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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to easy 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 become a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, praying each time she had actually come out with her dignity intact.

This was only temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted 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 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, when asked what she envisioned finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t cause one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s start? 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 material, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

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

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from listed 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, just like that …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.

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

She followed. She was good at following directions. 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 tasty. Just move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika agonized and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently understood how to drive a man insane. But there was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that lovely …” 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 slightly, her intimate parts on complete screen.

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

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

But primarily, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s a good 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 cash in her hand. It sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.