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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of personal services, but they informed her she could and should pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anyone 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), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Rewarding.

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

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it safeguarded 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 come out with her self-respect intact.

This was only short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening 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 called. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

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

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

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Don’t stress, 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 material, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He eliminated his clothing, 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 understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered from below after numerous minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the very 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 complied with. 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 tasty. Just slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a male insane. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He must have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Rather, she felt absurd, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

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

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

He grasped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.