Through My Window (Red Light, Book One)

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An Excerpt From: THROUGH MY WINDOW

Copyright ? JAYNE RYLON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.

Dusk

Through
my window, a sea of strangers swirl and retreat like waves in an ocean of
humanity. I brush my hair, fix my makeup and flip on the glaring red light
in my booth before turning to face them on the other side of the glass.

They
begin each evening like still waters. Ebbing and flowing past my window.
Unaffected by buffeting winds or brewing desires. Eddying in swirls as they
gather, peek around our infamous district with downcast eyes then
scatter?awkward and unsure yet inquisitive.

Curious
couples setting out on tandem adventures, young men high on the moral
freedom of Amsterdam and clusters of women indulging in a wild night with
friends all dip their toes in the pool.

Later,
much later, they will roil and crash against the glass in a typhoon of
wanton excess?of food, drink, drugs and sex?that never ceases to amaze me.

Or to
infect me with its primal power.

Most
women shoot me glances of pity if they look at me at all. I feel sorry for
them, that they don?t understand. But some?some grin and nod.

Appreciation.

Respect.

Envy.

A
select few go further, seeking my services so they can share in the rush
for a brief time.

Men
are more likely to notice my sincere yearning to please right away. All
manner of them from young to old, rich to poor, thin to fat and virile to
impotent appraise me with hungry eyes.

Cynics
might say my killer curves, mile-high stilettos or long mane of platinum
hair are responsible for their focused attention. I don?t buy that. I?m not
the most attractive working girl on the block. But I?m one of the busiest.

Customers
can sense I?m different than most. They recognize I?m here not because I have to be but because I want to be. I absorb their stares
before returning some of my own. The authority they grant me is
intoxicating and addicting.

I love
enticing a kindred spirit to my lair for both our enjoyment and my profit.

The
hot, red lights of my booth, along the canal slicing through the heart of
De Wallen, glint off my silver-sequined costume.
What little of it there is anyway. The warm air in
the space caresses my bared skin each time my neighbors let someone in or
show them out.

Satisfaction
guaranteed.

Theirs.
And mine. Ours.