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'We both know it's the easiest booking you've ever had! No sex!' Nikita asked, 'Would you like some oral sex now?' 'Oh God, no! We couldn't actually have sex now, could we? Well, don't you worry about me. I'll just lie here and quietly wank.' She wondered if it was worth his thousand-dollar-a-week pay packet. He turned out to be a gentle pussycat in the end, a thoughtful guy who was very sad. It was just as she had suspected. Some people were driven to do desperate things while hounded by the pain of loneliness. She knew that she would have done the same if she had been in his position. He had entered the Darwin brothel as the quintessential yuppie smart arse. In his more serious moments he was the saviour of all of Australia's hookers. He begged one of the women, 'Please, get out of this job!' But what was he offering?
It was similar to when Nikita had walked to the Atrium on an escort with a short, middle-aged, fat man, and two young tourists had stopped them on the street on their way to Time nightclub. They stood there looking at Nikita and the client in disbelief and after giving them a going-over a few times each, they finally cracked up, falling into each other's arms and saying, 'No…no way!…', as if they couldn't believe it was true, that such a stunning woman like her would be going off with him into a motel room. 'No fucking way!' they said, half-full on rum, 'Come with us!' But, thought Nikita at the time, what were they offering really? Samantha said, '…usual story, sweetie.' What were they offering that the older gentleman wasn't? Their bodies may be a bit more taut and their cocks shinier, but maybe they'd have really small cocks or maybe their cocks would be too large for her and maybe they'd have the pox, whereas he'd slept with his wife for years, occasionally seeing hookers. And maybe their breath would reek whereas his might not. As it turned out, his breath stank like rotten potato. Nikita never went near his lips, not even for a friendly peck goodbye. But the important thing for Nikita was that they weren't offering love. But they weren't offering money either. They were just offering more sex, more and more and more sex…which she didn't need. She needed cash, simple as that.
Nikita thought of how often she had got sucked into the old trade-off, of sex for affection. But she was growing tired of that game and wiser by the second. As Sharlena said, 'You can't play a player, honey.' And that she was, with a wallet full of cash. If you can't keep your legs shut at least keep your purse shut! The gentleman whom she was escorting to the Atrium wasn't offering her love either, but with no love in the world, money was the next best thing. Samantha said, 'Even when I bothered to have male lovers I had to have five of them. They were only a fifth of a man each! So if I dropped one I was left with four-fifths of a man. Not much fun, darling!' Thank goodness for the five day bookings with the rich tycoon who didn't have sex with any of them, but who instead talked about Timor and Vietnam and partied on like there was no tomorrow. He wasn't frightened, nervous or ashamed of the industry. He knew how to pamper himself and have a good time doing it. At least you could respect him. Some men knew how to really enjoy themselves and with style and sophistication.
I recently took part in a party booking. Now you'd think if you got four guys in a room, that they would just loosen up and rage on with the girls, the complimentary champers, the luxury hot spa built for six, and whether sex was involved or not would be irrelevant. A lot of the guys who book those rooms are like that. I've had my share of them recently. But the other night we had this real sombre lot. They went into the party room and were actually right into the fucking. They were so into the fucking that they forgot to enjoy themselves during the hour (yes, the cheapskates only booked for a fucking hour!), and were all super serious with fucking. The one I had was the worst. He was the dud in the group. At least his mates went into the spas with the girls, and didn't get all anxious about the time, and whether they were going to get their ends in. They were okay. But no… the guy I was with wasn't okay at all. He didn't want no spa. He just wanted to lay on the bed and talk shit about sex. He didn't know how to be a man or how to relax and enjoy himself. He wanted his money's worth, complaining that he had paid for the others. 'I've paid nearly a thousand bucks,' he whined, 'so I want to come.' |
