Devil's Work - Sex Stories

Devil's Work

... the way. Probably faster." He passed up a handful of bills but the Driver waved them away. "Keep it," he said. James blinked. A cabbie never turned down cash. It was like a shark deciding it wasn't interested in fresh blood. But the Driver insisted. "My treat. Take Nakia somewhere nice. Somewhere air-conditioned." The cab rumbled off. James walked to work, his polished shoes grinding the black spots of ancient, discarded gum deeper into the sidewalk. It would have felt nice to take off his jacket, but he didn't dare. In a crowd of naked arms and bare backs, he wanted most of all to be covered. *** Wednesday night. Neither the heat nor the traffic eased with sunset. James saw the Driver parked in front of his office, engine idling. He got in. The Driver turned on the meter. "Missed you this morning," he said. "I walked." "The whole way? S'not good for you, man. This heat kills." Sweat rolled down James' temples. The Driver pulled out but before he made the first turn James stopped him. "Don't take me home yet," he said. "Take me here." He passed the Driver a card with an address scribbled on it. The Driver seemed to eye him behind his sunglasses, then shrugged and turned the other way. "You know, this isn't that far away," he said. "You could have walked again." "Didn't feel like it," James said. It was only a six minute ride. The Driver stopped in front of a narrow building on the edge of Chinatown with a faded marquee reading: "SPA," and beneath that "MASSAGE" in red neon ...

... letters. A gate covered the entrance, but a hand-lettered sign taped to it read "Ring bell, then pull." James paid the Driver without saying anything. The Driver put a hand on his shoulder before he got out. "You know what kind of place this is, right?" James cleaned the lint off his glasses. "I'm not an idiot." "Rallying cry of every idiot since the dawn of time," the Driver said. "I'll wait for ya." "You'll miss other fares." "Pal, I wouldn't miss this for the world." James rang the bell but the gate didn't budge. He tried again; still nothing. He looked up and down the block, anxious that the approaching pedestrians would get close enough to see his face. Finally he heard a click and the gate opened. He darted inside and up narrow, carpeted steps. An electric fan propped up on a stack of paperback books blew cool air on him as he ascended. An older woman worked the front desk. She looked him up and down, but only for a second. "Been here before?" she asked. James shook his head. "Sixty dollar," the woman said. "That's all?" James said, then felt stupid immediately. "Pay more later if you want," the woman said, and led him to one of a series of small, bedroom-like cubicles, with curtains over the open doorways and black construction paper taped over the exterior window. No one else was here, but he was instructed to undress and lie down, and then the old woman left. James turned away from the mirror as he removed his clothes. Lying face down with a too-small towel covering ...