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Roxanne speaks: She was his perfect fantasy woman - mean but with a conscience. Tonight his ambition was to break down his own inhibitions by pestering her for odd stuff. In return, he wanted to take her to Tim's Turf and Surf and over the Darwin harbour in a hired helicopter. He even invited her to Adelaide for the 'big weekend' away from the wife. Some guys would do anything when they were pissed, to arrange future freebies and unprotected sex with an escort. Jackie knew exactly what the girls had been up to, at one of the rougher places she had worked at in Perth, when she spent half the night arguing with men over putting on condoms. The rimmer's friend had been another time-waster, the kind who liked to spend a few hours hanging around with the girls, with no intention of booking anyone. You could see him thinking a mile away. He was taking his time, asking too many stupid questions about the industry. Other time-wasters got drunk at the parlour bar and ended up talking shit to other men all night. Or when feeling more sombre, they just sat around and stared into space for hours asking, 'Are there any more girls on tonight?'
Jackie speaks: Sure. There's Marilyn Monroe. She's being contacted in a séance at present. But she should be with us shortly. The simple fact was, most of these losers had nowhere else to go. Or perhaps they were Christians saying a silent prayer for the Godless victims and perpetrators with the insatiable sexual appetites down in the dark pit of the Australian sex industry, before going home to wank. Either way, the management usually had to send them out. Meanwhile the time-wasting friend of Jack the Rimmer was now in big trouble. He'd just been checked over and the girls weren't too happy about what they had found. For a start he was riddled with the pox. His ruined cock had just been described as 'indescribable' by one of the parlour's oldest workers. Goldie looked real pale. She said, 'It wasn't even like genitals, just a big blob of hair and skin and I don't know what. It was as if given the slightest pressure something was gonna burst out of it. I don't know what the Hell he was coming in here for, covered in pus and spots. I felt like taking the rest of the week off. He was some sick puppy coming in here in that condition. I said, 'Baby, you need a doctor and most likely an amputation.'
Then to top it off, his smart-arse friend ordered a bottle of champagne, bagging his wife to everyone. He wanted Sam to do handstands in the spa, so that he could lick her while she was upside down. He'd been going through her handbag while she was out of the room, most likely looking for her identification, after she had refused to see him outside work. He found jack-shit, apart from a small slip of paper where she had been recording her jobs with instructions from the management. Perhaps that's all he was after, like seeing how many other men she'd done 'it' with. I dunno. Or perhaps he thought she was writing down his credit card number. She reassured him. There was always that lack of trust, but it made for better fucking. The bullshit is half the fun although it does wear thin after a time. Samantha looked like a waterlogged rat after that booking. He loved her wet hair and made a grab for it often. It must have been associated with a past memory of some kind. Poor Sam!
He was the type of man who wanted to talk sex incessantly while his small dick remained limp. Samantha said, 'Too much drink, sweetie, too much drink!' In the end she gave him a hand job. She was cold from the spa and then the air conditioning, so she wrapped a red sheet around her shoulders like Little Red Riding Hood. After he came she went and disinfected her hands. In his drunken stupor he continued to offer her cheap substitutes for all the money and all the sex she was getting within the industry. His big dumb ego allowed him to think that he could hope to replace every single man and every single dollar with a seafood meal at Tim's Turf And Surf. He insisted. So Samantha ended up agreeing with everything he said as part of her role in the booking. So exactly what did he have to offer her, that she wasn't getting already? Well, nothing. Apart from the fact that he already had a girlfriend whom he was merrily betraying. He was just her type of man and the type of man to surprise us all. 'So you won't kiss and I can't go down on you?' He was setting himself up for rejection. 'How much are you offering in order to see me privately?' she asked, bored within five minutes. But no, it wasn't as good as that. He simply wanted, as he put it, 'fun times'. Why sure! So Samantha was to receive no income from him or anyone, in return for 'fun times, sweetie' with a moron who was already thankfully taken. 'Sure thing, darling!' She agrees with everything he says until the buzzer goes off. Then she reaches for the liquid soap. |
