A work of fiction
Chapter 6 - Turning Tricks
The next few weeks are like that - wake up with a hangover, taking the pill, vodka, coke or H, cigarettes, shower, gangbang, go to the chemists smelling of spunk, perfume and cigarettes and buy my boxes of condoms, shower, tea with family, getting changed into the same spunk stained working clothes and working my beat for my owner.
I was made to wear the same clothes for a week, 'cos as Martika says they 'represent' who I am now. Martika says that her grandmother, another hooker, called Sue would say to her 'You smell of sex, you attract sex...'
I'm getting a lot of regulars, which is quite exciting. They're treating me like they seem to do with all prostitutes - like a piece of shit....as do some of the other working girls.
Actually, many treat me lovely but they know that I am much lower than them on the food chain 'cos I'm owned by Martika.
Owned. That sounds so great to say, actually. I'm proud of that fact.
My body is hers. My mind is hers.
The lifestyle is getting normalised. The beatings, by Martika, whilst more infrequent are also part of my day. I expect to be beaten. I expect to get hurt and called a '..waste of space..'. I deserve it. I wanted to be just like her. That's what I said, right? So I have to live by her rules.
If I don't look like I am enjoying the fucking, or not trying hard enough to pull the punters, I get a beating. If I don't smile or look seductive enough, I get a beating. I don't smoke when she does? I get a beating.
Beatings generally consist of one or two smacks around the head, as you might imagine, but also punches and kicks to the stomach.
Like I said, I deserve it.
I make her happy though. Her children, I enjoy hanging out with. When I'm not selling myself on the street corner I am baby sitting for her. Hard to do when you have a hangover and loaded but that's what I signed up for, wasn't it?
Talking to my family, like I do over the phone, that feels odder....and faker...the more I do it. I dread it. I'm no longer that person anymore.
Sex means nothing to me. I only cum when I think what money I am making for my owner. That's quite alluring and addictive. The more I earn, the higher I get when cumming.
Thankfully the weather isn't too bad either. We had one night of rain and it occurred to me that we stand out in all weathers and are there to sell ourselves, whatever. Must admit, I'm not liking the thought of that. I didn't like the wet weather either, but with less of the tarts out on the street meant that there was more work, and obviously more money to be made, by me.
It's around this time that Martika tells me that I have to go to the sexual health clinic - the 'Clap Clinic' as she so affectionately calls it.
'Bitch, we go monthly. Get a fuckin' check up so that we haven't got any disease. We got something then we can't fuckin' work. No work means no money. No money and I'm pissed off with you. So, go with me today. They'll check you over and then you can fuckin' work. Got that, bitch?'
'Yeah, boo. That sounds ok.'
It's not far from where Martika lives, truth be told. We walk there, in our finery, the obligatory cigarettes on the go. We chat. We're chill.
Well...I'm nervous.
She tries to put me at ease.
We stub out our cigarettes and enter.
There's a couple of girls already there when we enter. Looking prim and proper. Not like us, of course. We're the really dirty girls.
Up to the receptionist and we give our names. Each of us get a clipboard and pencil to write up our questionnaire.
IVDU...tick in box.....anal sex...tick in box....unprotected sex...tick in box...multiple sexual partners.....tick in box.
End of it, I'd put lots of ticks.
I'm called over, by name. That's the first time any adult has used my name, with the exception of Martika's mum, Samantha, I muse.
I go into a room, chat to the nurse and proudly exclaim that I hook. She takes it in her stride. Maybe my clothes have given me away?!? She leaves me to change into a hospital gown. Shimmying my leather mini over my hips is always hard as it's a very tight fit.
I have a blood test, I have to have a urine sample and then swabbed. I'm asked to confirm my details and that's it, all done. I'm expected to contact then in the next 2 weeks to get confirmation of my results.
Fine.
I'm shaking as I come out. Martika notices. She's just finished up herself and meets me by the entrance.
She lights up, and of course I do too.
It helps calm me down.
We go to the chemist. This time Martika comes in, standing by the back door as I go through my routine of getting my condoms and joining the queue. There's always a queue. Whatever. There's a old lady that does a double take at me...and then there's an old guy that face lights up when he sees me. I smile. No idea who he is.
Whatever. The queue moves. I pay, take my shit and then leave, Martika coming behind me.
We get in, Martika gets the coke out and we bang out a couple of lines each. Right. Let's get back to it.
Pint of vodka and a cigarette and we talk through general hooker shit - punters that we had fucked the previous night, some of our situations, our chats with the other bitches - y'know? That kind of stuff.
The kids are at Martika's mum's house and, with a phone call from her, Samantha soon comes over with them both.
I really like Samantha. She's in her 40's now. Been hooking since she was 13 but very different from some of the older bitches that I have met in these last few weeks. Not jaded. Not that same, bored look in her eyes. She's enthusiastic about prostitution. That's where Martika gets it from.
She's very glamourous. Always looks on point. Dressed to thrill. Dressed like, I guess you could say, a teenager. Always tight clothes. Never seen her in anything other than a leather miniskirt or leather trousers. Always lots of jewellery too.
She has such an infectious smile and demeanour.
We're sitting around the table again, drinking coffees and having cigarettes, talking shop.
I don't generally see much of Samantha when we're streetwalking. She's the other end of the street, doing her thing. She's always busy.
True as I said, Samantha is regaling us with her tales of what she was up to last night.
'...and so, as he was banging away at me he starts to have a spasm. He's still inside me and he's fidgeting about. I ask him what was up and he tells me that he's just got calf cramp! Bloody calf cramp! Heck of a way to finish up my night....'
Martika laughs. So do I.
'So, what about you, luv? How was your night, April?' Samantha asks, over a plume of cigarette smoke.
'Oh, I had a couple of punters up my arse, boo...' I answer.
'Good money, right?' she states.
'Yes, boo. Made some good coin..'
'How you taking to anal, luv? Find it alright? I've always found myself getting a bit sore
afterwards.'
'No, no. I'm used to it, boo. I get taken up my arse often. I don't care. Whatever earns, right? Gotta make money for my owner...' I trail off, smile on my face as I look towards Martika.
Martika takes a drag of her cigarette.
'I've obviously seen you down the alley, up against the wall. You prefer that or banging in cars, April?' she asks, sipping her coffee.
'Martika always says that we shouldn't bother who sees us fuck. That is getting into me, Sammy Jo, one fuck at a time. I'm getting with the programme. I don't give a fuck who sees me...'
'..which is cool, but which do you prefer, hun?' she again asks.
'Cars are great. I love banging in cars...' answers Martika, grinding out the butt of her
cigarette in the now overflowing ashtray.
'Cars, boo..' I finally answer, looking at Martika first before fixing Samantha's gaze.
'Same here, darlin'....' begins Sammy Jo, taking another sip '...much more comfortable.'
Martika fixes me with a look that has become our little shorthand for 'do another line', so I excuse myself and head over to the bathroom to do just that.
Samantha and Martika are talking as I do so.
Whatever. I don't care.
Between whaever thoughts are running through my brain I think that most drug addiction is something in the shadows. The user...a poor wretched soul. Hiding in corners. Doing what they need to do for their fix.
Here? I'm actively encouraged to do it in the open. Only when the kids aren't around,
obviously! I'm not a monster! But it's something that I have been brought up, with Martika's insistence of course, to not be ashamed of. It is a badge of honour. I've seen her do line after line in front of Mark, her husband. Or shoot up. He's always ok with that.
The process, obviously, takes a little time prepping and lining up the coke before I snort it up, each nostril, so I'm gone for a little while.
The girls are still talking when I come back. Sammy Jo stands up and gives her daughter a big, lingering hug.
Martika comes to the back door, to beckon Miya and Jasmin in, telling them that 'Sammy' is going now. Samantha bends down to accept their loving hugs and kisses, before getting back up, coming towards me and giving me a big hug.
Then she's off. The kids, wave her off and then run back outside.
There's a bit of time before prepping the evening meal and Mark coming back home, so we just chill out and watch TV. Martika, intermittently checking on the kids, and
just having some time on herself.
Sitting down, when stoned, is never good for me. I have to keep moving or else i'm in
my own little world.
I'm thinking about my parents....my little step-sister....my old life...my life now.
Just spacing, y'know?
Time for our meal. Martika is prepping a curry. I get to chop up. Cauliflower based,
moderately spicy, tomato based. Takes a while to ferment.
Jas and Miya run in and out, intermittently, to check on the progress whilst I stir.
Martika does her shower, of course and then, when she's down...I go up for mine. I don't feel dirty; we've not been fucking anyone today. But, it's routine and Martika is big on routine.
Mark's home by the time I come down in my robe. He says hi as he tries to put down his briefcase, in between a gaggle of children around him. He briefly chats to Martika, gives her a big kiss and makes his way upstairs to change.
I notice that he's home early.
'He's getting ready to go for his run...' Martika states.
True to form, he's quickly down, changed in compression shorts, shorts, running shoes and top. He quickly downs a glass of water, quick stretch and he's gone.
I forgot that today would be his run day. So, I think, did Martika.
He's back, some 40 minutes later. A sweaty, panting mess. Redder than his shirt. Another big glass of water consumed, in between fighting through the girls, so that he can sit down.
Martika serves.
We make family small-talk, asking about his day...he asks about ours. Martika tells him about the Clap Clinic. I tell him, proudly, of exciting the old guy in the chemists. He smiles.
We all tuck in to the curry and sundries. Martika is a really good cook. The girls have seconds. Me and Martika, as per usual, don't eat too much as she always says...
'Can't have a fat slag selling herself, can I?' and 'Can't fuck on a full stomach...'
True on both counts, I guess.
Then, it's time to get ready again. We let Mark go for a quick shower before Martika and I start to get ready, I take my clothes into Martika's bedroom and start putting them on, then sitting at the large bedside table with vanity mirror - together - and constructing our hooker identities, via makeup, mousse and hairspray.
Pretty soon, after around 30 minutes, and we're done. We don't mess around. We've got this down pat now. Cigarettes burning in the ashtray as we do so. We stand up, do a twirl to the mirror....
Looking good.
