My confidence collapsed. Not because I’d never been involved in a transaction like this – the whims of youth had taken me to several call girls. Yet there is a big difference between paying and being paid. And this strange woman, who wouldn’t even look me in the face, wanted to make me her whore.

I felt like I was being trampled underfoot. If only I’d hightailed it out of there. But the threat of a future as a pariah made me anxious. I was an economic castaway and my losses could only keep coming – friends, car, house. Maybe even my beautiful wife.

I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll try my best.’

She hadn’t finished. ‘You haven’t asked for details. I love stories. I love acting them out even more.’

I came to wish I’d taken that statement as another warning.

Unable to guess what she was insinuating, I asked if she had any particular story in mind. ‘The Beauty of Ancol Bridge,’ she said, naming a well-known ghost tale. Reading the confusion in my face, she explained herself calmly. ‘I want you to rape me.’

I felt myself go limp. She repeated her request; I wasn’t up to hearing it twice. I had swallowed my pride in agreeing to whore myself out. Now she wanted to call me a rapist.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It will only be make believe.’

She outlined the scenario. She would give me the uniform of a Civil Defence guard and have me hide in a wardrobe in her room. Dressed as the Beauty of Ancol Bridge, she would come into the room after prayers, still veiled. As she was removing her veil, I was supposed to leap from the wardrobe, grab her, and begin by tearing off her blouse.

I figured that the woman was out of her mind. But I was desperate. I asked her to increase the pay a tad reluctantly, out of pride. But when I considered that someone like her had no shame, I quickly overcame my hesitance.

She agreed, laughing. She even told me she would pay half my salary up front. She seemed pleased to have filled the position with such a promising candidate.

Without turning around, she waved a contract at me. I swallowed. On it was printed the stipulation that I was responsible for completing my work ‘professionally and efficiently’, while following a ‘flexible’ schedule for three months. Listed beneath were my name and hers. Her name seemed familiar but I couldn’t immediately pin it down. I picked up the pen, my palms sweating.

As soon as I scrawled my signature, she twisted the black chair around and looked straight at me.