A Devil Wearing Angels Wings

The first time I saw him was at the office, a tall imposing figure immaculately dressed. He sat down on one of the old tatty sofas and plugged his phone, a small device that fitted easily into the palm of his over sized hand, into the wall to charge.
He did not even give me a second glance, used to being in the presence of over attractive dolls, but I knew that one day he would trouble my heart.
I had already figured that his ego was big enough to fill the room and then some, that he was the kind of guy who was used to clicking his fingers and having his choice of women come running.
I determined that if he was I ever to do that to me, I would do all in my power to resist. I had the best of intentions, in any case and it would depend on whether my brain or my **** was doing the thinking.
For the moment, my brain stayed firmly in control, my senses on full alert, a seventeen year old girl who had made the somewhat crazy decision to embark on the oldest profession.
It was not something I had come to lightly, in my current state of mind, it was the only way I could see to escape from my parents, who, it felt to me, where trying to drive me to an early grave.
The financial recompense was also an attraction, the small number of hours that I would have to work, leaving me with plenty of time to dull my emotional pain in a river of alcohol and drugs.
The guy with the oversize hands was the driver and 'protector', as well as being the nephew of Len, the ancient dried up old turd who ran the agency.
My brain flitted back to the Handmaids Tale by Margaret Atwood and I decided the title of Guardian Angel would suit him well.
A protector of ******.
I was weary of him, waiting for him to make a move but at the same time not surprised when he did not, a mere chit of a girl like me was not going to hold much interest to him.
We left the office, myself him and another girl who needed running somewhere. We got round to the car park and were met with his large intimidating silver Mercedes, his moving babe magnet.
No conversation was forthcoming once we were in the interior, buckled down onto the leather seats, my nerves held my tongue still, my brain racing for a way to get the conversation started, rejecting any phrase that popped into my head.
Where he was taking me was an unknown uncertainty to me but to him, it was a route beyond familiar, his hand casually flicking the indicator on and off, without really even having to glance at the road, to know where the turning was.
Of course the route was familiar to him, he was taking me to meet his father, an uncaring citizen delivering the sacrifice to the dragon.
This was the routine with the new girls. First an interview with Len, then a meal with Len's brother Peter, a licensed psychologist.
The meal was actually enjoyable, though under the influence of the wine and Peters gentle questioning, emotions did begin to surface that I was desperately trying to repress.
Not at all the awful ordeal that I had imagined that it would be.

It was several months later and I was coming to the end of a long evening. First I had been to dinner with the client, in a fancy French restaurant in between Tottenham Court Road and Covent Garden. I had not been expecting to be wined and dined on that particular assignment, so my attire was not the most suitable for being in a public place.
At the end of the meal, it was with a feeling of relief that I was first in the cab and then finally in the room. By the end of the encounter, I was more than a little drunk on the champagne that the client had been plying me with. The four hundred and eighty pounds that I left the room with helped to embolden my spirits as well.
I felt in the mood for partying and as I slipped into the car with the Guardian Angel, it turned out, so was he.
As I was just exhaling from the first puff on the cigarette, I had just lit, he leaned toward me, proffering his cheek. I lent forward and gave him a quick peck.
Over the past couple of months, the awkwardness had gradually slipped away and I had found myself being more and more of a confidante of his, listening hard as he unloaded his various problems about which ever skirt he happened to be chasing at that current time.
But that night, it crossed over the line from friendship and never got back again. I had wanted him oh so badly for months but until that night, had kept my barriers firmly erected against him.
I told him that I was in the mood for partying, he suggested going back to his place, finishing off the vodka and the gram of charlie he had in the fridge, not quite what I had in mind but I agreed.
Excitement and trepidation filled me.
His place turned out to be to just around the corner from mine, not a big surprise since I had chosen my place for being in the vicinity of the agency.
His place was a studio apartment on the top floor, obviously just somewhere for him to sleep but still neat and slightly sexy. It always pays to impress.
There was a bed rather than a sofa, and I threw myself onto it, at the same time kicking off my shoes. He got us both a vodka and orange before pulling out a plate with twelve lines of charlie already neatly arranged onto it. One rolled up twenty-pound note later, in order to sniff the coke, and away we went.
Next thing I know, we are involved in a heavy discussion about politics, feminism and the general state of the world.
He comes across as someone who does not give much head room to anything outside of his immediate circle of experience, but I guess I knew that already. It had just never struck me so hard before.
I envied him his self-centredness while at the same time thanking some unknown Deity for my questioning nature, my ability to look at things from a different point of view.
Finally we agree to disagree.
He puts a ***** on and we have an agreement on not being too keen on the first women featured.
By this time we have both had a few lines of charlie and I'm feeling it more than I usually do.
The long and short of it is we *******, I fell head over heels and he broke my heart.
The last I heard of him was that he had knocked up an Italian Mafia bosses daughter, had moved to Italy and joined the mob and married fore mentioned girlfriend, as a man who does not want his life ended prematurely should do.
MaryIsMyHomeGirl MaryIsMyHomeGirl
26-30, F
Jun 12, 2012