Hello lovelies :) FINAL DRAFT
Thank you all sooooooo much for the stacks of supercalafragilistic comments !
I feel so special and loved ((hugs))
Welcome to all the new readers, each and every single reader is valued for helping HeroineGirl ( that's me) on my mission to raise awareness on issues that exist in the world, that maybe you do or do not know about - but surely exist regardless.
Just have fun and have a read.
That is all I ever ask!
I Hope everyone is looking forward to the weekend as much as me, as it is only ONE more day to go ( for me, aussie land) Hee Hee :)
Ok - I want to finish The Chinese Laundry Tonight as I have some really mindblowing stuff ( If I do say so myself :P) for this weekend. It's so hard to just stay focused on one memoir as the recollections are coming thick and fast now, untapped and untamed. Screaming to get out of my head and down into reality , or some version of it.
Upon entering the smoke filled loungeroom, my eyes are drawn to a gentleman reclining on the black leather lounge, he meets my eyes though so I look towards the ceiling and then my feet. I was afraid if a client saw how frightened I was, he wouldn't want me. I didn't feel like myself in that moment. The girl with the wig had told me I could pretend I was someone else. I was now an Actress. So act. What If no-one chose me from the parade, if every client chose the other girls instead of me, then I would sit here all night and still go home emptyhanded. What if someone sees my trackmark?
I tell you what that would mean - that would mean I went through all of this - whatever it had become - for nothing. That was not an option for me. My time was worth something to me, and I made sure from then on , I never walked out of a situation second best. That only failed once, but that is a different story, for another time maybe ?
The Shogun announced my name "Kayla" to the gentlemen waiting for a booking and spun me around on the spot, which ended in an awkward pose, on my behalf. They actually clapped.
A petite asian man in a lacoste knit suit came over and pinched my cheek. His hards were sharp and probing, his facial features sharp and enquiring. He leaned in so close that I felt the heat of his breathe, tainted with japanese tea aromas. He turned my face with his hand. If I was unaccustomed to this touch, it did not hold value.
"Too skinny" I was dismissed.
He spoke to The Shogun and they conversed heatedly in native tounges.
Another Client rose from the couch, his almond eyes warm and smiling.
The First ( that is what I will refer to him now as for ease of reference ) , was a regular patron of the Shogun's establishment. He took me in his eyes with comforting ease, and in one fluid movement selected me by the crook of the arm and guided me towards a suite. I looked behind me, and The Wench smiled a crooked smile. It felt so corny. The Sex Industry is though.
No money was to ever touch the WG hands. It seems they did not entertain notions of any kind of control over what was happening. I did not like this aspect at all . All monies were settled discreetly and in advance. I was to keep a small notebook of the appointments and could expect a weekly envelope containing fresh hundred dollar bills, crisp and willing. All up, about a fifteen hundred dollars. That was without tips, and took into account , the house cut.
We enter the room, the huge kingsize bed the focal point, the seashell folded towels scalloped on the end of the pastel duvet. Layers of pillows adorn the embossed headboards. The room doesn't quite smell like sex - yet it has traces of sweat, lubricant and talcum powder that linger, and the artifical feeling has returned. The Drawers are mainly empty, except for discarded tubes of lubricant or empty condom packets. There is no photos in frames. No special touches. No trimmings to add appeal to the room. It is just a vehicle. To take you to that special place in your mind. Welcome to the Pleasuredome, I suppose.
The WG are supplied with the condoms ( but not in all establishments) and this brothel was huge advocates of Baby Oil, and I can still smell it to this day and I am right back there. The Wench always chose to supply the WG with the cheap variety of Baby Oil to peform body slides and adventurous massage. Yes. That's what it was called. Happy ending extra.
Goodness, the joy of the bodyslide ( not ) I think they are a huge waste of time personally - but hey sometimes that is handy right? Speaking of time. Pay Attention , Thirty Minutes. A Knock at twenty. That's all I had to do. I did not have to have sex with this man. Apparently he was very gentle with new girls and only demanded he be the first to deflower them, so to speak.
There was no clock. How am I supposed to know if I am filling the time? What is value for money? Do I dance naked or is he expecting me to fuck him and no amount of dancing will help me ? How long would that take? Does he know the rules? These questions and many more, seem to go unanswered at first, until you start to develop a routine, a set of rituals that enable you to please the client enough so he will visit again. You make additions to the routine, without making it appear like a routine, you do what you know you can do - because it works - Whether it be a handjob or a blowjob - You figure out how to get maximum results for least amount of output. You don't cheat the client, I prefer to think of it as you don't waste his time. (money)
I fumble with the hooks on the bodice of the horrid dress. It won't budge. Struggling with the zipper, my stiletto's snare on the hem and I fall back on the bed. I feel shy and boisterous all in one confusing lump that is rising in my throat. I am convinced about twenty minutes have passed , I am also sure that it is most likely only about five. The First is naked, I can't believe a stranger is showing off his penis. It is waggling at me, only thrusting forward so I could definately not ignore it. How peculiar? How quickly we adapt. Just another wierd looking dick.
The First is reclined against the headboard, enjoying this spectacle immensely. He beckons to me , and I wriggle up to meet him. I trust him I suppose because I don't know any better. You get wiser as you go along. In the beggining, it was a lot of me hoping and trying to stay one step ahead of the client. Then you get control , then confidence then you get customers coming back. I reveal my back to The First and effortlessly he eases down the zipper, his hand slipping across my satin skin and reaching around to cup a quivering breast. I exhale sharp then again more shakily.
"What do you want to do me?" He says. Take your money and run home with a large tob of icecream. Hmm. I don't think that is what he means somehow. Think. Make something up.
"Uh, Well" Get into this RIGHT NOW. I try and think of what I would hear in a porno.
" I want you to watch me undress and then I am going to strip you off and give you a sponge shower , nice , warm and sexy - Just like me" I purr and play with my breasts, encircling the nipple with a wet index finger. God. I am the biggest fraud -but you are paid to perform.
In more ways than one.
""I see" he says lifting my shoulder length hair away from my neck, perhaps to kiss it? This is it. He is already going to want to slip his greasy little tounge in, I see it peeking from behind his pearly teeth.
Time Stops. Just say No. Just do it. Just say NO.
I flinch slightly. " I don't kiss" I say instinctively.
I turn my face as his lips graze my neck. I am totally repulsed. My neck tenses and I feel my heart is going to come straight out of my bra and flop on the bed between us, pumping and screaming in fright. Perhaps a welcome distraction?
Then I laugh, realising my own foible. So does he. I wrap him in a robe and he lights a cigarette.
"Why nice girl do this?" He ponders, almost to himself.
"I don't know to be honest - I don't think I fit in here" I take the cigarette offered and inhale.
"You don't, you could be schoolteacher"
"Really? " I exhale the smoke and it feels good. I'm starting to relax.
"Well I am actually studying at the moment"
I notice his erection subsides slowly, as the smoke curls around near my head rested in his lap.
"You like drug?" He says matter of factly.
"No, I just want to earn money to go overseas" The last thing you want is a junkie reputation.
"Good girl. Maybe you work at my company"
He slips me a business card.
"You shower me?" He asks gently.
I know that he is going to spare me more than the others.I kindly oblige. I get naked , but the mood is relaxed and informal. The pressure is off.He soaps my back and asks me more questions, mostly about what I want to do with myself and whether he really is the first.
As kind as he is, I know he will never pick me again. I know this instinctively, because a man of his cabilbre and social standing does not pay hundreds of dollars for a spongebath and career counselling. However, this night he must've sensed that maybe this was a way he could maybe give back to the female movement.We dressed in silence. I went to put on the dress and then rethought. This is not on my terms. I was ready to do something to get more money. But I don't know if I could do this to line someone else's pockets. Plus, how hard could it be?
For tonight though , I was done with all this jazz. I don't believe in pushing yourself. Sometimes it is my worst enemy, othertimes it has saved my life. I hold my own hand. I lean on me.
That was all I could take at the moment. It was all I had to give.
I put on my own tracksuit ( ahh much better) washed off the layers of makeup, watching the mutlicoloured sludge pooling in the basin. I scoop my hair into a makeshift ponytail and catch my reflection. I'm still in there. I survived.
The First is dressed and ready to leave. Time, is over.
I hugged the First tightly and he assured me he would be back to see me.
I wink - smile a wise smile - and pat him on the bottom affectionately. I slip the business card into my purse and I end up stealing him and his friends from the agency , much later on.
Dog eat dog as I said before. You better be paying attention.
Take me home now please " I am tired, in the soul and in the mind. I am to learn that you can get much, much more tired. In places you did not know you ached until you do, and then it gradually feels good if your doing it right.
Pay me now, by the way.
I get both my wishes filled. Maybe becuase it is my first night. Maybe because they don't want to scare me off, with the guilt trips, bitchiness and treachery that was soon to abound.
At the start of the honeymoon period, everyone wants a piece of the pie.
Slice her up.
With A Cherry On Top.
One blends into ten , into thirty, into packets of condoms , into paypackets into nothing. I saw girls as young as 17 working through until the early hours. Faces and Fake Names. You don't keep a tally of men - it is not something anyone ever mentions. Money is mentioned though. Although a smart WG never discusses the monetary side. Just slips a little away.
It is presumed you are smart and count your pennies and save. Not many do though. Easy come, easy go. Irony.
I remember on the second night I made instant friends with a WG, she was the most gorgeous girl you could ever meet actually. I had a crush on her, pretty much instantly. Moviestar looks and a beautiful personality. Men were entralled with her - she knew it and relied upon it. She worked as a full service prostitute and spent her money on chanel handbags, coke and enjoyed her life from the view of a penthouse aprtment , all funded by "this" The WG lived very happily with her bouncer boyfriend, engaged , I believe. She loved him obsessively yet he did not know she was a prostitute? This seemed rather contradictory to me, but she avoided discussion about boyfriends, as most WG do ( it's not exactly good for business) so I let her have something to herself. You give so much away sometimes, your private life is nice that way - private.
She was planning to only do "this" until she could afford for a boob job then she was going to fly to America and become a star. It was all a tad sad , but what more could I offer her as a friend - but hope that her dreams could come true? That was all she wanted. We were both 19 and that's all we wanted - to be famous and for everyone to know who we were. We did not know our very actions now, would ruin this in the future. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
When she spread her legs, she spread the love - and the world was placed between it. She could have any Client. They tossed omney like confetti and heralded her hips with welcome. She was continually booked and did everything and more to keep them coming and coming back. It was quiet night, meaning everyone wanted to see Her. Sometimes we did doubles. I mean if you can't beat them - join them.
So, to kill a bit of time I went outside for a smoke and peeked into the window of the suite. I knew this was forbidden, yet I was enchanted and horrified simulataneously. Through the gaps in the blinds, I watched the muscly asian pummel his cock deep into her. Unforgiving and wanting, demanding and desperate. I heard her pleas for mercy and I saw her eyes shut tightly. I know she is tired and I can't help but wonder why she does this? I would give anything to look like her , but I wouldn't give what she had. How different it was from this side. She did not look happy. She did not look present. She looked like she was floating on the ceiling and in a happy place for a moment and then she was down there. "Have you come yet?".. Over and Over she asks. The Client sprays his load over her perfect breasts and then dresses promptly, declining a shower. Like a robot , I still recall she got up and wipes herself down. The sex was emotionless and cold , the aftermath was killer. I look away, shamed for her, and also shamed for me.
I guess they all wanted a piece of the fantasy of being with somebody surreal and gorgeous, yet when they saw her legs open, how could they deny her mind was clearly closed?
Her boyfriend soonfound out about the sex work, after he found condom wrappers in her bag and also noticed the strange hours and how he never could ring her work. He called off the engagement then he called her a whore.
In one brief phonecall, I watched her hopes and dreams die on the inside before me. She looked empty and spent. Then that night, she tried to take her own life. Sweet gorgeous bella.
She wished she was on Heroin , so she could explain why she was addicted to a job that no -one could ever accept, there was no rehabilitation for being addicted to The Game.
She told me she was going to get out of town. Start a real job.
That's really good. So am I " I said, unconvinced.
We both accepted each other's fable and split directions.
She got fired for trying to steal the clients.
They were close , but not close enough.
I guess I play the quiet one well.
There had to be a way I could do this on my own and keep the whole fee. That's what I spent all the bookings thinking about, every fucking body slide, every hand numbing wank. Planning. Making deals over cigars and silkrobes. Undercutting. Business cards. I took theirs and then I had my own made.
I stayed for two weeks to learn the procedure, then to steal the clients and make the capital.
Then, I hear they got busted and the illegal brothel was shut down , the operators slapped with jail terms , prostitution with minors and several drug and weapon charges amoungst some other hefty and unsavory claims. The Shogun was put out of business for good. His reputation unsalvaged. But the clients , just moved on. They always will. This time, to something legal. One girl survived the bust , because she was forewarned by an undercover client to not come into work the next night - of course I cannot reveal names.
But you know them already ;)
The heroine of this story survives yet another tale.
The last thing I heard as I left was the dryer churning with the dull thuds of the towels in the laundry, cleaning the last load of semen soaked towels and drying for next unsuspecting body.
The Chinese Laundry.
Never let the sticky stuff - stain ;)