Oldest Profession

  An industrial city, smoke and noise. Aged buildings, wood and plaster, unfamiliar style, some water damage.

  Noisy crowds, speaking in some language but it didn't matter, I could understand. Looked down: wearing some goofy clothes, starched shirt, jacket, not new but pretty good, a little fraying at the cuff. A skirt.

  Not long, shorter than all the others around. Flat shoes, thank God, I am shit at heels. No stockings though all the other women I could see wore them.

  Walked down the street, wondering where to start. Here to find a girl, help her, I remembered that much but not much more.

  Not who I was! Where I was. How I got here? Didn't even know what the girl would look like. Should have asked a few more questions, instead of sexing that woman up, I remembered that part.

  Typical, impulsive and careless, that was me to the core. How I'd died! On vacation, some country with public health, dirt poor. Got appendicitis, I remembered that, instead of flying back home I’d gone to a free clinic.

  They'd cut me open, sliced me up, pulled bits out, gotten me infected, put me in a ward with a dozen other sick women.

  Months passed, barely conscious, the other women came and went, healed or dead I never knew but I lingered.

  Finally got bedsores, pneumonia, died one night from drowning in my own fluid while the orderly did the crossword.

  Just walking, passing bars, shops, clothing stores fine and not so fine.

  One with something like silk, bright colors, scandalous designs. I studied the dress dummy in the window, off one shoulder and plunging neckline, open to the navel. Tiny skirt. Just my style!

  Got sour looks from passers-by. One man smiled, seemed to want to stop and talk but continued.

  Impulsively I went in, the door chimed somehow and an older gentleman fussing at a display looked up.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I want a job! Selling, designing, modeling? Even tidying up. I can do whatever you need." If this took more than a little while I'd need some way to eat.

  He had me stand tall, turn, examined my body with a professional eye. Looked me in the face, decided.

  "Consider this. Days in the shop, changing the dress dummies, helping customers. Evenings upstairs, entertaining. A one-week trial, then we'll reconsider."

  I put out my hand and he shook it, bemused. "You didn't even ask about the pay?"

  I shrugged, unconcerned. The clothes were not cheap, this had to pay enough to eat and that was all I needed right now.

  "Start right now. Show me what you can do" and a pair of women entered, a mature woman and a young thing in the first flush of adulthood.

  "Ma'am! What can I find for you? Or for your beautiful daughter! I'm sure we can fit you both with something that will show off your best features. So much to work with."

  And there was, her round hips and wide shoulders, graceful arms. Not a lot of tits but enough, the right bodice would make them look like an angel’s.

  The older woman looked cautious, but the younger was excited, ready and willing. She was dressed like a schoolgirl, but with curves that tested their limits, new curves.

  "Let’s take you back, get you out of this. Into something flattering. Discover your best self. Show off a little!"

  Giggling, embarrassed but willing, we headed back to what was surely a fitting room.

  Dresses on racks, I rifled through, found three that would fit. All were party dresses, brief and charming which meant they showed lots of tit, lots of shoulder, lots of leg.

  I helped the girl out of her clothes, quick professional movements, confident, had her stripped naked in seconds. She stood, smiling, shaking a little, ready for this to be exciting.

  Bunch up the dress, slide it over her upraised arms, settle it down, it fit like a glove.

  The girl tried to settle the straps over her shoulders but they went on the side, exposed her entirely from the nipples up.

  Adjust, tug down, reach in and tug new breasts up to expose a little brown, nips obvious but not really stuck out.

  Snug the bottom over her hips, get it straight, skirt flirting with her thighs, a little breeze and she'd be showing the world her fresh brown fuzz.

  Perfect.

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  The older lady was admiring her, ready to be upset but on second thought nodding.

  "A coming-out, she’s just graduated, ready to find a place in society. I think this will do fine." She approved; this young creature would lure a mate like, like those flitters to the cesspool she thought for some reason.

  "Do you like it darling? Will this suit your purpose? Do we need to look any further?" They could try more dresses but what was the point, it was all about the young body and not the silk, she could hardly show more skin than this without being entirely naked.

  And she was admiring herself in the brass mirror, turning this way and that, lifting a knee, looking over her shoulder coquettishly. Working it, making it work. Yes! This would do fine.

  I sent them out to deal with the proprietor, bundled up her obsolete school clothes in a plain paper bundle. Went out to find the Boss fitting her with a jacket, to wear in public, so she could do the big reveal at the party, stun her partner to insensibility in front of a crowd.

  All theatre! I remembered that part, it was all about the show.

  They paid in some kind of ivory tablet, not familiar, gonna have to work out what that was about once I got paid. Never mind, more customers walked in.

  A long day, my face hurt, a smile just pasted on now, weary. So many people to please! Once the first customer told her friends, young women and their mothers were lining up.

  The proprietor was pleased too, just nodded and smiled and piled up the ducats.

  "You've done well today. Nothing like a pretty girl to sell clothes to a pretty girl. But not so pretty as them, not so young, old enough to appear knowledgeable, competent. I bless the moment you walked in."

  I felt that, could feel a blessing now like a warm summer breeze, on my skin.

  Funny, I'd felt that before but never regarded it, never attended. It made some things come into focus.

  Why I felt so warm and safe with my grand aunt, the one who wore men's clothes and smoked cigars.

  Why I'd always felt a chill at school, not got along with classmates. Why I liked crowds and lights and pleasing people, pleasing men, making them want me.

  "What next? You mentioned a place for me, upstairs? I'm tired and I think I'll need to go to bed soon."

  He smiled, agreed, going to bed now was a splendid idea.

  Closed the shop, turned a sign in the window, three-sided, one side said Open, one Closed, one said something else I didn't know.

  Led me to a closet in the fitting room, really a stairwell once you opened it, took me up to a hallway with doors along both sides.

  Not unlike the hallway behind the casino, no elves hanging out smoking but it smelled of smoke.

  I had a sudden understanding.

  "What's my cut?" and he smiled and nodded, we were talking money now, talking his language.

  "Seven for each customer for each hour, twenty-five for an evening. You keep two of seven, six of twenty-five.

  “You'll have a room, keep it clean, clean after every customer. Open the peephole when you're ready; close it while entertaining.

  “After three or more, you decide, at least three each night, slide the peephole shut, closed for the evening."

  And she could see a slot in each door, some were slid open, you could look in. She peered in one, saw a lady on a divan, relaxing, reading something, bored. Naked. Rouge on her lips, her cheeks, her nipples, her crotch.

  She looked up, smiled a tired smile, beckoned with her head, Come in! I backed away, knew my understanding was right.

  "Three for every customer after the second; eight of twenty-five. Else I'll find somewhere else to lay my head."

  He frowned, but clearly he was hard up, an empty room? Losing money every night, even at my rate he would have more my way, more than nothing.

  He nodded, curt. Pushed a door open, let me enter, pulled it closed fast behind me.

  My room, my boudoir, was a chamber maybe sixteen by twenty, dominated by a large covered bed. Not opulent, but draped in colorful fabric, enough to give the impression of luxury.

  It would do, the customers weren't going to be examining the fittings and fixtures closely, not those fixtures.

  This role was just more theatre, meant to give me something to do until I met my little sociopath. I didn't mind, it was simple, straightforward, might even be pleasurable. I'd had a secret fantasy since I could imagine such things. To be used! To be an object for another's lustful exertions! Could be fun. I suspected it could also be boring; the other girl had been bored. Probably got samey after a while, slam bam thank-you ma'am.

  I could do something about that. The elf-whore had shown me the way.

  Engage, come up with a fantasy, act it out. That elf-sex hadn't been fantasy, it had been all too real. But here in this room I could be an unruly maid, a secret lover, a demanding aunt, whatever the client wished.

  Investigating, there was a little chamber behind the bed, just a toilet and sink, some towels, some lotion in small jars. Enough.

  I stripped and washed, removed the sweat of the day. Dabbed on some sweet-smelling unguents. Wrapped up in the robe provided.

  Out to the bedchamber, my stage. Arranged the bedclothes, practiced lounging in a seductive way. Carelessly open robe; nonchalant splay of legs, just wide enough to glimpse something.

  Once I was sure, confident, I got up, slid the peephole open. Peered out - yes there were people out there, early arrivals.

  An excited thrill ran up my back, gave me a chill. I bundled up, returned to the bed, arranged myself.

  It didn't take long; they were coming faster now, the hallway getting noisy.

  Young silly ones, running from door to door, peering in. I ignored them, let them look but didn't spare them a glance. Waited, knowing how to get a serious customer, someone who was ready to engage and not just pump-and-spew.

  I heard other doors open, happy exclamations, some laughter, doors close.

  Finally some eyes appeared at my peephole, and lingered. Watched me not-watching him. Went away; returned.

  This one. I looked up, uncaring, met his gaze for the first time. Gave a look of mild recognition. Assumed a pleasant expression, not inviting but accepting.

  "You can see better from the divan."

  He blinked, not used to being challenged. Decided he liked it, smiled with his eyes. He opened the door and came in, closed it behind, slid the peephole shut. A regular? He knew the drill anyway.

  And miracle of miracles, he went to the divan, sat, leaned back and just looked.

  So, give him a show. I scooted up, to get a better look at him but careful to let my robe ride down, expose my breasts, one nipple. Gathered it carelessly, tugged it closed but failed, let it be. Tilted my head, appraising.

  Not yet middle-aged, in good clothes but rumpled. A bachelor.

  Some money, he could afford seven anyway, seven what I wasn't yet sure.

  Could take his time, from meet-and-greet to bump-and-grind at his own pace. He didn't speak, just let his gaze drop from my face to my shoulders, my breast. Linger; then to my hip, exposed by the unregarded robe.

  I raised one knee, let it fall away, showed him an entire leg, my bare foot. He spent some time admiring that.

  "Let's play a little game? I'll be your secretary, your housekeeper, your cousin. Your sister! Back after some long time apart, glad to reconnect, to share stories. Re-familiarize. Tell of conquests and adventure. I'll tell you what I've been up to!"

  He started at his 'sister', that connected, I could work with that.

  This was gonna work out fine.