group.
As the night had worn on, the talk got a little more vulgar and made Mamoru consequently even more uncomfortable. The group of males was varied; some were from other parts of Europe, a few Americans, and even another Japanese male assembled under the same roof each night. But as he had glanced around that night, he was amazed to find he was the only one who seemed ill at ease with the topic they had landed on; The Red Light District.
Mamoru was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a bit prudish. He'd had enough encounters with females to know just about all there was to know in the area of relationships. However, the open way the others discussed the intricacies of each experience horrified the conservative Mamoru beyond anything he could have imagined. He tried not to participate, but eventually, the few that had been to the Walletjes were taking turns giving their personal testimonies.
But he could Andrew was different. He was an American, yes, which Mamoru actually saw as more vulgar than any other nationality, but a respectable one. He was here for the same duration as Mamoru, and the two had immediately teamed up as friends. Andrew was lucky however; his grandparents were Dutch, and quite wealthy as well, so he was staying with them in their home about a half hour from the University. Andrew was driven to and from school each day by a personal chauffer, and didn't have to put up with the immature yokels Mamoru saw each time the sun rose.
"So you actually went to one of the clubs, eh?" Andrew finally prodded, his face completely ambivalent. Mamoru exhaled, not bothering to respond to his friend with his eyes.
"Yeah." He said plainly.
"Are you going to at least tell me what you thought, or do I have to keep beating you upside the head?" Andrew's voice was forced; Mamoru wondered if his friend wasn't as uncomfortable with this topic of conversation as he was.
Mamoru paused before answering, debating on whether to tell Andrew the full truth of his incident at the club. Could he trust him with all the conflicting feelings he was experiencing? He hadn't known him more than a week, and the last thing he wanted was another voice to laugh at him. He'd had enough judgment as it was.
"It wasn't what I expected." He said evenly, still not looking him in the eye.
"Is that a good thing, or a bad one?"
"I'm…not sure." He answered thoughtfully. Andrew stopped walking then, now thoroughly confused and showing it openly. Mamoru sighed and shook his head, knowing he was blocked into explaining himself now.
"It didn't happen." He muttered, almost humiliated having to admit it to another soul.
"You chickened out?"
"No!" He shouted, almost too quickly. Andrew was taken aback, and Mamoru let out a frustrated groan, turning to the small, wooden bench on his right and tossing his books onto the seat. "No, its just….Something happened." The blonde leaned in closer, almost laughing at the others hesitant embarrassment. "It started to happen, and then I noticed that….that…." He finally growled, disgusted with the whole situation all over again, and disgusted with himself for having to relive it all. "The girl couldn't have been over 16 years old."
"…Woah." Andrew whispered after a long, awkward pause. Mamoru snorted a disdainful, bitter laugh.
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
"Are you sure? I mean, these places are usually so good about screening that kind of information." He asked skeptically, then blushed a bit himself. "Or so I hear."
"No, she was definitely NOT supposed to have been there."
"So….What did you do?" He prodded and Mamoru shrugged.
"I got a bit repulsed, confronted her and left. End of story."
"Did she admit to it?"
"Not at first." Mamoru replied. "She tried to pass it off as a cover- up of my displeasure, but I kept at it. She finally broke into tears and begged me not to tell anyone."
"Woah." Andrew repeated and Mamoru nodded glumly. "I take it you aren't going back, then." He stated, rather than asked.
"Damn right."
"So….What's the big deal then? You're obviously a bit more upset over this than you're telling me. You look like you're ready to gnaw your arms off." Mamoru gave a short laugh at the very astute observation then sobered shortly after .
"I don't know. It's like she was two different people last night. I had to do a complete shift in emotions, Andrew." He finally expounded, divulging details even he hadn't managed to reveal to himself up to this point. "I was *so* ready," He emphasized the last word. "And then I was reeling in the opposite direction two seconds later. And I'm still confused about it.
"Not to mention I can't help but feel sorry for the poor girl." He shook his head as he had each time the sweet Serenity entered his mind. "How could such a young thing be so experienced with this type of contact, at such a tender age?"
"You'd be surprised. I'd bet each club has, or has had, at least one underage entertainer." Andrew replied blandly. Mamoru gaped.
"How is it then, that I'm the first one to have noticed it?"
"You think you're the first to have found out?" Andrew practically doubled over in hysterics. "Please! I'll bet most guys are more pleased with their gift when they realize it's a newer model! None of them are going to jeopardize a good thing by spilling the beans."
Mamoru was speechless with horror. He hadn't even thought that there was some sick pervert out there who got excited at the idea of sleeping with a vulnerable young woman. Shouldn't guys like that be behind bars?
'Oh God, poor Serenity.' He thought to himself, shaking his head. He had a whole new level of empathy for her now. To think she probably put up with pedophiles on a regular basis was even more nauseating than his realization that he had almost become one of them.
"Mamoru, does this mean you didn't tell the others what happened last night?" Andrew asked suddenly, shaking his companion from the silent reverie. Mamoru shook his head in a negative.
"I don't think it would have been a good idea. Seeing as how most of them have a season pass to the Wallen, I don't think they would have shared my view on the situation." He replied. Andrew nodded in agreement.
"I think that's best."
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
"Oooh, who got flowers?"
"Serenity. Her attractive John from the night before."
"That Asian chap?"
"Was he Asian? God, I hadn't even noticed. Those eyes were sexy though. I don't think I would have had any trouble doing that job."
"I never get tips like this. Wonder what she did that was so special?"
"God only knows. Probably let the annoying giggle rip. I swear, if that high pitched wail doesn't make every man's blood rise…."
"We're better off when she's not here. It's that young blood, I'm telling you."
"Is there a card?"
"For Gods sake, hun'!"
"Oh, please. You can't tell me you weren't thinking about reading it yourself."
"I didn't even have a chance to look."
"Well look now!"
"It just has his name. 'Chiba Mamoru'."
"Well, that's not very original."
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
*slaps hands together* Welp, that's it for now! Chapter three has a couple more pages that need to be cranked out, but I'm hoping it won't be too long before I get it done. ^^; I can at least promise that it won't be another year…. Hope you enjoyed!
FEEEEEEEEEEEEED-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK……
First off, I AM Sailor Europa. But like a couple other authors I know, I posted 'Rouge' under a different name (Ciel Envoyé) because, well, it's not EXACTLY my typical stuff. I was afraid that it wouldn't be well received, and I didn't want my other writing, the pieces done under the name Sailor Europa, to suffer any kind of stigma a story about Usagi being a prostitute might get. It also allowed me a certain freedom to do something that "Sailor Europa" might not do. But I think that doing all this made it THAT much easier for someone to steal this story; which actually happened. However, it's all over, and I'm coming clean. ^^ I'm still going to post on FF.net under the name Ciel Envoyé, but I'll make sure to reiterate the fact that I AM Sailor Europa.
But for a week I had to fight, tooth and nail, to prove that I wrote this story. I'm not going to go into the gory details of how it went down (you'll have to wait for the book. ^^); just know that it's all over with and I don't wish anyone any harm. All is forgiven and I just want to be able to post in peace. However, during this whole thing, I was temporarily inactive and 'Rouge' was taken out of the database. So, in order to save time, I've smushed the two completed chapters together into one super installment! So you can read and have your eyeballs dry out all in one boring sitting! ^.^ For anyone who has had the good fortune to NOT have read this yet (RUN! Save yourselves NOW!), here are some old AN's -
First and foremost, this has moderately strong language, meaning it has some curse words, but since I'm not particularly fond of such terms, I try to use them sparingly, or at least keep the characters away from situations where they would be used. I say that because this story's setting makes that hard.
I am rating this R – (a low) NC-17, simply because of the main plot. I hate to spoil the surprise, but I've made Usagi a prostitute in the RLD in Amsterdam. The first chapter will pretty much have the bulk of what my friends have called "lemon scented" material; the remaining duration will be toned down even more than this, which, IMO, isn't at all bad. I know it may sound like I'm harping on this, but I really don't want anyone getting mad if they feel that this is sprung on them. However, I hope it doesn't sour you on the story. ^^ I believe the ending makes it worth it.
A few Dutch terms explained ahead of time –
"Liefje" = "darling"
"vrijster" = "lover"
"Walletjes" = another name for the Red Light District. Also referred to as Wallen.
And now that all the yucky, unappealing stuff is over with, I hope you enjoy and I greatly appreciate any and all feedback! I don't particularly care for flames, but I resign to the fact that I can't exactly stop them. I'd love to know what you think!
slr_europa@yahoo.com
cielencoye@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/sailorananke/ropaville/main.html
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
Rouge, Part I of ?
By Ciel Envoyé
The lighting was subdued. Each of the strategically placed oil lamps were dimmed this, as in every, evening. Even in the darkened atmosphere though, Mamoru could make out the chic, almost to the garish point, décor. The period pieces decorated and laid all over seemed so unassuming; so oblivious. The cramped quarters that blended so well into the classic architecture outside, were well crafted in the same fashion inside. Tiny cherubs smiled, nude and innocent, holding candles, ash trays and couches, gilded to a sheen. Their solid eyes had seen all there was to see, in this of all places. They had been there for centuries; living through a loving marriage in which they began their life as a principle gift, gently set aside the dwelling. And now, to weary travelers and regular clientele, they provided a refuge; a recovery from the modern.
The deep mauve undertones of the setting were mood-inducing, to be blunt. It was a happy coincidence that this business should select this location with its almost perfectly fitting emotional feel. It was at home in these furnishings, as if they had been made, hundreds of years earlier, under such opposing circumstances, to sit where they were now, for the purpose they now filled.
Velvet curtains were drawn aside in a classic fashion and led the raven haired gentleman further through the establishment. He was Asian, although one would have to be prompted to openly notice such a detail. His eyes were a deep navy hue, and his creamy, rich complexion off-set the contrast of the liquid pools. He was part American, proudly and openly. But his accent was laden with the tones of a native Japanese tongue.
He was obviously handsome, and unlikely as the skeptical might assume, not an uncommon site at such a business. The shunned and the shy were a staple; but the staff was accustomed to all varieties of clients. The well-placed clothing was a tip-off that the young man was looking for thrills from such an infamous establishment. To the entertainers and escorts of the Walletjes, nothing was surprising.
The gentleman, obviously a bit uncomfortable in his new surroundings, walked tentatively to the bar and sat. Perched at the edge of his stool, he leaned forward and stared straight ahead. The femme's in the room gave each other an amused eye; typical. While the man had, of course, never been to this type of club before, he knew what to do and what not to do. He didn't speak a word, and played it cool; or tried to, at least. His stance was so rigid, anyone could see with an untrained eye that he was all a twitter with nerves.
"He's cute. I wouldn't mind."
"Oh please! Do you ever?"
"Of course! What the hell kinda question is that?!"
"Well for God's sake, you can hardly keep those washed-up limbs of yours from…"
"You little whore! Shut the fuck up!"
The dark haired man looked up as the male bartender approached his side. With the flick of his wrist, he sent the servant away and let his calm façade droop; he stared at his shoes for minutes on end. The girls rated their consumer as soon as his attention was once again locked elsewhere.
"He's fresh. He won't be picky."
"Not like it matters. He doesn't need to be."
"Now if he went down the street…."
"It'd be like trying to find a flower in a garden full of weeds."
The few who participated erupted into laughter. His ears perked up from 50 feet away, and he tilted his head in their direction. One of the more brash elders moved to steal his gaze. With slow deliberation she licked her lips as if spotting her prey and anticipating the inevitable kill. A couple of the others picked up on his unease; or was it disgust? It didn't matter. The selection was narrowed down a bit at the sign. Once the introductions were over he would have weeded out her and those of her like. And those who knew the houses, knew that innocence was a rare and precious commodity. And sincere naiveté appeared to be nil. His choices would be few.
"Liefje…" Annemie snuck up like cat from behind and sprung, slipping her arm smoothly around his shoulders. A few of the newer members of staff watched in envy and admiration. To start up the relationship in such a bold and sassy approach was something only seasoned veterans dared to do. And slight show of self-consciousness was suicide to a girls career. Confidence was a necessity, and only a select dared to use it, while even fewer succeeded. Many a customer had been thoroughly turned off by such vulgar utterances and left without even ordering a drink. Of course, it often ended with a worthwhile tip; the sign of a cocky client who would, without a doubt, return.
"Hello." His dutch was broken, and even he could see her eyes immediately widen at such a simple word. His tone was indeed untainted; such a delicious sign of youth. He wouldn't be here if he weren't curious and yet, he wouldn't have stayed so collected if he were "inexperienced", either. This was the job women fought over.
"Do you have a name, vrijster?" She cooed into his ear. He was growing more visibly queasy by the second. She knew it wasn't going over well, and she backtracked at a last ditch attempt to save herself. "How are you doing?" She abandoned her previous approach and sat at the seat next to him. She slipped one leg expertly over the other and arched her back to get closer.
"Mamoru." He choked out. Silently she sighed. Lost cause, and she was not about to throw herself and risk a probation. Madame Isabelle hated to see her ladies act like anything else than she boasted them off. She needed the money, and being stuck with a week away from the house was not an option.
"I hope you enjoy yourself, Mamoru." She let his name roll off her tongue, curving the edge of her lips into a devilish smile, preserving and holding her reputation by a thread. She'd let someone else take a crack at the marble figure, now holding a Guinness in his left hand, untouched. Her movements away from the scene were as fluid as her approach had been, but her expression was defeated; a sight he couldn't tell from his vantage.
Two more tried the same with similar results. They had all seen their share of fickle customers, but rarely did they find such a well-bred foreigner who had his eye finely tuned to the point where he could tell within seconds if he would spend his money on you. The Student, as they quickly dubbed him, was rapidly becoming a-typical, as clientele ran. He was young and handsome, but looking for something in particular. Not a quick romp, pet, massage or the like, but a serious formulated plan. A few of the ladies in the establishment wondered why, with such tastes, he wasn't engaged in the act with a more serious and committed relationship. He was seeking their company, but wanted his own needs met and by someone he was willing to pick out.
"Mamoru, is it?"
Almost as if he had forgotten where he was, the broad shoulders jerked around into the cushions of his seat-back.
"Yes." He replied shortly. He bristled, waiting for her caress as the others had given, but instead found her hand thrust into his own and being shook vigorously. Shocked, he checked her glowing expression.
"Serenity."
She was short, and it was quite an amusing spectacle as she pulled herself, after much hesitation, onto the unoccupied stool next to him. He was watching her every move. She was different than those who had come before.
"Serenity…." He chewed on the name for a few seconds, and she cocked her head to the left, then the right, waiting to see his reaction. He could not sense her pounding heart, the same throb that occurred each time this event began. The initial exchange of formalities was grueling, for both parties involved.
Out of the corner of his eye, in the hushed lighting of the room, he watched her easy movements. They weren't seductive; at least not deliberately. He blinked and realized instantly that she was who he had come here for. Her long blonde hair was slightly curled at the ends of the pig-tails, which were in turn tied in duel buns on either side of her head, and he was hypnotized by the dancing light from the whale oil lamps at the corners of the bar. Her make-up was pointless. Perhaps he could request that she remove it. He gave a half-smile at the idea.
"Where are the rooms?"
*+-~-*+-~-*+
"I'm not sure how this works…." The young man had let his confidence slip around his ankles, and now stuttered slightly before his new purchase. Serenity was seating herself comfortably on the grand, four poster bed, watching him contentedly.
"Don't worry. Your nerves will let up soon…." Her painted lips urged lowly. She leaned back on her hands and slowly crossed one leg over the other, eyes locking with his. He stared at her light blue gaze for a few moments before removing his jacket and clutching it in front of him. He was obviously fidgeting mercilessly, and her cool persona was not wavering in the slightest. Mamoru could imagine that she was designed to be this way; steady in such shaky company. He mused that this must be what kept customers paying. She wasn't impatient, and a disconcerting question nagged him. How many others had been the same way as he?
Sensing his unease, she let her loose limbs unclench as she stood up to approach him. A reflex in his mind asked his body to back up; he wasn't accustomed to this. But he stayed. She was wearing an easy smile, dark liner circling her eye-lids expertly, covering any secrets she could have been hiding. Had he been in his natural state, he might have contemplated all the problems and mysteries a woman in her profession could have.
"Sweetheart…" She cradled his head with her arms as she spoke, stroking his cheek and letting her breath waft across his skin. His shoulders were unwinding with each breezy word she uttered. "Don't be scared. I won't bite." She stood on her toes to ruffle her eyelashes over his face in butterfly kisses. "Unless that's your fancy."
He was absently staring down at his shoes, but with her in close proximity, it was increasingly harder to avoid seeing her movements. She smelled like citrus and soap. He was praying that he could overcome his momentary fears soon; he had already laid down the money, and it would be such a shame to let it rot.
"Mamoru…." Her voice was low and lingering, testing the name and pretending to find it to her liking. She rather enjoyed this particular part of a job. The actual "act", so to speak, was not bad, but it had become meaningless and almost mundane. In these rooms, to the guests, everything was happening for the first time. But the girls saw the same walls of each of the six rooms more than once a week. The décor was romantic to outsiders; quaint and appropriate. But Serenity found it hard to see the charm in anything that took place in here; it all equaled out to payroll, and she couldn't imagine it any other way.
"Let me help you relax, Mamo-chan…." His head jerked upwards at her command of his native tongue. He hadn't any idea how she could have guessed his nationality; he was mistaken for a bloody American more than anything else. Either not noticing his shock or choosing to ignore it, she kissed his cheek tenderly, reminding Mamoru of a maternal instinct more than seduction. She lifted her arms gingerly from his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. "Close your eyes, love…" She whispered. He complied obediently. With expertise, she wove her fingers into the muscles in his back, bending and moving them at will. His whole body desired to please her and he felt immediately at her mercy. He had envisioned this experience to feel unnatural, but as she massaged his overworked body, he couldn't conjure up a more correct scenerio. The oddities that took place in the bar were in the past; a surreal dream. He hadn't a clue how he had wound up in this room with Serenity, but he was content with it. Very content.
Without asking permission, her speed escalated as she pulled the jacket from his grasp with little reluctance on his part. She was humming as she moved, but Mamoru kept his eyes closed. He was far too comfortable to change things, and she didn't request anything else. He found it a bit amusing that she was calling the shots, even while she now held his money in her wallet. He could feel her fingers tracing the seam on his white, button down shirt. As her fingers walked their way up to his neck, she pulled back his collar and lightly kissed the defined bone structure. He craned his neck backwards, his lips parting in the act. He wanted to smile, but felt it inappropriate.
There was a pause as her mouth detached from his skin, and Mamoru opened his eyes slowly, as if awakening from a sweet dream. Not even thinking, he held her serious gaze and placed his hands on her shoulders gently, then trailing them down her bare, exposed arms and back up again, finally encircling her svelte neck. Smiling slightly, eyes narrowed in precision, she lifted her hands again to his chest and fingered the iridescent buttons. She unclasped the bottom one slowly to begin with, and worked her way upwards. His mind had reverted to autopilot, and he voluntarily let his fingers unfasten each of the tiny buttons clinging to her skimpy black shirt in retaliation.
With the scene unraveling as expected, she hooked a finger through the belt loops of his khaki's and pulled his partially exposed body to her own. She gingerly pulled her arms around his neck and completely slipped the useless shirt from his frame, letting her hands trail down his now bare chest. His back was quivering at her deft actions, surprised and pleased at how she handled him. He sensed that his time was running low, and he found himself anxious for the accepted progression of events in such a case. His nerves were all but unfounded; he had banished all the misgivings he'd initially poured on himself during his trip up here. He was imagining it ascending to a higher level still tonight, even.
Instead of leading him onto the plush, velvet bed though, he found her pressing his upper body downwards into a deep red sofa, and then kneeling before him. He watched her intently, her expert hands pulling her body forward so that he appeared to be straddling her bust. She had entered the next level, slowly and deliberately avoiding his eyes as she tugged on his belt, finally unclasping it and leaning in to press another gentle, out of place peck on his navel. He found his mind falling into a blissful abyss, and drowning in whatever spell she had cast over him. He listened to her small, almost vulnerable giggle as she joined him in removing her top completely, revealing a pink lace bra underneath, almost ironically too innocent for such a professional. She placed her hands on either side of him and rose to her feet, yet bending over so that her face was centimeters from his.
The low light from a crimson bulb on the left wall was cascading onto her features, and he found the best look at his gift for the first time all evening. Her make-up was as heavy as he had first imagined, but after such an encounter, bits had worn off and he did a double take at a few stray freckles dancing across her cheeks. His breathed halted in his lungs, and he furrowed his forehead. His brain was thinking under his lusts' sincere contradictions, and his movements were paused. Arms laid dormant around her thin waist, and his brain ignored his companion's insistent urges towards progression.
"Mamo-chan…." Her voice rose in a high pitched giggle. His heart pounded in his ears, and even his lust and hormones receded when her innocent tone punctured his ears a second time. He pulled away.
"M…Mamoru?"
The vomit rose in his throat, and he stood, his feet barely able to stand still. His disgust was impossible to deny or hide, even from himself. His stomach lurched as he turned his back to her and crossed his arms over his exposed body, suddenly unbearably cold.
Serenity was kneeling still, on the floor where he had once been with her. She stood, mistaking his sudden change in mood for a second guess on his own part. She strode to his side and touched his back, beginning to massage it once more. He jerked around, slapping her arm violently away. His eyes roved over her body with an intensity that scared her, and she tried in vain to cover the exposed skin she had so willingly left vulnerable moments before.
"How old are you?" He hissed at her, and she felt her next breath freeze in her throat. The thick, seductive air had dropped like a stone, and along with him, she shivered at the latest mood.
"W….What?"
"How old are you, Serenity?" He asked once more, more sternly, his eyes almost horrifyingly abhorrent. She shook her head, unable to answer. "I know that there are limits here…."
"If you weren't happy with the service…" She began, scrambling desperately to cover the tracks she was leaving. This had never happened to her before; no one had ever been so bold as to question her ethics.
"It's not the service I'm upset with."
"Sir-."
"I want to know your age." His octave rose, and with a swift gesture, grasped her wrists in steel fists. She let a terrified squeak escape, and felt a few tears threaten to fall. The consequences of being caught were too awesome to think about, and no one had ever been able to approach her with this before….The tears fell eventually, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head violently. He jerked her body, not so gently, and practically snarled.
"Please….Please, don't tell them you know." She sobbed, staring downwards, practically falling apart. He unwound his fingers, and she immediately fell to the floor, hands pulling on the carpet, small, underdeveloped knuckles turning white with such pressure. He blinked at her, not sure whether to be angry with the young girl, or to pity her. She had known what she was doing was wrong, but had committed the crime anyway.
She looked so pathetic, a heap on the floor at his feet. Just a few minutes prior he had decided that nothing in the world was going to keep him from letting their relationship climax to a mind-boggling point. He was incredibly disgusted; with himself for coming to this establishment in the first place, with the sad, pitiful young woman in his company, and with the whole of Amsterdam for letting such an unforgivable indiscretion happen in the first place. It was no wonder he was attracted to her innocence; she was innocent to the core, even after living in this place long enough to be familiar with these lewd acts so well.
"Oh God, please don't tell anyone…." She whimpered, her whole frame collapsing at his feet. He felt his anger escape right from his fingers, and he shook his head. "I'll do anything…" She choked on the words.
The girl was so different, so completely naïve that he collected her up into his arms and sat beside her. He sighed heavily, holding her as she cried uncontrollably on his still bare shoulder. He mused at how similar this was to a few moments ago. But his emotions were tapered now, and he stroked her back in a more brotherly fashion.
"I suppose you'll want a refund now…." She whispered after she had pulled herself together again.
"No." They both rose, and he retrieved his discarded shirt from the floor and pulled his arms through the sleeves. She still stood, half naked and trying desperately to cover what he assumed was a body no older than 16. He handed her her own shirt and turned his back to button himself up.
When he turned around, he found her more composed, physically, at least. She was dressed, but her eyes were still frightened. He suspected she didn't believe his intentions were true; but he disregarded her fears. In a day or two she would realize he had not revealed her secret, and she could return to her normal routine.
If you could call it normal.
He exhaled through his nose, and walked to the door, listening as he heard her soft footsteps pad slowly behind. He heard the hinges squeak, and before exiting, he turned around and impulsively pulled Serenity's delicate frame into an embrace. He inhaled her scent, the one he was drunk with 10 minutes before, and then kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Startled she pulled back a bit, and gave him a confused look, trying to wriggle from his arms. He pulled her tighter and shook his head, saddened beyond belief.
"Good night, Serenity."
*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
Rouge, Part II of ?
By Ciel Envoyé
Mamoru wandered amongst the natives in a daze. The off-white orb that now hung in the sky, replacing the low rays of the sun from his last encounter with the streets, was cascading stray shadows along a few cafés and clubs and houses, leading his way back into the residential area of Amsterdam. He had only been in town a week, but he had made this trip many times already; his nerves had inevitably gotten the better of him before this evening, and he would always sway on a heel and walk the few miles in the opposite direction to his hostel. Most nights no one was home; with the exception of their care-taker, who, thankfully, had no idea of his intentions and thought nothing of his nightly humiliation.
But he had finally gathered up his courage early that morning, thanks to a few of his peers' glib comments about his wavering back-bone. It wasn't that he was afraid of the experience many of the other men swore by. The idea was merely disconcerting, to say the least.
And his awkward ordeal with the raw Serenity had proven his initial fears correct.
He shook his head, thoughts still swimming in a pool of revulsion as his mind caught swatches of scenes he'd lived through. The complete turn- around of emotions had sent him reeling, and he was still struggling to recover. He loathed himself for letting his lust impair his judgment; once the revelation of her crimes had struck him, it seemed as plain as the moon in the sky! How could he have missed it when he was suggesting the two retreat to a room not even 30 minutes prior in the bar?
And of course, his pity for the poor girl was evident amidst all other feelings. He couldn't resist the urge to shake his head in sympathy each time he thought of the look of pure shock and fear when he had questioned her. He had almost expected vehemence and flames to meet his inquiries; but tears? And her quick response, her expression crossing with horror within seconds had made him almost positive that the emotions were genuine. So how did her initially seductive, alluring persona match up with the scared, shaking little girl he left alone in that room?
He tried, futilely, to banish the thoughts from his head as he retrieved his room key from his pocket and entered the rather shabby hostel he was staying in. He exhaled in relief to find even the mistress out; shopping for groceries, he'd discovered after finding a note on the kitchen table. He moved about stealthily, attempting to seize any sound that might expose another warm-body in the lodging. He moved through the community room quickly, and jogged up the stairs, confident he had not passed another person on his trip.
Once inside the safety of his now empty room, he stripped down and stepped into his navy blue robe. He plucked a towel from the cabinet on the far wall, and grabbed his toiletries from the top of his dresser and finally exited the room, aiming blankly for the shared bathroom, praying that a warm shower would wash away the repulsive slime he felt covered in, as well as clear his grave mood.
He entered the sterile looking room, white walls recently scrubbed clean for its tenants. He flicked on the light switch and shielded his eyes, the already harsh rays of the bulbs reflecting painfully from the gleaming tiles around the shower basin and floor boards. He slipped the robe off and hung it on the knob as he slammed the door shut, unleashing some of his pent up aggressions on anything within reach. He tested the stream that emitted from the head before standing under the steady flow of muscle-relaxing liquid. Steam built up inside the tiny den he was encased in; he felt his sinuses clear, and his limbs go limp in their sockets as his body emptied into a hollow shell. His emotions no longer clouded his thoughts, and he smiled at the gradual relief quenching his heavy soul.
He tilted his neck to the ceiling, letting the hot water pound in his ears, covering his already slick, fine hair, and plastering to his face. He sputtered, blissfully struggling to breath, each new instance a different distraction from his thought pattern from that night. His back unwrapped the knots his muscles had found themselves in and he lifted a well sculpted arm to massage the back of his neck.
Through the roar of the shower, he heard snatches of laughter; a light, tinkling giggle; her fingers, masterfully unleashing his tension. Before he had a chance to deny it, his mind breathed a whispered reflection; he liked it.
He reacted instinctively, his eyes snapping open like a reflex. The water stung his vision.
"Damn it…" He muttered, partially at the pain his gaze was suffering from, but also from the lingering thought of his evening. His chest tightened. He was awash with thoughts, and he let out an involuntary sigh. The pounding waterfall kept rebounding from his exposed flesh; he suddenly felt wretched all over again.
Utterly defeated, Mamoru turned the dial until the squeak of the pipes echoed across the stark walls, and the stream of liquid dissipated. He pulled back the curtain and stepped onto the fuzzy, shag bathmat and pulled his towel from the counter where he'd left it, and raked it through his hair. He distracted his weary mind with the task of drying himself off, finally recovering himself with the robe once again.
He hadn't a clue how long he had been in there, but when he reemerged, he heard the voices of his peers coming from various points in the residency. His eyes shut immediately in dejection; he wouldn't be able to avoid the interrogation forever.
Once inside his room, he ecstatically found it empty. His roommate must've been downstairs with the others; or, he was still out painting this dismal town red. Either way, Mamoru didn't care. Perhaps he could side-step the questions all together, at least until the morning came and he returned to his classes at the University. Mamoru knew that they would all be expecting a full report; either on his latest, pathetic excuse for why he hadn't gone through with the task once again, or how the evening had faired at the club. All of those he was staying with were either natives to Amsterdam, and consequently on friendly terms with all of the girls at Wallen, or they had already taken the obligatory trip to the Red Light District.
Mamoru slung his damp towel around his neck, and pulled on his night clothes as quickly as possible. He hoped to avoid any kind of disturbance at all and sneak into bed, unbeknownst by the rest of the crew in the community room downstairs. Deep in thought, he yanked the drawstring of his flannel pants tighter, and then slipped into a cotton tee before tossing his wet items into the laundry.
He laid silently on his back, reluctant still to turn the lights in his room out. He knew that the illumination from the crack under the door was a dead give away, but the thought of lying awake for hours on end in pitch blackness, with only his soured memories of the last few hours to haunt him, was all together unappealing. He stared absently at the slightly dim ceiling and tilted his head to the right, contemplating the studded tiles as if they could answer all the oddities he couldn't seem to remove from his thoughts.
"Chiba!"
Completely startled from his personal universe and its problems, Mamoru lurched forward, finding his lanky, wild eyed roommate, Nicholas, standing in the doorway directly in front of his bed, still holding the knob in his left hand. The slightly shorter blonde Englishman leaned against the jam and nodded.
"Didn't even know you were home, Mamoru. When did'ya get in?"
Wishing to convey his annoyance, Mamoru turned over on his side, back now facing his companion.
"Been here."
"Why you up here all alone, then?"
"I'm tired. Is that all right with you?" He barked sarcastically, taught muscles rotating around quickly to face him. Nicholas did not take the subtlety and pulled up the chair from the single desk at the corner of the room, and deposited himself in it.
"It's perfectly fine." He replied calmly and planted his feet up on the skinny bed posts just next to Mamoru's line of view. The raven haired man frowned openly, staring angrily at the laces on his friend's Nike's. "Just as long as you're going to spill the details."
"I'd rather sleep."
"You know I won't let that happen until I get what I want."
Mamoru sighed and sat up. His mind raced to come up with some options for the situation before Nicholas would have a chance to call the other loud-mouthed jack-asses up here to slap it out of him.
"It went fine."
The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about them, and as soon as they wafted into his ears, he knew he couldn't take it back. The fib would have to be carried out.
"Really?"
"Yes. Why would I lie about it?"
"Then why all the sneaking around?"
"I wasn't sneaking around."
"The hell you weren't, Mamoru." He snorted. "It's barely 9 in the evening, and you're practically passed out on your cot." His voice displayed his disbelief quite well, and Mamoru realized he would have to hustle in order to make it sincere. "You couldn't have been in there more than 30 minutes; there's no way she would have worn you out that much."
"Look, I've told you guys before that this was not something I'm comfortable with doing." Mamoru's nerves were shattered from the experience he spoke of, however untruthful it was, and he was sensing that they wouldn't hold under this line of questioning. "I went to the club, and I stayed there this time. What more do you want from me?"
"God, you had sex, Mamoru! You didn't kill a man."
"I might as well have." He muttered as he fell back into his pillow and sighed. "This isn't under the circumstances I exactly relish. But I did it, and for the soul purpose of getting you and the rest of your bastard friends off my back." He gave a pointed look directly into the other mans clear brown eyes. "OK?"
"I pity the poor woman who had to deal with you for a full half hour, Mamoru." The door slammed behind the departing young man, and Mamoru exhaled in relief as he reached up to yank the cord on his bedside lamp.
"I do too."
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
"Serenity."
"Hm?"
The older woman approached the blonde, five inch heels clicking on the ornate marble floor before she paused directly in front of her.
"You aren't working today, are you?"
Serenity blushed and shook her head. She was still recovering from the previous night; she wasn't sure she could trust her fragile ego in the emotional state she had been thrown into. She had chosen to take her two days off this week in a row, and sleep at home without the possibility of disturbance. She had already started by buying herself groceries when she realized she had left her wallet in that damned room the night before. She couldn't even remember leaving the building early the next morning, let alone taking her personal belongings with her. So she had stopped off before the evening rush came, in order to take a look around.
"No ma'am. I just think I left some stuff behind last night. I wanted to come retrieve it." Her voice was shaky as she spoke, but she let her signature smile slide onto her now naked lips.
"What room?"
"4, I believe."
"That's vacant right now." Her employer pressed the key into her palm and smiled. "Try to be quiet. Veronique just took a client to 3; try not to disturb her business."
The blonde flushed a bright color at the very unromantic terms her Madam used when discussing the events of their profession. It always seemed cold to the younger girl; unfulfilling.
The identical sound of her shoes disappearing around the corner to the bar made her sigh and she started to ascend up the stairs, the same as she had almost 12 hours before. The fear and nausea crept into her chest and she drew in quick breaths to keep from panicking unnecessarily. She was seeing the stairway through fogged eyes; clouded with tears and marred by her memories. Everything from the night before had been a blur at this point. She could barely make out the mans facial features, his clothing, his body. From the second he popped the question, her emotions fell to her knees and she was having trouble pulling it back up again ever since.
Within moments she was behind the door and with a sudden hesitation, she shoved the key into the lock and threw the door open.
It looked so different. The natural light bathing the furniture in gold, instead of the gaudy red bulbs barely lighting the four corners. The bed was made and everything was spic and span; no signs of the scuffle she had experienced in such real, full color. She swallowed hard; it didn't feel like the same room. The ambiance was nonexistent.
Shaking her head in exasperation, she spotted her small wallet and package of gum on the night stand, right next to the emergency alarm. It hadn't even occurred to her to use it the previous evening. It wouldn't have done her any good, as it was; Madam Isabelle would have rushed upstairs, only to find her in tears on the floor, with a half naked John threatening to expose her secret. No, she would have been in even more trouble than she was now.
After snatching her possessions from the table she paused, seeing the large oak door from the opposite vantage point. She paused, thinking about the single incident that gave her the most distress from that night; his exit. He had held her almost possessively before wishing her a good night, and pressing a, oddly enough, tender kiss on her forehead. She barely remembered her tears halting in that confusing second. What could he have meant by it? And the way he embraced her as she wept….Serenity inhaled deeply, hopelessly lost in the significance of it all. He had been so afire with anger when the realization struck him, and yet so gentle when he whipped her tears away. She stopped as she gave the room one last burning glare.
What on earth had happened last night?
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
"And the revolution began after the….."
7:30 AM the next morning, and Mamoru was finding it close to impossible to pay attention. While his Dutch professor rattled off the causes of the French revolution in English, Mamoru sat in the back row of the stadium style room, holding at least 100 of his fellow foreign peers. He had always liked his World History classes, and he particularly liked the way this instructor taught all his courses in English. It had seemed more of a challenge, even though one of the requirements for attending this college program was an above-average fluency in the language, not all the teachers had to use it. Mamoru's Modern Psychology class, for example, was taught completely in Dutch by, oddly enough, an older French woman. He remembered vividly the first day of the semester, when she began her unorthodox teaching regiment; no one dared question the method, but odd expressions were exchanged between students throughout the three-hour period. Even now some of his peers would shaking their heads in amazement when she would rattle off case studies with a thick, Parisian accent.
But Mamoru could not seem to shake his mind numbing conversation with the other males at the hostel over breakfast. Word had gotten around, as Mamoru had expected, that he had been to the club the night before. He was pretty sure that Nicholas had leaked the word as soon as he had shut the door to their room, and when he walked groggily downstairs earlier that morning, each of the faces at the table were grinning from ear to ear. He wasn't about to bring the subject up initially; he was in no hurry to discuss the events again. He had thought about them all night, and the last thing he wanted to talk about was "how she was".
But that was exactly what they wanted to know. Now, Mamoru was a polite soul by nature, and not what his American friends would dub a "player". He did not kiss and tell, so to speak; so the blush that rose to his face when they approached him point-blank with the question of how his purchase had been was not a surprise. However, he wasn't sure he could get through the interrogation without humiliating himself anymore than he already had. He would either stumble horribly through the phony "gory details", or just bark some insulting remarks in their direction before stalking out of the door; the latter would only prove to get some more glib remarks later on, and the former was, well….too horrifying to even consider. So, he simply shut his mouth, and didn't respond to a word they asked him.
Mamoru sighed, watching his instructor blankly as he began writing the textbook assignment for Friday morning. A few stragglers had already risen and started towards the door as Mamoru tucked his still empty notebook under his arm and stood up, stretching. Besides being preoccupied with the little matter from last night, he hadn't achieved the goal of sleeping, either. He was subconsciously glad that he wasn't driving while he was in Amsterdam; he would surely have been a safety hazard at this point in time.
"Mamoru!"
He turned around just as he stepped outside, the cold winter air stinging his lips, which he promptly licked to soothe them. He watched his friend Andrew grin as he jogged moderately before he paused at his side, running a hand through the thick mop he called hair.
"Haven't seen you for a while, Chiba." He shrugged his pack farther onto his shoulder, staring straight ahead as he spoke. "Where ya' been?"
"You mean you haven't heard?" Mamoru answered bitterly, scowling into the frosty breeze. "I would have thought those jack asses would have spread it all around Europe by now." Andrew chuckled.
"Well, yeah, Nick couldn't stop laughing about it before Trig this morning. Just thought I'd give you the chance to spill first, though."
Mamoru sighed in annoyance and rolled his eyes. Andrew was one of the few decent people whom he could actually stand to be around voluntarily in this school. When Mamoru had arrived from Tokyo 9 days ago, he had assessed that most of the guys in the hostel were fair. Perhaps not his choice for friends, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't be tempted to break their legs before the semester ended. And he still felt the same….However, that was providing they stayed out of his personal life.
He'd already gotten the standard inquiries; who was he dating, did he have a picture, if so, did she have a sister? That type of thing. Photo's had been passed back and forth between the men the first night, and ended with typical displays of testosterone. Some cat calls, a couple lewd comments, a few obscene gestures. Nothing they hadn't been accustomed to. Mamoru himself, wasn't in a serious relationship, but the guys had taken a liking to the few photo's he did have on hand of Rei, his ex, in her Temple robe, and her friends. He didn't even have a chance to tell them she was still underage before he was thoroughly offended on her behalf. Sometimes, he had mused, he was extremely ashamed to be included in this gender group.
As the night had worn on, the talk got a little more vulgar and made Mamoru consequently even more uncomfortable. The group of males was varied; some were from other parts of Europe, a few Americans, and even another Japanese male assembled under the same roof each night. But as he had glanced around that night, he was amazed to find he was the only one who seemed ill at ease with the topic they had landed on; The Red Light District.
Mamoru was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a bit prudish. He'd had enough encounters with females to know just about all there was to know in the area of relationships. However, the open way the others discussed the intricacies of each experience horrified the conservative Mamoru beyond anything he could have imagined. He tried not to participate, but eventually, the few that had been to the Walletjes were taking turns giving their personal testimonies.
But he could Andrew was different. He was an American, yes, which Mamoru actually saw as more vulgar than any other nationality, but a respectable one. He was here for the same duration as Mamoru, and the two had immediately teamed up as friends. Andrew was lucky however; his grandparents were Dutch, and quite wealthy as well, so he was staying with them in their home about a half hour from the University. Andrew was driven to and from school each day by a personal chauffer, and didn't have to put up with the immature yokels Mamoru saw each time the sun rose.
"So you actually went to one of the clubs, eh?" Andrew finally prodded, his face completely ambivalent. Mamoru exhaled, not bothering to respond to his friend with his eyes.
"Yeah." He said plainly.
"Are you going to at least tell me what you thought, or do I have to keep beating you upside the head?" Andrew's voice was forced; Mamoru wondered if his friend wasn't as uncomfortable with this topic of conversation as he was.
Mamoru paused before answering, debating on whether to tell Andrew the full truth of his incident at the club. Could he trust him with all the conflicting feelings he was experiencing? He hadn't known him more than a week, and the last thing he wanted was another voice to laugh at him. He'd had enough judgment as it was.
"It wasn't what I expected." He said evenly, still not looking him in the eye.
"Is that a good thing, or a bad one?"
"I'm…not sure." He answered thoughtfully. Andrew stopped walking then, now thoroughly confused and showing it openly. Mamoru sighed and shook his head, knowing he was blocked into explaining himself now.
"It didn't happen." He muttered, almost humiliated having to admit it to another soul.
"You chickened out?"
"No!" He shouted, almost too quickly. Andrew was taken aback, and Mamoru let out a frustrated groan, turning to the small, wooden bench on his right and tossing his books onto the seat. "No, its just….Something happened." The blonde leaned in closer, almost laughing at the others hesitant embarrassment. "It started to happen, and then I noticed that….that…." He finally growled, disgusted with the whole situation all over again, and disgusted with himself for having to relive it all. "The girl couldn't have been over 16 years old."
"…Woah." Andrew whispered after a long, awkward pause. Mamoru snorted a disdainful, bitter laugh.
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
"Are you sure? I mean, these places are usually so good about screening that kind of information." He asked skeptically, then blushed a bit himself. "Or so I hear."
"No, she was definitely NOT supposed to have been there."
"So….What did you do?" He prodded and Mamoru shrugged.
"I got a bit repulsed, confronted her and left. End of story."
"Did she admit to it?"
"Not at first." Mamoru replied. "She tried to pass it off as a cover- up of my displeasure, but I kept at it. She finally broke into tears and begged me not to tell anyone."
"Woah." Andrew repeated and Mamoru nodded glumly. "I take it you aren't going back, then." He stated, rather than asked.
"Damn right."
"So….What's the big deal then? You're obviously a bit more upset over this than you're telling me. You look like you're ready to gnaw your arms off." Mamoru gave a short laugh at the very astute observation then sobered shortly after .
"I don't know. It's like she was two different people last night. I had to do a complete shift in emotions, Andrew." He finally expounded, divulging details even he hadn't managed to reveal to himself up to this point. "I was *so* ready," He emphasized the last word. "And then I was reeling in the opposite direction two seconds later. And I'm still confused about it.
"Not to mention I can't help but feel sorry for the poor girl." He shook his head as he had each time the sweet Serenity entered his mind. "How could such a young thing be so experienced with this type of contact, at such a tender age?"
"You'd be surprised. I'd bet each club has, or has had, at least one underage entertainer." Andrew replied blandly. Mamoru gaped.
"How is it then, that I'm the first one to have noticed it?"
"You think you're the first to have found out?" Andrew practically doubled over in hysterics. "Please! I'll bet most guys are more pleased with their gift when they realize it's a newer model! None of them are going to jeopardize a good thing by spilling the beans."
Mamoru was speechless with horror. He hadn't even thought that there was some sick pervert out there who got excited at the idea of sleeping with a vulnerable young woman. Shouldn't guys like that be behind bars?
'Oh God, poor Serenity.' He thought to himself, shaking his head. He had a whole new level of empathy for her now. To think she probably put up with pedophiles on a regular basis was even more nauseating than his realization that he had almost become one of them.
"Mamoru, does this mean you didn't tell the others what happened last night?" Andrew asked suddenly, shaking his companion from the silent reverie. Mamoru shook his head in a negative.
"I don't think it would have been a good idea. Seeing as how most of them have a season pass to the Wallen, I don't think they would have shared my view on the situation." He replied. Andrew nodded in agreement.
"I think that's best."
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
"Oooh, who got flowers?"
"Serenity. Her attractive John from the night before."
"That Asian chap?"
"Was he Asian? God, I hadn't even noticed. Those eyes were sexy though. I don't think I would have had any trouble doing that job."
"I never get tips like this. Wonder what she did that was so special?"
"God only knows. Probably let the annoying giggle rip. I swear, if that high pitched wail doesn't make every man's blood rise…."
"We're better off when she's not here. It's that young blood, I'm telling you."
"Is there a card?"
"For Gods sake, hun'!"
"Oh, please. You can't tell me you weren't thinking about reading it yourself."
"I didn't even have a chance to look."
"Well look now!"
"It just has his name. 'Chiba Mamoru'."
"Well, that's not very original."
+*-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+-~-*+
*slaps hands together* Welp, that's it for now! Chapter three has a couple more pages that need to be cranked out, but I'm hoping it won't be too long before I get it done. ^^; I can at least promise that it won't be another year…. Hope you enjoyed!
FEEEEEEEEEEEEED-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK……