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You have to be so gentle that it's like a tender moment in a movie. Everyone stops talking. The breath is held still for a moment. A breeze blows away all the petals that have formed on their lips, during that forest quiet period of internal growth. The next lonely guy was a lot of hard work because he wanted to be kissed all over. He didn't want sex. He said that his wife never touched him. He must have felt like a basket of dirty washing left in a corner, that she knows has to be done. He was just the man for me to heal tonight. He was stroked, kissed and pampered so much that he could barely walk when he left. If only he knew how much I had enjoyed the night, even if my lips were sore and dry after the job was done. 'How often do you get it at home?' 'Usually once a month, but she's away at the moment. 'Right. That's when she's ovulating,' I said.
A handsome twenty-one-year-old walks into the parlour. Eight working girls are lined up along the red velvet lounge with no knickers on, small bras, high cut dresses and stilettos. Tonight they favour black, red and burgundy. There is silence. One girl introduces herself and slumps into her own arms. She lives far away on a rooftop. He says he might wait a while, then he turns to me. 'Are you working tonight?' 'Pardon?' I am already known for not approaching the clients. If they want me, they'll come to me. And come they did. 'Are you working?' 'Oh yes,' I said. It was as if this army guy had taken me by surprise and I had forgotten why I was here. All the other women are watching and will bitch about me if they don't get a job. It's a quiet night and they are bored and drowsy. When I get up to go and pay at reception one of the girls says, 'Go and have a good fuck, then.' I burst out laughing. The clients walk in, choose me because I'm happy to be working here and I like men. It's also a funny situation and he's new to it by the looks of him. My love occurs briefly like field of flowers that open for just one day. That is the reason why I was chosen tonight. I'm not desperate and am pleased to see the other girls get work.
He follows me into the room and I say, 'Hi, my name is Roxanne. What's yours?' He says, 'David.' He is also shy, trembling in the room after his shower, saying that he doesn't know what to do. The few drinks he has had before he arrived are starting to wear off. I said, 'Army, are you?' He said, 'Yes.' He is on his way to East Timor in two weeks and is one of the last to leave. He is itching to go and can feel the pinch of being left behind with all his mates already over there. I laugh. I try to wriggle in close to him, my lacy red bra and knickers against his hairy chest. His big young smile and strong tattooed arms wrap around my belly and his lovely belly hair like the soft down of a young animal. I say, 'Can you undo a woman's bra or are you only good at parachutes?' As it turns out, he is only good at parachutes. I kiss him on the cheek because he is young and his lips are tender like his large brown eyes. He anticipates that the fighting will get worse as the Australian troops approach the border and that most likely there will be casualties. I say, 'You know all our hearts are with you guys.' He says, 'Yeah, people love us now, but normally I have to hide what I do.' Yeah, I know the feeling. 'No one wants a war, least of all the army, but we need a defence force. That's the way the world is.' 'You don't have to hide your job from me,' I say, snuggling in to his abdomen. He says, 'I haven't got a girlfriend or a family like the other guys. I can understand that their loved ones are upset. But I haven't got anyone. I'm not afraid to die.'
He comes in doggy position. I don't normally feel comfortable with this in case they deliberately try to break the condom, or mock me behind my back. But he's okay. As he leaves I say, 'Now you come home to Australia and take care over there.' I stroke his face. 'I care about what happens to you. You are brave. Thank you for what you do out there. In the next two weeks before you go over, if you ever want to talk, come in and talk by the pool table. No charge, okay. I'll be out there.' He thanks me. There is a knock at the door again. I said, 'You really have to go now. I'll be in trouble after the second knock.' He says, 'Stuff 'em.' Can you blame him for lingering in my beautiful room? He wants to help me clean up. He wants to hang around and talk and do something nice for me. He is under the spell of my beautiful room. I have to tell him to go back to the barracks and that his life is in the army and not with me. It sounds so corny now, but somehow, just then and there, it is the appropriate way to respond. I have to scrub down the shower, change the towels, pick up the used condoms with a tissue and do my hair. I seem to have this effect on people. |
