Sample: The Ugly One
The shirt didn’t fit, of course. I sighed. I didn’t have time to get a new custom one, even if I know where to find a good tailor in Carson City. I stared at my old shirt. No way I was going to get that stain out either. I tugged at the right sleeve of the new one, trying to stretch it over the remaining inch to my wrist. No go. Maybe I should have bought the larger shirt, I mused. Except that the extra length on my left wrist got in the way, which was far more annoying than being too short on the right. I sighed and continued getting dressed.
Some anthropologists once did a comprehensive survey of what human cultures considered beautiful. There was one consistent trait—symmetry. Every human culture in existence said that the person with symmetric physical features was the beautiful one.
I’m the ugly one.
Of course I’d done what I could to fix that. The braces had cost a fortune in my early twenties when I was barely making a dime. Years of experimentation had finally found a decent treatment for the acne that had threatened to overwhelm every inch of my face as a kid. I’d learned to dress to hide most of my deformities. But some things just couldn’t be hidden.
There was nothing I could do about my eyes or ears. They were uneven in opposite directions—the left ear and right eye both higher than their partner and unevenly spaced from my nose.
My nose. I sighed thinking about it. The plastic surgeon had quoted a very high price due to issues with my septum. I hoped today’s use for that money was worth passing that up.
At least modern fashion helped. I’d shaved my head as soon as it became fashionable for men. True, I had a lumpy skull, but it was better than the patchy straw hair that stuck every which way. The mustache and goatee concealed the deformities in my lips. I’d missed a cleft palate by the barest of points in the genetic lottery.
I gave up tugging on my shirt sleeves and reached for my pants. Clothes were my saving grace—they had to be since they had to be custom made. The extra heel height in my left shoe balanced out my height and helped my walk look more normal. The extensive scars across my abdomen from childhood surgeries were discreetly hidden away. I put my glasses on and I glanced in the mirror. I looked as good as I ever would.
I found Kit Kat Lane with little trouble. Parking the rental car, I headed up the walk. I took a deep breath before ringing the bell. The gate buzzed and swung open. I swallowed my nervousness and headed up to the main building.
They were still assembling the line-up as I entered. The house mom almost covered her shocked look on seeing me. Not all the girls were as successful.
“Welcome to Fantasy Ranch,” the house mom said, stopping just far enough back to discourage any handshake or other greeting. “May I introduce our ladies?”
I nodded and she began.
I really didn’t track their names. Ten courtesans had lined up, in various ethnicities and hair colors and clothing styles. I scanned their faces. Most avoided meeting my eyes. Two had pasted on obvious plastic smiles. Finally a brunette actually looked at me and didn’t look away. I pointed to her and the line dissipated much faster than it had formed. I followed the brunette to her room.
“So what would you like, handsome?” She almost kept the irony out of her voice on the last word.
“I’d like a blowjob and intercourse with multiple positions.”
“Condom’s required for the blowjob.”
“I know Nevada regulations,” I replied. “I was thinking doggie and cowgirl for the positions.” Two positions that didn’t place her head close to mine. I’d learned. When I took my glasses off, her face would be enough of a blur that I could pretend she was enjoying the sex.
“Sounds good,” she purred. “Two thousand dollars.”
“Two thousand! That’s five times the usual rate for that type of party!”
She shrugged. “I’m worth it.”
“Porn stars are less!”
She studied her nails. I realized that she didn’t think I had a choice.
“Take me back to the bar,” I ordered. She looked mildly regretful but didn’t argue.
I sat and fumed at the bar through two beers. None of the other girls approached me. Finally I loosened up and started looking around. Actually, there weren’t that many ladies in the parlor, I realized, and those that were were sitting and talking with other clients. If I was being shunned, it was by women who had the decency to at least flee to the back.
A petite Asian’s laugh caught my attention. She was blushing and starting to stand along with her conversation partner. He was grinning as she took his hand and led him towards the back. They squeezed past a busty blonde I hadn’t seen before. She had just emerged and was surveying the room. Her eyes met mine and she smiled. Something made me look away. I took another swig of beer and studied the wood grain of the bar.
“May I join you?”
I glanced over at her and nodded. The blonde slid onto the stool next to me.
“Waiting for someone?” she asked.
“Nah. I got price walked and I haven’t decided if I want to give up and go home yet.”
“Did you try one of the other girls?”
“No. She was the only one that looked interested in partying with me in the line-up, and I wasn’t ready to get walked a second time.”
“Hmmm,” she said.
A glass of something had appeared in front of the blonde while I was staring ahead, talking without really looking at her. It was clear, with bubbles. I guessed 7-Up. She toyed with it, as if in no hurry to go on with the conversation nor no hurry to leave. I pushed my empty beer bottle away and tugged at my sleeves again.
“So what type of party were you looking for?” the blonde casually asked. She sounded genuinely curious instead of merely opening negotiations.
“Pretty much a straight half and half,” I replied, and then added, “she wanted two grand.”
That stunned the blonde.
“Two grand? Outrageous! You needed to walk for that!”
“No kidding,” I said. “But it’s not the first time I’ve been quoted a high price.”
I sighed. “I’ve been here—Nevada that is—twice before.” The words were starting to spill out.
“The first time I was twenty-five and I was so desperate to lose my virginity that I went ahead and paid far more than I should have. The second time, I got smart and did a lot of research over the internet first. I toured the brothels and talked to maybe a dozen ladies. The lowest price I was offered was twice the going rate. I gave up in disgust and went home.”
“Ouch! So why did you come back?”
I swallowed hard. I was saying more than I intended but the words weren’t going to stop.
“Today’s my thirtieth birthday. I was hoping to make it something to remember.” She nodded in understanding.
“So what would make it memorable?”
I paused and thought for a while.
“Well,” I began, “obviously getting laid would be part of it. I’ve had sex only four times in my life even though I’ve got a high hormonal drive. Past the basics, it would be nice if just once the woman would initiate things. Mostly I just want to be able to pretend she’s enjoying it.”
“Did the other women?” she asked, almost innocuously.
My throat caught again. Why was I telling her all this? She was asking, I realized. An attractive woman was asking me something.
“The first time, in a brothel, no. Her acting was a little too transparent. Two of the other times, the woman were drunk. They seemed to enjoy it at the time, but made a fast getaway in the morning. I found out later that the last woman had slept with me on a dare.”
The blonde stiffened, but didn’t say anything immediately. “Doesn’t sound fun,” she eventually commented.
“Nope.” I motioned to the bartender for another drink. The blonde took another sip of hers and we sat in silence for a while.
“You know,” the blonde began, “I bet you could get a reasonable price if you asked around,” I whipped my head around and stared at her. She was obviously serious.
“Would you give me a good price?” I challenged.
“Sure!” She was smiling.
I sat, stunned a little.
“My name’s Tamara,” she said, extending her hand.
I grasped it.
“Well, John, shall we head to the back?”
I nodded dumbly and then let her lead me toward the hall.
Tamara did give me a good price—right on the internet average. While she went to book with the house, I sat and surveyed her room. It was very tastefully but generically decorated. Whatever personal effects she might have were tucked away. Except for an anatomy textbook. I picked it up and thumbed through it, noting the extensive highlights and margin notes up to where the bookmark demarcated virgin text. The door started to open so I quickly set the book down and tried to look innocent sitting on the bed.
Tamara smiled as she approached. She pushed my knees apart and stood between them, inches away. I started to breathe harder.
“So, John, would you like to undress me?” I gulped and nodded and began fumbling with her top. When I’d gotten it off, she pulled my head to her breasts, encouraging me to kiss and lick. I sighed in delight at her softness and taste. After a few long minutes, Tamara gently pulled my head back. She flicked her eyes lower, reminding me I had more to do. I unhooked her skirt and let it fall. Tamara squirmed a little as I fondled her ass, apparently enjoying it, which surprised me. Then I slowly slid her g-string down. She stepped out of it and backed up.
“Do you like?” she teased, striking a few poses.
“Your turn!” she reached for my shirt. I started to take my glasses off but Tamara stopped me.
“No, you’ll want to watch.”
I bit my lip to avoid arguing and then my misgivings were shoved aside as Tamara finished removing my shirt. She saw my scars and gasped. I looked away, studying the far wall.Then I felt her hand on my chest. Tamara was lightly touching me.
She was tracing my scars with her fingers.
I looked down. Tamara was intently studying my chest, her eyes full of wonder.
“Childhood surgeries,” I said. “My bones didn’t grow right.”
“The surgeries helped?”
“Well, there’s a lot of metal in me now,” I admitted.
“Wow,” was all she said.
I sat, feeling more and more uncomfortable as she studied my deformities. After a moment, Tamara noticed my discomfort.
“Lie back,” she commanded.
As I did, she quickly stripped my pants off and then crawled onto the bed. We shifted around until we were lying side by side. Her head was near my shoulder and she was still smiling, which felt strange. It was uncomfortable to see her so close. I still had my glasses on, I realized. I started to reach for them but Tamara’s hands on my chest distracted me once again.
“May I?” she asked.
I nodded, confused, but Tamara took that as a sign of assent. She began tracing my scars, muttering under her breath. I caught snippets of medical terms. She slowly worked her way south.
“Now here’s a bone that’s in good shape!” Tamara said, grabbing my erection.
I groaned. Yes, I was hard. Tamara grinned up at me and then displayed a condom she’d gotten from nowhere. In a flash it was on me and then so was her mouth. I sighed and laid back, staring at the ceiling.
I still didn’t get blowjobs. What Tamara was doing felt good, really good, but more like a special massage than something that was going to make me come. Maybe I hadn’t had enough of them, I mused. They were just so prevalent in the porn I’d read that I couldn’t imagine not asking for one. And they did feel good enough to get me hard.
I realized Tamara had stopped. She’d sensed my mental checkout and was patiently waiting for my return.
“Should I continue?” she asked.
I gave an ambivalent nod and Tamara gave me a few more sucks before quitting and straddling me.
I gasped as she sank down, the warmth and slickness around my cock a near shock. She squeezed her Kegel muscles, causing me to gasp again. Then she slid up and down. In just a few strokes, it was over. I was gasping and coming and shooting like a madman.
I closed my eyes. Gawd, I couldn’t believe I had come so fast. How embarrassing. This wasn’t at all like it was supposed to be! I could feel Tamara removing the condom and cleaning me up while I brooded. I should have asked for multiple comes, I realized. Damn. Damn damn damn.
Tamara’s weight pulled the bed down, as she lay beside me.
“John,” she whispered, “it’s alright.”
“Not it’s not!” I cried. “How the hell am I supposed to get any good at this if I come within 30 seconds??”
“It’s still alright,” she said, and then slowly began rubbing my chest.
“God damn it! No it’s not! If I can’t do it with you, how the hell can I ever be good enough for anyone else?”
Tamara snuggled in, never taking her hand from my chest.
“I… I’m here… I’m here not just because it’s my birthday, but because I was hoping to get a little better at sex. I thought that maybe some skill could compensate for my looks!” Oh gawd, once again I couldn’t stop the words.
“A lot of it is my therapist’s advice,” I continued. “She says I’m not as ugly as I think I am and that what I really need is some more self-confidence around women. She said it was my body language and not my body that was unattractive.”
“Your therapist suggested you come to a brothel?”
I shrugged. “I thought it would be a good practice run before spending some time with real women.”
I blanched at my unintended insult but she wasn’t perturbed. “Besides,” I quickly continued, “it is my birthday.”
I must have looked pathetic and all hang dog just then because Tamara did something that completely shocked me. She kissed my cheek.
Then she just cuddled in and held me.
We lay there for a long time. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed being held until that moment. Just her skin against mine. Her warmth. The gentle touch. I ached at the thought of it ever ending.
But of course it had to. The buzzer sounded. I looked over and saw the speaker for an intercom. Tamara took a deep breath and looked apologetic.
“We need to either extend or call it an evening,” she said.
“Well… I’d like to extend,” I admitted, “but I don’t know how long I can afford.”
“How much do you have?”
I hesitated. Then I remembered the way she had caressed my chest. I wanted—no I needed—more of that kind of touch.
“Three thousand,” I admitted.
“So you could have afforded that first girl,” she mused.
“Yeah, but I wanted something more than getting ripped off.”
Tamara smiled. “Let me see what I can do,” she said, bounding out of bed and throwing on a robe. She nodded and murmured a thank you when I handed her the cash.
“Back soon,” she said as she slipped out the door to go talk to the house mom.
I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. What was I doing? Handing over all my cash in one shoot because a hooker had been nice to me? Because she hadn’t been repulsed by my hideousness?
She’d reached over and caressed my chest. She’d traced my scars with her fingers. She’d touched me. I hadn’t paid her for that.
I was still lying there lost in my thoughts when the door opened. Tamara stepped in and smiled.
“Can you stay until morning?” she asked.
I checked the clock and did a quick mental calculation. She was offering me a deal!
“Good. Now in honor of your birthday, I’ve got another surprise. Close your eyes!”
I did and heard the door open and close once again. Moments later there was weight on the bed and I could sense Tamara kneeling beside me. She began caressing my arms and chest. Then she ran one hand behind my head and began lightly stroking my skull. Another hand played with my right nipple. Fingers began to dance along my shaft and another hand lightly cupped my balls.
Wait. Too many hands.
I opened my eyes. Tamara was indeed kneeling next to me, caressing my head and chest. Crouched between my legs was another blonde I’d never seen. I looked at Tamara in surprise.
“Happy birthday,” she said. “Meet Summer.”
“Hi,” Summer said, still fondling my now hard cock.
I nodded and she produced a condom which she proceeded to roll onto me using her mouth. She began to bob and suck with such skill that I couldn’t tell that there was any barrier between us. Then Tamara leaned over and began kissing my chest. She worked her way up to my face, and removed my glasses. Then she held her breasts within reach of my mouth. I didn’t hesitate.
While I was nuzzling Tamara’s breasts, I felt a shift down below. First a tightness and then a greater warmth. I let out a gasp and Tamara pulled back so I could watch Summer raising and lowering herself on my cock.
Of course, I couldn’t see her clearly, but her enthusiasm, from what I could tell, was first rate. She was gasping and breathing deeply as she continued to fuck me hard. Tamara reached out and began caressing Summer’s breast. I reached up and stroked Tamara’s thigh. She parted her legs, giving me greater access, but she never let up on touching my upper body with her fingers. Then Tamara leaned forward and began lightly licking Summer’s nipples. Both Summer and I groaned simultaneously.
“You go, girl,” Summer growled, now clearly grinding me to her own rhythm instead of mine.
I watched as Tamara slowly kissed and suckled every inch of Summer’s cleavage and the curve of her breasts. Summer leaned back, pulling Tamara off balance. She shifted and straddled my head.
I gulped as Tamara’s pussy filled my view. I tentatively kissed her thigh and she wiggled slightly. So I pulled my head up and stuck my tongue out for a taste. She tasted fine—salty and juicy. I started to lick haphazardly until my neck got sore and I had to flop my head back on the bed.
Tamara pulled off of me. “Not bad,” she said with a grin.
Summer was still grinding. “Ready for a new position?” she asked. I nodded and then Summer pulled off of me and stretched out to the other side of me from Tamara. Somehow she slid the condom off, replacing it with a new one.
“I want to watch you fuck Tamara,” she purred into my ear.
“Oh yeah,” Tamara purred into the other one. I gulped and rolled to look at Tamara. It was jarring to see her face this close, but she was smiling. Her eyes had a devilish twinkle, but she was still smiling.
“Roll on top of me,” she demanded.
I pulled myself onto my hands and knees over her. I started to sweat. This wasn’t familiar to me. I felt Summer lining my cock up with Tamara’s opening.
I shifted my weight onto my elbows, which brought my face inches from hers. Tamara was still smiling. She started to clench and release my cock. I groaned and began to thrust. Then Summer lay down beside us. She too was grinning. As I started to build a rhythm, Summer began whispering in my ear.
“Doesn’t Tamara’s pussy feel great? Don’t you love fucking her? Isn’t she hot?”
I initially tried to reply, but only gasps came out. Summer continued whispering in my ear and Tamara clamped down hard on my cock. The combination was too much and with a gasp, I was coming again. This time hard—my vision fuzzed and I barely caught myself before collapsing completely on Tamara. Finally I rolled to one side. Summer leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Then she kissed Tamara on the lips. I could only watch as she quickly dressed and slipped out the door.
“Wow,” I panted, finally recovered enough for words. “That was incredible!”
“Well, happy birthday,” Tamara replied, obviously pleased.
“I really don’t want to go home,” I sighed.
“Where’s home?” she asked.
“Denver,” I said.
Tamara did a double take.
“What part?” she asked.
“Lakewood. Near Red Rocks.”
“I live in Wash Park,” Tamara said quietly.
It was my turn to do a double take.
“I’m going to the CU med school,” she continued. “I work here during the summers and vacations to pay for it.”
I continued to stare at her in surprise.
“That’s why I find your scars interesting,” she continued. “You must have been through a lot as a kid.”
“The surgeries were rough,” I admitted, “but ultimately not that bad. I mean, they were painful and all, but I learned to deal with the physical pain. They had pretty good drugs for that and I always knew it was going to end. Also, the doctors were pretty good about explaining each surgery before we began. The medical establishment treated me better than other places.”
“What other places?” she asked.
I sighed. “Junior high was hell. In high school we read Lord of the Flies and I thought, ‘Golding has this wrong. You don’t need to go to a deserted island to see this. You just have to go to an American junior high school.’”
Tamara was incredibly tense as I spoke. She stared off into space, lost in her thoughts. Then she turned and looked at me.
“John,” she began, “can I ask you for a favor? If I give you my personal phone number, will you call me in two weeks when I’m back in Colorado?”
“Uhhh… sure, I guess.”
“Thanks,” she replied, squeezing my hand. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
I nodded, a little confused by this turn of events.
“I’ll give it to you in the morning,” she said, reaching over to turn out the light before snuggling in.
I lay there in the dark for some time. An incredibly beautiful woman was snuggled against me when she didn’t have to be. I hadn’t paid her for this. And she wasn’t repulsed.
I lay there. She still didn’t pull away. Eventually sleep arrived.
Want more The Ugly One?
Some anthropologists once did a comprehensive survey of what human cultures considered beautiful. There was one consistent: trait—symmetry. Every human culture in existence said that the person with symmetric physical features was the beautiful one. I’m the ugly one, reduced to going to brothels for sex.
At least that’s what I thought until I met a beautiful courtesan who offered me a deal. Help her with her son, and she’d help me learn to be with women. Could it make me more attractive? Could it lead to love?