How do you go about recruiting prostitutes? I had no idea, so I placed an ad in the paper and surprisingly girls called up for a job.
One of them was Victoria. She was a career courtesan, an expert, who had plied her trade all over the world on land and the high seas. In her late forties, smart, almost attractive, utterly financially ruthless, Victoria arrived armed with suitcases of sex toys, lacy lingerie and off shore bank accounts. She’d married three of her wealthiest punters, left them, but kept the houses and money, and was now stalking her fourth.
The girls and I sat in front of her transfixed, like children being told ghost
stories. She was the fount of all carnal knowledge; she taught us what men really wanted and how to charge extra for it.
OWO was an abbreviation for oral sex without a condom – when a gent wanted a blow job minus the Johnny. CIM was ‘come in mouth’, the end result of the preceding oral without a condom. Victoria tersely pointed out that most of the clients knew what these abbreviations meant, and the fact that we were sitting there stunned with our mouths hanging open in shock was outrageously unprofessional.
I don’t think any of us liked her; in truth I was a little intimidated by her. But I knew that if we were going to survive and thrive in the world of fornication for a fee then we had to wise up. And she really had seen it, done it and wiped up the spunk with the Tee-shirt.
The next shocking revelation bestowed upon us was that John from Northampton’s mysterious strap-on was in fact a dildo or vibrator in a little harness that ladies attached to themselves – strapped on, just as the name suggests, then used as a pretend penis to poke up mens’ bums, or up other ladies in any orifice.
‘No!’ Tasha squealed, clearly horrified. ‘Well I’m not doing that. It’s disgusting!’
I sat there mesmerised as Victoria talked us through her bag of tricks and demonstrated how to do a perfect blow job on a lurid pink rubber willy.
So enthralled were we, watching her gratuitous genital handling, that when the work phone rang we all jumped. I stretched over to answer it, with one eye fixed on the dirty demo, only half listening to the enquiring client.
‘Pardon?’ I asked the caller. Waving at Victoria, I silently asked her to pause her show. ‘Maybe you should call us back nearer the time sir, when you’re feeling the urge?’
I looked at the phone in surprise. ‘Oh how rude, he’s hung up on me.’
‘Heavy breather?’ Tasha asked.
‘Don’t know what he was really,’ I replied, genuinely confused. ‘Why waste time calling now, if you can only manage ‘annual sex’, I mused. ‘Imagine only doing it once a year? Sounds like me! He hung up, so today obviously wasn’t the day.’ I shrugged and smiled.
Then I became aware of Victoria’s patronising frozen stare, the pink penis still held aloft like a flag.
‘What?’ I said, feeling foolish and defensive with no idea why.
‘You really are incredibly stupid,’ Victoria said indignantly packing her toys back into her bag of tricks. ‘In fact I think you lot should just give up now. You’ve got no chance of surviving in this business; you’re like a bunch of useless infants, utter imbeciles the lot of you.’
‘W…Why? What?’ I stuttered.
‘He wanted anal sex, not annual sex you fool. A. N. A. L…’
She was right, we were idiots. Of course that’s what he meant. Embarrassed, I could feel the giggles of humiliation bubbling up inside me as I pictured the poor man staring at the receiver wondering what kind of nutter was at the other end. But Victoria didn’t see the funny side. She was getting visibly more irate by the second.
‘Anal is a speciality service. If a man wants to put his cock up my back passage, I’d charge him an extra seventy for the privilege, on top of the booking fee. You’ve just lost me two hundred quid Becky.’ She picked up her bag and gave us all a scathing, sweeping glare. ‘Sod it, that’s enough for me. I’m leaving. This agency is unprofessional and ridiculous.’
Looking at Tasha’s crestfallen face I started to snigger. When you try to hold it in the forbidden laughs come down your nose as squeaky grunts making everything appear funnier. Victoria was one of the most anal people I’d ever met, and the more scathing she became the more hilarious I found it. By the time she’d marched out, slamming the door behind her, all three of us were helpless with laughter. From then on anyone who wanted any sort of bum fun was booked in for a special ‘Madam Beckys’ annual’ seeing to and charged extra accordingly.
We were glad to see the back of Victoria and her passage. I hoped she was slightly jollier with her clients than she’d been with us, but I doubted it. Although I’d now grasped the concept that there were a lot of men out there who’d pay handsomely to be shouted at by a stern lady in her forties. One thing Victoria did make me realise was that just because you have a fanny, it doesn’t make you a good prostitute. Just like just being able to count didn’t make you a good bank manager.
There was a lot more to this shagging for money than met the eye. If we were going to stay in business I needed to take a much closer look at it.
I certainly didn’t want any of us to be Victoria clones but it was time to get serious and time to grow up.
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