An Interrogation Into the Sex Life of One Markus Najbreit

“Well, you seem to have spent an awful lot of time last month at that one corner in Flushing. You know, the one with the massage parlours,” Genevieve says. I can feel her looking at me through the rearview mirror, even though I can’t actually see her, and my face predictably reddens a little in embarrassment. “Are you really that into massages?”

Then, it hits me. She knew where I was this past month? Even for a close colleague of Erin’s, she knows a lot about me. This lady is dangerous. Could she have faked those photos with Erin? What am I doing in the trunk of her car? I hurriedly try to pop the back door open, knowing that she’s certainly locked it, that she’ll be able to catch me even if I get out the door…

The door pops open up and swings up.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” Genevieve says, stifling a giggle. “You’re so jumpy!”

“How did you know that about me?” I ask, feeling peeved. Genevieve hits a button in her car, and the trunk door starts to close again. I let it close, but not without consideration.

“What, the jumpiness or the stalkery geo-tracking?”

“The latter,” I mumble to the clearly rhetorical question.

“I’m a pretty good graph theorist, and lots of my papers happen to need data to demonstrate how the research shakes out in reality. So I got to talking with Apple and Google and those big companies that track your location, and they all seemed quite willing to share that data that they had collected in exchange for some cutting edge methods that would improve their algorithm by a couple percentage points,” Genevieve says. She has a small pocket mirror out, and it looks like she’s checking her make-up as she speaks to me. “That doesn’t, strictly speaking, answer your question—all the data I got was anonymized and de-identified, so how could I have known where you, Markus Najbreit, were? It turned out to be a pretty easy task to track your device once I had your place of residence and the last place that you worked. There was, unsurprisingly, only one person in the world that spent nights sleeping in your apartment and days working at your workplace.”

“Well shit,” I say. That answers a lot of questions, but some things still don’t add up—how did she know the hotel that I was staying in, if I’d dumped my old phone back at my apartment? I’m about to raise the question, when Genevieve cuts in with her own instead.

“Hey, I gave you a good answer to your question, so now it’s your turn to answer mine. What’s up with that corner in Flushing?”

She’s adopting that innocent girl tone again, applying her lipstick while she waits for my answer. I squirm for a second, before deciding to tell her the truth.

“They aren’t massage parlours. They’re brothels disguised as massage parlours,” I say.

“Sounds hot,” Genevieve says, putting the cap back on her lipstick. Shit. Her freshly painted lips look hot, a coat of pink that I’d love to see wrapped around my cock, and maybe… I need to answer her question.

“I wasn’t there for sex,” I say, trying not to sound too defensive. “I left my phone there to trick Inspector Vidocq—the man Father hired to tail me—into thinking I was doing embarrassing things, so that I could do other things without Father catching wind. Things like coming here to Boston.”

“Awww,” Genevieive says, and for some reason, she sounds almost disappointed that she didn’t get a lurid sex story. “You sure you didn’t sleep with anyone there?”

“Not recently,” I say.

“A-ha! But you have, before,” she says, pleased as punch.

“Maybe…”

“Tell me more, when was it?!” She can’t quite hide the smile on her face as she digs through her purse for something else.

“Twelve years ago. I blew a whole paycheck on it, but man, it was worth it,” I say with a dark chuckle. The memory comes back, and it is a good one.

“How was she?” she asks. “I want the details!”

“How were they,” I say, correcting her sharply. “There were two of them. And they were magnificent. I have a thing for threesomes,” I admit to her, though I’m not exactly sure why I’m telling her this, “and I got everything that I wanted out of it. Those two hours were… words escape me. I’m guessing you haven’t ever had the pleasure yourself, but to fuck two curvy, enthusiastic ladies in succession… let me tell you, it’s a reason to keep on going when the times get tough.”

A voracious gleam passes through Genevieve’s eye as she listens to me speak.

“The way you tell it makes it seem like you’ve been in other threesomes before,” Genevieve says suggestively.

“You want more stories.” I say. She nods eagerly. Truth be told, I’m not entirely against the idea.

“Don’t guys love sharing stories about their sexual conquests?” she asks, biting her lip.

“Since you’re so insistent, I can give you stories. We do have a couple hours to kill.”