The Sex Café ( and The Lover)

By Carla Bowman

A business card thrust into the hand of a friend sends Dana Williams to an intriguing employment opportunity, a "sex café" in London's Soho, where Dana is at first repelled, but then intrigued by the employment possibilities on offer. Dana decides to give the job a try, but to stick to the basic menu. Gradually, however, she finds herself drawn further up the scale, and deeper into the extremes. But where will it end? Not where she thinks it will… 

Plus The Lover. (For details of this book, please see the appropriate product page.) 

Not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen.

16000 words plus 14000 words. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dick Morris
• Release date: Aug 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516330102

Carla Bowman

For bios and much more, please visit our website: http://indiopolis.com/

Book preview

The Sex Café

And The Lover

Copyright © Carla Bowman 2015

(UK spellings generally used)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact:

[e-mail]

This is a work of fiction and characters are imaginary. Any resemblance they may have to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

published by: www.indiopolis.com/

Other books by Carla Bowman:

Jenny’s First Visit to Doctor Widmark*

Carla And The Black Door Club*

Stacey Finds Love*

The Party*

Three Erotic Love Stories*

2089 – The End of Men*

––––––––

*Also available as paperbacks

––––––––

Dana arrived in London on the Thursday, with one bag, and a purse, and full of hope for the future. She got the tube from Liverpool Street station to the room she was going to rent in Earl’s Court, and hurried up the steps and pressed the intercom. Jane, a friend from university, had said she’d wait in to welcome her.

Hello? Jane’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker.

Jane? I’ve arrived.

"Dana! Come on up."

Dana heard the door unlock and pushed her way in, into the lobby, and past a parked bike. She hurried up the stairs, up the threadbare stair carpet, to the first floor, past an open door through which came the sound of somebody tuning up a guitar, and up the next flight of equally uninviting stairway. Jane had come out of her room. She stood at the top of the stairs smiling. Jane was twenty-six, four years older than Dana, and had been living in London for four years.

Did you have a good trip down? she asked, leading the way into her own room.

Yes, the train was on time, Dana said, following.

Would you like a cup of tea? Jane asked, as Dana put down her bag and took off her coat.

I’d love one.

Jane went to the kitchenette in the corner of the room, filled a kettle, and put it on a ring. She then went to the door and closed it. So, do you have anything lined up?  Employment wise?

No, Dana said, sitting down on the rickety settee. 

She looked around the room. The accommodation here was at the lower end of the market. These houses had once been good quality townhouses not far from Earls Court underground station, middle-class dwellings for genteel city workers, but now they had been bought by buy-to-let landlords, and converted into cheap flats for foreign students, young office workers, and, it had to be said, cheap prostitutes. 

Jane put a spot of milk into Dana’s tea and milk and sugar into her own and brought the cups over to Dana. She handed Dana’s to her and sat down on the creaky armchair that formed the rest of the seating in the room.

I thought you said you had a job lined up, she said. In one of the banks, was it not?

Yes, I did have a job lined up, Dana said. But they called me to tell me that they had cancelled the vacancy.

Oh, dear.

Yes. And so I’ll need to find some profitable employment pretty damn quick. I’ve got all of two hundred pounds.

Each of them sipped their tea.

Any ideas? Dana asked.

Well...

I’ll consider almost anything.

Jane put her cup down on the coffee table and got up and went to a chest of drawers at the other side of the room. She opened a bag, took something from it, and came back. It was a business card. Or, rather, it looked like one. She handed the card to Dana. 

A man stopped me in Oxford Street this morning and handed me that. He said: ‘You caught my eye a moment ago, and I think I may have something to interest you. It’s an offer of employment. Please read the details and come along to the address on the card if you are interested. If you want to confirm that this is genuine, please call the number shown. Thank you for your time.’ Then he walked off.

Dana took the card and started to read it.

It was headed: Offer of Employment. Full time, or part-time.

‘You have been selected by our agent’ it went on, ‘because he thought you very attractive, and so we should like to offer you employment in the café we intend to open in Soho on Thursday 12th June. PLEASE READ ON. This will not be the usual sort of Café and we would ask you to come along and have a chat with a member of staff. The rates of pay here will range from £150 to £500 per hour, which, we are certain, you will find very attractive.’

Under this were the address and the telephone number of the place.

I like the rates, Dana said, handing the card back to Jane.

I like them too, Jane said, putting the card back into her bag.

I wonder what they want you to do, Dana said.

I think I can guess, Jane said.

Me too. Sex duties of some kind.

Yes. But, of course, we can’t be sure of that.

No.

So, I think I’ll go along and take a look, Jane said. What about you?

I don’t suppose I should, Dana said. "But I do need money right now. So I may very well join you." 

Jane got to her feet. I’ll show you to your room, she said. Dana picked up her bags and followed her.

Jane picked up keys from the chest of drawers and led Dana out of her own room and across the landing to another door and opened it. Here you are, she said.

Dana walked in.

The room was just large enough to hold a single bed, a wardrobe, an armchair, a table with an electric kettle on it, a sink unit, and a battered kitchen cupboard.

It’ll do, Dana said. Because it’ll have to.

Not very luxurious, is it? Jane asked.

Beggars can’t be choosers, Dana said.

She walked into the room, put down her bags, and hung her coat in the wardrobe.

Settle in, Jane said, and we’ll go out for a coffee and a snack.

*

Dana spent the following morning visiting employment offices in the Earls Court area but found nothing that attracted her enough to go for. There were the odd waitresses’ jobs, as well as several office jobs, all of which paid the minimum wage or just a little above it. But she hoped for something better. So she took the tube to Tottenham Court Road and went into a Café Costa to wait for Jane to join her.

A wide cross-section of humanity trooped past the window, showing London’s range of multi-cultural residents and visitors, as Dana sipped her latte, and the sun came out, and Dana felt her move to London had been a good one. The place vibrated with life, with optimism, and with a freedom Dana had not felt back home. Finally, after ten minutes had passed, Jane walked past the window and came inside. She looked around, spotted Dana, and smiled and walked over to her.

I’m sorry I’m late, she said. Office trouble. But I’ve managed to get an extended lunch break. Shall we go now?

"I’m ready," Dana said, rising to her feet.

Good. Let’s go then, Jane said turning and leading the way.

They walked down Tottenham Court Road and turned into Old Compton Street. They walked halfway down this and came to the address on the card. The establishment was on a corner, with waist-high windows and a glass door on the very corner. Dark blue blinds prevented them from seeing in. The door too was blacked-out, but they could see that the inside of the place was lighted. On both streets, the sign-work above the windows was covered with strips of cardboard stuck on with parcel tape, but a sheet of paper stuck to the door read: ‘If you are interested in being employed, please ring the bell’.

Jane did so, and a heavily built, shaven-headed man wearing a black t-shirt opened the door and stood to one side to let them enter. After a moment’s hesitation, Jane led the way and Dana followed. They found themselves in a luxurious dining area. Brightly lit as it was by lights evidently turned up full, they now saw the marble tables, leather seating, the bar at the far end of the room, and the obviously two-way mirrored wall at the back. At the far side of the room, three young women of, roughly, the same age as Dana and Jane, sat at one of the tables, leaning over, and filling in sheets of white paper with ballpoint pens.

The man who had let Jane and