Author's note: This is the first of an occasional series I'm planning, exploring the theme of women who work in the sex industry. Let me know what you think of it. And, please, not put-downs about escorts as victims. I've deliberately tried to create a character who is making her own way.)
The other day I got a call from someone new. She told me that my name had been passed on by somebody I knew, whom she mentioned by name. She asked me if I was available that Thursday.
It was pretty familiar territory and yet what she said struck me.
Not what she said really, but how.
That voice - the sultryiest, sexiest woman's voice I had heard in a long time.
An Angelina Jolie kind of voice.
I pictured her, Max, she said she was, in my mind.
She would be tall, confident.
"Uh, actually, Thursday afternoon isn't too good for me," I said, remembering I had a massage booked at the gym.
"That's OK, Sydney. I'm in meetings most of the day. Why don't we do dinner?" There was a moment's pause. "Then you can stay the night."
Great, I thought to myself. A client who knows what she wants. Well, so did I. I might be able to afford that gallery photograph I'd seen at the exhibition last week after all.
"I'm afraid I have to invoice you double if we do that. . . . "
I hope she didn't think I sounded money grabbing. I always used the word "invoice" rather than "charge". I think it sounds more professional, and I only go out with professional women - bankers, advertising account directors, creatives and so on.
"That's fine with me. I understand how it works. So - shall we meet at my place? I'm in Melbourne for a couple of days,staying at the Westin. I'll be in the lobby."
The Westin? Nice place to stay. I've met other business clients there. The restaurant is good too.
"OK - that'll be great. How will I recog -?"
I swear I could hear the smile in her voice as she interrupted.
"Sydney - don't worry about that. I know I'll recognise you. See you on Thursday."
Click.
The caller was gone, but her sexy voice remained with me.
I'm good with voices - I have to be, doing what I do.
If you can't sense that something might be wrong when a stanger calls you to have sex, you can be in trouble. Even when you only go out with women.
It's a myth that only men are violent. You should hear what's happened to some girls when they didn't trust their instincts.
I reached over and flipped on the recording machine.
I always keep recordings - just in case.
The words came across in just the same way, muffled only slightly by the tinny speaker.
"That's OK, Sydney...... Then you can stay the night."
Sexy. Feminine. Confident. Educated.
I suddenly wondered if Thursday might turn out to be interesting? The secret is to make sure the first time is fantastic. Do that, and you have a client for life.
****
"It's a great landscape," the woman said. "Probably one of the finest photographs in her portfolio."
She looked at me.
"You really like it, don't you? You've been back to the gallery at least twice since the exhibition.I've noticed you."
I looked at her, wondering whether to respond to her come-on and give her a card. But I decided to stick with the photograph.
"You're right," I smiled. "There's something about the outback at night. That moon. The color. The emptiness. The raw beauty of it."
"Well, honey," she smiled, moving slightly closer to me. "The exhibition finishes Friday. Let's hope it's still here. If you can afford it?"
Bitch.
"Let's hope," I answered coolly, stepping back and opening my purse.
"Here's my card, by the way." I paused."If you can afford it?"
*****
I wasn't working Wednesday, and I was busy sorting out office chores.
My accountant was pressing me to get my paperwork to her for the year end, and I had been putting it off. I pay my taxes, but Brenda, in my opinion, is Melbourne's first lady of tax reduction. By the time I was done, and looked at a spreadsheet showing a rough outline of earnings after expenses, I felt pretty good about life.
I had worked hard. But it had been a profitable year.
Compared to girlfriends who had been in my year at business school, I was doing OK.
I have a great apartment. An expensive girlie German convertible in the lock up basement garage. Good money in the bank. I pay off my credit cards monthly. And - I dress well.
"Sydney - how do you do it? You always look good. What's the secret? What do you do, anyway?"
"It's a kind of boutique hedge fund operation, Sandi. Don't even ask!"
It usually works.
******
"What do you do, anyway?"
I ask myself that question sometimes, but I've given up analysing. I've read a lot of books and some of the research papers on the sex industry. I've got a few friends who work in it too.
I don't buy into the traumatised victim profile; I had a happy, expensive upbringing.
For the most part, I enjoy what I do - I can choose whether I take a client on or not.
And - I know this may be hard to accept - I sometimes really enjoy the sex.
******
"Okay - how's the bod?" Bea arranged the warm towels over my ass and legs as I settled on her massage table.
"Usual thing - good in parts," I joked, "Tight shoulders, stiff back, sore neck, aching feet. Apart from that, I'm fine!"
She began mixing some oil.
"I'm going to give you geranium. It's just what you need."
"Ouch - that hurts!"
"You're such a girl. You should come to my favorite club. Then you'll see what hurting is about."
You wouldn't guess, looking at Bea, that she is one of Melbourne's top doms. But maybe that's because I still have this stereotype view of doms as bull dykes, buckled in black and built like wrestlers.
"I know, Bea," I sighed, suddenly relaxing as she worked my neck and shoulders. "You'd give me a fun time, and I would be off work for a month!"
"You're in great shape," she said, shifting the towels and moving down my legs, using long, powerful sweeps that were beginning to give me goosebumps. "You like that, don't you darling? Are you getting wet?"
"Just the teeniest bit," I groaned, wincing as she managed to locate another tense muscle.
"Here - I'm going to take this towel off your ass and cover your head and shoulders. You'll relax more, and I can really get to work on you."
She pulled the towel up my back and over my head, and the white, cottony darkness enveloped me.
I breathed deeply of the exotic aroma of the oils that had seeped into the material.
I could hear Bea moving to her table of oils, the clink of glass as she lifted a phial, and her footsteps as she returned.
I sighed deeply, relaxing my muscles, knowing how naked I was in front of her, and feeling excitedly apprehensive at what I knew was coming.
Bea's hands kneaded my back, tracing the muscles down my spine, pressing firmly and expertly wherever she sensed tension.
Closer... and closer...... to...... my..... ass.
******
"Shall we fuck?" she asked suddenly.
"I want you to fuck me," I said, without missing a beat.
That's how it had been between us ever since I walked into the Westin's spacious lobby.
It's a premier hotel, in the heart of the city. That's to say, the usual mix of stylish accommodation and over-the-top facilities which are never used by guests.
I'd told the cab to drop me off on Collins Street just short of the hotel.
"Keep the change," I smiled.
"Thanks, Ma'am - Have a good meeting, now."
Which is what he probably thought I was: one of any number of Melbourne's business people heading for an evening meeting.
That's how I dress for clients - understated, smart business wear.
I'd bought the suit in Hong Kong last summer, and it still looked good. I had my hair pulled back, light make-up, and my black Manilos. No jewellry. I never try to upstage clients and, besides, it can get in the way.
I had my neat black leather case that looked like it might have a laptop in it, but in fact had what I need for work: change of underwear, some toys, lube, scent, toothpaste, make-up, and - most important of all - a portable credit card reader. Like you see in bars.
I felt relaxed, and I knew I looked good.
Clients buy me if they like what they see: short blonde hair, expensive highlights; laughing eyes; a good mouth; nice neck; small breasts; nice ass; slim.
If they want rough sex and leathers, we'll part as friends, and no hard feelings.
The bell hop opened the door.
"Sydney - you made it!"
"Hi, Max - you look great!
At that moment, we were both acting.