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Four Floors

Posted on April 27, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

It was a legend. It was reality. It was everything that the boy-men visiting could hope for and it was the only place to go to in a city that held few delights for those not interested in steel or the stink of another ship pulling into dock. It was the only game in a town without a stadium and everybody flocked to the building like true believers making the mandatory pilgrimage. They came from all over, different races from far flung places dropped anchor and rushed ashore on rubbery legs. Some stayed back to supervise the unloading while the others walked or took cabs to the only place they had dreamed of during their last twenty four hours at sea.

They called it many things but the most common name was ‘Four Floors Of Whores.’ It was catchy and perfectly descriptive. It was the type of name that filled the young sailor with anticipation and the seasoned traveler with something to look forward to at the end of a long journey. It was a slightly rundown building on the corner of Alfred Street and Tom Hawk Avenue. Strange names for an Eastern city but nobody thought about things like that. Everybody had already heard the stories. They were all well informed by a legend, equal parts hyperbole and truth, about what went on within the four walls of Madam Poon’s Exotic World of Pleasure. Guys who had frequented the establishment a few times liked to agree that Four Floors of Whores was more appropriate.

To the newbie, the deep red walls, the velvet curtains, the lanterns of different hues and materials helped set the stage for the main course.

On every floor behind every door lay/lounged/stood/was bent over a woman or girl, anywhere between ‘sixteen’ and forty, well-schooled in the art of giving pleasure and eager to accommodate the next customer that walked through her doors. Between sessions, each woman was allowed to walk the halls, canvas for potential clients or just take a few minutes, savour a cigarette and watch the goings on with a disdainfully jaundiced eye.

When a customer walked into the place he was greeted by a bank of four elevators. Each elevator only stopped at one floor and the girls from a particular floor were not encouraged to socialize with the others.

First floor was the straight stuff. Good clean sex for the newbie and the tired. Nothing fancy, no frills, affordable pricing and no extra perks.

On the second floor they had the shows. Pole/lap/exotic dances, cross-dressing cabarets, transgender/transsexual performances and all the attendant sex that went with it.

The third floor was where the fetishists went. It was also possibly the only floor female clients frequented. There was the cuckold area, the domination room as well as the shop for purchasing of exotic items of adornment and punishment.

The fourth floor was for those who had money to spend. It was the highest of the high class and every girl who worked on the floor was a millionaire (some several times over). Unless death or extreme bodily disfigurement was requested, few things were taboo on the fourth floor. More often than not, clients had to be pre-vetted and have been regulars of at least two of the three lower floors before they were even allowed access to Floor Four. It cost a thousand dollars, US, to simply walk around the floor. It afforded a patron the ability to get a drink or six (alcohol was rarely billed by the glass or bottle) and catch glimpses of what went on behind closed doors. He could then fork over his credit card and spend as much time deriving pleasure as his credit limit could handle.

The women on the floor were beautiful, their technique impeccable and global recommendations brought a steady stream of new customers from far away places.

On the ground floor itself, almost as soon as a person had stepped into the over air-conditioned lobby, a client found himself surrounded by beautiful women at the newsstand, café, cigar bar and understated gambling tables. They weren’t high stakes games but it was as good a place as any for a man to start losing money in Madam Poon’s Exotic World of Pleasure. Nobody went too long without a girl was attempting to entice him with promises of unexperienced pleasures. They were nice about it, seductive even but there was no hesitation when it came to naming a price. Even though it was very clear that almost no one was there for the coffee or the card games the girls were encouraged to solicit. Even the ones on the fourth floor.

Mae Ling was one of the girls from the fourth floor who had her own devout fan following. Salarymen from Japan, oil tycoons from Russia, an industrialist from India and several businessmen from Europe and America flew in for a highly-priced weekend in her company. She was popular enough for a waiting list to exist with her name at the top. Even so, though theirs was an extremely competitive world, the girls on Floor Four loved her.

They teased her about her name.

Her first name was Erin and every so often, one of her floor mates would whisper as she walked by with a john in tow, “E. Mae Ling has killed the art of letter writing,” giggle softly and disappear before Mae Ling had the chance to retort.

They teased her about her clumsiness. It was a well known fact around the floor and even in the lobby that Mae Ling could knock over a forty ton statue if she was left alone with it for more than a minute. Cutlery rarely survived a week in her presence and she had tripped over so many carpet corners, extended feet and shoelaces that Madam Adams, the manager of the floor had insisted on padding every edge and corner so that she could go about her business without sporting all the bruises she would have accumulated from simply walking around. As clumsy as she was out of the boudoir, that’s just how skilled she was at work. It was why a certain kind of man requested her repeatedly after a single sampling.

One afternoon while the heat outside their air-conditioned bubble was threatening to crush the life out of the sailors and dockworkers Mae Ling stepped onto the lobby floor and did a walk around. She had completed an elaborate role-playing session with one of her favourite Salarymen which had resulted in severe rug-burn for him and a tremendous cardiovascular workout for her. Over and above the forty percent cut she would receive from the fee he had paid she was enjoying the gentle bite of the ten hundred dollar bills he had rolled up and tucked into the waistband of her thong against her hip. She had discarded the school girl outfit he had requested, along with the fuzzy pink scrunchies that had held her blonde pigtails in place. But she was till wearing the thong since it was the only item of clothing still dry from her exertions of an hour ago.

She was a little wobbly from the session but eager to return to work. It was the effect of authentication a girl received when a client tipped over and above the money he paid for her services. It egged her on to get more work. It was that reason and that reason alone that prevented the floor managers from demanding the girls turn in their tips to be divided equally between them and the house. It was also the reason why their girls rarely left them to find work in other cities.

She wandered over to where Madam Adams was manning the Floor Four booth and asked if anyone was waiting. The old lady with the cigarette perpetually dangling from her lower lip nodded in the direction of the blackjack table, “The young one. Newly promoted from two. Likes to watch. Nothing crazy. Did six months on Two. Used One for a year before that. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Mae Ling nodded and checked out the table, “Does he have money?”

“Enough to pay our rates…”

She met the older woman’s eyes and neither of them blinked. Mae Ling broke eye contact and shrugged, “What the hell. You said he’s not too demanding right?”

The older woman shrugged and handed her a ribbon. Mae Ling accepted it and wandered over to the young man’s side. She placed the ribbon on the table and sat next to him. He turned without taking his elbows off the table, looked at the ribbon she had laid down and then returned his attention to the dealer. He scored a twenty-one. The dealer paid up. The young man counted his winnings, slipped them into an inside coat pocket and picked up the briefcase by his side, “looks like this is my lucky day.”

She stood up and bowed, “Hello. My name is Mae Ling and I’m at your service.”

He wasn’t blinking, “I would like another girl as well. Blonde, tall, with freckles. I don’t mind if they are painted. Can this be arranged?”

Mae Ling was mildly disappointed. Any tips would have to be split. She nodded, “We might have just the girl for you. How tall?”

“Not out of the ordinary…for a tall girl. Nothing like seven feet or anything.”

“I think we can definitely work something out.”

She cast a brief glance over his briefcase before leading the way to the elevator. She hoped he didn’t have diapers in there. There were few things she was averse to but it really freaked her out when grown men wanted to be dressed like babies and mothered. They were the ones who normally asked for the tall women. It helped with the illusion of being small. She wondered what that said about that Hollywood actor. The elevator arrived and she tried to get herself back in the mood.

When the arrived at Floor Four she walked over to the reception, where a beautiful African woman named N’Dea was manning the desk, “hey do you know if Ginny is busy right now?”

“Let me check.”

N’Dea tapped a few keys on her computer while Mae Ling marveled at the fullness of her lips, “She’s not busy. Do you want me to page her?”

“Yes please. And which one is free?”

“You can have Jungle or Arctic. If you wait…fifteen minutes Earth Bar will also be free.”

“No actually Artic sounds fine.”

“Should I send Ginny in?”

“That should be fine.”

“Great. Have fun.”

They exchanged smiles and Mae Ling turned to her client, “This way please, Mr…?”

“John. Please call me John.”

“That’s clever.”

“What? Oh…yeah…no, that’s my name.”

“Sure thing, ‘John,’ this way please.”

She liked the Arctic room. Everywhere there was the white illusion of snow. It somehow made her feel peaceful. It sometimes got too cold for her clients but she enjoyed it. She turned to the young man, studied him for a moment, “So, John, what are you in the mood for?”

“I’d like your friend to get in if you don’t mind. So I can say it just once? I sorta hate to repeat myself.”

“Okay. Would you like a drink?”

“Yes please. Bourbon, on the rocks.”

“Coming right up.”

She wondered what he had in the briefcase. Customers were only allowed to bring their own gear to the fourth floor. Though she had seen some freaky shit in her day she couldn’t immediately guess what the new guy was into. Since he’d spent time on two she wondered whether he liked to watch. He looked wound up enough to have issues but he also didn’t strike her as being the particularly adventurous type.

When she handed him the drink he down it in almost one gulp. Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly, “Another?”

“No thank you. I’m fine.”

The door opened and Ginny walked in. Her real name was Madison but she had a fondness for gin so that’s why everyone called her Ginny.

“Hey y’all, what are we in the mood for.”

The customer was sort of hidden in the shadows so she didn’t immediately see him. When he stood up and stepped into the light Ginny was so surprised she swallowed her chewing gum, “Oh my God, John! What the hell are you doing here?”

“You have to come home Madison.”

“What? No!”

Mae Ling didn’t know what was going on, “You two know each other?”

“Stay out of this bitch.”

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that.”

“Mom’s been worried sick Madison. How could you do this to her, to us?”

“John, you need to leave. Now!”

That’s when he reached into the briefcase and brought out the gun, “Not without you.”

Mae Ling held a placatory hand up, “Come on John, you don’t want to do this, not like this.”

“I thought I told you to shut up!”

Mae Ling was more surprised by the sound of the gun shot than the actual impact of the bullet. Ginny screamed. John turned his gun on her, “I’m not kidding Ginny.” They disappeared out the door and N’Dea screamed when she saw the gun. John’s voice was no longer as modulated as it had been, “Shut up bitch. Or I’ll plug you too.”

Mae Ling was out for about a minute. When she regained consciousness she touched her hip, expecting to find a lot of hot wetness seeping out of her. Instead she touched warm metal and crinkly paper. She sat up with some difficulty. N’Dea rushed in, “”Oh my God! Mae Ling. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The fucker got me in the tip.”

“What?”

“She held up the roll of bills with the bullet through them.”

“A thousand dollars I’ll never spend.”

“Ah honey!”

She touched her hip, gingerly, and winced, “That’s going to bruise.”

They found out sometime later that John and Ginny had been caught trying to hitch a ride out of town. Cops took John in and Ginny was returned to Madam Poon’s. Ginny said she was fine with John’s never being let out again. But they didn’t roll like that in their town. He was thrown out and warned never to set foot on their soil again.

It was the story most girls loved to tell the new recruits. Sort of a scary and heartwarming welcome anecdote. And Mae Ling had a new nickname.

They called her Lucky Hips.

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