Page 68 of Back Room Host

“I don’t know. Sometimes.”

In my head, memories of encounters with clients were rushing through. Good and bad ones. The experiences I gathered were unique, but I could have done without at least half of them. I swallowed and bit my lip again.

“Juri?” Luca pulled me out of the whirlwind, and I glanced up. “You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to—or can’t.”

I nodded slightly, irritated by myself.

“I can imagine the job isn’t safe. Aren’t you scared?”

That question even brought a smile to my face. It’s not like I had a choice. “There are rooms with an emergency button. Plus, I don’t do everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Um … Nothing involving blood. I don’t let myself be filmed, pissed on, or shat on. No groups. Threesomes only with clients I know well. Um … Yeah …”

“How do you choose your clients?”

I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and took a big gulp of beer. When I set the bottle down again, my hands reached for the cigarette pack, needing something to hold onto.

“They find me through an ad.” I paused for a while, but Luca said nothing. He could see I was carefully weighing my next words. “They text me. Mostly on WhatsApp. With a photo. Then we chat a bit. If I have a bad feeling, I’ll pass.”

“And how old are your clients?”

“Forty and up.”

“Why?” Luca seemed puzzled. “Doesn’t that gross you out?”

“If you want to talk about disgust, then you should know it has nothing to do with age.”

“But … you have sex with older men. I mean …”

I shook my head. “Sorry, but that’s not how it works. If you want to conduct a serious interview, you should keep your opinions and emotions out of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Luca said at once. “The thought of you with these strange men … It just messes with me.”

“Many of them are nice. And everyone has their quirks. People are different. I know many who lead normal family lives, with a wife and kids at home. Once a month, they come to me to live out their fantasies. Older men don’t pose a risk to me. I don’t fall in love with them. I offer them a service, and they pay me for it.”

“How did you get into doing this?” By now, Luca had switched to beer and took a long sip.

I thought about it, even though I knew the answer. Nervously, I lit a new cigarette. “I was … looking for love,” I replied with smoke in my lungs, blowing it out and shrugging.

Luca frowned.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not stupid. I know the difference. But back then, when this opportunity presented itself …” My thoughts drifted back to a life I had six years ago. A life dominated by violence. By beatings and torture. Again, I cleared my throat and tried to shake off the memories.

“My first client approached me on Langstrasse,” I said. “I was out with friends. They were in the bar, and I was outside smoking. That’s when this guy started talking to me. He offered me fifty bucks if he could blow me. I could have told him I wasn’t a hustler, but I was curious. Besides, I had nothing to lose, so I went with him.”

“When was that?”

“About six years ago.”

“You’ve been doing this for that long?”

“Mhm …”

“Didn’t you ever want to do something else?”

I pressed my lips together and forced a smile. “I started an apprenticeship in the summer. As a chef. But the owner was out with a callboy and happened to see me with a client. That’s when I got fired on the spot.”

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