Hookers: Their Lives in Their Words Read online

  Have you ever had trouble at any of your shows?

  Sarah: Not really as Joyce would stab to death anyone who tried to rip us off. Believe me she would, she doesn’t give a fuck how big they are. Some guys get drunk and try to push their luck a bit but there’s always a sober one who will step in and calm things down.

  Joyce: I would stab someone if I felt scared. I’m only a little thing so I need to have my equalizer. You never know when some crazy freak is going to turn on you. It hasn’t happened yet but I’ve spoken to other girls doing the same sort of thing that we do and heard some nasty stories.

  What sort of stories?

  Joyce: Real horror stories, like one girl I know let some punter tie her up and then he takes it on himself to gag her. Suddenly two other guys turn up and they rape her for hours. She couldn’t go to the police so she just put it down to the perils of the job. Another girl I know took a drink off one of the guys in a small private party and woke up about four hours later in an empty house. She has no idea how she got there or what happened. That’s why we are a partnership and all the money is split fifty-fifty. We both watch each other’s back, and each other’s arses sometimes.

  Sarah: If I was in trouble I know I could trust Joyce to get me out of there safe. While she’s busy stabbing some fucker I’d be running down the road like Forrest Gump.

  Ever had trouble from the police?

  Joyce: No, not really. They pay up front and apart from being a little loud they can be pleasant to deal with.

  Sarah: He meant, have they ever arrested us or come heavy on us, you thick bitch!

  Joyce: Oh I see, no we haven’t. But my mate Christine got caught in a police sting in a club once where they caught her in the back room blowing some guy. She couldn’t deny it as she had a bagful of condoms and sex aids. Dirty old cow, she received a £450 fine in court.

  Sarah: I was picked up with having no tax on my car once and showed the two young coppers my tits to be let off.

  Joyce: Did they let you off?

  Sarah: Listen, these tits could get me off with murder if I showed them to a judge, of course they let me off!

  What do your family think of your work?

  Joyce: They don’t know and seeing as we are from Wales originally there’s a good chance they won’t find out. My brother came to stay over one weekend and found our toy bag and laughing he asked me whose they were. As Sarah was out I told him they were hers and I thought she was a bit of a nymphomaniac.

  Sarah: She didn’t tell me and when I came home I couldn’t stop him following me everywhere. He kept making dirty jokes that didn’t register with me, like, ‘Is your phone on vibrate?’ and ‘Do you want me to get some batteries down the shop for you?’ He must have thought I was a right dirty bitch.

  Joyce: You are.

  When do you think you’ll give this type of work up?

  Sarah: When my arse gets as big as Joyce’s.

  Joyce: Well, you better quit now then chubby.

  Sarah: We know we can’t go on like this forever but at the moment the money is so good. Joyce and I have an open relationship and we know that one day it will all be over.

  Joyce: We’d both like kids one day and seeing as Sarah hasn’t got a willy it’s impossible.

  Sarah: I think we will quit in about five years. Hopefully both of us will have a few hundred grand by then.

  I know carpenters who won’t put a shelf up in their own homes. Does your job affect your home life?

  Joyce: What you mean is, do we use vibrators in our own beds? Well, yes we do, after all, if you don’t use it you lose it. Have as much sex when you’re young because one day you’ll be an old trout regretting about all the fun you’ve missed.

  Sarah: You’re an old trout now.

  Joyce: Do you want a cup of tea?

  Chapter 15

  Sandra

  Age: 29

  Blackburn

  I GUESS THE road to me being a hooker started when I was twenty. I’d always had a good body. Even when I was a teenager, grown men would turn around to look at me in the street. I left home at nineteen and moved to London. I didn’t come from a broken home or anything like that, it was just that we were such a big family in Leeds and I felt the need to find my own space.

  I moved to London at first to share digs with a friend called Gemma who worked behind the bar of a London strip club.

  I worked behind the bar for about a year before I got pissed off with it. I’ve always had a quick temper and it took a lot of willpower to stop myself from smashing a bottle over the heads of some of the arseholes who I had to serve each day. I’d get some fat, greasy forty-something asking for a drink and all the time he’d be staring at my tits. Then I’d have other twats come up to me with their friends and make the same jokes that I hear each night of the week. It’s hard to believe that in this day and age a grown man still thinks it’s funny to point at your tits and then shout out loud, ‘Oh, I bet you don’t get many of them to the pound, do you love?’ I learned from Gemma that when a knobhead said something sexist to me, to say, ‘Ask my boyfriend, he’s standing over there,’ and point to the biggest bouncer in the club. That usually did the trick and made them crawl back into their little shell.

  I used to watch the strippers on stage and wonder how someone could show their minge off in public. I used to cringe when they opened their legs or bent down so everyone could see everything. Just like everything that shocks you in life, the more you’re around it, you start to get used to it and after a while it all seems normal to you. I’d have drinks with some of them and go backstage sometimes to get my make-up done with them or just to have a cup of tea. Some of them were obviously hookers and would tell me all their shocking adventures. I found it fascinating at the time: one minute they were talking about who was paying to fuck them, the next it was how many guys they had just fucked in a low-budget porn film. I’d ask them questions like, ‘How do you have sex with three men all at the same time?’ or, ‘What would your mother think if she found out?’

  There were always different girls working at the club as the owner liked to change them as often as he could to keep the customers happy. Some would work there for three months or so then move on to a different club, only to return a few months later. Others would find a boyfriend who didn’t like them stripping so they would finish, only to return when the relationship broke down. If they worked the crowd right they earned a fortune in tips, especially for doing a private dance for a customer. The girls knew who the big spenders were and paid them special attention. I even watched strippers fight because a big spender had given one girl more cash than another. They’d argue about who was his favourite and often or not backstage it would come to blows. I’ve seen girls go on stage with black eyes and scratch marks over their bodies. If the owner found out there would be hell to pay and they’d get a warning off him.

  One beautiful Asian girl had argued with her boyfriend and he drove off from her house in a temper. He’d actually driven over her foot and almost broken it. She came on stage with her foot bandaged all the way up to her knee. She limped around the stage like an old cart horse but the crowd loved every minute of it.

  There was a big German girl who always worked the most nights and always had her own way. I was making tea when I heard Ellen, one of the girls, arguing with the owner. ‘How come she gets to work more nights than the rest of us, we’ve been here a lot longer?’

  Without batting an eyelid the owner said, ‘It’s because she sucks my dick whenever I ask her.’

  ‘Right then!’ said Ellen. ‘From now on we’re all going to be sucking your dick.’

  I nearly spilt my cup of tea laughing and I could hear all the other girls laughing as well, including the German girl.

  Before long I was starting to learn some of the moves and got good enough that some of the girls felt I should give it a go. I didn’t mind wearing a g-string or showing my tits but at that time I didn’t feel comfortable with some stranger looki
ng at my minge. The owner let me go on stage one night, without getting paid, I may add. The music was a little fast for me and I was a bit cumbersome due to nerves. I didn’t take my knickers off, despite the crowd shouting for me to do so, but by the end of my act I had picked up a few £10 notes from the customers. When I got backstage I was so full of energy that the girls made me sit down and relax. I felt like I had just done a bungee jump for the first time. I wanted to go back on and do it again but the girls told me although it was good for a first-timer, I had to learn a few more moves before the owner would start paying me.

  I returned to working behind the bar and went to classes in my spare time to learn how to striptease professionally. Not many people realise that you can join these classes, there are many available and it’s worth paying out to get the training. The better you are at stripping, the more money you make, simple as that. After a few weeks the owner offered me an audition and I had to do a full nude striptease for him and his manager. I was a lot more confident by then and was offered regular work with the club. After a nervous first few weeks I settled in and was now a full-time stripper. The club rules stated that the customers cannot touch the girls. I was shocked by the amount of men who would try to touch your body while you danced in private for them. On stage the customers were not allowed close to the girls but in private they could reach over and grab you. I’ve had the bouncers throw a few customers out for doing that. I once bent down in front of one customer and he reached out and pulled me on to his lap. He had his hands all over me before the bouncer wrestled him away from me and out the door. It’s a good thing the bouncers keep an eye on any customer approaching the stage.

  Many times I’d get propositioned by the richer customers. They’d offer me hundreds to sleep with them and at first I’d always refuse. One of the girls, Angie, told me that a rich customer wanted both of us to come back to his place and put on a private show for him. Seeing as she knew him, I went along with her back to his house. We got steaming drunk and danced seductively for him and started fooling around. I was kissing him and Angie gave him oral sex at the same time. He was rubbing my tits and before long we all fell fast asleep on his bed. In the morning he was rather quiet, even a little shy. The night before he had taken a few grams of coke and once it had worn off his confidence was gone. I made us all coffee and watched the television while he counted out money into Angie’s hand. We said our goodbyes and got into a taxi to take us both to our homes.

  ‘Right,’ said Angie, ‘here’s three hundred pounds for you and four hundred pounds for me.’

  ‘How do you get so much?’ I asked.

  ‘Because when you were sleeping I had to fuck the old twat, so therefore I get the lion’s share,’ Angie replied. Which I thought was fair enough.

  Over the next few months I started sleeping with different men for money. I was taking cocaine to keep my weight down and it was becoming a habit. Gemma had moved in with her boyfriend so I took the apartment on myself. The rent was high but with the money I was now earning I could afford it. If the owner of the club knew that I was hooking from his premises I would have been out on my g-string. He would also have made sure that other clubs wouldn’t employ me as well. When I gave someone a private dance I’d make sure I’d rub myself on his crotch area just before the music ended. They would always pay for another dance once they got aroused. If the client was wealthy-looking and wanted to pay me to go with him, I’d tell him to get my mobile phone number from another friend of mine who was now working behind the bar. She was only to give my number out if the guy looked wealthy and I’d slip her £10 if I scored.

  I was on a roll, money was pouring in, the apartment was looking grand and I had just passed my driving test and bought a new BMW. The cocaine was getting a bit much, I was spending over £200 just to keep my weight down and my energy levels up. Often I wouldn’t get home till past four in the morning, from stripping and going on to a punter’s house. One night a rich Arab paid me to fuck him and his friend at the same time. Over the phone I told him that he wouldn’t be able to afford me. ‘How much will it cost me?’ he enquired. I told him £1,200 and he sent a car to pick me up outside the club within the hour to fetch me to his home. He was a short, fat little man who had an air of confidence about him that only being stinking rich could give someone. His friend was a slimmer, better-looking man who also looked like £1,200 was just pocket money. It’s just the way they speak, their body language and how they walk that lets you know they are loaded, that and the fact they both had diamond rings and Rolex watches on them sort of gave the show away as well. We drank Champagne for an hour or so before I said, ‘I have to be up early in the morning guys so let’s get it on.’

  We went into the bedroom and both of them stripped naked and jumped on the bed waiting for me. I did a slow strip then danced a little for them. I kissed one and played with the other’s dick at the same time, then changed over. I climbed on top of one of them and slowly rode him while the other put his dick in my mouth. I kept switching back and forth between the two of them until they eventually came. Within five minutes I’m being taken doggy fashion by one while the other watches us and starts to wank. As the one behind me comes I start to give the other a blow job until he explodes over the bed. Within an hour we are all spent out, covered in perspiration and completely knackered. We all sink a few more glasses and share a joint before I get dressed to leave. A quick phone call and the man who hired me arranges for a car to take me home. A £1,000 bundle is handed to me and another £200 counted out into my hand. I gathered that the young man who drove me home worked for the men who hired me. He remained quiet and dropped me off where I asked him to, which was about 300 yards from my house. I offered him £20 and he said something that got me a little worried: ‘I can’t take money off you, if they found out they would have my hands broken! Thank you all the same.’ I think that maybe the men who hired me were confident not only because they had money but because they were feared for some reason or another.

  Before long I was getting phone calls every day. Men wanted me to come to their homes, meet them in hotels or try to come to my home. Each wanted sex and every phone call meant hundreds of pounds in my pocket. I didn’t care what people thought of me. I was fucking for money and it had nothing to do with anyone else. I’d always been fit and led a very healthy lifestyle but now I wasn’t eating correctly or getting enough sleep and was taking too much cocaine. I was awake when I should have been sleeping, sleeping when I should have been awake; it felt the drugs were slowly killing me and I couldn’t stop it happening.

  One night I turned up at the club and as I walked into the foyer the owner stopped me and called me into his office. He asked me to sit down and got straight to the point: ‘You’ve been using this club to pick up my customers and fuck them for cash.’ I tried to deny it but then he followed it up with, ‘I’ve got the girl behind the bar who we watched on tape handing your phone number out. One or two of the men who fucked you are personal friends of mine and have told me exactly what you are, a dirty hooker!’ He had me by the nuts and sacked me on the spot. I felt sorry for the young girl behind the bar because he sacked her as well and she had a young child to support.

  Stripping had now come to an abrupt end for me but I was bringing in more money off my clients. They were still phoning me and recommending me to their business associates. I had many close friends who lived nearby who were shocked to hear I’d been sacked. Apparently my ex-boss told my friends he sacked me for being constantly late. He didn’t say the truth because it may have affected his business or even got back to the police that hookers worked from there. A few friends tried finding me work but I always turned them down. I couldn’t tell them I was selling my body so I think they thought I was a lazy bastard. Working in a shop or in a local pub wouldn’t have made me enough money to feed my by now out of control drug habit. Prostitution was the only way I could earn enough to cover my extravagant lifestyle. I was always buying new clothes, each we
ek I’d bring bags of designer clothes home from the stores then I’d give them away to friends just to make room in my wardrobe.

  A friend of mine got arrested for sucking a client’s dick in his car one night. The police had been watching the car park where it happened because it was a known place where prostitutes took customers for a quickie. Another girl I was friendly with got arrested for propositioning an undercover police officer. These were good friends of mine and I was worried if one of them had mentioned some of the things I had been up to, like where I’d been getting my money from lately. I was still shagging as many businessmen each week as I could but the cocaine was making me paranoid and I was expecting to get pulled by the police at any given moment.

  Then one of the managers, Steven, who once worked at the club came to see me late one night. He was always a real gentleman and treated the girls well. He sat down and talked about old times and told me how he was running a club in Blackburn. He had a little business on the side where he arranged escorts for businessmen. I wanted to get away from London as the fast pace was doing my head in. I said I was interested in working as an escort for him and could he find me a place to stay in Blackburn. He said he would try and find something but didn’t want to make any promises. I had just about given up hope of hearing from Steven when about three weeks later he phoned me late at night. A friend of his had a two-bedroom apartment above a hairdresser that he wanted to rent out. The place had just been redecorated and the rent was almost half what I was already paying. Within a fortnight I had moved in and had new carpets and a fitted kitchen put in. The apartment was a little bigger than my old place but the area wasn’t as nice as where I used to live. Instantly I made friends with the girl who owned the hairdressers downstairs. I told her I was an escort but not the vulgar type that sleeps with the clients. I don’t think she really believed me but she seemed to give me the benefit of the doubt.