Chapter 17
When I walked into the bathroom, I just stood there, hand under the faucet, staring off into the mirror. The water ran pointlessly, just like my thoughts at that moment. The women around probably figured I was some crazy dyke or a girl dumped by her date—frozen like that, shaking a little, glaring at my own reflection like it was gonna give me some kind of answer.
One of them, a nice girl with a sweet voice, snapped me out of it:
“Hey, friend, you okay?”
“Tough day is all… I’ll be fine,” I replied with a dumb little smile, trying to hide the mess that was my brain.
“It’ll get better, hon. Hang in there!” she said, with that kinda maternal vibe only women in public restrooms can pull off.
I thanked her with a quick nod, took a deep breath, and let the water run a bit longer, like it could wash away the boiling thoughts too. I wanted to call my sister, but I knew she wouldn’t pick up. She was probably streaming right then. And even if she did… Jules had even less sense than me. And Patricia, who seemed to have more sense and experience on paper, wasn’t close to me at all. And if I talked to Jules? Even worse. It’d turn into a joke.
Alone.
That’s how it was. I’d have to decide alone.
I finished up what I needed to, dried off, fixed my hair, and gave the mirror one last look, trying to find a spark of courage inside me. I took two steps back, breathed deep, and went for it. I headed back to the table with a forced smile on my face—the kind you practice before opening the front door so no one notices your soul’s shaking.
He was there, sitting like nothing had happened. The second he saw me, he flashed a gentle smile.
“I ordered dessert for us,” he said, pointing at the menu. “Got a craving for… this flan here. Looks good.”
Flan. Like minutes ago he hadn’t just offered me money to fuck him. Like that number on the napkin hadn’t zapped through my head like lightning.
I glanced at the flan, nodded in approval, and cut straight to it.
“Vitor, I’m not upset about the offer, okay? That’s not it. I kinda… expected one day someone would proposition me like that. So I was, I don’t know, prepared. But… I don’t feel good about the idea. I just can’t.”
His expression didn’t change. He breathed slow, smiled faintly, and spoke with a calm I wasn’t expecting.
“No, of course not. I respect you. Maybe I wasn’t cool offering it like that. Too direct, maybe. Or bad timing.”
When I realized the offer was really slipping away, down the drain, that’s when it hit me hard. That cash… that insane amount would cover my whole month. And I wouldn’t even have to touch my clinic salary. I felt the regret build slow, like a new weight on my shoulders.
“It’s just… it was a lot of money, Vitor,” I confessed, staring at the flan, too chicken to look at him again. “That could’ve rented a girlfriend for a whole year. You know? I know I asked you how much a session costs, but now I’m curious. On average… how much do you usually spend?”
He thought for a few seconds, his gaze more serious now, like he was weighing his words.
“Depends. On the time, the setup, the girl. Say… a hundred fifty to two fifty. Could be more if it includes a place, travel, that stuff. But I’ve paid way more than that, yeah? It depends. Always does.”
The flan arrived at the table like it was no big deal. The waiter, way too attentive, cleared the plates politely, thanked us with a smile, and vanished, leaving us in that suspended bubble again where dessert and tension shared the same space. I picked up the spoon, distracted, when I felt his eyes on me. Vitor was watching with this almost clinical intensity, like he wanted to figure me out piece by piece.
He took a deep breath, shifted in his chair, and spoke low and firm:
“Look, Justine… I hate coming off like a jerk. For real. But I want this. And I want to sweeten the deal a bit more.”
My stomach flipped right then. My brain raced ahead of my heart: “More money? I ain’t worth that much.”
Before I could say a word, he kept going:
“You mentioned trouble with your dad. I get that. And I know if I just throw cash at you, you won’t take it. Right?”
“Yeah… I wouldn’t,” I lied, with the straightest face I could muster. Truth was, I would. For him, for my dad, for the fear of losing him, I’d take anything. But there’s this invisible rule, a social courtesy: you gotta pretend to have pride, even when everything inside is begging for help.
He nodded, like he already knew.
“I know you like me,” he said, pausing there. It seemed like that sentence cost him. “Maybe, if it was another way, I’d get what I want… without all this.”
I stayed quiet, but my eyes were on him. The argument wasn’t exactly airtight. But somehow… I wanted him to convince me.
He read my silence and pushed a little harder.
“So here’s the deal: you take the money. And we try. If it happens, it happens. If not, you give it back. No pressure. No strings. Just… a shot.”
I blinked slow. The spoon frozen, sunk into the flan without me taking a single bite. My mind spun, and suddenly a snap hit—an inner voice, sarcastic, slipping out unfiltered.
“Vitor, I get it. You don’t wanna pay for a hookup. You wanna corrupt me. That’s it? Some moral experiment? Where’s the hidden camera?”
He laughed. A light laugh, but tired.
“No camera. Just me. And you. And an offer on the table.”
He leaned back in his chair with that knowing little smirk, like he’d already won. But me? I’d already said yes. I hadn’t spelled it out, but my nervous smile, the way my hand still shook around the flan spoon, it all gave me away. Truth was, I’d surrendered inside—the whole body was screaming it, just my mouth clinging to some shred of dignity.
No one could know. Ever. This would be our secret. And just thinking about it made my stomach twist with excitement. Like I was doing something forbidden, wrong, dirty… and that’s exactly what made it so damn thrilling.
Then came the practical stuff. My mind switching back to “bossy Justine” mode.
“Okay, but… I got demands!” I said, trying to sound firm, but my voice came out thinner than I wanted.
“Feels like we’re haggling now?” he laughed, amused, like he found the whole thing cute.
“Condom. Always. Never without, got it?”
“Couldn’t agree more. I never fuck without one,” he replied without missing a beat, with that responsible vibe that gave me even more trust.
“And… I’m normal, okay? I’m not a porn star, I don’t know crazy positions, I don’t scream like a maniac. I’m… I don’t know, basic.”
“That’s perfect. I like real women. I can show you a few tricks,” he said with a light laugh, that charm making me squeeze my thighs under the table from nerves.
“And no eating my ass, alright. I saw your dick… it ain’t fitting without a miracle,” I added almost in a whisper, with a half-laugh, but dead serious.
His eyes went wide, hand to his chest, all dramatic.
“Guess we’ll have to knock down the price then…”
“Don’t even,” I rolled my eyes, but laughed with him, the nerves kinda melting away with the good humor.
But then came the final doubt. The toughest one.
“And the time? How’s that work? We haven’t talked about it.”
He got thoughtful. I’m sure in his head, the “market” had rules: two hours, one nut, bye. But that amount… what he’d offered wasn’t standard rate. It was something else. A different kind of deal.
“You stay… as long as you feel good, okay?”
That answer knocked me flat.
And even though I knew all this was wrong, dead wrong, deep down… it was exactly what I wanted to hear.
“And when do you want it?” I asked, almost like testing the idea out loud.
“Now. You want it now?” he shot back calmly.
“Now… like, leaving here?” my voice went high.
“Yeah. Now. We go to my place, yours, a motel, whatever… you pick.”
I breathed deep. My place was out—single room, dirty clothes on the floor, my sister maybe streaming. Motel gave me the creeps. Those spots brought back bitter memories of cheap nights, rough sheets, and grimy mirrors. Knowing where he lived, how he lived, felt more intimate… safer, maybe.
“Your place okay?”
“Sure, of course. I’ll pay the bill and we’re out.”
“But… you don’t live with your mom, right?”
He let out a light laugh.
“Nah. Live alone. And it’s got everything you need.”
Everything I need. That echoed in my head.
I stared at him in silence for a few seconds. There was one detail still bugging me, something small but nagging, and I had to say it.
“Vitor, I left the house today without thinking I’d meet anyone. Didn’t even get ready for this. Can it be tomorrow?”
I didn’t know if it was fear trying to protect me or guilt making one last stand before shutting up for good.
He looked at me with that teasing glint and replied, trying to sound serious:
“Only if tomorrow you promise to wear ratty panties too. The amount I offered… sorry, but it’s not even for you. It’s for the panties. Fetish!”
I laughed. Low, conspiratorial. Laughed because the tension had to escape somewhere. Because the situation was absurd, ridiculous, and delicious. He flagged the waiter, paid the bill like it was just coffee.
And I went off to prostitute myself.