Wednesday, 22 November
SECOND CLIENT
Whatever turns people on is fine by me but sometimes you can't help wondering . . . A client arrived at my flat and took off all his clothes, but left his socks on. The sex was mechanical for me, because I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to know why he hadn't taken his socks off. Did he have really ugly feet? Or maybe he had sores or something. He seemed really relaxed, had a good shag and came twice, once with me sucking his dick and once with me riding him. I led the session, because I didn't want to see his feet in socks. They were ordinarymen's socks, no holes, nothing special. He went to have a shower after he'd come for the second time and I sat in the bedroom, perplexed. Suddenly, I heard, 'WHAT THE FUCK?' almost shouted from the bathroom and I ran to see what had happened. There he was, starkers, showering . . . with his socks on! Would you believe he'd simply forgotten to take them off both to have sex and to shower? We had a good laugh. Men!
By myself, working Monday to Friday, I have twenty-five to thirty clients a week. There are days when I have more than five, but more than that gets a bit much. Each session here in my flat lasts an hour and, for 200 reals, they can have oral and vaginal sex. If they want anal sex, it's 250 reals (after my appearance on Pânico, in June, I decided to put my prices up a little due to the higher demand. Before that, for a reeaaaally long time, I charged 150 and 200, respectively). As many times as they want in an hour. And they don't have to pay for a motel, flat, anything. It's all included. Unless the client wants to go to a motel or have me visit him in a hotel room (then I charge double, because of the travel time). With this system, I give myself the weekends off. That's how it is for everyone else, isn't it? Why should it be different for a working girl?
Even seeing what I do in business terms, I admit I've felt sorry for clients before. I remember thinking: This guy saved up for ages to be here with me. How did I know? It was all in 1-real notes. No kidding! I think it was change from his bus money, this and that. He scraped together 150 reals in 1-real notes. He looked really embarrassed.
'Do you mind if I pay you like this?'
'No, that's fine.'
He handed me that bunch of notes and I counted it while he finished getting dressed. At the time, I felt a twinge of pity. Imagine what it took to save it all. But fuck for free, no way. Pity is one thing but business is business.
Another thing I've realised in this profession is that it has its peaks and troughs. I already mentioned that demand increases at the start of winter. It also happens at the end of the year, when people receive their Christmas bonuses. They can't afford it normally. So some guys make the most of the extra money. It gives you a certain pride to know that the guy worked the whole year and gave himself a fuck with you for Christmas. Which is probably why these are the ones who make the most of it.
An interesting side of freelancing is acting according to your own rules and convictions. Creating yourown service standard. Remember the story about the towels and bed linen? Well, for clients, and for me, hygiene is basic. So here at my place, there's a towel for each client. I sometimes joke that when I leave the profession, I won't know what to do with them. On a few occasions, I let the laundry pile get out of control and, by the time I realised, there weren't many clean ones. I had to buy new ones. I've got a collection - almost eighty! They're all white, because then you can see that they really are clean. My clients' soap is liquid (I hate those revolting bars of soap full of hairs, arghh, passing from client to client). Unless a client sweats a lot or gets gel on the sheets, I make them last at least two sessions, without any problems. I supply the condoms. Unless the client is extra-large, in which case they generally bring their own in the right size.
Monday, 4 December
FIRST CLIENT
We repeated the party. The same guys as last time. But today there were only two, the voyeur and the owner of the flat. Unfortunately, the cowboy wasn't there . . . Like the other times, the party went smoothly. As well as myself, there was also theother girl. While I got with the voyeur in the living room, the other two went into the bedroom. In the beginning, I felt weird, because the voyeur (who did NOT just look this time) had never been with a pro. And what's more: he'd never cheated before!!! An almost perfect man, right? At least until today . . . He asked me if not cheating was good or bad. Don't ask what my answer was. He was really affectionate with me . . . The foreplay lasted ages, then I gave him a blow job and he came really fast. Then we waited to do the 'swap'. The other guy came out of the bedroom and jumped on me with a hard-on. He went down on me, then went for it in the missionary position until he came.
I got a huge fright. One night, I had a really bad craving and started snorting. I have no idea how much coke I did. At one stage it felt like I was no longer inside myself. My body refused to respond. My breathing was strange. There was a weird taste in my mouth. Overdose. I looked in the mirror and saw myself dead: drained of colour, dry mouth, purple lips. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode. I blacked out. I'm a Spiritualist, because I believe that on the 'other side' there is everything that we have here. Even hospitals. When I came to, I could swear I was in a hospital 'on the other side.' It was a bad trip. Everything felt unreal (to thisday I don't know if I imagined, saw, or dreamed it all), but I remember talking a lot with a man, I don't know who, who told me a bunch of things. Including that I had to stop snorting. When I really came to I realised there were no men there. From this day on I promised myself I was going to stop.
Once clean, I was steadfast in my decision. It was difficult, of course. I had bouts of cold turkey and thought I was dying every time it happened. Gabi helped me a lot during this period, giving me support and putting up with me in that state. I kind of went into self-imposed seclusion at home. I stopped going out at night, because I knew where to find coke easily and didn't want to do it any more. Whenever I felt a craving, that crazy urge to snort coming on, I thought about my life, that dream (imagination or hallucination), of the man in the hospital. I remembered that I'd gone into this profession with the intention of stopping. But at one stage I was spending as much as 50, 70 reals a day snorting 4 grams of coke. The purest, the most expensive. No chalk or marble dust. It was more than 50 per cent of what I earned. I'd get nowhere at this rate. Or perhaps only to the hospital on the 'other side.'
After I decided to give up coke, I stayed a little more on track with my objectives and saw what a fool I'dbeen. That's why everything that comes easily goes even more easily . . . 'Easy' money is also addictive. And I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prostitution. This, together with the fact that I'm very practical, inspired me to come up with a plan to help me stay on track. I call it my '500 nest-egg goal'. Lots of people think it means saving 500,000 reals. But that's not exactly it.
In the beginning, when I left home, I thought I was going to be in prostitution for the rest of my life. With time, I saw that it's taxing work, both physically and psychologically. In 2004 it occurred to me to give it all up and go back to school. Truth be told, the penny dropped that I had to give it up. I don't know when, but I have to stop one day. But in order to do so, I had to have an objective, a goal. So one day I sat down and dreamed big, thinking about how much a flat would cost. I did several calculations of things I wanted to buy, and how much I'd need to buy them and leave this life behind, taking into consideration what I'd already saved. The result was ridiculous, something like 500 grand. I'd need a lot of clients to make that kind of money. There was no way I'd get there . . . I started crossing things off my 'wish list' until I got down to 300,000 reais.
The idea of saving so much is overwhelming at first, because it's a lot of money. Especially if youconsider how I make it. Then it occurred to me to divide these 300,000 reais into instalments, to break it down so I wouldn't feel it so much. It was a simple calculation: 300,000 divided by 500 instalments = 600 reais per instalment. I got a piece of paper and numbered it from one to 500. This way, for every 600 re
als I manage to save and deposit in my bank account, I cross off the corresponding number from the list. When there's nothing left to cross off, I'll know I've saved 300,000. Actually, I've already cut other things from my list and lowered the amount to 200,000. But I think I'll stop when I get to 100,000, even if it's not enough to buy a flat. At any rate, I've got my plans for the future. There are months when I managed to save as much as 8,000 reals. It looks like the future's on its way.
I'm going to have a few souvenirs from this period: two piercings (one in the navel, and one in my lower lip. I got rid of a third one, in my eyebrow) and three tattoos (my star-sign, the scorpion, on the back of my shoulder, a heart on my groin and a phrase on the back of my neck, which I had done for my ex-boyfriend - which I really regret: Thanks Du.' When we broke up, I had it changed to 'Thanks Dad').
As well as the things I'll be taking with me, thereare things I didn't achieve. I haven't studied in two years, and the feeling of having forgotten everything is inevitable. In fact, I'm sure I have. Before, I didn't like studying. I've changed my mind. I want to go to university as soon as all this is over. I'll finish my crammer course in 2005 and, if I get through the university-entrance exams, I want to enrol in psychology in 2006. I know lots of people who haven't been to university but they're in business and make a lot of money. They had help from their parents, though. Since I don't have this any more, I've realised that in order to get anywhere in life I'm going to have to study, whether I want to or not, whether I like it or not.
Tuesday, 28 December
FOURTH CLIENT
Today was my third time with these clients. Today they didn't want to go to a motel and came to my place. We had a good play. First, she did a quick strip, but it was enough to get the three of us turned on. Then I went down on her until she came in my mouth. But the part I liked the most was when she was riding him while I rimmed her. Ah yes - also when she went down on me while I sucked him off. . . I had sex with him for a short while, but to my surprise, they went for it by themselves for quite a while, with me as a voyeur. I didn't come, although I really liked it when she went down on me. He didn't come either, because he was 'holding out'. But she came a lot! About four times, by my count.
It's funny. These days all of my friends are ex-clients. You never know you're going to be friends the first time. Like I've said before, I don't have sex with friends. Not personally, nor professionally. And I make this really clear.
Some are borderline - they're still my clients, but they border on becoming a friend. It's nice to receive their shows of affection. Lots of them call just to see how I am or, when I write in my blog, just to see if everything is OK. I also get a lot of presents. One guy gave me a CD that he'd personalised with a picture of me on the cover. It was fantastic! The other day, I wrote in my blog that I wanted to read Angels and Demons and a client bought me the book. Easter's also good, so is my birthday . . .
Last year, I celebrated my birthday in a swingers' club. At the time, I was really addicted to this type of place - being able to have sex with men and women, have loads of orgasms, the smutty atmosphere. A personal fixation, I confess. I thought: It'smy birthday, I like the place, and there are stacks of people who've never had the courage to go to a swingers' club because they think it's just a brothel. So all those people who'd never had the courage had to go to a swingers' club that day. I had a boyfriend at the time and he went too - obviously! I wanted to bring everything together: birthday, fun, fantasies (mine with my boyfriend) and hang out with my friends. Fantasies indulged (mine and those of a lot of people, by the way). What a present!
Here in Sao Paulo there are lots of them. There are seven here in Moema alone! Outside, however, they look normal. They don't have 'swingers' club' written over the door. Like most people, I used to imagine that as soon as you walked in the door you'd see a lot of people in an orgy, naked, having sex. The night actually starts out as it would at a normal club: there are bars, tables, dance floors. That's where couples start to flirt, but nothing actually happens. It's only when you head towards the back of the house that things heat up. To get to the rooms, you have to go through a maze (not all clubs have this): a dark, really narrow corridor that makes everyone have to touch and rub against each other. You can have a lot of fun there, without feeling embarrassed, because you can hardly see who's there. A little further along are the rooms. The walls are made of trestlework, so people outside can see everything that goes on inside (or whatever they're able to see, because the light isn't exactly like that of a football stadium). Everything is geared to being more tactile than visual. If you touch something and like it, go for it. It's really crazy - sometimes there are as many as twenty couples having sex at the same time. For shyer couples, who chatted each other up at the bar or on the dance floor, there are generally private rooms. They're for those who only want to swap with one other couple.
The down side of these places is that it's hard to find anyone really attractive. They are generally married couples, from thirty to forty-five years of age. Not really young, nor really old. There are several clubs that don't let prostitutes in. I've been barred from one. They assume the girls are only there for the money - and not the sex itself. They don't like that. The couples are looking to swap with other couples who are really married.
Thursday, 6th January
THIRD CLIENT
It was a normal session, nothing out of the ordinary. Afterwards, he told me he was turned on bysadomasochism. He's sadistic, let there be no mistake. Except he doesn't tell the girls over the phone because he likes to hit them when they don't expect it. He told me that when he got here he didn't have the courage to hit me. 'You don't look like a pro. You look too sweet and I didn't have the courage to hit you. I'm going to book another one tomorrow just so I can rough her up.' Just as well . . .
I've heard lots of stories of girls who find themselves in tricky situations while working. Out of sheer luck, I don't have many stories to tell. One of the things I feel most uncomfortable about in my work is charging my clients. I'm embarrassed. I've had two clients leave without paying - and without me charging them. In the ritual of a session, the money comes last. Like when you see the psychologist. In both these cases, I had to ask Gabi (who answers my mobile and makes appointments for me, because our voices are very similar) to call and charge them. Silly of me, isn't it? One of these 'unintentional runners' came back to pay. The other, who was already fairly far away, took my bank details and made a deposit. Decent folks. There were another two times at swingers' clubs: a Catalan of few words (not just because of the language, but because he really was the silent sort) took advantage of the fact that I'd gone to the bathroom andtook off! The other one I forgive: I'd had a lot to drink and was sick, and I don't blame him for not wanting to pay.
It's funny, because it seems that there was a reason for this thing with money. After everything I'd done at home, to my parents, because of money, getting cheated a few times was a way of 'atoning' for it all. But other things also 'settled the score' for my bad behaviour. When I was still at the house on Alameda Franca, I had a friend, Taisa. She was pretty lazy and didn't make much money. Because I didn't have a bank account, I kept my money in a drawer. I noticed that money was always disappearing from there, but I never imagined it was her.
Even after we were kicked out of that house and had to work in the one in Moema, and the petty theft continued, I never had the courage to confront her. I didn't want to lose the friendship over money. One night, we went to a club in Vila Madalena. At the time, I was still doing coke. I also drank a lot that night, and got sick, obviously. In the bathroom, I thought she was helping me, but I felt her hand rummaging through my pocket. At the time, off my face, I didn't even click. When we went to pay I noticed my 50 reals were missing. I dragged Taisa into the bathroom, together with another girl, and gave her a complete search. Nothing. Then, using force, I made her take off her clothes and, surprise surprise . . . my 50 reals were rolled up in her knicker
s. It was the last straw. When we got to the brothel, I went upstairs to our room behind her, thinking she was going to kill me. Almost. There was lots of hair-pulling, scratching, slapping. I ended it, saying, 'You're just jealous because I work and you don't. But don't worry, tomorrow I'll make more.'
Another time I lost money was in my first flat. My savings of 3,000 reals simply disappeared. Gabi says that if it had happened to her, she would have been furious. I didn't even want to know if it was the maid or a client. Do you want to know the truth? I wasn't at all upset. I think, in a way, I'd finished paying for what I'd done. What goes around comes around . . .
The Scorpion's Sweet Venom Page 8
