Lola Smirnova - Twisted

No fucking way!

Inna squats, her pussy right in front of his chin. He stares at it as if his whole life depends on it and slowly touches his organ. After a short moment, the crap starts running out of Inna’s ass right onto his chest. It is not even normal, ‘healthy’ ca-ca, but a loose and extremely smelly one.

The two laxative pills Inna took that morning make sense to me now.

While she relieves herself, producing some generous farts at the same time, he uses one hand to smear her stream all over his body, including his face and mouth, which he doesn’t even try to keep shut. With his other hand, he masturbates his pulsing, erect tool.

Oh my fuck! He is actually hard! What’s wrong with this man?

When Inna is done, she slowly stands up and carefully gets off the bed, leaving him alone in the mud of her crap. She walks out of the room and comes back in a second with some wet wipes and another full glass of champagne.

Unbelievable! What’s wrong with this woman?!

If I’ve understood everything correctly, her part of the job is done, but I still have to film the creepy movie.

He spreads Inna’s poop evenly over his body…

Oh, by the way, good job covering the bed with plastic.

Then, without standing up, he turns around so that his legs point towards the headboard. He slithers using his elbows until his flexed knees are touching the panel. Then he lifts his legs up into a fucking sarvangasana, [18] Yoga position also known as the Shoulder Stand using his hands to support his lower back.

My right hand is tired; I shift the camera into my left hand without taking my eyes off the scene even for a second. The sickest, weirdest, weirdo-yogi ever is so flexible that when he lowers his hips to his head, his penis reaches his mouth. The rest takes him a few minutes – he sucks his own dick and ejaculates into his mouth.

Unfuckingbelievable! What on earth made him even come up with the idea of blowing himself?

Fifteen minutes later we are in a cab on the way home. We both light a cigarette and stay quiet for some time. I can’t believe that what I saw happened for real. I try to think positively and delete the images from my head. I switch to the $300 that I made in one hour just by being naked and holding a camera. I even start to think that I could get used to the creepy man and do it all again. Inna breaks the silence and pulls me out of my thoughts.

‘Yeah, he is totally fucked up, but he’s also the only one who pays this kind of money, Julia, so don’t shoot for the sky.’

I remain quiet and just sigh; in that one moment she’s made me forget about the yogi and dragged me back to my troubled thoughts about this trip. Just a week ago she was telling me what a moneymaking paradise this is, and now she’s saying ‘don’t shoot for the sky’…

Aargh! I know this run is going to be a fuck-up… Please, please, please let Natalia be wrong… at least this once…

‘Jul, what do you say we stop at Migros [19] One of the supermarket chains in Turkey. to get some beers? I have a few Russian movies we could watch.’ I nod ‘Sure.’ Inna continues, ‘Trust me, there is no way we are going to be able to eat anything today anyway.’

I close my eyes and my body shudders with disgust.

For the first time in a few weeks I actually have a good night’s sleep; even the 5 a.m. call to prayer doesn’t wake me up. We get up at about ten, make some coffee, and both engage in finishing unpacking and organising all our stuff so it can fit into the small apartment.

Then we eat a quick lunch and head to a meeting with Inna’s present and my future employer – our pimp.

‘I have a few direct clients,’ Inna explains as we walk through the many narrow, busy streets, mostly paved with stones, towards the ferry station. Our whoremaster resides on the Asian side of the city, so we have to cross the Bosphorus Strait to see her.

‘I mean, I work for these clients without Alexandra’s mediation, like yesterday’s one. Please make sure you don’t mention this to her.’

I nod, taking a deep breath. The streets are filled with the smells of fried fish and freshly baked foods, wrapped up in the strong scent of the sea.

‘She is a normal mama, also from Ukraine, but I do hate her deep inside of me.’ Inna keeps a good pace; her words start to come out broken as her breathing gets puffy. ‘I hate her especially when she gets me some fucker who cannot come for hours…’ She pauses to look for cars before crossing the street. ‘I get fucked until my poor pussy falls off and then I have to share my hard-earned money with her.’ Inna interrupts her discourse as we stop to buy tokens for the ferry. We go through the turnstile and Inna heads straight for the deck. ‘Let’s sit outside so we can smoke.’ We settle on the right side of the ship, on a long bench that curves through the full length of the boat.

‘So yes,’ continues Inna, lighting a cigarette and passing me the lighter, ‘my cracked-up vagina versus a few damn phone calls does not sound fair to me at all, especially when she takes 50 per cent.’

I keep nodding while staring at the view. It is incredibly beautiful: the Bosphorus glowing in the sun, the blue sky with soaring seagulls, the shore, moving away now, tightly stuffed with thousands of featureless buildings, and the mirrored skyscrapers, mosques, and ancient palaces and towers scattered here and there between them. The breathtaking view has such a strong effect on me…

‘Of course, I understand that somebody has to do her job,’ Inna starts again, ‘and I know she finds us more clients so we can make more money, but I cannot help it, Jul, and still hate the bitch.’ We both giggle and light another cigarette.

Alexandra is about 30 years old, a good-looking blonde with a petite body like mine. It’s obvious that this woman looks after herself. Her smile shows me a mouth full of perfect teeth as she checks me out from head to toe as if I were a sale item somewhere on the free market.

‘The demands are simple. You always have to be at your phone, and you need to learn to get ready as quickly as possible.’ I assume that her starting to explain the rules of the business means that I am a suitable item with a good chance of getting sold. ‘Most of the time, the client calls one or two hours before he would like his order to be delivered. Considering Istanbul’s traffic, there is usually very little time for long showers and complicated make-up. Although I hope I don’t need to mention that you always have to look your best.’

The waitress comes around and all three of us order coffee.

‘We’re going to work a 50/50 split for the first three months, and then, if you are good, I may consider a 70/30 split, as I’m doing with Inna now.’ They grin at each other and I just do my nodding.

‘Because of the overloaded market, we have to keep our prices reasonable. One hour is $100. If he wants you for the night, then it’s $150. Tips and taxi fares are not obligatory for the clients, but you are welcome to ask for them, and most of the time they give some without a problem.’

An unvarying smile is glued to her face, somehow transforming it from pretty to seriously annoying.

This phoniness of hers is screaming at me: ‘Jul! This Istanbul run is going to be a fuck-up!’ Why can’t I just listen, pack my stuff and get the fuck out of here?

‘I guess this is it, Julia. Would you like to use your real name or change it?’

I shrug my shoulders and give Inna my what-should-I-do? look. She playfully shrugs her shoulders back to me, indicating that she can’t help me on this one and that I’ll have to decide for myself. I take a sip of my already cold coffee.