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

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

In other words? Successful.

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

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only short-lived, she informed 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 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 called. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow corridor 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 on, when asked what she thought of finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later on, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” 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 client, 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 underwear is really quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Don’t fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: 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 start with a back massage, good and simple.”.

He eliminated 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.

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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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 complied with. She was proficient 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 tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so hot …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently knew how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mainly, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

He grasped her thighs and released with one final 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.