Coral Hull: Prose: Work The Sex: The Indians are the worst. I don't do them any more. I pride myself ...

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: WORK THE SEX
                                                                                                                page-66

The Indians are the worst. I don't do them any more. I pride myself on not being against any race, but those arseholes take the cake. This one guy said, 'Kiss it down there.' He had no condom on. He said, 'Lick it.' I said, 'I beg your pardon?' He said, 'Lick it.' 'No,' I said, 'I don't think so, sweetheart. I'm saving that for god or my husband. And you're not exactly on that spiritual plane, if you know what I mean.' There was a funny side to a new client seeing what he could get away with. 'You are in my beautiful room. So don't be crude again.' He asked for sex without a condom. They always had to ask how long you'd been working for, in order to try the same tricks on again and again. My favourite shop is Condom Kingdom in Palmerston and these blokes who have an aversion to condoms are a dime a dozen. There was one guy who stuck his clumsy fingers right inside a worker's vagina with long fingernails. Then he tried to scratch at her clitoris. She said, 'I gave him three warnings before I walked out!' Jackie said, 'My first warning is that they lose an eye, and while they bent over looking for it, the real damage is done.' On the third warning he wouldn't be found again. I pity their wives, as I know all the stupid clumsy fingers of their husbands and most of all the lies. He said, 'You have butter breasts!' I have to send him out without sex. I pity the way this client wastes his own time and money and how I receive that money in return for my wasted time. He refused to shower and then he wanted everything in fifteen minutes. I didn't do fifteen-minute jobs. When a client enters my beautiful room I want to respect him. And I can't respect a cheapskate. I just can't. I'm not that desperate for twenty-five dollars. Let the next girl have him. Some like the quick jobs, and good luck to them. Their panties are up then down then up again and the guy is outa there! To them it would have been just like shaking his hand, having a cup of tea, waving goodbye or smoking a cigarette. I don't know what I would do in fifteen minutes. I could show him my beautiful room and lead him to the door after he had showered. But these cheapskates want it all. There shouldn't be anything going under half an hour. It doesn't suit my timing and nor does it make sense. I'm just not into it.

Jackie speaks: Well I'm not a fucking hole, and I'm not a fucking arsehole. After the knock at the door this one arsehole refused to leave. He blamed me for not being able to put the condom on properly, but the 'identity' kept losing his erection. Suddenly he tried to go down on me, forcing a sixty-niner on me without asking my permission. His knee nearly hit me in the chin, tearing some of my hair out. He apologised before I pushed him to the side, shaking my head, as though the moron couldn't even deal a decent hand in a game of poolroom poker. When the knock at the door came, he wanted to go over time; that is, over his lousy fifteen minutes. He shouts, 'No, you do it! You finish me off!' I wished I could have finished the moron off. I said, 'Time's up.' But he said, 'No,' and tried to stand over me on the bed on his hands and knees. He demanded that I do it, so that he'd get his fifteen minutes worth. I turned on him and said, 'I'm not a fucking animal, you fucking arsehole! Get the fuck out, you fucking piece of shit!' I was less than an animal. It was the corpse of a blow-up doll that he wanted to fuck. I hate it when the motherfuckers acted like that, particularly after I've been so good to them. I'm proud of what I do and I'm not taking no shit like that from scum like him. I said, 'We have male security down the hallway, moron.' I walked out with my stilettos and a bathrobe on. My makeup was pretty scary but what the hell. 'Excuse me,' I said, 'would somebody get this fucking arsehole out of my room!'

Roxanne speaks: My room is a haven for the shy and lonely man. I help to make him handsome and sexy. And for the man who doesn't want to talk, I touch him gently. I kiss his eyelids. This is the power of my being. The question is where can I hide from now on? You can hide anywhere if you're good enough, sweetheart. I walk out of the parlour into the daylight hours from the depth of my beautiful room. I walk down the main street to the mall, where juice is made fresh with beetroot, carrot, celery and ginger. I'm on my way to buy the strappy red heels. I wear black jeans and a tailored grey coat. A man smiles and goes 'Whoooeeee!' Another guy follows me out of the bank and begs for five minutes of my time, as if he is about to sell me something. He smiles like a rose touched by sun, as he breaks into Arabic. He asks me to have a coffee with him. I say that I am busy, but to have a nice day anyway. He pleads with me. He thought I said, 'You have a nice dick' but I said, 'You have a nice day.' I say this and mean it because I am nice. I am like a bird still waking up, into my lovely room that is the dawn. A few young homeboys who were in the parlour turned back to look at me. They were all whispers and wide eyes, as if my power was a threat to their 'potential' manhood. They took the step from the strip clubs into the brothels last night. I turn and watch them as they pass, in case they try anything on. They are looking after me from the distance. They are five lousy raindrops looking back up to a thundercloud. I give a little wave and a smile. They are secretly thrilled to see a working girl in public, out of her usual context, away from her power base. They think I may be as vulnerable as them. But they are wrong. I just keep walking, as intricate and complex as the street. The sun and not fear has touched me today.

    

This website is part of my personal testimony that has been guided by The Holy Spirit and written in Jesus' name.

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