Jen's Coincidental Prostitution

 

5.30am, I am drunk, the sun is shining purple and I’m preparing tea for this random stranger in my kitchen. „Did you paint this picture?“, he asks, pointing at the framed Picasso print in my kitchen. Obviously I haven’t, it’s a Picasso. Such a strange coincidence. He’s the third guy who asks me the same question. Do they know it’s a Picasso, but they try to be flattering? It’s a little ironic, because the other paintings in the kitchen and hallway are actually my own paintings. But if a person can’t even recognise a Picasso, there is no point in starting a discussion about art. Generally speaking, far too few of the guys who enter my kitchen are able to have a worthwhile discussion about art with me.

 

Like this dude. God knows why I even let him pay for my drink at the club in the first place. Well, actually I do know. It was because the cocktails at this place were totally overpriced. Still. Letting a guy pay for your drink means you’re trapped. You can’t just wander off and say “bye”. You need to stick around for some time, listen to their palaver and smile nicely. Guys talk an awful lot when they are nervous. Most guys who try to hit on a girl in a club are somewhat nervous. And if not, it can be a fun game to make them get nervous. But yeah, then you got to listen to them.

 

Nervous guys also tend to ask very few questions. Sometimes I wonder if that’s because they assume the woman doesn’t have anything interesting to tell or if it is because they are so scared to be intimidated by the woman and her achievements. These are the only two explanations I can come up with and both kind of suck. I want to be a feminist, so a couple of times I (without being asked) dropped that “I am a PhD student at UCL. In Art History, you know”. Awkward silence. No question back. And then they would keep on rambling about their own career and their political views and all that. Really, there is no point in emphasising that you’re an actual (and maybe even smart) person when a guy has already decided to see you as a sex object.

 

Back to this guy and how he ended up at my house. After he paid for my drink, I was stuck for so long with him that all my friends went home in the meantime. A few more drinks appeared out of nowhere, we danced (the only way to stop him talking) and don’t ask me how, suddenly I felt his tongue in between my lips. Slightly dizzy from the drinks (not from his kiss, it wasn’t that mind blowing) I checked my watch. Damn, 5am. No chance to get home by public transport and the taxi fare is easily 30 pounds. As if he read my mind, he asks whether he should drop me home on the way to his place. I say “yes, sure” hoping that he won’t make attempts to stay over at my house, but suspecting that he will.

 

I fell asleep in the cab and when I woke up, his arm was tightly laid around me and he was paying the driver. The car was in front of my house. “Get out”, he said in a somewhat featureless voice. In the crack of dawn, I looked at his face and found it even less attractive than earlier in the club. Maybe the alcohol was also losing its effects already, I don’t know. Such an embarrassing situation. Now he had paid already and I didn't feel like telling him that he can’t come up into my flat with me. I wanted to be alone, just go to bed. But how to get rid of a guy who just paid all the bills for my drinks and then even the cab back home? Such an annoyance of nights out. So I said nicely, “can I offer you a cup of tea upstairs?”. “Sure”, he replied with a smirk, touching my ass as I got off the cab. “Just a cup of tea and then I’ll firmly send him back home” I swore to myself.

 

So now you know how he ended up in my flat, commenting on my Picasso. I take a closer look at him. He has money, that I can tell. No idea about art and no sense of style though. What a pity. He doesn’t have a genuine interest in me as a person, all he wants is to end his night inside a warm and wet pussy. He looks at me questioningly. “Did you paint this picture?” he repeats and knocks me out of my train of thoughts. “Yes”, I say and give him a fake smile. He takes the tea cups which I had just taken from the shelf out of my hands, kisses me and presses me against the wall. “Well, now it’s too late to say no”, I think to myself. Next time, I’ll pay for my drinks myself.

 

(Photos: Unsplash.com, David Drebin)

 

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