All characters in this story are over 18.
Brothels are illegal in the UK although widespread. Even quite small towns, albeit not the one I live in, often have one or more while bigger cities more often than not have several mostly masquerading as "Massage Parlours" or something similar. Provided they are well-run, discreet, not a public nuisance and stay well clear of drugs and trafficked women, the authorities normally leave them alone to carry on their business for the benefit of their communities.
The one I frequent most often is "Lucy's Massage" about a 45-minute drive from my home. It's owned and run by a married couple in their sixties. Les takes care of the more practical side such as repairs and maintenance. His wife, Ivy, who has been in the business a lot longer than he has, is in charge of the day-to-day running of the establishment, including finding and managing the girls. I remember her once telling me that shop girls generally, but especially those who worked at supermarket checkouts, were among the easiest to recruit.
What my own town lacks in brothels, it makes up for in supermarkets. Three of the biggest national chains have branches here.
Of the three, I tend to use the one nearest my home, partly because it is the nearest, partly because it does the particular sort of bread I like, but mainly because it has the best-looking checkout girls. I was there a few months ago when I noticed a particular girl whom I hadn't seen before. She was about twenty years old and the most striking thing about her was her short fluffy blonde hair. She had a pretty face atop a pair of nicely shaped breasts and her name, "Poppy," on the branded supermarket smock-like garment she was wearing. She had gorgeous long eyelashes and a flirtatious smile so naturally I chose to join her queue rather than any of the shorter ones.
I was also to discover later that she had a dirty mind, always a bonus in my book. This was evidenced that very first day when I was packing my items after she had scanned them. I was having difficulty getting everything into my small carrier bag "It's OK," I said innocently, "I've got a big one here."
"Oh! Boasting again," she replied cheekily.
The next time I saw her she greeted me with "Hi, you're the chap with the big one." "That's me," I confirmed, to which she responded, "You'll have to show me sometime."
From then on things only got worse.
"Be careful it doesn't slip out. I hate it when that happens."
Once I told her she looked tired. "Too much bed and not enough sleep," she quipped.
On another occasion, I told her my name was Dick. "It's short for Richard", I said. Quick as a flash, and quite brazenly, she came out with "Oh, good. I like a nice dick." She really was incorrigible and I loved it.
For example, once I remarked that it was a very rainy day to which she immediately responded, "Yes, I was very wet this morning but then I am most mornings." And plenty more in the same vein.
Poppy was always bright, cheeky and flirtatious and I quickly came to look forward to my meetings with her and the sexual banter which sometimes I tried to reciprocate, although I was never really a match for her.
So I was really surprised then when one day I reached her checkout to see her looking down in the dumps. When l saw me, she tried to rally attempting to present a happier face, but not really succeeding.
"Are you OK?" I asked concerned.
"Not really, no. I've just had some bad news," she replied sadly.
Looking around to make sure no one was listening, "what bad news?" I asked gently. "Can I help?"
"I shouldn't think so. It's just that the boss has just told me they are going to cut my hours which means I won't have enough to pay my rent. And that's just gone up so I was hoping for more hours, not fewer. I guess I'll just have to go on the streets or something," she said with a wan smile.
"If you do that," I said in an attempt to lighten the mood, "you'd make a fortune."
"Ha! I'm not sure that's a compliment."
"Well, please don't take it the wrong way. I only meant to say I think you're very attractive. Nothing more. Anyway, you weren't serious? About going on the streets, I mean."
"Don't you be so sure. I can't say I haven't thought about it. It might be the only alternative. I know some other girls who have done it."
"Actually," I told her. "I might be able to help you after all. What time do you finish work?"
Brightening, "seven o'clock. In half an hour."
"OK. Meet me in the café across the road. I'll buy you a coffee and we can talk about it."
Sure, enough just over half an hour later, she turned up in the café wearing tight jeans and a crisp white shirt. I had only seen her in her supermarket garb before, and then only from the waist up. Now for the first time, I could see the whole package, and with her golden halo backlit by the evening sunshine, she looked good enough to eat.
We found an empty table where we wouldn't be overheard. I bought us both coffees and we got down to business.
I asked whether she was serious when she talked about going on the streets. She wasn't sure, she said. She knew other girls who had done it when it had been the only way to make money.
My advice to her was to drop the idea.
It would be cold and uncomfortable and could be dangerous, I said. She wouldn't know who she'd be dealing with and would be open to insults and abuse and might even be attacked. And on top of that, she'd be bound to be arrested from time to time and end up in court with the result that all her friends and family would know what she was doing.
"I know all that but other girls do it, at least they do if it's the only way to make money. I don't know what else I can do, there aren't any other jobs. I'm lucky to have the one I've got."
If she really was willing to sell sex for money, I told her, I knew a much better way.
"Do you want me to go on?" I asked.
She confirmed that, yes, she was still interested and that I should continue.
"I know a place in -- here I mentioned the name of the nearby town -- where you might be able to work. Officially it's a massage parlour but unofficially it's a place where men go to have sex with the masseuses. You'd be one of those."
