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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish thereafter.

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 ad?”.

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

She did.

Later on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

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

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 begin? Do not stress, I’ll walk 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 peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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 could do this. She understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came muffled from below after several 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 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 good at following directions. 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. Simply move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She already knew how to drive a male crazy. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He needs to have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t stress, 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 full display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt conflicted. Since she also understood just 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 woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much faster.

He gripped her thighs and launched 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.