Hookers: Their Lives in Their Words Read online

  The more money we make the more drugs we take. It’s a vicious circle that only ends one of three ways: death, hospital or prison. She tells me that she now feels the same way as I do about sex; it’s a job and there’s no enjoyment with someone you love any more. When she’s with her boyfriend she can’t wait for him to get it over with so she can go to sleep. Well, welcome to the club, I’m just happy that I live alone these days so I haven’t got a boyfriend taking all my cash and then beating the fuck out of me for ‘shagging half of London’ like my ex Steven did for over three years.

  I still can’t get over him and the way he acted. He was pleased that we were earning say £500 for one weekend’s work but then he gets pissed up and breaks my finger for being a slag – he bent it right back until it snapped. He once said to me that he didn’t mind me being a hooker as long as I didn’t kiss any of the customers. Therefore I can give a blow job but not a kiss, which just does not make fucking sense!

  I watch daytime television once Paula’s gone and try to eat some food. I manage toast ‘again’. By three o’clock I’m ready to face the day; I get some shopping in and visit my mother who still has no idea what I do for a living. That nosey bastard who lives next door to her was there again so I left her cigarettes and lied about getting off to get my hair done. I get a call on the mobile and arrange for a punter to come around at five. He turns up for his massage and I get straight to the point and tell him it’s straight sex for £35. Didn’t even stop to think he may be a copper, maybe I’m just getting too complacent. After I get off him he sits on the edge of my bed and tries to tell me his life story. I can’t really be fucking bothered but I listen to his shit for a short while, then change the subject before I manage to get him out the front door.

  By seven I’ve had two more punters and I desperately need powder. I go to John’s and score £30 worth for £15 and a blow job. Paula phones and asks if I’ve got any powder so we meet and I split it with her. The pair of us hang around King’s Cross drinking small bottles of vodka and waiting for punters. Paula pulls first and I make a mental note of the car in case something happens to her. Before she comes back I get a punter in some sort of flash car who wants me to give him a wank, so I charge him £40 because I know he can afford it.

  Later Paula and I spot a police car hiding around the corner so we move on to another spot a few streets away. We score some more powder and some crack for the end of the night. It’s been quite a busy night so far with no real problems apart from some Pakistani geezer getting a little rough on Paula, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

  I talk to Julie, who used to live near me a few years ago, and she shows me the scar her ex-husband left on her lower back when he stabbed her last year. She never told the police that it was him in case his friends found out she grassed. She explained that they knew where her mother lived so she couldn’t grass him up. If it was me I’d probably do the same – the thought of anyone hurting my mother would do my head in.

  It must have been nearly midnight when the three of us decided to get some food. On the way for chips and that we spot two coppers wrestling this big black guy down on the floor. Don’t know what the problem was but they had to mace him because he wasn’t going down without a fight. Julie said she could have got the guy flat on his back in thirty seconds, if he paid her £30 first, of course.

  I’m home alone by half two and drink the last of my vodka and smoke the crack. It hits my brain in seconds and for a short while all my problems disappear. I’m in bed an hour later and then back up to spew down the toilet. I wake up about half four on the bathroom floor in a pool of my spew. I stagger back to my bed and collapse face down, as the room spins behind me.

  Saturday, June 3

  Got out of bed and shower all the dried spew off my face and hair. I look pale in the mirror and my hands won’t stop shaking. I make coffee and notice the bruise on my arm has turned a funny green and black colour, still hurts like fuck. It’s eleven o’clock and I have so much to do today. My mother wants me to help her pick wallpaper for the dining room. My sister left a message on my phone for me to pop round this afternoon because she had something to discuss. I think she’s going to tell me for the fortieth time how she is definitely getting divorced because he’s seeing someone from the gym or the pub again. Once more I’ll have to tell her that it’s all in her head and Brian is such a lovely guy who wouldn’t look at another woman. I’d like to tell her that he’s a big-minded prick, who fucked her next door neighbour for over two years but of course I won’t, I’ll just lie to make her feel good, yet again.

  I check my book to find I have three punters coming around in the next two hours. I smarten myself up and spend an hour cleaning the house. Before they turn up I get some powder, some for now and a little for tonight. As I’m writing in my diary Paula phones and tells me she has managed to get some crack for the both of us. She fucked her dealer for over an hour so I’d better be grateful for it. I don’t tell her I’ve got some of my own and I snort it all before the first punter turns up. He wants a blow job and asks can he take a picture of me doing it on his mobile. I refuse and he gets a little irate before leaving.

  The next punter wants full sex and asks if I can get him some cocaine. I tell him that when he phones next time to let me know beforehand and I’ll pick some up for him. He’s a regular of mine so I don’t really mind. He owns a garage somewhere near and I know he’s good for the money so it pays to keep him sweet.

  The third punter doesn’t turn up but I get two more calls in the meantime asking if I do extras and I fit them in. One of them asks if he pays me an extra £10 will I have sex without a condom. I politely refuse and we carry on but with a condom. I just can’t understand the mentality of someone who wants to fuck a hooker without one. Every fucking week some prick asks me the same question. Is it because they like the risk or because they have AIDS or something and they think someone like me can spread it around?

  The garage phones and tells me I can pick my car up on Monday morning and it’s going to cost me £180. I put the money for the car under the bread bin because if I take it with me today I know I’ll spend it all on drugs again. The phone rings and its one of my regulars Tim. Within ten minutes he’s come around for his weekly fuck. He’s fat and smells like a chip shop but pays well. Once again I tell him that I’m trying to get off the game. I lie and mention that I’m going to work until I get £2,000 for my mother’s eye operation. I’m hoping he’ll feel sorry for me and cough up some cash. He doesn’t fall for the scam and quickly changes the subject to something about council tax, or some fucking shit like that.

  Two more punters and I’ve made over £250, enough for the car and some extra. I spend the next few hours out of my head on crack. Later I get very hyper and decide to clean the house, well just the kitchen actually. I’m full of energy and confidence, when the phone rings and I arrange for another regular to come over. I charge him £25 for a blow job and off he goes. The effects of the crack start to wear off so I take a gram of powder and then it’s back on the street with Paula. I realised that I hadn’t eaten anything except a few biscuits all day. I don’t really get hungry these days and sometimes I have to force myself to eat.

  Paula and I work until one o’clock when two drunken fat lads turn up. They are pissed out of their heads and keep asking for a freebie. I tell them to fuck off and as they go the bigger of the two throws a punch that hits me straight in the face, splitting my lip open. They disappear into the night just as a police van pulls up alongside us. One of the officers stares over at us, he can obviously see the blood streaming from my mouth and dripping from my hand as I try to stem the flow. They don’t even get out to check on us, just drive off without a care in the world. There’s no use in me working any longer as the sight of my blood-soaked face and dress will put any punter off. Paula and I fuck off back to her place to smoke some crack and chill out.

  Sunday, June 4

  After getting up at around ten I manage to eat s
ome cereal and drink some coffee. My lip hasn’t swollen up too much but it still stings a little. Paula phones to ask if she can borrow £300 as there’s a good chance of her being evicted. I tell her that I haven’t got the cash and she says she’s going out tonight to earn some. She’ll phone later to see if I’m coming with her. She knows I’ve put some money away but I’m not sharing it with her, as I have my own debts to pay. What gets me is that her boyfriend won’t work and sponges off her all day. Why doesn’t she just chuck him out and find someone else?He beats her up, takes her money, eats all her food and uses all her drugs. She must be mad to put up with him.

  At one o’clock I have a ‘gentleman caller’ – he’s about fifty and wants straight sex. I take him upstairs and fuck him for ten minutes and charge him £40. He wants to talk to me for a while so we lay there smoking cigarettes as I listen to his boring story about how his wife left him and how he finds it hard to meet women. I tell him that the only reason I’m on the game is because an ex-boyfriend left me in so much debt. Before he left he gave me another £20 and made a date for next week.

  Between two and five o’clock I have three more callers and in total I’ve made £245. I phone Paula and we both go out and score some crack and a few grams of powder. We walk around King’s Cross and within minutes we both pull. I’m in and out of cars all night and business is good. The only one I didn’t like was a coloured man who was a little bit rough with me and a bit scary. He was powerfully built with big, bulging eyes, a real strange-looking fucker. Both Paula and I decide to get some food and go back to my place and smoke crack for the rest of the evening.

  I wake at about four in the morning wanting to be sick. I must have taken too much powder or smoked too much crack as I spew the contents of my stomach down the toilet. I feel very weak and giddy. I make myself a cup of coffee and once again I try and figure some way out of this downward spiral that I’ve got used to. All I ever seem to do is take drugs, drink and fuck men to pay for it all.

  I make myself some cheese on toast and stare at it for about twenty minutes before I force it down my neck. Years ago I used to love my grub but since the drugs kicked in I can’t get my appetite back. Maybe in the next few weeks I’ll try and stop or at the very least cut down a bit.

  Chapter 6

  Georgina

  Age: 31

  Hackney, London

  MY CHILDHOOD WAS pretty normal really, dad was a taxi driver and mum was a nursery school teacher. I have one sister who now lives in Australia and we both had a nice, normal childhood. One of my earliest memories was of my granddad sitting me down and telling me how he was a hero in World War Two. Apparently in France he carried his friend on his back for three miles after he was shot in the thigh. My mum always said it was probably because the man must have owed my granddad money – he was always pretty shrewd with cash.

  My dad loved dogs so we always had pups around the house, terriers usually because he would go with his mate once in a while and catch rabbits on a mate’s farm. I love my dad but when he would bring dead rabbits home I could have killed him. He would chase us around the garden with one, threatening to put it on our heads. My sister and I would run around the garden from him screaming and eventually sprint off down the street and hide in my gran’s house. All the time my dad would be laughing as he chased us. Looking back now I’d say that living with my family was the happiest time of my life.

  As soon as I discovered boys I started running wild. From the age of fourteen all I had on my mind was boys, then at fifteen I had sex for the first time in my neighbour’s shed and I was well and truly hooked. I just couldn’t get enough, I was like some crazed animal, always on the prowl. Maybe it was some sort of hormonal problem but my life changed drastically. When I’d wake up in the morning the first thing on my mind was getting out of the house to meet my boyfriend. He lived near me and was my first real love. I was sixteen. In the end he had to finish with me because I wanted to be with him all the time, never giving him any breathing space. I guess I just wore the poor boy down.

  By nineteen I was out clubbing most nights and in and out of different guy’s beds. It wasn’t that I was a slag, just that I needed sex more than other women. Every time I met a nice-looking man I couldn’t help wondering what he would be like in bed. After I’d slept with him I’d start thinking about some other lad who I fancied. I really like the first time you have sex with someone, when it’s new and you’re excited. I’m bit of an adrenaline junkie and crave excitement. When I was younger my mother took me to a doctor and told them that I was hyperactive and highly sexed. The only advice the doctor gave was for me to have birth control. I thought she was taking me to see the doctor because I wasn’t sleeping at night. I felt such a fool when she told him I had slept with half the boys in my street. Actually she was wrong, I had slept with most of them!

  At the clubs we’d go back to private parties. I’d always get invited because I was known as a girl who was up for anything. I made friends with some girls who were taking money for sexual favours and sort of joined the club, if you know what I mean. The first time was at a party in Essex. Everyone was disappearing into different bedrooms and my mate said there was a German guy who would pay me £180 for a fuck. He looked OK so I said soon, ‘As there’s a bedroom free I’m up for it.’ I didn’t care one bit about what I was doing, had no regrets, felt no remorse about it at all. I was getting paid for my favourite thing in the world and didn’t give a fuck.

  We marched straight into a free bedroom and he counted out £180 onto a bedside table as I started to strip off down to my knickers. I climbed on the bed and he said, ‘This is the first time I’ve ever paid for sex.’ I smiled and said, ‘If you’re any good I may give you a few pounds back.’ One hour later he was shattered and told me to keep the lot and forget about he discount before he had a heart attack.

  I made my mind up there and then to become a prostitute. All my new friends were doing it so I thought, why not just give it a go? If I didn’t like it I could just stop it and work in a cake shop or some other boring fucking job. Not only was it exciting I was making easy money. The girls I was going around with only went to the best parties, not the lager-and-crisp parties but the champagne-and-caviar ones. The invites came from men who were rolling in cash. Every time I’d fuck one, then he’d have my mobile number and more often than not he’d phone me up a few days or weeks later. I was now about twenty-three and making £1,500 to £2,000 every week, a bit more than the other girls but we all did well. I wore the best dresses, finest jewellery and always drove expensive cars.

  I live a fair distance from home and work under an assumed name. That way my family have no idea what I get up to. They think I work for an escort agency run from nightclubs. In their eyes I’m a model who rich men pay to have on their arm. At the end of the night the club drives me home and nothing funny happens. When they got suspicious and asked questions I took a male friend to their house and introduced him as my boyfriend. When they asked me if I was on the game, I explained that it would be impossible because my boyfriend would go mental.

  A few girls worry about their families but others don’t give a fuck. I know one girl who has been arrested for prostitution three times and her family don’t even know. She uses her middle name in court and gets away without her family finding out. I remember watching a TV reality show the other day where this stupid bitch said she used to be an escort but didn’t have sex with the clients. The lying bitch, I’ve actually watched her fucking two men at the same time. I bet every punter who has slept with her is trying to do a deal with the papers right this minute. My neighbours don’t really know me or what my line of work is. I’m not going with any punter who I may recognise as being a neighbour else I’d have every nosey fucker in my street watching my every move. I don’t bother the neighbours and I don’t shop in the area so they can’t really find out much about me. I usually work nights and sleep most of the day so I don’t bump into anyone local.

  As lon
g as a punter didn’t look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame his money was good with me. I’ve only ever refused about three customers, I think. One because he wouldn’t bath and smelt like a pig pen. Another scared me because he kept staring at me while I was at a party. My friend said we were leaving the party as she’d sorted ‘business’ out for us. She pointed at the man and his friend and I refused because of the way he was staring; he didn’t look friendly at all. My friend slept with both of them and was on a good earner. Another punter had the worse breath in the world, it could have taken the gloss paint off my front door. We were in a taxi and I asked the driver to let me out on the way to the punter’s house. ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘time of the month and that.’ It was a cold night and I noticed the taxi driver was driving with his window open because of the smell.

  It doesn’t bother me that some clients are married. As far as I’m concerned if the wife doesn’t know then it won’t hurt her. I’ve been to a party where a married couple have been introduced to me and I’d fucked him the week before. When his wife left the room for a few minutes to use the bathroom he thanked me for not saying anything and made another date. I don’t feel guilty, after all it’s what I do for a living. Lots of married men use prostitutes like me, in fact most of them are married or seeing someone. Having sex with a prostitute can even help put life back into a boring sex life. Many men have told me that after having an affair or hiring a prostitute their sexual libido is higher. Sometimes they tell me that their wife has gotten suspicious because suddenly he wants sex all the time.

  Of course it’s mainly sex that I’m hired for but I have had the occasion where an older man just wants me to come to his home and share a bottle of wine or have dinner. I’ve had many men make me beautiful food and we just sit around and chat like old friends. They just need some female company and if that’s the way they want it, well that’s fine with me.