They talked about their future plans; I had never considered my future. They talked about buying houses and cars, and I hadn’t thought about those things either. They gave me advice about how to dress and do my hair and make-up. I couldn’t help noticing that in all their expressed hopes and dreams, there was no mention of marriage and children. Their self-sufficient attitudes really impressed me.
There was a knock on the back door and I was disappointed at the interruption; I wanted to continue talking. Three men had arrived, sailors by the look of them. Ellen sauntered over to the men, saying she had a treat for them—a new girl. Me. One of the big guys asked for his ‘special cupcake’ and Samantha, obviously recognising his voice, removed her thick glasses and warm slippers, climbed into her heels and was gone.
‘Hi, I’m Jodie, come with me, gorgeous,’ Jodie said enthusiastically to one of the other two men. He was given no say in the matter. At the time I questioned why Jodie would be so keen to be groped by this intoxicated sailor. Later I came to understand that he wasn’t a ‘drunk sailor’; he was rent or food for a week or maybe just a new handbag.
I got stuck with the other skinny young drunk. Ellen warned him to treat me right. She made me feel like a debutante, but at that point all I felt was petrified; not worried that he would hurt me, but that I would somehow be unsatisfactory.
His eyes lit up when he saw me. ‘God, you’re stunning,’ said Mr $100.
Alone in the room with him, I found I wasn’t nervous at all. The girls had made me feel pretty comfortable about the whole business. I deserved money for what I was going to do, not the grief I’d received in the past. Suddenly, I believed I was worth something and I couldn’t wait to get the money in my hot little hands.
He gave me the money, which I took out to Ellen. When I returned, I began to remove my clothes and lay on the bed. I started kissing his neck and stroking his penis. Nothing was happening. He was almost unconscious.
He turned to me and said, ‘Look honey, I’m only here because my mates pushed me into it. I’m too drunk to do anything—you’re beautiful but I’m too tired. Can I just sleep here for a while?’ I told him no, and that he would have to leave and to hop off the bed and have a shower. After he’d showered, he thanked me and said I was great. Wow! I didn’t have to do anything and I got paid. My body and my time were finally worth something.
Later, when I told the other girls what had happened, they ridiculed him because he couldn’t get it up. I was then given a quick lesson in the reasons why men don’t get erections—mostly it was alcohol, sometimes it was medical, occasionally it was age. As I also discovered through my own experience later, guilt and nerves could play a large part.
By the time I reappeared in the reception room, men were lined up waiting. I did one job after another and I had to perform, but didn’t care—I could see my value. I was going to be a millionaire one day. With each man I would close my eyes and think of my beloved Ben. I wasn’t making love to these guys; I was just performing a simple sex act and getting paid for it, chalking it up to acting experience. Apart from the skinny sailor, I don’t remember any of them, I don’t even remember how many men I had sex with that first night. I did try to remember so that I could count in my own head how much money I could anticipate, but they all sort of blurred into one another.
That night I was there until almost four in the morning and before I walked out I was handed an envelope containing my earnings: my cut from the $980 I’d made was $400. I was only fifteen and I’d earned more in one night than I had earned in a month in the surf shop.
The next night I brought home the same money, and the next night, and the next. A lot of the guys would return asking for me—a sex-worker’s security was in repeat business. I loved my job and even when I wasn’t working I would go to the brothel to see the girls. It became my home and family away from the home and family I no longer had.
One day, I thought I’d pop in for a gossip and found Jodie sitting on the lounge watching TV with a man. This was unusual because Jodie never let anyone slip through her fingers, and certainly didn’t waste time entertaining men if there was nothing in it for her. No one was speaking; what was going on?
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I politely asked, trying desperately to break the silence.
He didn’t speak, just shook his head. He seemed painfully shy. He had red hair and would have been no more than twenty-four years old and looked like he hadn’t eaten in months.
Then out came Peg dressed in black leather, a dog collar and leather hood and holding a whip. I was stunned. Feminine, lesbian Peg, a bondage mistress? I’d heard about this sort of thing but had never witnessed it.
‘Where are you hiding, you snivelling, spineless, mummy’s boy?’ Peg boomed.