“I see.” Malik reaches for his T-shirt, starts pulling it on.

The client’s face drops as he realizes he’s leaving. “C’mon, man. C’mon. It’s easy. You don’t even have to do anything. You just lie there. I promise I won’t do anything to you.”

“Apart from stick your cock in my arse?”

“Ja, except for that. What I paid you for.”

“I’m returning your money.” Malik picks up the cash from the hotel dresser and places it on the client’s pile of clothes, checks his hand to make sure the shaking is on the inside only.

“What? Why?”

“You’re making me feel unsafe.”

Like the white man in Bloemfontein when he and Luvo were working up there, who threw his condom on the floor afterward, and spat on it, and swore. “Fok!” he said. “FOK!” And stormed out and slammed the door. Malik wanted to laugh at him. What a cliché, the guy who loves fucking black guys who hates himself afterward. But a guy like that who spits and swears and slams doors, you know that’s not going to be the only thing he slams one day. A man like that can end up killing someone.

This guy is not that. It’s not even that strange a request, as these things go, although Malik usually subs only for repeat clientele, especially if there are restraints. He’s even done this before for a dude with a Sleeping Beauty thing. But not today, Satan. He does not feel safe. He feels angry.

It’s what happened to Nats. Today, it’s too close to home. And that’s another advantage of this life, that he’s in control. He gets to say no.

“C’mon! What the hell, dude?” The guy follows him out of the motel room into the corridor, wearing only his tighty-whities. “This isn’t the kind of service I expect!” he shouts after him.

Malik ignores him. He’s not even worth the finger.

16

16

“You’re pathetic.” Aurora / Peggy / Satine / Tiffany / Mandy Pandy says in that beautiful South African accent. “You’re the worst.”

“You disgust me. Everyone despises you. You don’t have a life. Even your mother hates you.”

They laugh. But not the tinkling laugh. It’s abrasive, like acid dripping from their plump mouths. It’s contempt.

“Hi, customer service, yeah, I’m so angry. I don’t know what you think you’re doing. Is this some kind of blackmail thing? I didn’t order the dominatrix voice.”

“You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing. Everyone knows it. You know it.”

“Shut the fuck up!” He’s crying, jabbing at the settings on the app. “Voice Off.” “Voice Off.” But she keeps on.

To: YTNite777

From: Natalie Abrams

Subject: Stop please stop.

This is terrible.

I never wanted this.

You have to stop.

I didn’t say those things. You manipulated my voice.

Please.