Manhood

I was fourteen years old when I first went to a brothel. The name of the place is still etched in my memory: The Crowing Cock.

I vividly recall the growing anxiety that consumed me as we drove to the place at two in the morning after a party. I wasn’t anxious because I was underage. It also had nothing to do with our drunkenness, or with the fact that I was still a virgin. It was something else.

There were four people in the car that night, all older than me. My cousin Mike was nineteen, while Pedro and Doug were eighteen. They had experienced brothels before.

The music in the car blared loudly, nearly drowning out the small talk about the party.

“You’re good-looking, Noah,” Pedro slurred, his voice thick and his eyes droopy, as he glanced over his shoulder from the passenger seat next to Mike. “But you can’t expect women to make the first move. They’re proud creatures...”

“Indeed, they are,” Doug nodded, raising a beer can to his mouth. He was sitting in the backseat next to me.

“Hey, watch that beer,” Mike shouted from behind the wheel, his gaze on the rear-view mirror. His slightly crooked nose added a touch of seriousness to his face. “If you spill it, you’ll be paying for the cleaning...”

“Don’t worry. You’re talking to a pro,” Doug replied nonchalantly, taking another sip to make his point.

“Yeah, a pro... like that time you puked all over the damn car.”

Pedro and I laughed as we remembered the scene.

“Anyways, as we were saying,” Doug said, changing the subject, “women are proud creatures.” He casually draped his left arm around my shoulders. “If you just had more attitude, man...”

Small talk didn’t hold my interest at that moment. I was more concerned with the unexpected destination they’d chosen. “I guess I didn’t get drunk enough,” I remarked, which held some truth.

I needed alcohol in my veins to muster the confidence to approach girls. It was like pliers cutting through the locks of my shyness. However, being relatively new to drinking, I didn’t go overboard, or I’d be the puker, not Doug.

“You bet,” Pedro said, combing his raven-black hair with his fingers. “You drink like I girl...”

“Cut it out, boys,” Mike intervened. “He’s not even fifteen yet.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Doug agreed with a smirk. “He still has a lot to learn... starting in a few minutes when we reach our destination...” He nodded slowly and proudly. “Feeling horny yet?” he teased, playfully ruffling my hair.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, unsure how to respond to Doug’s provocation. The weight of the moment was starting to sink in.

As they continued their excited chatter about this rite of passage, this symbolic step into manhood that our circle defined as losing one’s virginity, I turned my gaze towards the window on my left. The night air felt pleasant, despite the creeping fog that began to form, wrapping the landscape in a white blanket. It wasn’t dense enough to obscure the road ahead. Somehow, looking at the fog calmed me, a momentary reprieve from the mounting angst.

Until we reached the place, which awaited us shrouded in mist.

The Crowing Cock was one of several brothels in the “red-light” district. The area consisted of a poorly lit street, lined with approximately ten inconspicuous, high-walled brothels that, from the outside, resembled ordinary large houses. Unless you were aware of their nature, it was easy to pass by without realizing what they were. It was like a forbidden world hidden behind unassuming façades. Even the signage displaying their names was only visible after passing through the gates.

I still recall walking through the discreet greyish and rusty side gate of The Crowing Cock, with trembling legs and racing heart as we slowly ascended a ramp that lead us closer to the actual entrance, while the guys cracked jokes about how some girl would initiate me into manhood. Above the door, a vivid red light illuminated the name of the establishment.

A towering, muscular bouncer stood guard at the entrance, wearing clothes darker than the night itself. He glared at us. I was intimidated and thought—or hoped—he would send us away, but he just acknowledged my cousin with a nod, granting us passage. Just like that, we got in.

As we crossed the threshold, music filled my ears. I rapidly noticed a jukebox situated to the left of the rather spacious area. The ambient lighting was dim, creating an atmosphere of secrecy and allure. Windows were non-existent, save for small openings near the ceiling on either side of the entryway. But what struck me the most was the peculiar scent in the air. A mixture of perfume, body odours, alcohol, cigarettes, and something else. Something that, although yet unfamiliar to me, I knew what it was. The place reeked of sex.

In the centre of the room, two guys were engaged in a game of pool. Uncomfortable tables and chairs were scattered throughout the place. To the right, a door led into a hallway harbouring many rooms—for what purposes you can guess. Opposite the entrance, a rough-looking figure stood behind the counter.

“This place is kinda crowded,” Mike complained, scanning the room.

“Yeah. But it’s Saturday. These folks deserve some fun,” Pedro chimed in, his steps sluggish as he made his way towards the bar. “Grab us a table that I’ll get the beers.”

We settled at the nearest vacant spot.

“Looks like no pool game tonight,” Doug said, disappointed.

Mike nodded, taking a seat to my left.

There were five women in the room. If there were others, they were probably—and literally—working their arses hard. Alongside them and our group, approximately ten men of various ages and appearances were scattered about. The women maneuvered between tables, engaging in lively conversations while simultaneously attempting to attract potential clients or fetch drinks.

When Pedro returned with the bottles of beer, a nearly naked, middle-aged woman with blond hair approached our table.

“Look at these hotties,” she said in a hoarse voice, with her fingers lightly tracing Pedro’s sun-kissed face. She slowly made her way around the table, teasing each of us. She smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. “How about we have some fun tonight? I’d be delighted to make your evening unforgettable.”

 Pedro gazed the newcomer up and down. “Tonight is special. We’re looking for someone to help this young man lose his innocence.”

She looked at me with an intensity that made me feel like prey, and in a way, I was.  She approached me, running her fingers through my short, light brown hair. “An experienced woman like me would be marvellous for you first time, don’t you think?” she whispered, her voice laced with a mix of allure and confidence.

I met her gaze briefly, still fighting my uneasiness, before saying, “We’ll have some beers first, but thanks.”

“I see,” she replied, slightly disappointed. “I’ll be around if you change your mind, but don’t take too long or you may find no girls to entertain you tonight.” She trailed off, wiggling her sagging backside.

Other women approached us. One woman had remarkably big boobs, making me wonder how she managed all their weight without bending like a stick.

They showered us with compliments, while strategically displaying their assets in an attempt to ignite desire within us. And I soon understood why the place was packed. Most of the men weren’t attractive, except for two average-looking folks among them and our slightly above-average-looking group. I noticed that many of those men weren’t just seeking physical intimacy, but also attention. Their eyes sparkled with excitement every time they were praised, even if they knew it was all an act. They just didn’t care; they relished in the attention and affirmation.

It also became evident that for some men, the allure of the brothel extended beyond purely sexual encounters. They engaged in playful flirtation, indulged in drinks, and immersed themselves in the atmosphere without partaking in sex. This realization dawned on me, particularly observing my cousin and his friends, who could find women elsewhere without having to pay.

“Only older women today,” Mike said, his disappointment evident. “Not that it’d be bad for you... but they do look pretty... worn out.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, frowning. “Some of them appear as dry as a raisin.”

Pedro suggested checking out other places, but Mike dismissed the idea. “The others will be even worse... Here, they usually have more hookers, but the attractive girls must be busy. Maybe they’ll show up once they finish their business...”

“I don’t know... It’s nearly three,” I said.

Uncertainty and discomfort crept over me as I contemplated the prospect of having sex with a woman who had been intimate with multiple men on the same night. It wasn’t just that, though. The entire situation made me uneasy, and my mind constantly sought reasons to escape. Moreover, fatigue weighed heavily on me, accumulating like snow. All I wanted was to go home.

“The night is still young,” Doug declared with a grin, taking a sip of his beer. “Perhaps a gorgeous young lady will arrive and relieve you of your virginity.”

I drained my beer, secretly hoping that a beautiful girl wouldn’t make an appearance. If she did, I wouldn’t be able to refuse her. No matter how many excuses I had, they’d be futile. This was my rite of passage, my test of manhood. Failing was unthinkable. Failing would jeopardize my sense of belonging among my friends. I wouldn’t take that risk, even if it meant doing something I didn’t desire.

However, no pretty girl showed up that night.

As we left the premises and hit the road, a sense of relief washed over me. However, my relief was short-lived as the guys quickly devised a plan to return when I turned fifteen. Within less than a month, they promised to bestow upon me the best gift the brothel could offer. In their twisted notion, I’d finally be a man.

***

My birthday fell on a Tuesday, so the gift was postponed to the following Saturday, which only served to heighten my anxiety. The fateful day arrived like a bullet train, and at 7 p.m., I found myself stepping into Mike’s car, with the other boys close behind.

“Man, you’re gonna love it,” Doug exclaimed, his laughter filling the car. “Did you do as I said?”

“Yes sir. Handjobs checked,” I said morosely, my gaze fixed on the cloudy, starless night sky.

“C’mon,” he replied, waving his hands like an Italian, “you look as excited as a corpse.”

I couldn’t muster up any excitement, and I couldn’t fake it either. I was nervous and, somehow, scared.

“I know you’re tense,” Pedro said, glancing at me over his shoulder as my cousin began to drive. “But there’s no need to be. We’ll stop at a bar first and have a drink, so you can relax. And don’t worry if you... you know... finish quickly–”

Mike let out a sigh. “If you’re trying to help, you’re not doing a great job of it.”

“I’m just saying, the first time hardly counts, so don’t stress over it.”

Doug burst into laughter. “You’re saying that because you lasted less than five minutes your first time. What an expensive five minutes...”

“Shut up, Doug,” Pedro said.

“Just kidding, man. You did fine.”

They kept arguing and pinpointing each other’s shortcomings. Mike remained mostly silent, sort of in sync with me. Occasionally, I’d notice him glaring at me through the rear-view mirror, his expression filled with what I interpreted as concern. I think he knew back then.

We spent about an hour at the bar, where I tried to drink as much as possible. I hoped that by numbing myself with alcohol, I could dull the impending reality of what was about to happen. By around nine o’clock, we arrived at The Crowing Cock.

The first time I’d been there I was anxious because it was unexpected. My mind was trying to process the news without fully comprehending the situation’s significance. But this time, there was no confusion. We went there with a clear goal in mind, and there was no way out. If the previous time the anxiety felt like butterflies in my stomach, now it felt like a vice grip around my throat, suffocating me. I was sweating like a kettle when we walked into the bar on that second night.

When we stepped through the door, we noticed more women than before. Soon after, two stunning girls caught our eyes. They appeared to be in their thirties. One had brunette locks, full lips, and a well-toned body. The other boasted honey-coloured hair and captivating green eyes, with a slender and delicate frame. I remember naively thinking they should be modelling, not whoring.

After securing a table and ordering our beers, it didn’t take long for the girls to approach us. Eventually, most of them made their rounds, and Mike turned to me with a question. “So, which one of the two?”

“You’re fucking luck,” Doug chimed in, “but don’t take too long to decide...” He looked at the girls with fierce eyes.

“It’s been a while since I’ve paid for sex, but today I’m down for it,” Pedro said.

“Who isn’t, after seeing those two?” Doug asked.

“Yeah, there’s no denying that,” Mike said with a smirk.

They started arguing about who should go with one of the two stunning girls. I wasn’t paying much attention, my mind racing like a horse. My nervousness was building up with the second.

They settled on playing rock-paper-scissors to determine who’d choose after me. Mike emerged victorious, and then he asked, “So, which one?”

I drained my beer, and despite my internal turmoil, I pointed towards the honey-coloured haired girl, named Pietra. In a matter of minutes, the arrangements were made.

With unsteady legs, I got up under cheers from my friends. I followed Pietra towards a side door and then through a dimly lit hallway. Each step seemed to echo with the weight of my apprehension.

We eventually arrived at a door at the end of the hall, on the right. Pietra opened it, and I hesitantly entered the room behind her. The space was sparsely furnished, with only a double bed against the back wall, a wardrobe to the left, and a desk with two chairs to the right. Surprisingly, the room was well lit, although I couldn’t help but wish for darkness, for shadows to conceal what was about to unfold.

“You can take your clothes off,” she said, her voice calm as she walked past me towards the bed. She undressed quickly, turning to face me.

Her body was undeniably beautiful, and her face possessed a certain youthful that matched my own. It was as if we were both navigating uncharted territory together.

“Need help?” Pietra asked, her head tilting slightly to the side and her curious eyes fixed on me.

“I’m fine,” I turned around, looking for the light switch. “I’ll just turn off the light–”

“Sorry, but that’s against the rules here.”

“Oh. I see.”

Pietra settled onto the bed, waiting for me with an expression of curiosity and reassurance. “No need to be shy,” she said. “I won’t judge, regardless of size or shape. I promise.”

I chuckled, the tension in the room easing slightly, but not because of her words. I undressed slowly, placing my clothes neatly on the chair beside me.

“Oh.” Her eyes filled with understanding. “I see. That’s why you were nervous... Not everyone comes here hard from the start.” She flashed upon me a seductive smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the cock crows soon.”

I was sure that the sight of her naked body alone would instantly arouse most people. And if that wasn’t enough, her captivating smile would surely do the trick. But I wasn’t most people.

“Come here,” Pietra beckoned, lightly patting the bed.

I complied.

She gently traced her fingertips along my chest, down my stomach, and finally to my nether regions. Her touch was skilled. Using her other hand, she pushed me until I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I felt disappointed, unable to experience what I should. The desire to escape grew stronger, and I felt like crying. I glanced over at Pietra, who still wore her curious expression, seemingly unaware of my internal struggle.

As time passed and further attempts to elicit a response proved ineffective, I let out a heavy sigh, frustration mounting. Sitting up, I took her hand gently in mine.

“You can stop now.”

She seemed unsure and disheartened, not knowing how to respond. Her voice carried a hint of sadness as she asked, “Is it because I’m a whore? I’m clean... I always take showers after sex...”

I managed a faint smile, shaking my head. “That’s not the issue.”

She frowned. “I’ve seen this happen before, but with guys too drunk to perform... You don’t seem that drunk.”

I looked at her emerald eyes. She appeared so innocent.

With a sad smile, I repeated, “That’s not the problem either.”

Her curiosity deepened. She leaned in closer. “Then, what is it?”

“The problem is... you are a woman.”

Her eyes widened, and a soft "Oh" escaped her lips as understanding washed over her. Without further words, we silently dressed ourselves. I requested her silence and a few more minutes of pretence. She gently complied. As we made our way back to the bar, with a warm smile, she whispered, “You were great.” I offered a small nod of gratitude, appreciating her kindness.

She later repeated those words to my friends, whose cheers filled the air. I didn’t mind the lie, only savouring the attention and affirmation, although deep down I knew I had taken an important step in acknowledging my truth.