Hookers: Their Lives in Their Words Page 5
In the bedroom most of the time I help them undress and they get into bed first. If I’m staying a few hours or all night then I slowly strip off my clothes but leave my underwear on. I find that most customers like to take them off me. I kiss and then slowly start to fondle them.
When they are erect I gently place a condom on them and get on top of them, riding them very slowly at first. I try to make the experience last longer for them by slowing down or stopping before they come. That way they get a chance to explore different positions and try out different things. While I’m on top the customer usually runs his hands all over my body. I may then lie down and pull them on top of me and guide them in. While they are thrusting I usually grip hold of their arse – they seem to like that. I never scratch their backs with my nails or bite them in case they are married or have regular girlfriends. When they come I usually lie there next to them just chatting about whatever they want to. I don’t really like them having a cigarette as I don’t smoke myself but I never tell them that. While we talk I often slowly slide under the covers and give them oral sex. I take my time and don’t rush things, paying attention to my client all the time. Of course not every customer is the same – some want to go all night and I have to accommodate them. Mostly they want a few drinks by now or just to cuddle until we fall asleep. In the morning it’s sex again and maybe we shower together. That’s pretty much how a normal evening goes for me, apart from going for a meal or to a party.
Men offer to save me from my work all the bloody time. They don’t realise that I like my job and they offer me all kinds of rewards to quit. One man said he’d take me on a cruise around the world, buy me nice things and find me a well-paid job in his company. It doesn’t interest me one bit, I’m happy the way I am for now. For some reason men get the idea that all prostitutes are sad and lonely. Well, I’m not, I have a good social life and enough company. When I tell men that I don’t want to change my life they look quite taken back by it, hurt even. They probably thought they were going to be my saviour and that I’d fall into their arms thanking them. I meet nice people, go to fancy restaurants, make excellent money and have sex a lot more than the average person. Why would I want to be saved? Being saved sounds like a nightmare to me.
I do go out with people but I’m very busy and can’t be arsed with the dating game. I went on a date with a manager of a sunbed centre once. We had dinner, danced at a nice club and went back to my house for drinks. Nothing happened, we just chatted and he behaved like a perfect gentleman. The very next night, I had sex with two men in the same bed for £1,100. You can see it’s not as if I’m the courting type who can remain loyal and still be on the game. The sunbed centre manager seemed upset when I told him I had just come out of a long-term relationship and needed to be single for a while. It’s for the best really as I’d probably hurt him worse further down the line.
I’ve never been physically hurt by a client but it happens to my friends all the time. I do have a gut instinct about going with someone and so far I’ve been lucky. I did get a nasty black eye while I was with a customer once. We were at a restaurant and as we were leaving two couples started fighting. I turned to see what was going on and got an elbow in my eye. This guy went to throw a punch and as he pulled back he caught me instead. He didn’t even say sorry, just carried on arguing. The police were called as the waitress put a cold wet napkin on my eye. Of course I couldn’t press charges as the man I was with would have to give his name. I don’t think his wife would have been happy to see his name in the paper. My eye was swollen for days later and I must have lost hundreds of pounds in business. There was no way I could have gone out with a punter looking like that.
A friend of mine lost the tip of her finger because of a punter. She had just left a hotel room accompanied by her client and they were both pissed. On the way to his car he started making a prick of himself by trying to dance with her in the street. He accidentally tripped her up and she put her hand out to stop herself from hitting the pavement, straight on top of a broken beer bottle that someone had left there. It took the top of one of her fingers straight off. The punter took her to the hospital, sat with her for thirty minutes in the cubicle, then said he had to check his car. He never came back and just left her there by herself.
When I go for a drink with friends and I spot a nice-looking man I still look over and sometimes flirt a little. I just don’t see them as a possible date or someone I can have a relationship with. I am at the moment looking for regular clients and not for love. You must understand that some weeks I’m with a different man every night, sometimes more than one man. It’s often nice to sleep in my own bed alone and not have to perform for someone. When I see a wealthy man I may give him a come-on, but before I take it further I get a friend to tell him what my profession is. I usually go to the bathroom when he’s being told. That way if he wants to take things further he will hang about and chat to me. If he’s not there when I return from the bathroom, I know he’s not interested. I’ve learned that when I tell someone direct they often turn away in disgust. I would say if I made enough money to pack my work in, within two years I would start fancying men again and not look at them as a wage.
I have about fifty customers who phone once, maybe twice, every two months or so. Others are given my number by past customers and I look at them as possible future regulars. If you pick a girl up on the street she may have about ten customers a night and not return to her home to shower or tidy herself up in between. When a street walker charges you £25 for a sexual act there’s usually a reason she’s so cheap. Most of the time they are drugged up to the eyeballs, covered in needle marks and scabs. You couldn’t take some smackhead out for a meal in a top-class restaurant, could you?
Girls like me try to look the part and act civilised. I may only meet between one and three men a night. I dress up nice for them and enjoy the night out. I usually earn anything from £150 up to £1,000 for an all-night stay. Usually it’s about £150, maybe £200, but of course the money goes up the longer you’re with the customer. I have an appointment book which I carry with me at all times. Most customers have to book me five days in advance, unless he’s loaded when I juggle things around for them and fit them in, if you know what I mean. The reason high-class hookers get paid so much is because we look and dress like models. That way the customer is proud to have us on his arm when he enters a fancy nightclub.
I’m pretty much game for anything as long as it doesn’t hurt. I don’t like role-play stuff where they want you to punish them, like when you’re the head mistress and he’s a naughty schoolboy. That’s just absolute bollocks and fucking stupid. I usually tell the punter that I’ve got a better role playing game: how about I’m the dirty hooker and you’re the punter who wants to screw me? They usually go for that one as neither of us looks fucking stupid.
Every customer is a little different but it’s still down to sex and being fucked at the end of the day. For instance, one customer likes to take his time and more or less get his money’s worth. Another likes to go at it like he’s just been released from death row. Some customers may want to chat for a while and tell me about their day. Others are quiet and just want to release tension so they get straight down to it. At the end of the day it usually more or less ends up as full sex and oral to finish. That’s what ninety per cent of my customers want and that’s what they get. Another thing I don’t do is girl on girl. I always get asked if I will fuck a client’s wife or bring another girl so they can watch. Well I’m sorry but I don’t drink from the furry cup!
To tell you the truth the first jump of the night usually does it for me, then it’s all about getting them to come fast and make as much money as possible. The worst thing ever invented as far as prostitutes are concerned was Viagra. You’re hoping to make a fast few pounds and get onto the next punter, he pops a Viagra and all of a sudden he wants to go all night when he only booked you for an hour. One customer popped Viagra and in seconds was back up for more. He k
new I had to go so he paid me and drove me home. He did all this with a fucking great big hard-on that wouldn’t go away. He said to me before he dropped me off, ‘Looks like this will be waiting for you next month.’
Filming’s all right, I’d charge them extra and I wouldn’t really mind being on camera. It can get a bit stupid when you see them sticking their thumbs up to the camera. You know then that they are going to show it to their friends. On the other hand if that’s what they want then for a few hundred more that’s what they get.
I’ve only not been paid once. I had met one customer at a party and took him back to my place. He paid me £200 and everything went well. A few weeks later he asked me for an ‘all-nighter’ at a hotel. I usually get paid as soon as I walk through the door but he had a glass of vodka waiting for me so we drank loads of that before going into the bedroom. I made a big mistake of thinking he was safe and I’d get paid in the morning. We fucked for hours and I didn’t mind him being on Viagra as he was paying for the night. We had dinner, supper and loads of drink. We both fell into a drunken stupor but when I woke up I was alone. I took a shower, hoping he would be back from whatever he’d gone to do, but he had fucked off and left me to pay the hotel bill. I had to phone another girl to come to the room and bring me some cash. It fucking broke my heart to pay for the room, food and all the drink. I always look for him at parties but so far he’s evaded me. If by chance he’s reading this I’d like him to know that when our paths do cross I’m going to beat his head like a drum.
I do understand why many see prostitution as wrong, I’m not stupid, but there are two sides of the argument, aren’t there? I realise that child prostitution and forced prostitution is really wrong and the sooner they clamp down on them the better. I have a friend who lives up North who tells me there are kids of fourteen standing on street corners jumping into cars with any fucker. Over the last few years I’ve seen an increase in foreign prostitutes: normal women forced into the trade by very evil bastards. If the drug laws were harsher maybe there wouldn’t be so much heroin around so addicts wouldn’t sell sex to pay for their drugs.
With girls like me, well the only way I can justify my lifestyle is by saying it’s my own choice and I don’t hurt anyone. I give comfort to a lot of men who don’t get it elsewhere in their lives. The only thing that men should realise is that if the woman finds out what they’ve been up to then it should be acceptable for her to phone for a male prostitute.
When a prostitute gets attacked by a client it’s the prostitute’s choice if she wants to report an incident. The only problem is that the client may be rich and his barrister could say that the girl was trying to extort money from the client, and when he refused to pay she cried wolf, hoping to get money through the courts. Who would a jury believe? A hooker or a wealthy businessman? If ever any man hurt me and I couldn’t defend myself I would pay certain friends of mine to take revenge, tenfold. Most hookers know someone who can sort things out for them. The girls know most of the club owners and the owners know the gangsters that deal in the clubs. Many gangsters hire hookers for themselves and their friends so it wouldn’t be a big problem to get revenge. It would cost me about £5,000 to get some fucker killed, £2,000 to cripple them, £500 for a good beating and about £15 for someone to drive past their house and shout out a rude name at them. I’m only joking of course: it would cost £600 for the good beating!
The girls I know take cocaine but that may just be the circle of friends I have. I did know one girl called ‘Jack-up Julie’ who used to inject drugs and would put false tan on to cover the needle marks. She was completely bonkers and at parties she would talk about UFOs and an underground reptilian super race who had ruled mankind since the dawn of time. I tried to distance myself from her as best I could. A few years ago she threw herself off a bridge and died instantly. You never know, maybe the reptilians were sick of her slagging them off and pushed her. My friends take cocaine to come out of their shell, stay awake longer and keep their weight down. At every party there’s always someone with pockets of it for sale, they must make a fucking fortune because they are never short of customers.
I don’t know anyone who has retired from the game wealthy; they tend to waste it all. I suppose I’m a little bit guilty of that myself. I tend to buy anything that takes my fancy. Unlike most working girls I do put money aside each month and have a close relative look after it for me. I know girls who have saved thousands up and kept it at home, only to get busted by the police and have it all confiscated.
I have heard of girls who give the game up because they found some rich businessman to look after them. The men never marry them, they just want the girl to come on trips with them and be there to service them with sex. The stupid girl thinks there’s going to be a wedding some day but as soon as he’s bored, or has found someone prettier, they get dumped. No more fancy cars, nice apartment, flights abroad or luxury hotels. One girl I know came back to her apartment, which her ‘boyfriend’ owned, to find the locks had been changed and a solicitor was waiting outside to read her the riot act. What millionaire is going to settle down with a woman who has slept with thousands of men?
I sometimes think like the other girls and try to live for today and forget about tomorrow. The only problem is that your world could come crashing down at any minute. I could get busted by the police or hurt by a customer. That’s why no matter how confident I feel I always put a little away each month, just in case.
When I first started I thought I’d do it for a year and get out with loads of cash. Now the amount I need to live the lifestyle I’m used to has increased ten times. I once thought I’d pack it all in and move from this area when I was about twenty-four. Now I’m almost thirty-two and thinking about jacking it in when I’m thirty-five. If you could imagine it’s like a builder who is thinking of retiring but someone always asks him to build another house for them. As long as there’s work and good money to be earned he will push his retirement date further away. Trouble is in my work there’s always someone who wants a shag.
If I do pack this all in soon I suppose it would be nice to be married with kids. I may even move to the country or even abroad. A small farm in France would be beautiful, wouldn’t it? I could start growing my own fruit and vegetables, even have chickens around the place. I’m still a bit wild but hopefully I’ll calm down and start growing up. I think all prostitutes have some sort of dream where they find stability in a family with no financial worries but not many get what they have been working for. Most end up with broken relationships, never finding the man who they can settle down with. They also have the permanent nightmare of their past catching up with them. That’s why I think so many eventually just move away and cut off contact from their friends. Make a fresh start in a new town with people who don’t know them.
Chapter 7
Linette
Age: 33
Preston
I WAS IN a care home from the age of thirteen, My family just couldn’t handle me. I always seemed a little wilder than most kids my age and was up for anything. I shop-lifted, burgled, stole cars, got pissed every night and took drugs. I could never figure out why I was that way inclined because I came from a good, caring home. My grandmother summed it up when she said, ‘Some kids just turn out bad but our Linette was born bad.’
I just seemed to have this energy and couldn’t see right from wrong. By seventeen I was living on the streets with a friend called Beth ‘Bang-box’ – she didn’t have the greatest nickname in the world. She had a contact in London who said they would put us up for a few weeks. I had just split up with a boyfriend and broken his collarbone with a lump hammer and I jumped at the chance of going to London as his family was out to get me.
The house in London was a right old dive, fucking stinking with rats and garbage on the floor. Beth’s friend’s name was Karl and he was a small-time drug dealer, but I guess he smoked most of it himself. After a few days he mentioned to us that we should start paying him some rent m
oney as he was struggling to pay the mortgage. We told him we would sort something out in the next few days. Both of us were down to our last few pounds and didn’t know where we could get some cash from. We came up with the idea that if one of us could start going out with Karl then maybe he wouldn’t want money off us for a few more weeks, which would give us time to get a part-time job.
He had shown a bit more interest in Beth so she started flirting with him each day. Before long he was bringing home bottles of booze, trying to get her drunk, and the thought of rent money slipped his mind. One night I was wrapped up on the floor in my sleeping bag when I was awoken by the sound of Beth and Karl having sex on the settee. I watched them for a while and drifted off to sleep. I woke up at about five in the morning and they were still going for it. I got up, walked past them and made myself a cup of tea. By now Beth was on top of him, riding away like some jockey in the Grand National. I asked if anyone wanted a cup of tea and they both declined. They didn’t even stop to fucking answer me.
By seven they were moving around the room in various positions and I thought they would never stop. I decided to go down to the shop and before I left asked if anyone wanted anything. Beth answered ‘no’ between breaths but Karl mumbled something that I couldn’t understand because she was sitting on his face. I got some milk from the shop and walked around the park for a while. It started to rain so I went back to the house. I had been out about two hours. I opened the living room door and they were still banging away. Beth was looking straight at me and Karl was behind her pumping away like mad with no signs of stopping. ‘Right,’ I shouted out, ‘I’ll pay the fucking rent money,’ and Beth just collapsed laughing. I don’t really know if Karl heard me but the fucker didn’t stop for another hour at least.