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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the world of personal services, however they informed her she could and need to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September night 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 advertisement?”.

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

She did.

Later on, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.

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

” You look great,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really pretty.”.

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

Annika placed her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy.

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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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she stunned.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Just move all over me, there you go.

Annika squirmed and slid, 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 lovely …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, self-conscious, even traitorous. A toy for guys with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mostly, she felt clashed. Since she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

He grasped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.

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