‘But I’m not even fucking you?’
I generally got bored at this point, and recommended the phone number of a cheaper girl.
Clients on drugs would often phone offering a barter arrangement: ‘Do you want a seventy-two-inch plasma? How about jewellery, a motorbike or a new laptop?’
I didn’t even want to give my address to these cretins, I just politely declined and hung up. More often than I care to remember, clients would want to barter drugs for service, mostly injectables. People do make the assumption that a large proportion of working girls take drugs—I wouldn’t know the truth of the statistics because you tend to attract like-minded people, so after I left Kings Cross I never met with those sort of girls. They certainly must have existed going by the numbers of calls I received. I would always write down the number the client had called from so I could hand that information on to friends in the police force.
Every now and then you got an interesting proposition from an angry, scorned husband. I clearly recall one such gentleman inviting me to visit him in his home right on the beach in one of the prestigious suburbs of Perth for an all-night visit. This request was always greeted with a firm decline, as I didn’t want to get there and find out that they have popped some speed so that two ordinary hours becomes equivalent to fourteen head-banging hours. So you simply dipped your toe in: ‘Tell you what, let’s start with two hours and see how we go?’ This generally gave them a glimmer of hope.
This particular gentleman was very distinguished, charming and affable, so I could tell that I was not in any danger of drugs or mates hiding in the closet, and I accepted my payment for two hours and made myself comfortable. He offered me a drink, which I declined, then he showed me around his mansion. He had awards and trophies everywhere, photographs taken with amazing people hung on every wall in the house. I was very impressed. But he didn’t talk for long about his accomplishments, I imagine that conversation had been done to death with all his associates.
Instead, he asked me something that initially seemed quite bizarre: ‘What size is your index finger?’
Well, that was certainly one for the books. ‘Would it shock you to hear that I have no idea?’
‘Come here and see if any of these fit.’
I followed him into his bedroom, which I can only describe as an Aladdin’s cave of gems and gold. Everywhere I looked there were earrings, necklaces, rings, brooches, watches, even bloody tiaras, spilling over the furniture. I was constantly amazed at the number of clients who leave precious items around when they invited girls like me over for a visit. Or who took their watch off for sex and then forget to put it back on before they left. To this day, I have over fifteen men’s watches waiting to be collected by persons that I no longer remember.
But in this case he was hoping that I would steal from him. ‘If you like anything, please help yourself. My fiancée has left me for some younger fuck, so I’m going to get rid of all of this anyway, cunt doesn’t deserve it.’
My brain and my conscience were immediately battling it out. This was an offer that really had no strings attached, but if she reported it stolen and he gave up my name, I’d get caught with stolen property. Surprisingly, it didn’t take that much strength to decline his generous offer. One way or another, I hadn’t earnt those items and she had. Gone were the days when I could justify shoplifting or theft of any variety. In the end we had a short tryst and I was out the door within half an hour, with only cash to show for it.
37
Bullshit Stories
Sex workers sell a fantasy, but we do not have the patent on bullshit, as clients are key players in this pas de deux. Oh, if I had a dollar for every lie I’ve heard, I’d be a wealthy woman. One of the most commonly told lies was: If you do it naturally I promise that I won’t cum in your mouth. Or the classic: The bloody ATM wasn’t working and I didn’t want to be late, can I stay now and fix you up after? And last but not least: I love you. Which was interchangeable with: I respect you.