Eva

The fluorescent sign reads "Swedish Model - 1st Floor"
but the grotty, bare splintering stairs read "Late night in Soho".
I mount the stairs
and knock at the door.
Eva answers.
Usually she's out of my league
but somethings brought her down to my level.
Drugs?
Debts?
Things I'd rather not think about?
"Are you coming in, baby?" she purrs
in a voice more Eastern Bloc than Eastern Stockholm.
Uniforms adorn the wall like an x rated fancy dress shop.
She hands me a menu.
The uniforms cost extra.
You can't fuck a uniform
so I just pay for oral and positions.
There's no kissing offered.
Fuck.
It doesn't feel real if you can't tongue.
I hand over £40
and a £2 coin for the maid.
What does the maid do?
I mean, look at the state of the carpet.
Grime from all over the city coats it.
And probably much worse.
Eva spreads her legs
and I see her sweet pussy.
It's neatly tucked in
and only spoiled by what I hope are razor cuts

and not herpes.
The sex is mechanical and requires lube
but she slaps my arse as I fuck her
which takes talent.
The beer's making it hard to come

I pay for 10 more minutes

and force it out.
She watches me dress and makes small talk about my journey home
for a moment I think she cares
but she doesn't.
I leave and pray I won't give my girlfriend herpes.