I recall one such client selecting me. I took him into the room, took his cash, returned and commenced my routine, a ten-minute back massage while I was straddling him naked. When I rolled him over and attempted to put a condom on him for the French service, he protested: ‘No, no, no, I don’t want to fuck you yet.’
When I explained that he had to wear a condom for French he was up in arms, claiming that he had received a natural service last week from another girl in the same room for the same price. I assumed he was confused by the varying time rates, half-hour versus three-quarters of an hour. He was not confused at all, and went on to describe the girl who had been so generous. Sure enough, it was one of the Asian girls. A lot of times, too, a client would describe one of the non-Asian girls, who we would later discover had a drug problem. My client marched out to the receptionist and demanded his money back, which she reluctantly gave him, leaving me with nothing to show for my time and exposure. Needless to say, whoever had been responsible for the client’s earlier bare French was quickly shown the door, under a loud protest of denials. This was the problem with the low-end establishments or, as I now refer to them, brothels. The lower the risk to the girls, the more I am inclined to call them parlours.
The seedier the parlour, the seedier the client unfortunately, but at this stage I was yet to find an alternative work venue. I didn’t know that high-class establishments existed, or high-class clients for that matter. In hindsight, I am appalled at the calibre of weirdo that frequented La Belle Femme.
One such example still makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand every time I think about it. He requested ‘body adoration’, like he was ordering a steak and kidney pie.
‘What do you mean you don’t know what I’m talking about?’
To this day he is the only dickhead to ever ask for it, so I don’t feel so stupid as I did on that afternoon. His definition of ‘body adoration’ was him lying on a bed masturbating while I licked him all over. Sounded simple at the time, and yet still repulsive. I insisted he have a good shower, but even with the assistance of Imperial Leather I could still taste old man with every lick. That was definitely one of the longest forty-five-minute sessions I ever had.
Tracy and I were out dancing one night when a man named Rozario came up to introduce himself. He claimed to be in the restaurant/nightclub business and told me that he was impressed with my dancing ability so if I ever needed work, I should call him. He spoke such broken English I was having trouble understanding him, particularly with the loud music.
I said we needed somewhere to live more than jobs, and as it turned out, he was just about to move into a flat above his new restaurant so the apartment he was currently living in would be sitting empty. He said he would charge us $140 a week to rent it. We went with him to have a look at the apartment; it was not flash, but it was cheap and required no ID or reference checks.
Within a week, Tracy and I gave him $280, and bought groceries and a few odds and ends ready to move into our new home. We were completely skint. Tracy spent all her wages on alcohol, when she did show up for a shift that is. Even when she was working, her hatred for the job was so evident that clients rarely chose her. What little money she had managed to save usually went towards new clothes that were out of fashion ten minutes after she bought them.
I, on the other hand, was better than an ATM, as far as my family were concerned. My mother wrote to me continually about how she had been ripped off financially, and how the phone was going to get cut off. I felt sorry for her, and sent money occasionally. She said it was a loan but I never saw the money again. My brothers, being teenagers, were constantly short of money and I couldn’t do enough for them. Perhaps I was making up for lost time, but whatever the reason, I was happy to spoil them. Don’t get me wrong, I still found a few dollars for my extravagances. Like most girls in this industry, my motto was ‘No bills, no work’.
We now had keys to a fully furnished unit, complete with towels, toilet paper, plates, cutlery and cooking utensils. It seemed too good to be true!
Rozario returned an hour after handing over the keys to say the plumbing and electricity hadn’t been hooked up in his new flat yet. He asked to stay with us until the next day. It was his house, so what could we do? We slept in one room and allowed him to use the second bedroom.
That night, as Tracy and I were sleeping he walked into our bedroom pretending to hold a video camera like you would when playing charades. ‘We’re going to make a movie,’ he said. ‘Here are your lines.’ He handed us a script he had written.
‘Rozario, we’re trying to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning,’ I said.
He went nuts and began screaming at us. ‘If you don’t read this script I’m going to beat the shit out of both of you.’
We knew he was serious and quickly realised he was completely insane. We had been set up. I began reading the script. Tracy refused and he threw a teapot at her.