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

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

In other words? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped 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 ad?”.

The buzzer called. 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 thought of discovering there, she honestly had no response. 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 stayed a complete week once she knew what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, naturally.”.

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

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

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

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 start? Don’t 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. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

He removed 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 knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came stifled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s best. 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 directions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

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

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

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for males with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However primarily, she felt clashed. Since she also realized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” 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 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.