After every spending spree, I’d say, ‘Well now, I think that should do for a while.’ But the next day I found myself back at the mall. I’ve heard psychologists say that deep down working girls hate their job, and therefore want to rid themselves of the profits. Personally I think that’s a crock of shit, I think most of us have been used and abused, ripped off, and have been financially limited for so long, that when we get a few dollars in our hot little hands, we want to treat ourselves to a few of life’s luxuries.
The dark cloud had definitely lifted and I felt safe, secure, healthy and independent. So I decided it was time to welcome my brothers and father to my home and give Mum my number and address. It turned out Dad was very forgiving, he embraced me, complimented me on my home, called me beautiful but refused to talk about the past, in particular, acknowledge any wrongdoing. Dad never asked questions about my occupation, but I’m pretty sure he knew what I was up to. I just couldn’t bring myself to admit it.
14
Professional v Prostitute
Felicity’s had an entirely different clientele to what I was used to. Generally they were wealthy men, bankers, doctors, lawyers, engineers, or investors. But the average guy still made up thirty per cent of the patrons. Most of the clients were happy to have French, sex, massage and a brief whinge about their wife or job. They were the men I liked, but my favourites were the ones who paid for three hours, blew their load within the first fifteen minutes then slept for the remainder of their visit, thus enabling me to take clients in other rooms.
Some had fantasies and most were fairly uninspiring, such as doggy style.
‘Is that what you call a fantasy?’ I would ask.
‘Oh yeah, my wife only lets me do it missionary, if she lets me do it at all.’
French was another ‘fantasy’. Men were almost shocked if I performed oral on them. Most didn’t last past that. I had heard the joke about why a bride smiles as she is walking down the aisle –she knows she’ll never have to give head ever again. It seemed that maybe that wasn’t such a joke after all, as most clients had the same tale of woe.
Another fantasy I was always happy to accommodate was the ‘I just want to please you’ fantasy. This usually consisted of them giving me a half-hour massage, then touching me or eating me to the point of orgasm. Once that was achieved they would shower and leave.
Some men were paranoid of catching AIDS so their fantasy was to watch me masturbate as they relieved themselves—once again easy money. Occasionally they would tip big dollars if I could climax. Anything is possible at the right price. Ohhhh aaaaahhhhh, yes, yes . . . I’m coming, I’m coming, aaaaahhhh. ‘That will be fifty dollars, thanks.’
‘Oh, Kate, you’re the best, you really love your job, don’t you?’
Some fantasies were a bit harder to swallow, quite literally, but of course that wasn’t allowed—not that any of us would have done it. Mind you, for the right money there will always be someone desperate enough and in my experience I found that it was often the Asian girls. There were always girls who came here on tourist visas and worked sixteen-hour shifts just to send money back home to their families. These girls barely spoke English, apart from introducing themselves and ‘Yes, for extra one hundred dollar.’
In the beginning I wasn’t aware that I was allowed to refuse certain requests, which is probably why I quickly became the top earner.
One client wanted me to bite his dick. I did it, he said, ‘No, harder.’ So I complied, only to hear, ‘No. Harder.’ I thought if I bit it any harder it would draw blood, my teeth were almost meeting, but he was still not satisfied.
Finally I said, ‘That’s as far as I’m prepared to go.’ He was disappointed but accepted my decision, and left.
Another evening I was chosen by a man who told me he had a certain fantasy, and that before he paid me he wanted to make sure that I would participate.
‘I want you to hit me with a stick or a ruler on my dick, but I want you to do it very hard.’
Phrases like ‘No way, you sick pup’, and ‘Forget it, you weirdo’, crossed my mind, but in the end I politely said, ‘That’s something I don’t think I could be comfortable with.’
‘I understand. Perhaps management could recommend someone else for me, it’s a shame though; you’re so sexy.’
I excused myself, and gave the message to the receptionist, then returned to the ladies’ lounge. Within seconds, Louise came in.
‘Girls, can I have your attention, we have a very nice gentleman in room two who is looking for someone who is comfortable with giving mild B and D, if you’re interested please make your way there now.’ When no one moved except to top up their coffees or reapply make-up, Louise screamed, ‘Am I talking to myself? Get your sorry butts in there.’
We all just stared at one another. Finally one girl made her exit; she was not the prettiest or the youngest and therefore not so fussy.