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The ex-cop client said, 'I'm hurt that you won't tell me your real name. I know that you just met me, but one day you'll see that I'm a good bloke, sincere, I mean, and you'll tell me your real name, Roxanne. Roxanne, is that it?' The lonely man who wanted to join me in my lovely daylight hours was now on a quest to discover my secrets. The sexual intimacy wasn't enough. Actually he wanted more but he didn't want to pay for it. Of course the actual sex itself (and by the word 'actual' we are referring to 'penetrative' sex or that which most stimulated the cock) wasn't important to him. He almost shocked himself with the revelation, even if it wasn't true. Nevertheless he always had to get some during the booking. He said, 'Well, what are we going to do with you, then?' Could it be that we might just talk? But ultimately penetration was extremely important to him, in the way that he wanted to get to know me. Basically, he wanted more for his money. He wanted my body and soul forever and for free, without offering anything in return. He seemed to forget that as soon as I gently closed the door behind him I did stop smiling and that I was a sex worker and not a charity. Or perhaps he was not bright enough to work it out for himself. It wasn't because I was deceitful or nasty, but simply that I had to shower, clean up the room and apply my makeup during the next five minutes, in order to be ready for the next paying client.
Meanwhile, he stayed outside playing pool and tried to get close to me when I came back out onto the floor, by playing a song that he dedicated to me on the parlour jukebox. I acted all grateful and dumb so that he would book me again, but I didn't mind-fuck him. Well I couldn't exactly tell him about my Bachelor of Science degree could I? I was only meant to be nineteen years old. I chose 'When You Come' by Crowded House, because I thought that title was appropriate. He grinned. What he really loved was that it was my choice for him. Naturally he was disappointed when I went off with the next one. 'The dope,' said Jackie, 'they never learn.' As far as clients went, I liked him. He was the lonely ex-cop up from the western suburbs of Sydney. I thought that for some reason coppers and hookers were a good combination. The next guy was an Asian with a small cock and long fingernails, who kept saying, 'You very horny, you very horny,' over and over again. He was so tiny that his entire body felt like a centipede crawling up my skin. See what happened? The ex-cop had spoilt me and that was no good. I missed the ex-copper and looked for his car the next day from Jackie's dingy rented room upstairs. Despite the feelings of disassociation, I still had my favourite clients. But it was always a relief when the groan was done, the cock withdrawn and the unbroken condom was full of healthy semen was thrown into the bin. My favourite sight was the back of them. It meant that the work was mostly over and that they didn't have 'the clap' and more importantly that he hadn't come inside me, because that could be a death sentence, or an abortion at the very least and I just didn't like the feeling of it. I didn't want anyone's fluid inside me. It would be like someone vomiting and walking away. My second relief was in seeing him leave my room. The gentlemen always left my beautiful space with a smile on their dial.
When I shut the door I empty the ashtray, gather up the towels, place the used condoms inside a tissue and take them to the bin. The towels, used soap and empty champagne flutes go into the laundry room. I straighten up the shower mats and the sheets, so that the next gentleman, (we'll call him number thirteen for this evening), would think that he had just entered the freshest room in the world, with the most gorgeous virgin who was only his, and not anybody else's, at least for that hour or for as long as he cared to pay for her time. The rose lemon scent was sprayed into the air around the four-poster bed, to get rid of that sex and nicotine smell. My supply of condoms, lube, dams, makeup, hairbrush and whatever else was pushed back into my handbag, my hair up in the shower, body lathered, hair brushed, perfume on, stay-up stockings, lacy bra, skimpy dress and high heels. This was all meant to take five minutes. After he left I was very busy straightening up the towels and pillows, preparing and redesigning my beautiful room. |
