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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of individual services, however they informed her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed the call button beside an unmarked metal door. A female voice crackled through the speaker: “Hello.”.

” Hi, I’m here for the interview? From the Craigslist ad?”.

The buzzer rang. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the money, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.

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Her very first customer, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually quite.”.

She shivered under the blast of cooling, shivering in her four-inch heels, but perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s begin? Do not worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy and great.”.

He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika put her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following directions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so sexy …”.

Annika moved and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that stunning …” He must have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on full display.

” Oh, tasty,” he purred once again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt conflicted. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a great woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much faster.

He gripped her thighs and released with one last sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.