SEX FOR RENT… A SHORT STORY BY SANDRA HARRIS.

SEX-FOR-RENT, or A PURELY BUSINESS TRANSACTION

A SHORT STORY BY SANDRA HARRIS ©

In the Ireland of today (2023), certain unscrupulous landlords are taking advantage of the homelessness-slash-housing crisis by demanding sex from vulnerable women in exchange for so-called ‘free’ accommodation. Ukrainian women fleeing from a war-torn country, students desperate for somewhere affordable to live so they can pursue their university degree courses, and any woman unable to afford a safe place to live: these are the women being targeted and sexually exploited, and this story was inspired by them.

Gemma was lying on the couch, depressed and wondering if she should call Tina or Molly, or would they even bother their arses to come over? She’d been bending their ears over Jez a lot lately, and, when it came right down to it, no amount of talking was going to patch the pair of them up, her and Jez, so what was even the point of calling anyone? Then the doorbell rang, and her heart lifted momentarily. Jez? She was halfway to the front door when she realised that the bulky figure she could make out through the frosted glass was neither short enough nor skinny enough to be Jez. She knew exactly who it was. It was Kevin, her new landlord. She’d had to move from Galway to Dublin now that she was attending Trinity college as a mature student.

“How’s it going there?” he said, stepping past her and into the ground floor flat without waiting to be asked.

“All right,” she said, as usual giving him back no more than he gave her.

He wandered around the sitting room, looking at her things and picking up the odd discarded sweatshirt or magazine. He smirked openly when he came across a blue lacy bra slung idly over the back of the couch. He picked it up, stretched it between his huge stubby fingers and looked across at her meaningfully.

She sighed heavily. When would this bullshit ever end? You know when, her inner smart girl told her promptly. When you can afford to pay your own way in the world.

“What do you want, Kevin?”

“I wouldn’t have thought I’d have needed to tell you that,” he said. He spoke the same way he walked, slowly and ponderously.

“That’ll be the third time this week,” Gemma said. She knew she sounded like she was complaining, but she couldn’t bloody well help it.

“Who’s keeping score? Are you? Most women would be grateful. What’s wrong with you?” He snickered again, before reaching out for her, but she side-stepped him neatly and reached the bedroom before him. She sat down on her bed, truculently kicked off her trainers and socks (at least the socks were clean!) and pulled off her tracksuit bottoms and knickers. She lay down on the bed and waited for him to get undressed. He took his time, looking over at her the whole time.

“You know, you could try to make this whole thing a bit, you know, a bit romantic,” he said. “A bit less like a . . . well, a business transaction. A nice candle here and there, or a few flowers in a vase, a few nice words of welcome when I get here.”

“It’s purely a bloody business transaction! What else would you call it?” Gemma was indignant now. “You let me live here in your property rent free, and in return, you get to have sex with me whenever you feel like it. I thought we each agreed we’d try to give each other space, though, and respect?”

“How am I not giving you space?” he said, lowering his bulk down on to the other side of the messy double bed. He sniffed about as if to say the sheets needed changing.

“This is the third time this week!” she repeated, trying hard not to grimace as he reached for her and squeezed her breast over her navy-blue fleece.

“Can we have this off?” he said, indicating the fleece.

With a sigh, she sat up again and pulled the fleece and her faded T-shirt over her head, catching her pony-tail in the zip of the fleece as she did so. She angrily shrugged off his attempts to help her to free herself, then she removed her bra before he could ask her to.

“Can you give me a bit of a hand here?” He indicated his soft genitals with a rueful grin.

Stifling a grimace and a sigh, she set her own hand to work without looking at him. When he was ready, they both lay down and assumed the missionary position. She held onto his shoulders while he laboured on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his weight. He must weigh at least eighteen stone, she thought, not for the first time. He was finished in about five minutes, and she immediately sat up and began to dress.

“You don’t exactly make a fella feel wanted,” he grumbled as, correctly sensing no intimate after-glow moment between them, he heaved himself into a sitting position and began to fumble for his trousers.

“This is a business arrangement. You promised that’s all it would be, remember? Take your wife out and wine and dine her if you want romance.”

Gemma wished the words back as soon as she said them, as his face darkened and he stood up, his full height dwarfing her, and took a step towards her.

“My wife is nothing to do with this.”

She shrugged, trying to look as if she wasn’t bothered either way, and carried on dressing before straightening and neatening the bedclothes. As if she wasn’t going to tear the sheets off the bed the second he was gone and throw the lot in the wash!

“You’ll be happy to hear I’m away up north for the weekend,” he said then. “Have to go to a wedding, so I won’t be around to pester you. I’ll be over Monday night if that’s okay.”

Gemma shrugged. “Enjoy the wedding. Oh, and is that man still coming to fix the hall light?”

“As far as I know. If he doesn’t show up, you can give me a buzz on Monday and I’ll chase him up.”

There was an awkward moment of goodbyes, and then Kevin was gone, leaving Gemma to scrub herself and her sheets until she was satisfied that absolute cleanliness prevailed in the flat once more. The whole time she was scrubbing and scouring, she worried herself sick that she’d offended or angered him with her crack about his wife. She should have thought before she opened her mouth. However much Kevin- and the situation- repulsed her, she needed him more than he needed her, and she guessed he probably knew that.

She’d never meant to find herself in this position. A second chance at education, a chance to be a mature student and work for a degree, was too good to be passed up on. And at Trinity College Dublin, of all places! The failed relationships, the rubbish jobs, all the wasted time, none of it would matter if she could only get that degree and not have failed at something for once! But she’d had to move from Galway to Dublin in order to do the course, and it had been so hard to find accommodation! The queues for flat-viewings had been ridiculous, and flats had been filthy, slummy, too far from town, miles too expensive or gone before she could get to them. When Kevin, heavy-set, forty-ish, bored, married with kids, had offered her his ground floor flat in Rathmines rent-free in return for ‘occasional’ sexual favours, she’d been shocked at first but then pressure of time- her course was starting and she still had nowhere to live- had decided for her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kevin had said airily on that first day. “Loads of people are renting this way now. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than paying a fucking fortune for some kip. It’s only a bit of fun. There’s no harm in a bit of fun, is there? No law against it. And it’s not like you’ll see me morning, noon and night. Shure, I’ll only be over the odd time. To be honest, you’ll probably hardly see me.”

Well, that hadn’t been true, for a start. It had been six months already, and he was averaging three or four visits a week now, usually in the evenings when she was home from college, but sometimes during the day on the days he knew she’d be off. He’d stay an hour usually and then ‘make tracks,’ as he called it, but often Gemma found her mood for studying was shattered after he’d gone. She’d sit there, with her books and papers open in front of her, just going over and over their encounter in her head until she felt sick and despairing. She hated his huge, flabby body, and the penis that lay there, flaccid, until she’d worked on it herself like she had today. She hated going down on him, which was unfortunate as it was practically his favourite thing to do. He was always saying ‘How about a bit of oral?’ or ‘Give us a bit of oral there.’ Like she was some machine, and she could just switch herself on and off! If she’d found him attractive, it might have been different, but she didn’t; she so didn’t. He was rubbish in bed, too, to add insult to injury. He hurt her when his put his thick fingers inside her and scraped her with his too-long fingernails, and, when he kissed her with his slack wet lips, he sometimes bit her lip in an attempt to be ‘sexy’ and she often gagged when he stuck his tongue all the way down her throat. She’d lost her boyfriend Jez when he discovered that she was having sex with her landlord in return for free rent, and her friends from college, Molly and Tina, had been weirded out by it too, though at least they hadn’t deserted her like Jed had.

And lately, Kevin had been acting like he was more her boyfriend than the landlord with whom she had a strictly business relationship. Only the other week, he’d given her a gift of money with which to buy what he termed ‘a bit of decent lingerie,’ which he had then required her to model for him. Having to strut her stuff in front of him, shaking her tits and ass while he sat on her bed with his trousers and underpants down and wanked made her feel like shit. She would give anything to be able to phone up her mum in Galway and say she was coming home, but that wouldn’t have worked. Her mum would have been disappointed. No, devastated, and Gemma herself would have had another failure on her hands. She sighed and lit a cigarette, forcing herself to open some of her course books, but her mind just wasn’t on her work. Again. This whole situation was just a disaster.

The weekend came and went. Gemma did her food shopping and her laundry on Saturday, then on Saturday afternoon the man came to fix the hall light. Sunday was boring as always, as she tried to keep her mind on her studies and get her clean clothes, shoes, accessories and books all ready for the week ahead. She had a tearful conversation with her mother on Sunday evening, during which she tried to reassure her that she was doing just fine and there was no need for her mum to worry or panic about her as she was fine, perfectly fine. If she’d said it once, she’d said it ten times.

On Monday, she went to college and tried to keep her mind on her work. She was studying Modern History and they were currently doing the Second World War. She had an essay to do on Hitler’s henchmen which was due in soon, and she attempted to get a start on it in the library after classes for a bit. By eight o’clock, she was at home, fed, watered and showered and working on her essay. Kevin rang the doorbell at about five past eight. She’d had a bit of a battle with him when she’d first arrived about him not using his key because she was his lodger and not his wife, so now he rang the doorbell and waited for her to let him in.

“’Evening,” he said as he strolled into the flat. A woman walked in behind him, half-hiding behind his bulk. Gemma was gobsmacked. Who the hell was this? Not his wife, surely? She was about the same age as Kevin, maybe a little younger, but sexily dressed in heels and a short skirt with a ton of make-up on. Kevin’s idea of sexy, she knew. He was always trying to get her to tart herself up like that for him. She hated the old-fashioned way he called suspenders ‘sussies,’ and was always banging on about ‘peek-a-boo’ or ‘peephole’ bras and crotchless panties. He was like a dirty auld fella from the ‘Nineties or something.

“Who’s this?” Gemma croaked. This wasn’t part of their deal, bringing women friends along to meet his sex-for-rent college student.

“Yvonne,” said Kevin easily, dumping his jacket on a chair in the hall. “She’s my girlfriend. My bit on the side. Don’t tell the wife.” He sniggered, and Yvonne tittered nervously too.

“What’s she doing here?” Gemma was nervous herself now. Had he brought her along to watch them, or something? That definitely wasn’t part of their deal.

“She’s always wanted to try a bit of girl-on-girl,” he said casually, as if it was no big deal.

“And what?” snapped back Gemma. “You mean . . . you mean me . . .?”

“What have you on you?” he said, indicating that she should open her robe.

Reluctantly, she unbelted the towelling dressing gown to reveal her over-sized Snoopy nightshirt.

He shook his head. “Go and put on some of the lingerie I bought you.”

She wanted to fight, refuse, scream, protest, but the hulking presence of the man who, after all, was her landlord, kept her mute. Leaving Kevin and Yvonne standing in the hallway, she dashed past them to the bedroom and slammed the door. Her stomach heaved and her blood boiled with ineffectual rage against Kevin as she pulled stockings, suspenders, bra and panties out of a drawer, stripped off what she was wearing and began to pull on the sexy undies. When she was ready, she opened her bedroom door and then walked straight to the bed. She sat down and crossed her legs in an attempt at a sexy pose, though she’d never felt less sexy in her life.

“Take off Yvonne’s clothes,” Kevin said, seating himself in an armchair beside the bed, his jowly face red with excitement. “Go on, now.”

Reluctantly, Gemma did as he said. Yvonne gave her little or no help, just stood there allowing Gemma to strip her of her short skirt and tight blouse, then her high heeled shoes, stockings, bra and knickers in response to Kevin’s muttered “Take it all off. The lot.”

When Yvonne was naked, Kevin nodded towards the bed and said, “Lie down on your back, love.”

Yvonne, giggling, did as she was bid, while Kevin turned to a trembling Gemma. “She’s always wanted to have another girl do oral on her. Get down on your knees between her legs and give her a lick-out, will you? And take off your knickers, so I can finger you while you’re doing it.”

Gemma took off the knickers, then looked down at the spread-eagled Yvonne on the bed, eagerly awaiting her ‘lick-out.’ “I can’t,” she said, panicked. Two bright spots of colour adorned her cheeks. Every morsel of food she’d eaten that day threatened to make a re-appearance. “Please don’t make me. I can’t do it.” She turned as if to flee but Kevin, moving surprisingly fast for such a big man, was out of his seat in a flash and grabbing her arm.

“You’ll do it if you want to keep a roof over your head,” he snarled, and pushed her down into a kneeling position between the older woman’s spread legs.

“I had a shower before I came out,” said Yvonne from her prone position, a tad indignantly. “You don’t need to be afraid to touch me, you know. I’m perfectly clean.” Her accent was a strong native Dublin, as opposed to Kevin’s country one.

“It’s not that,” croaked Gemma. “I’m just not . . . just not gay.”

“Neither am I,” huffed Yvonne. “I’m only here for a bit of fun. Kevin said you’d be fun.” This last was said accusingly.

“Enough chit-chat,” said Kevin, back in his armchair. “Get on with it now.” He poked Gemma’s kneeling bare behind with his shoe, making her jump.

With a knot in her stomach she didn’t think would ever unravel, she began to do what she was bid. She put her mouth on the other woman’s shaved mound, and tentatively stuck her tongue out to lick the lips and in between them.

“Put your back into it. Make her moan.” His fingers were hurting her own pussy, but she faked arousal herself and re-doubled her efforts with the other woman just to move the process along. Eventually, the dyed-blonde Yvonne began to moan in earnest and Gemma felt it prudent to make out that she was doing the same.

“We’ll all come together,” Kevin said from his armchair, his cock in his hand.

When Yvonne reached her peak, Gemma faked her own orgasm and sat back on the floor at Kevin’s feet, forcing a smile as well as the heavy breathing.

“There now, wasn’t that grand?” he said as he stood up to go. Gemma smiled up at him and nodded, incapable of speech. “I’ll bring her back another time,” he told her as they were leaving. “We’ll have a proper threesome.”

“We can be a ‘throuple,’ like the celebrities do,” giggled Yvonne, and Kevin laughed.

When the front door closed behind them, Gemma fled to the bathroom and vomited copiously into the toilet.

I can’t do this again, she decided as she knelt, slumped, over the toilet. I’ll ask my tutor if I can do the course online or something, but I can’t do this again. I just can’t.

The phone seemed to ring and ring for ages, but eventually Molly picked up.

“Molls, I know you and Tina haven’t much room but could I please, please sleep on your sofa for a couple of nights? I swear it won’t be for longer. I’ll move back in with Mum if I have to and bloody well commute if that’s what it takes, but this ends now.”

When Molly said yes, Gemma felt a little of the knot in her stomach unravel slightly.