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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of individual services, but they informed her she could and must pass for younger.

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

To put it simply? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, vanish. 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 only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer rang. She pushed the door available to a long narrow corridor 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, when asked what she pictured finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

Later on, when asked why she remained a full week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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Her 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 really quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Don’t worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary 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 strange 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 start with a back massage, good and simple.”.

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

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

His voice came stifled from below after numerous 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 full mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. 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 sexy …”.

Annika slid 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 back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.

Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

She didn’t feel yummy; she had not desired to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uncomfortable, even traitorous.

Primarily, she felt conflicted. Since she also understood just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

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.