Real life story: “I was a prostitute”
Here is an extract from “Laid Bare” a no-holds-barred expose of prostitution in New Zealand by Rachel Francis.
The art of Tantric massage
Sensuous vapours wafted from the oil burner, musky smells that were earthy and raw, and the music from the CD player was rhythmic and almost hypnotic. The red lightbulb was struggling to cast its ambience to every corner of the room — unsuccessfully as the space was larger than its wattage. Strands of light danced around the shadows like fingers seeking to get into any opening they could, as if to expose the room’s every corner to its frail glow.
My client was spilling over the bed before me. The only thing held in place was his face in the porthole of the massage table, making him look like a cartoon figure of the man in the moon. His folds of flesh enveloped my fingers every time I slid my hands along his oiled body.
Like a surfer paddling a board, his hands dangled on either side of the bed, though he spread his arms to try to reach any part of my body he could get his hands on. It was easy to sidestep his clutches as he couldn’t see the angle of my body — his only view of me was of my stilettoed feet and I could use this to my advantage. It seems the bigger the man, the firmer the grasp, and by the size of this man I felt that he surely would squash my breasts like marshmallows given half a chance. Underneath him was a length of latex, oiled up so that it felt slippery and sensual.
After rolling up one of the small, hard massage towels that are used to buff clients’ skin I flicked him across the buttocks, assuring him in a serene voice that he would soon be able to roll over, and that patience was a virtue. If only he could have seen the sneer on my face and how I looked down on him with distaste — not because of his size, but because of his groping fingers and pungent smell. Going over to the oil burner, I poured the whole ampoule of Indian love oil into the steamy water and leant over to inhale the fragrant vapour so that it would remove his odour from my nostrils.
Taking a hot towel from the microwave, I juggled it from hand to hand to cool it down. Turning towards my client seemed to be an unspoken signal for him to start paddling again. The towel felt soft and luxurious in my hands, and I took advantage of this moment to wipe off the stringy, bristly hairs that had stuck to my fingers when I rubbed his back.
Approaching the bed, I draped the hot steamy towel over the length of his body, pressing with my fingers to make sure it had full contact with his skin. Then I squeezed and dragged the towel to give erotic sensations. When the towel had cooled I stood at the foot of the bed, held it by its corners and slowly drew it down the length of his body. The contact and sensation made his skin feel like someone was blowing softly on it.
Thankful that I had stilettos on as the massage table was high, I climbed onto the foot of the table on my knees and leant forward, arching my back so that my breasts were touching his legs. Sliding up the bed, I put both my knees in the crevice between his legs. With my hands on his shoulders I straddled his hips so that I was sitting on his back. Reaching across his shoulders so that my body weight was supported by my arms, I wriggled my hips backwards and forwards rhythmically so he could feel my vagina on his back. My movement simulated a sexual movement and this in turn rubbed his erection onto the latex. In harmony with his rapid breathing and grunting noises I kept up the rhythmic motion, moaning in unison to assist him getting to his destination, which he did fairly quickly.
Climbing off my client was done easily, tipping my body weight to one side so that there were no clumsy knees in sensitive places. I asked him to roll over and use wet wipes to clean himself, then passed him a fresh towel and he went for a shower. Meanwhile I sprayed the massage table with disinfectant, placing the used latex in a separate basket that the Madam took care of (she put these in a bucket of hot soapy water and bleach to soak overnight). When my client had left the room I showered in preparation for the next.
The Mama-san (Asian Madam) came into the room un-announced. Casting her eye around, she fixed me with a glare and said “You no bang-bang him? If so, you fired. No bang-bang here, just wank.” I assured her that bang-banging him was the last thing on my mind and that she had nothing to worry about. I valued my body parts and knew that she would have no qualms getting her business associates to use their martial arts on me.
Walking out of the room, I went past the room where the said associates were playing a card game with huge amounts of money on the table and cigarettes hanging from their mouths, as if in a scene from some mobster film. They stopped talking and all looked at the door as I walked past, wary of anyone within a mile of their territory. The senior member nodded my way, as he had been keeping tabs on how many clients I had seen that night, so he would know how much extra money he could throw into the bets that were already piled high on the table before him.
One of his associates turned and looked at me through hooded eyes, saying something in their language that was lost on me. They must have been gambling some large amounts, as I noticed that the Madam had placed fruit, coins and offerings before her prayer pyre of good fortune in abundance, along with at least twenty incense sticks that were billowing out enough smoke to give Chernobyl a run for its money!
“Laid Bare” by Rachel Francis is $19.95, www.steeleroberts.co.nz.
Cover design by Sarah Bolland; photography by Jessica Savage. For more on Rachel visit www.rachelfrancis.com