Up ya bum!

I am always surprised when people ask me how many times I have been hit at work and they are always surprised when I answer NEVER.  In all my years sex working, there have been only been two times when my client scared me and neither of these times resulted in me being hurt.

It’s important to note that if I feel uneasy about a potential client for any reason I do not accept the booking. As sex workers we develop many screening techniques that work for us, the most reliable one being our gut instincts. I also want to acknowledge that while I have not experienced workplace violence or abuse at work in the sex industry, there are many sex workers who have. Indeed there are many workers in all industries who have, but for workers in the sex industry there is less support and limited options to deal with issues or incidents due to criminalisation and discrimination. In many cases the sex work laws are responsible for making sex workers more vulnerable at work. We should also remember that for women violence is more likely to be a part of our home life than our work life, no matter what job we do. So to ask me how many times I have been hit at work just because I am a sex worker is kind of ridiculous and inappropriate, not to mention unhelpful. Imagine asking every woman you meet how many times they have been hit by a partner or family member as part of normal conversation.

So generally I get frustrated with the question and the looks of disbelief that follow my answer, but if I’m feeling generous I will follow it up with an explanation and a story. Only two bookings where I felt scared and due to my well refined de-escalation skills neither of them resulted in me being hurt. Infact one of them is now part of my collection of funny hooker stories, do you want to hear it?

I was working in one of Adelaide’s small suburban brothels one evening when this client came in. He booked me for 2 hours straight up and we headed for the small 2 person outdoor spa in the private courtyard of the cottage we were working from. It didn’t take me long to notice this guy was wired. He was racing through emotions from aggressive to horny to nervous back to aggressive, the whole time very agitated. In the spa he told me what I already suspected; he been on a massive drink and drug bender and hadn’t slept for three days. He told me about a  big fight he had with his girlfriend and was clearly still very angry about it. He became more aggressive the more he talked about the fight. He re-enacted an argument using me as a prop for his girlfriend.

I was scared. I was confined in the spa with him inches from my face, yelling at me, fist clenched, veins popping, body pumped, mind scattered, pupils dilated.

“AND I TOLD HER TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH, FUCKING LISTEN TO ME”

He wasn’t calling me a stupid fucking bitch, he was telling me what he said to his girlfriend, but he sure was doing a convincing performance. In those moments a thousand things  flashed in my mind but I did my best to hold his focus and find a way to snap him back to the here and now. I was worried that in his overtired, delirious, hyped up, sketched out, coming down, pepped up, clenching tight, freaking out state of conscienceness he would blur the line and vision between me and his girlfriend and then I’d be in trouble.

I calmly and gently reminded him that there were people inside the house who will come out and check on us if they hear him yelling and swearing. He lowered his voice but kept going, every now and then getting louder and more aggressive as the story peaked. He was angry and he was strong and he was unpredictable. If I had been visiting him I would have found a reason to leave but I was in a brothel and there were other workers around who will intervene the minute I screamed so i kept going with the booking.

After a while he stopped talking about his girlfriend and seemed to settle into the service. We went inside to the bedroom past the other workers where I gave them a look which said… ‘hard work’ (as opposed to the ‘funny story’ or ‘extra money opportunity here’ or ‘bored as hell’ or ‘get me the fuck outa here’ looks). They give me a ‘poor you’ look in return and I keep walking.

Behind closed doors he was still agitated and still tense, still arrogant and still strong, but less angry. We had about an hour and 20 mins left and I planned on using the last 10 mins to shower, so really only about an hour left. I knew he wasn’t going to want me to massage him, and I knew he would have trouble performing after his bender but guys like this wont to let you do your thing. They want this and they want that, now do this and try that, none of which is going to give him an erection. But he’ll rub it till it’s raw or the hour is up. I’m twisting his nipples, sucking him off, playing with myself, playing with him, on repeat while he rubs and rubs, he is hot and dripping in sweat, condoms get thrown off and new ones put on while his dick goes hard and soft and i try hard not to show my boredom whilst avoiding falling drops of sweat.

Wanking his dick and talking about various women he has fucked and sex acts he’s proud of. Again not very interesting and some of it was pretty offensive. He told me him and his mates once picked up a woman from a club, took her somewhere nearby and fucked her during which she allowed them to stick a carrot in her ass. These three guys were fucking this woman in the ass with a carrot and then let it get stuck inside her, they couldn’t get it out. Everyone involved freaked out and the guys drove her to the closest hospital and dumped her out the front.. I was appalled and I didn’t hide it. I told him I thought it was disgusting that they would be so disrespectful as to just dump her at the hospital after they carelessly lost a fucking carrot in her ass. I disliked him even more.

But there was still 40 minutes to go so I went back to playing with my vibrator while he furiously yanked on his penis trying to make himself cum. It was after I faked the 3rd orgasm (all that moaning has got to lead to something eventually) when he told me he wanted me to fuck him with one of my toys. It’s not an unusual request, I would say at least half the guys I see like some kind ass teasing or anal play even if they don’t talk about it. I had plenty of ass- play experience with clients with my condom covered fingers, but not much with toys. There was 35 minutes left in the booking and I was keen to shake it up a bit and waste some precious time in this long tedious booking by getting up of the bed, finding the right  toy, putting a condom on it and getting lube organised.

I chose a smallish slim vibrator and put a condom over it. I underestimated him. I should have chosen a medium or even a large toy, he had obviously done this before. He was getting right into it and for the first time in the booking I felt the pressure mounting, now we were getting somewhere. He was still pulling on his penis, it was hard now. I knew, in the way a hooker knows that I needed to keep going at the same pace for just a bit longer to make him finally cum and then I can push him out the door. But the toy was too small and he was thrusting so far back on it that it his ass swallowed the vibrator while I clinged to the end of the condom that covered it. The whole vibrator was now inside him with only the condom hanging out and he was still thrusting. I gave the condom a yank trying to bring the vibrator back out where I could get a grip of it but the condom broke and the vibrator disappeared in further inside him.

My life flashed before my eyes. This aggressive sketched out tough guy on all fours in front of me and I lost a vibrator in his ass!!

I didn’t say anything, I shoved my fingers inside him and felt the tip of the toy. I told him to push so I could grab it and instead he tensed up and I felt it move away from my fingers. He started freaking, I told him to relax and push, it’s going to be fine I promised, I’ve got it I lied. But I had no idea what has going to happen, I was shitscared.

Like a pro, he instantly fell into foetal position, pulled his ass cheeks apart and pushed. I saw the end of the toy crowning (haha), I grabbed it and pulled it out. I told you he had done this before! The relief flooded through me, crisis averted. He was kinda pissed off at me, not only had I killed the potential orgasm, but I had irresponsibly lost my toy in his bum.

With the danger gone, his bottom in tact and only 15 minutes of the booking left I felt pretty safe and smug in assuring him that if I had lost the vibrator in his ass I would happily arrange for someone to drop him out the front of the local hospital.

Even now the memory of the arrogant, aggressive, tough guy falling into foetal and pulling his ass cheeks apart and pushing like his life depended on it makes me giggle.

The boys in brown

Tags

clients, cops, country towns, discrimination, fantasy, friends and family, laws, Love, money, personal stories, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, south australia, stigma

I used to travel around South Australia and sometimes beyond for a weekend every month in order to sex work anonymously. I had an arrangement with my partner at the time that I could work with his blessing but not in our own city where the chances of me fucking his boss were increased. The first time I went away it was a risk, a financial risk but it felt risky in other ways too because I was not sure what to expect of the town, of the clients, of the accommodation, or any other variable I could imagine. I hired a driver, a friend of a friend. We agreed that I would pay him a flat fee for the weekend to drive me there and back and to all my jobs. He was employed to provide my transport and my security. I was worried that I wouldn’t make enough money to pay him and still make a good profit but I need’nt have, I was very busy. And so my successful out of town business (ad)ventures continued for a couple of years. I have many stories to tell about these trips away, about the clients, the towns, the jobs, the way I felt. But this story is about the time I was kicked out of town by the boys in brown.

It was the third time I had been to this particular seaside town and each time I had had mixed results. The first time I made a fortune and the second time I barely covered costs. But this time was going to be a winner, my add in the local paper had scored me many back to back confirmed bookings and many more enquiries.

On this occasion I had decided to fly rather than drive and with no car I had no requirement for a driver. I arrived in town alone with a reservation for a nice holiday apartment, my mobile phone, my bag of tricks and a booking sheet full of in-call appointments. It was too early to check into my apartment so I wandered around town window shopping and buying supplies for the weekend. The phone was ringing off the hook but it was mostly just my first client pestering to come and see me early. I kept explaining that I hadn’t yet checked into my apartment yet and that I would call him when I was ready. He was very eager.

It is because of over eager clients like him (among other reasons) that I don’t give out my address until I am ready to greet them at the door. I will take the booking and their phone number and give them a general vicinity of my apartment but I make them call me again 10 mins before the booking to get the full details. This stops anyone knocking at my door before I am ready, when I am not there or when I am with another client. It also means that it is only the genuine clients that know exactly where I am. Makes me feel safer.

Eventually the time came when I could head back to my apartment and check in.  I had done my best to choose a holiday apartment that was suitable to work from. And by suitable I mean, no management on premises and definitely no reception that the client had to walk through before getting to me. I also consider things like, security, but not too much security. I want my clients to be able to get from their car to my front door with as little fuss as possible. And so do they generally. This apartment met all the criteria but  the caretakers were hanging around cleaning some of the recently vacated apartments which always make me nervous. And my first client was still calling. I decided to let him come what was almost two hours early because that would mean I would have a two hour break before my next booking and would hopefully rouse less suspicion the from caretakers if they happened to still be hanging around.

I set up my apartment ready for work. In the bedroom I had my tissues and wet ones on one bedside table and massage oil and talcum powder on the other. In one bedside of drawer I have the condoms and lube and the other I have my toys. In an open cupboard I have my costumes, lingerie and dress ups, all aimed at exciting a client or extending a booking or charging extra. Just having them there in view is often enough to help the session along, or plant the seed for a second booking.

I cover the bed with a coverall blanket over all the bedding and place a nicely folded towel on top. When the client comes I unfold the towel for them to lie on decreasing any mess. At the end of the night I get my own pillow from home and take the blanket off the bed leaving fresh bedding for me to sleep in.

I turn the big lights off and the bedside lamps on. I like background music playing, preferably something smooth and sexy with some bass but the clock radio was often all I had.

In the lounge I had porn playing on mute. Purely to encourage longer bookings and to provide a more… inclusive service, not just a bedroom one. Which is why I also had lots of snacks and beverages to offer clients. I had higher prices and discounts for longer bookings trying to decrease clients without decreasing my profits. Mainly because I was scared of being noticed by the hotels I stayed in and so I didn’t want a steady stream of men coming and going. I had the breath mints out, drinks in the fridge, 2 mobile phones and a piece of paper full of names, numbers and times.

I was nearly ready so I gave my first client the details of where to come but asked him to wait 15 more mins and he agreed. I was hoping the caretakers would leave before he came but of course he doesn’t wait he arrives straight away. I should have known by his incessant phone calls. I let him in and I asked him how long he would like to stay for, which is  really just a prompt for “let’s do business”  since we have already discussed on the phone how long. He tells me and I ask for the agreed upon fee. He doesn’t have enough money.

He did the usual “Oh, I’ll go to the bank and come straight back” routine. Its annoying at the best of times but this time, I was anxious because of the caretakers still hanging around the site. I wanted him to stay rather than come and go and come back again so I asked him how much money he had on him and negotiated a shorter service for a lesser fee, just to keep him in my apartment. Again, hoping that the caretakers would leave before he finished.

He paid, he stayed and he loved it. When I showed him out I was happy to notice the caretakers had left. I shut the door behind him, chucked my money with the phones and booking sheet and went to jump in the shower. But there was a knock at the door. I thought it was going to be my annoying client who had already proven a lack of understanding of my way of doing business. I had only shown him out the door less than 5 mins ago, maybe he left his keys behind or something. I hadn’t yet given my address out to anybody else.

So I threw on my dress quickly, no underwear and opened the door. It took me a minute to process who was on the other side, two guys wearing a brown uniform. The country police.

“We have reason to believe you are running a prostitution business from here”

I laughed. “Why on earth would you think that?” I don’t know how convincing I sounded, I usually lie pretty badly, so I’m guessing I was hopeless.

Apparently the caretakers had called them. I couldn’t believe it. “I have had one male friend visit me and you think I am a prostitute!!!?” I wasn’t actually faking my indignation. Apparently my stupid client had said something to one of them on his way up. Something like “Do I pay you?”.

“So one stupid man asks if he pays the hotel caretaker and that makes ME a prostitute? How ridiculous, maybe he was wanting to rent a room or something”.

No, I have to leave the apartment regardless because it is the prerogative of management and they have asked me to leave. It seemed I didn’t have much choice so I agreed to pack my stuff. Both the cops came into the apartment to “help me pack up”.

Take a moment to think back to the scene I described earlier about how I had my apartment set up, what I was wearing, and the money next to the booking sheet, next to my phones. It became obvious what was going on.

They went all good cop/bad cop on me. They took my details and tried to insist I gave them the phone numbers for both the phones. I wouldn’t admit to their allegations and I refused to give them the second mobile number. It would link to my adds. So I told them it was my phone for my straight job and that I did not want them calling me at work accusing me of being a prostitute! I knew my rights, all I have to give is my name date of birth and address. I didn’t have to say anything else.

And THEN the bad cop came in with a camera! He was going to take a photo of me. I hadn’t even been charged with anything. I asked him if I had a right to refuse and he said “oh it’s just something we do now”. I said again “do I have a right to refuse?” He said “sure you can refuse but then I’ll take you down the station and charge you with prostitution”.

By this time in my life I knew the laws pretty much back to front. Probably better than mister bad cop and his good cop partner put together. There is no charge of “prostitution” there are a range of other charges such soliciting, receiving money in a brothel etc, but he didn’t have any evidence for anything. He had one guy, one girl and some porn. Sure they could claim I was going to engage in illegal activity by turning the hotel room into a ‘brothel’ with the booking sheet but it’s not illegal until you do it.

So I refused the photo and told him he had no evidence to press charges. I was relieved when he didn’t try anyway but on the way out he told me that if I tried any other hotel they would find me there too and I believed him. So I gave up. I changed my flights so I could fly home that night and headed out to the airport. I had hours to wait so I sat and drank the wine I had bought for my clients and contacted all my bookings to cancel and let them know what had happened.

One of my clients was so disappointed he asked if he could come see me right there, right now in the airport. After a few wines and a big financial loss this actually seemed like an option. After all I still had the whole afternoon to wait and I was bored. So I agreed. He picked me up in his ute and drove me to a quiet spot not far from the airport.

40 mins later he dropped me back at the airport and I’d almost recovered my loss. And I had another good story.

But baby, just think of what we could do..

Tags

brothels, couples, discrimination, feminism, friends and family, Love, money, parenting, personal stories, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, single mothers, south australia, stigma

Another love story. Complete with love, lies, sex, summer holidays and a little bit of communication. When I met Luke I was happily hooking in a brothel 2 shifts a week, studying part-time, working a ‘straight’  job and parenting but I still found time to do a little partying. I was single, my kids spent a couple of nights a week with their father and I was still young so every now and then I’d go out on the town with my besti’s and on some of these occasions I got lucky. Or I should say, sometimes I went home with someone and they got lucky!

By this point in life I had made a decision to keep my sex work job a secret. I had children to think of, I had an ex partner, the father of my kids, who I didn’t want to give ammunition, I had study, a straight job and a future. I was not ashamed of my sex work, it was just such a non issue that I couldn’t be bothered dealing with the stigma if I didn’t have to, and I wanted to protect my children from it. It was sex work that had allowed me study part-time, given me the freedom  to be a single mum rather than stay in an unhappy relationship, allowed me pick and choose straight jobs, only accepting those that were flexible and willing to work around my family and my study. It  was sex work that meant I could buy the expensive texts books I needed for Uni, and take my kids to overpriced music lessons and still left me with enough money to have a big night out every now and then. I was desperately scared of having to give all that up and I thought that keeping it a secret would prevent that from happening.

And it worked. I didn’t tell Luke the night I met him at the party. Actually we had met quite a few times over the years, but he had never really left an impression on me before. But that night he did and we spent the night together and then later in the week another night and then an afternoon. I didn’t want to tell him my secret because then it’s not a secret. What if we stopped  seeing each other after a short time and then he told everyone else. I decided it was none of his business and that if we were still seeing each other after 3 months I would tell him.

3 months came and went and Luke and I were still seeing each other. He spent time with me and the kids and it was getting fairly serious. I had dropped my shifts in the brothel back to only one per week, and I didn’t want to tell him. I knew by now that he would hate it. I knew that he would make me stop. I knew he would be upset I had kept it from him. And I knew it didn’t have to be that way. We were not living together so I still had my own expenses, and my brothel shift just moulded seamlessly into my busy and respectable life, I wasn’t technically lying…… I just said I was going to work.

I didn’t want to give up what I viewed as my independence and so I kept sex working and I kept it a secret. For nearly two years.

Possibly not the right thing to do, but I am certainly not alone. Half the people I worked with at the time were hiding it from their partners as well. It seems easy to justify when you know it’s just work. And as time went on, it just seemed more and more impossible to tell him. I wanted him to know, sometimes I felt like he just didn’t want to know. I mean, why didn’t he ask more questions, Even if he didn’t notice the extra money I was sure I was dropping hints. But no, I worked once a week in a brothel for more than 18 months and it seems my partner had no idea.

And then one day, in the middle of a big blow up argument, about something unrelated and I can’t even remember what now, I yelled the words at him. “I DON’T CARE, I’VE BEEN A PROSTITUTE THE WHOLE TIME YOU’VE KNOWN ME”

I meant it as a cutting end to our argument, to our relationship, to my lies, and possibly to my job. I had thought about what would happen if he found out and I knew he’d be pretty pissed! I wouldn’t have been surprised if he put a hole in a nearby wall. But I screamed it at him and he just looked at me blankly and said “you are not!”

And so I told him everything. His calmness floored me, so my manner changed. I lost my anger and I felt guilt and sadness for hurting him. I explained myself, I consoled him, I explained myself some more, I apologised and, of course, I did the inevitable. I promised to stop working. We  talked and to my surprise  he was willing to forgive me, and I guess that made him even more appealing to me.

I quit my job, took up extra hours in my straight job, and moved in with him to save money. I felt like I gave up some of my independence  but I was ok about that. I kept it up for around 12 months but after a year of no sex work, and less flexibility in my other job, I was suffering financially. So was my partner, he had acquired an instant family to help support and we were all feeling the pinch. I had been faithful to my pledge to not do sex work, but we were struggling. It was on my mind, and I began making jokes about it. The bills would come in and he would be complaining so Id say, “one night in a brothel, I could clear them for us”, he would ignore me or give me an annoyed look. But neither of us could deny that money was tight and something had to give. I kept making my jokes, but I started throwing in extra sweeteners “we could even go on a holiday!”

“But honey, just think of what we could do!”

He still didn’t agree, but he seemed more open to the idea the more I kept bringing it up. One day he snapped at me “Oh for gods sake, you want to go back to work, just do it then”. I nearly squealed with excitement, but thought that might be an unhelpful reaction. So we sat and had a very open and long conversation about it. I asked him what his main concerns were. He said he trusts me, he knows it’s just work. I reminded him that he knows it wont effect our relationship, because I had already been doing it in the past and he didn’t even know. Eventually he confessed one of his biggest fears about me being a sex worker, was that I might fuck one of his friends or colleagues as a client, or I might be recognised and outed in public.

Jealousy is an awful emotion, and one that is difficult to control. Everyone experiences it differently and for different reasons. His fear seemed silly to me, but I was glad he was able to figure it out and communicate it to me. It meant that we could find a way for me to do sex work that he could live with. We decided that I would go away to work outside Adelaide, where it was unlikely I would see anyone either of us knew and where I could remain anonymous. So for the next 12 months I went away once a month to rural and regional South Australia for working weekends with friends.

And because I felt privileged to be able to go back to work with my partners blessing I used my money very wisely. I knew we were taking a risk in our relationship and I wanted to make it worth it. In 12 months, I managed to pay off our credit card debt and saved enough money to take us on that holiday I had suggested.

I used to joke that I was bribing my partner to “let me” work by paying for us to go to the Greek Islands, but it wasn’t actually like that. I did have to convince him to be ok with me going back to sex work, but we were a partnership, and I felt equal in that partnership, we had developed an arrangement that worked well for us, and sex work had become a part of that arrangement.

And it is hard to argue while holidaying in the beautiful Mediterranean summer!