I've got an urgent need to do something tonight. Even having a glass of wine at a café would suffice. It's just my luck that not only is this town well behaved, but it's freezing. All the shops are closed and barred, and no one's roaming the dirty streets. The whole world seems to be deserted.

Thoughts of returning to my temporary residence constantly assault my brain, but I push them away. The impulses my body is sending me are too strong to ignore. I'm on the verge of doing something downright foolhardy when a solution walks out from behind a corner. It would seem she's going my way.

I give her body a quick run-over with my eyes. She wears an ugly little cap, clearly to disguise the fact that she has almost no hair. Her dress is of poor quality, the typical uniform of a prostitute. Her shoes are nothing but scraps of fabric clumsily sewn together. All in all, she's a sorry bit of work who would do almost anything for a sou. Perfect.

I quickly walk up behind her. The snow muffles my footsteps to near silence. Consequently, she doesn't realize I'm there until I lay my hand on her shoulder. She stiffens slightly in surprise, but then relaxes, as she understands what it must mean. Even through her dress I can feel her frigid skin. No wonder, as she must have been out for hours. With my free hand I tip my hat a bit lower to hide my face, then whisper, "How much?" I disguise my voice to the best of my ability, but it doesn't sound low enough. You'd think that a half an hour a day would be sufficient practice, but no, I still sound like a woman. Dammit.

She doesn't notice, though, and her reply is astonishing. "Ten sous." She must be crazy to ask for that low of a price. I laugh at her lunacy, and press two francs into her hand. She gets food and money for clothing, and I get a lay. Sounds fair. Besides, she wouldn't dare question me after that display of generosity.

She turns in my grasp, and I let go. Now face-to-face, we inspect each other. She's not particularly bad looking except for her top two teeth, which are nothing but an empty hole. I don't mind her judgments; she won't see anything I don't want her to. Not yet, anyway. I politely smile and tip my hat – the perfect gentleman. Still respectful, I ask that we use her dwelling instead of mine. The innkeeper probably wouldn't be too pleased to see me bringing a whore into the building. The wench protests that it's too small, there's no bed, etc., etc., etc. I laugh about it and say it doesn't matter in the least to me. Honestly, it doesn't. I've learned not to be fussy.

She sighs in resignation and nods. I smile and follow her. Looking around I admire the scenery. What seemed so barren and lonely a few minutes ago now sparkles under the lamplights. The promise of some entertainment can turn even the least appealing circumstances beautiful. I wrap my coat tighter around my chest. All this snow is giving me chills. Never mind. I'll be perfectly warm soon enough.

We reach her apartment building. The thing is falling apart. Even a whore shouldn't be earning so little. She's must either be in debt or an alcoholic. Neither one is appealing. She might try to rob me, in which case I would almost certainly have a second corpse to my name. Ah well. These things always seem to work out in the end, usually without any sort of repercussion. She lets us in, and we climb the stairs together.

Happily she's not one of the idiots who try to feel you up as soon as you enter the building. I hate that type. They nearly always wind up unconscious. This one, though, only uses her hands to unlock the door. She asks if I still want her to do me here. I try to stop myself from breaking out into fits of laughter. I tell her that my like have always been rather queer. Sometimes I just can't resist saying things, even if they do earn me a slap. The pun, thankfully, goes straight over her head.

I close the door behind her and watch her remove her clothing. Everything is simply taken off, with no ceremony and little grace. She must be new at this. Her body isn't completely horrid. It's stick thin, but that's not a complete turn-off. It has its own special appeal.

She lies down in what she must think is a seductive pose, and I turn around to undress. I've learned that it's never good to reveal yourself before you're completely ready. I shudder and instinctively feel my scars. When the last wench saw me, she attacked my face. Only two fingers on each hand actually left scars, but it threw me into a rage. I got what I paid for from that one. She fought every second, but I got it in the end. Oh, yes, did I ever. When I was done with her, she didn't have any breath to scream with. Erotic though it was, I don't want a repeat performance any time soon.

I finish and she asks for my name. I turn around to answer, and she shrieks. Her clumsy attempts to flee both amuse and relieve me. She's far too shocked to fight. I have to restrain myself from moving to quickly. Instead, I simply follow her retreat until we're tête-à-tête. I can't hold back my triumphant grin, however. The anticipation is simply killing me. I lean in and whisper, "I paid."

She doesn't try to stop me.

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