You’re a mattress actress. You never say what you think, you say what they want to hear. You give Oscar-winning performances. If a guy said you looked like you were enjoying yourself, you’d say, ‘Yes!’ What else could you say?
Clients came in all shapes and sizes, but mostly they are married men. Being single is certainly no barrier to pursuing the company of sex workers. They are the single clients who choose to be single; often they may be bitter and burned or simply in a career that is not conducive to a healthy relationship. Finally there is the small percentage of clients who could never get a free shag—the guys with disabilities or social anxieties. Everybody deserves a stroke on the back and a bit of a cuddle, which was what most of my clients were chasing anyway.
There were the girls who worked to feed a drug habit but a professional worker had an accountant; give him a freebie once a year and he’d sort your tax out. Often you work on a barter system so you never had to pay for anything; you had a client who sold cars, a client who was a chemist, a client who was a butcher, a computer technician, lawyer, furniture manufacturer, restaurateurs, sometimes even artists.
It sounds like a cliché, but the pandering to men’s whims and the mindset of obeying a man’s command needed to be a sex worker often comes about from years of pre-adolescent training. I was five foot six with doubleD boobs on a size six figure by the age of ten. I looked like a grown woman. I had a knack of arousing males of all ages. It had been also drummed into me at home that my future was to be a good wife and look after my husband. My science teacher echoed my parents’ beliefs by telling me ‘with your looks and figure you will never need to work a day in your life outside the bedroom’.
After enduring two violent sexual attacks before I was twelve, I realised if a guy wanted to have sex with you, it was easier to just give it to him; if you didn’t, he’d take it anyway and hurt you. This experience reinforced my parents’ training to do as I was told. I was afraid of men. All the men I knew hurt me or let me down in some way. Even those meant to protect me—police and school teachers—failed to do so. So I learnt that all men were potential predators to be feared and revered.
Social grooming was an essential part of growing up in my family; etiquette, posture and conversation skills were more important than good grades. At fifteen I didn’t know my own value, all I knew was that I was fuckable. I knew I was good at pleasing men, and in my brain, this was the summation of my self-worth. It seemed to be the one commodity everybody wanted from me and the one thing I excelled at.
It wasn’t until I started working in top-end places when I was about seventeen and met girls who were a few years older that I learnt I had the power to say no to men. I could even have an opinion. Previously I’d thought my job was to be a starfish: lie there and take it. I didn’t know I could have a spine until I began to grow one.
Then, when I was working in a well-known brothel in Sydney, I realised the real power and value I had. I was the girl every guy wanted. I had massive boobs; I was tiny, blonde and looked very young, barely legal. From that moment I started to question my worthlessness. I was not worthless, I was highly sought after and had massive earning capacity. I began to empower myself—even though my power was based around my sexuality. But my value wasn’t just about the sex, it was about my appearance; it was the kindness with which I treated my clients, which made them come back for more. I used to think that these men were supporting me and then I realised that I was really supporting myself. I didn’t deserve to be treated like shit. I could say no; I could draw a line. I had something of value that people wanted. It was a big moment in time for me.
Part I
1
How to Make a Prostitute
I don’t think my parents were ever really in love. My father met my mother in about 1967. She was a great catch because her mother was the heiress to a very successful company. My mother’s branch on the family tree was the only one that fruited money.
My father was an educated man, and graduated from university with a couple of degrees and the right set of friends. He came from a meagre background and was raised single-handedly by his mother, who was a hard and cruel woman.