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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of personal services, but they told her she could and ought to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked 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 protect her on paper– it secured 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 ‘d come out with her dignity intact.

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed the call button next to 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 called. She pressed the door available to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she imagined finding there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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

” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly quite.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what looked like an ordinary 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 distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 knew how to give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered from listed below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy.

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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely 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 obeyed. She was good at following instructions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.

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

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He must have seen the search her face, since he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wished to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He grasped 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 was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.