Chapter 1: Francesca

It was official: Francesca was the perfect woman. There was no denying it and nobody would dare disagree. Though she was only twenty years of age, she was wiser beyond her years. That’s what happens when you grow up in a companion house, when you learn how to be independent, to be authoritative, taught the ways of seduction and sexual gratification… whilst other children the same age are learning how to insult and hurt each other in classrooms. As others would be rehearsing school plays, Frankie would rehearse the 32 positions of San Khung. Of course, she was not only an incredibly beautiful young woman with a handle on her sexuality, but she had a wider knowledge of history, science, maths, languages et al, than most teachers. Her entire life had been devoted to learning, and now she was passing that knowledge on by teaching. She was my teacher… and I loved her. I loved everything about her, and not just the superficial things such as her beautiful face and the perfect construct of her body, but who she was. She was not a pushover – she would take her stand for what she believed in, and would not be swayed by what others said. Some would call that stubborn, I called it admirable. Not only that, but she had a wicked sense of humour and her penchant for putting her foot in her mouth (metaphorically… though she could do it physically too) through quick-witted comments meant that we were perfectly suited… or not, depending on whether two people who have the habit of offending humourless officials is a good match.

Of course, there was more to it than that. My feelings for Frankie ran deep and even when she was playfully insulting me, I loved spending every minute with her. Unfortunately, I never felt that she felt the same way about me. I suppose the relationship we had with each other wasn’t conducive to turn into a romantic one, not at that stage at least. I was a newbie, having been at the companion house a little over a year. At the beginning, I was a virgin learning how to seduce and pleasure women for hire, and it was Frankie who was teaching me the more intimate details. I may have been the same age as her, but maturity wise, we were at opposite ends of the verse. Not that I was immature – although, there is quite a lot of fun that can be had with vibrators and a shop window mannequin – but Frankie was so far beyond me, it made me feel like a ten year old.

Eventually, I did lose my virginity – technically – and it was to Frankie. But it wasn’t the best experience. It was more an exercise with her directing me what to do. “Massage that”, she’d instruct, “stick this there”; “lick that”; “agh, my eye!” - you know, the usual talk.

Now you know where this is heading. “It’s a tale of unreciprocated love… it’s not going to end well”. Of course you’re right. What do you want… a medal? Yes just like similar tales of woe, this doesn’t end well.

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After having spent a year of my life at Crescendo, the companion house I had been sent to, I had begun physical training a.k.a. “being sexed up”. I felt uncomfortable at first, and at second, third and fourth, but eventually I got used to the work - though I still couldn’t get round calling it that. “Work” seemed, well exhausting – not that my work wasn’t at times, but it was “good” exhausting, not slaving under someone else… well, ok, there was definitely some slaving under someone else but… well, you know what I mean. Standard work equals bad. This work was bad only in the sense that some of the acts were illegal on certain districts.

I had progressed far enough that I now had clients, and so Francesca, as my instructor, had since moved on to her next protégé. Still, my feelings for her were strong and fortunately I was able to see her under the guise of seeking counsel. You see, although we all lived under the same roof, it was rare that one would bump into other companions, much less stick around to converse or associate with them. We all lived such busy lives. In fact, that was one of the worst things about the work, at least in Crescendo, even though you could build friendships during training, those alliances would not last forever as all too often you’d be separated. Companions don’t work together, only with their clients. But, as a fairly new companion, I was able to seek guidance, and so people wouldn’t bat an eyelid over my visits to her suite. It must be said though, considering my visits regarding “needing advice” were fairly frequent, I worried that others might actually think that I was a pretty lousy companion. But I digress.

It was actually by making such a visit that I got my first indication that not all was well at Crescendo and, in particular, Frankie’s life.

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It wasn’t a particularly remarkable morning, everything was the same as it always had been, clients arrived and were partnered up with those that suited their needs, whilst I felt quite rested after having had the night off - quite a rarity in a house as busy as the Crescendo was. However, I was about to meet with Venetia Laurel, the daughter of respected politician Maxwell Laurel - respected, that is, as long as word didn’t get out that he was setting his daughter up with a companion. I believe the reason for the pairing was organised by her father because she was about to marry a man who was so high up the social ladder, it made the Laurels seem like peasants. It seemed Maxwell was so determined to see his daughter married off, not to mention bolster the family name that he didn’t want anything to jeopardize it. Therefore his fear that Venetia would be so inexperienced sexually that it might actually end the relationship needed to be dealt with. That’s where I would come in.

Most of the companions knew Maxwell to be a jerk - they had dealt with him before personally - and so his appointment did not come as a surprise to them, he must have been as good a father as he was a decent human being. Even many of the companions themselves felt such action was wrong, especially since the prime motive seemed to be for him to cement the marriage for his own name’s sake. It would sure ruin his reputation just by suggesting to the media that he spends his time entertaining “no good whores”, as he had described them himself. Unfortunately, one of the first rules for companions was “You don’t talk about Whore Club”, the second being “You don’t talk about Whore Club”. It was a real shame, as there were plenty of tales that could be told, of course, if such tales were told, nobody would go to a companion again, even if it was for free. But if one was to “ruin” someone’s reputation by letting slip about their private life, then there was no one more deserving than Maxwell. Although, I had never dealt with him personally – due to my strict “No dicks” rule, which applied to Maxwell in more ways than one - I had heard enough about him to make my mind up about him. Because of this, I didn’t know what he looked like, and it wasn’t likely for me to watch or read about the latest political news. So it came as some surprise to me when, on my way to Frankie’s room, I overheard none other than Maxwell inside arguing with my ideal future wife. I couldn’t hear exactly what was being discussed, as Nemmi – a companion in training who also acted as Frankie’s personal secretary – had insisted that I wait until Frankie was finished with her guest. What I did hear though was the occasional slanderous insults which were so loud and obscene they made Valerie – the most foul-mouthed companion you’re likely to meet – cringe. Then, out stormed Maxwell – of course, I had no idea who he was at that time.

As he stormed off, passing me in the process I remained still and silent, as did all those whom he passed. No one dare draw attention to themselves, not because they were afraid of him – though, for some, this may have been the case – but it didn’t seem worth causing more trouble. When he had left the immediate vicinity though, I could hear a few breathe a sigh of relief, myself included. A few seconds passed before I glanced over to Nemmi who, despite being clearly quite shaken up, turned to me and said that she should check to see how Frankie was. I wasn’t sure at first if that meant that I should leave and come back another time or wait it out and see how she was, but considering my feelings about her, I was hardly going to just leave there and then. Nemmi was gone for what seemed like half an hour, although it had only been a minute or two at most, before returning with word that she was ok. But then came those dreaded words “Perhaps you should come back later, when things have calmed down a bit”. I understood, although I didn’t want to leave, yet all I could utter was an “I…” before Frankie’s own voice interrupted my thoughts. “I said its ok… I’m fine” Frankie coolly spoke to Nemmi, before turning her head to face me and said “come in Needy” I felt honoured. I felt relieved. I felt guilty. How could I enter that room and talk about myself and my problems, most of which were exaggerated if not downright made-up, knowing that she quite clearly had problems of her own? I used to enter her room and be overcome with jealously that my dingy little room couldn’t hold a candle to her suite – it was as beautiful as her. But when I entered the room that day, moments after the loud argument, it seemed to have lost its innocence. A strange word to use I know, but it’s as good a word as any. Her room once was the thing of dreams, almost a holy sanctuary, and now it had been tarnished I thought to myself.

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It turns out I knew nothing. I didn’t know then what I know now – that the room had seen worst. It had played host to a whole web of lies and deceit, but that was nothing to what it would soon witness. I could not possibly have prepared myself for what was to come later within the confines of that seemingly innocent room.