"Jessica, get out here, now! We are so hard," He barks out in their thick Russian accents and I shudder and try to ignore him. Instead I look into the mirror and apply pink lipstick, I am trying to stay focus, but I can't help but wonder, how did I end up here? He screams again "Come on Jessica, be a good girl, I know you want it." A good girl, he says? Well, certainly I use to be one of those, but now, I'm not so sure. Servicing these Russian spies, military advisers, contractors, diplomats or whoever the hell they are is not what a good girl does. I don't like Russians clients, they are so rough. Iranians are better, I mean they are politer, not that I like fire worshiping Persians either. "Jessica!!"
"Alright, I'm coming," I continue to apply make-up. You should have guessed it by now, but I am a working girl, a prostitute or simply, a whore. Jessica is not my name, my real name is Sophia Boutros, I'm 25 and I am from Bab Tuma or Thomas's Gate in the Old City of Damascus. My family is Christian like most residence of Bab Tuma, we live in an ancient part of the Damascus and are surrounded by ancient walls, which keep out the modern city. I have always been proud of my Christian heritage; our presence in the city predates Christendom in Europe. Saint Thomas came here, St Paul lived here and many other important figures, I can even show you were they lived. Our community has lived through and survived so much from the Roman persecutions of the Christians, The Muslim conquests, The Crusades, The Mongol Invasion, The Seljuqs, The Mamluk, The Ottomans, The British, The French, Independence, Ba'athism, Hafez and his son Bashar Al-Assad and now the Syrian civil war. We Christians know how to survive and thrive and I am the daughter of this great community.
This pride was instilled in me by my father, Joseph Boutros, who was a successful businessman. He had always been difficult, intelligent and stubborn; he's Greek Orthodox and made a bold decision when he married my mother. My mother is Armenian and belongs to Armenian Apostolic Church, which caused problems for both families, but my father was adamant and he got his way. I use to be proud to be his daughter, my father allowed me to get an education in the arts and I worked in the theatre, I look a lot like Kim Kardashian and so roles were thick and fast in coming in. But since the uprising started, work has been drying up, both for me and my father. It was he, who sold me into a life in whoredom. Anyways, I betta get out there, before they turn gay and start doing each other and I will lose my fee.
I open the door and strut in, "okay boys, who wants it first?" They scream, they are like children who haven't learnt to share or wait. Two grown men and yet, they are like hormonal teenagers. They scream in a mixture of English and Russian and it's hard to make out what they want. I decide, that I need to take charge, I grab one of them by the collar and force him to stand up and I tug away at his tie. "What's your name big boy?"
"Vladimir, my lovely."
"Okay, Vladimir. Here's the deal, I only like men and not boys. If you want any special treatment from me- you need to behave- like a grown man. Understood?"
"Yes, my lovely."
"And you, what's your name?"
