Chapter 18
Punters, Part Two
The Kerb Crawler
I was working in London and decided I needed the services of a hooker. I drove around Kings Cross one night until I spotted a few. I slowed the car down and caught the eye of one of the girls. She came over to the car and asked me if I needed company. We chatted for a while and it was then arranged that we’d go back to her apartment for the full works for £100. I could have had a quickie in a car park for £30 but I felt I needed some company so I opted for the full service.
I parked up in some dingy side street and entered her apartment, which was a right old dive, fucking filthy. It was obvious by looking around that the other prostitutes were using this place as a knocking shop and as fast as this hooker could get me out of there another hooker and punter would take our places. I had a vision of the place being flash with music playing, expensive furniture and a large antique four-poster bed, not smelly with fast food cartoons, beer bottles and God knows what else on the floor. I also thought the hooker I’d picked up would look something like Julia Roberts, a sort of ‘tart with a heart’ type. That was not the case; in the light of this stinking apartment she looked like a skeleton with dark patches under her eyes. By the marks on her arms and the plasters she had stuck on them it was obvious that she was injecting drugs.
I started to panic and said I was having second thoughts about it all. She went all cocoa pops on me and threatened to slit my eyes. I’m not the biggest or most confident of men so I was terrified she was going to stab me or call in some big pimp to smash me up. This hooker was now demanding £300 off me for lost wages and getting more worked up by the minute. I pulled out all my cash, which must have been about £180, and fast as fuck she snatched it all out of my hand and started to count it. I turned and made a bolt for the front door and in my panic I couldn’t get it open fast enough. She was a lot faster than me and pounced on my back. How the hell she found the energy I don’t know, I thought crack-heads were lethargic but she was on my back sinking her teeth into my shoulder like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings.
I managed to shrug her off and get through the door and down the stairs to the safety of my little car. The hooker came running after me and as I was starting the car up she was kicking lumps out of it and screaming blue murder. I drove off with my wipers all mangled and hooker-sized boot marks all over my driver’s door and bonnet.
A man walking his dog saw everything and as I drove away I could see the wanker propping himself up against a lamppost laughing his head off, with his little gay dog sitting there watching me. A week later I had to explain to my wife how I got scratches on my face and a bite mark on my shoulder. I told her two guys tried to mug me but second prize they had as I battered the pair of them.
The Risk-taker
I was seeing this hooker at least twice a month for things my wife wouldn’t dream of doing. She was a slim, good-looking girl who would do absolutely anything for cash. I asked her if I could film us together and for a little extra cash she agreed. I set up my camera and put together a good little video for my collection. I didn’t want my wife to find the tape so I labelled it ‘1935 tanks’ so she would think it was part of my collection of World War Two videos.
Three years later I was having an operation and my wife decided to have a clear-out of all my junk. She gave all my videos and magazines to a local church jumble sale. To this day I don’t know who has that tape, could be anyone from the milkman to the local bloody vicar.
The Doorman
I had been a bouncer for about ten years when I got asked to work in a large Cardiff nightclub. The money was much better than what I was used to so I took up the offer. Even though there was a lot of trouble at the club each night, myself and the other doormen were all very experienced so we handled most of it quite easily.
I made friends with Mike who had worked the doors for over thirteen years and had just about experienced everything a doorman could experience. When we had a quiet night we would talk about all the fights we’d had on the doors over the years. He’d show me his battle scars, like the one across his ribs where he had been slashed by a big Rastafarian, as he recounted all the stories of how he obtained them. I in turn would show where I’d been bitten, stabbed and bottled. Every doorman I have ever known has scars and battle stories they share among each other. I suppose it’s one way of getting to know who you are working with and how much experience they have.
One night Mike pulled me to one side and pointed out two women who were walking around the crowded club. He explained that they were hookers and looking for customers. He had known them for a year or so and a few times he had stopped an angry wife or girlfriend attacking them. He told me that even though we had a female bouncer with us who searched most of them, the girls could easily have a blade on them as they have been known to hide a small knife in their knickers. In fact, because of their business he would be more shocked if they didn’t have a knife on them.
I watched the two hookers walk around the club, checking out all the men for possible customers. They were like two lions trying to separate the weaker ones from the herd. They chatted to men who bought them free drinks and took down their mobile numbers. I was told to make sure they didn’t sneak off into the toilets with a punter for sex.
Sure enough, halfway through the night, the taller and prettier of the two quickly disappeared into the men’s toilets with some drunken guy who looked about forty. Her friend stood outside and was keeping a lookout for one of the door staff. I let Mike know what was going on and we both marched down to the gents. ‘I’ll sort this out,’ I told Mike as we got closer to the door. Mike told me to watch my step as she may have a weapon and seeing as she was always drugged-up she was capable of anything. I explained that if the tart tried her luck I’d slap her senseless.
Inside the toilets, one cubicle with the hooker and client in was closed and the cubicles each side were open with a few guys standing on the toilets watching the free sex show. They quickly left the scene when Mike and I entered. Taking the place of the guys who left, we both stood on the toilets and looked over into the cubicle. Inside the hooker was being taken from behind by a guy who was going like a piston engine.
‘OK you two! Time to stop, you’re both banned,’ I shouted.
They didn’t even slow down. I shouted louder and the guy opened his eyes and said, ‘For fuck’s sake lads, give me a minute to finish off here, will you?’ Both Mike and I stepped down and stood outside the door, waiting for the ‘lovers’ to finish off. A customer came in to use the urinal and asked why we were in the toilets and not outside with the other doormen. ‘We have a hooker problem in cubicle number 2,’ I explained, while Mike laughed his head off.
From inside the cubicle, the hooker shouted out, ‘I’m not a hooker, he’s my boyfriend.’
‘OK then,’ I shout back ‘What’s your boyfriend’s name?’
‘His name is Steven,’ the hooker screams back at me.
‘Actually it’s Paul, I’m not banned am I lads?’ the guy says.
They both exit the cubicle and Mike asks him to follow him outside the gents, where he takes him to the front door and leaves. I’m left with the hooker, who is desperate to get outside to meet up with the punter as she has not been paid yet. She tries to get past me and I put my hand out and stop her. She’s shouting some crap at me and I tell her that they are both banned for life because they were dirty druggie hookers. With that she suddenly slaps me straight across my forehead. For a split second I’m wondering why it hurt so much. Suddenly blood pours down my face and covers my eyes. I rush into the cubicle and wipe as much blood away as I can. The hooker and her friend take their chance and exit the club. Mike even opened the door to them, oblivious to what has happened.
I look in the toilet mirror and I have a deep slash right across my forehead, scarring me for life. The bitch must have had a small blade in her hand and, being drugged up, she just slashed out at me. I was very lucky i
t wasn’t my eyes or my throat. I cleaned the blood off and holding some toilet paper to my head I went looking for Mike. He was shocked to see me and explained that the hookers were long gone. I had to be driven to hospital as my forehead was still pissing out blood. The nurses were stunned when I told them how I had obtained my injury.
A few days later, and with stitches across my head, I returned to work. Mike took one look at me and said, ‘OK then, you win. Your scars are better than mine.’
The Husband
About six years ago my wife read an article in a women’s magazine about this married woman who turned to prostitution to pay off her bills and give her family a better standard of living. That night, before we had sex, she asked me to give her £5 or I couldn’t have my way. Like a fool I agreed and from that day I have paid her £5 every time we have sex and £15 if I want a blow job. At first when she came up with the idea it sort of seemed sexy but now she’s driving me nuts. Every time we need a new stair carpet or new clothes she makes sure she gets me all worked up when we go to bed and then refuses to go all the way unless I agree to pay her.
She keeps a little book with the details of how much I owe her and at the end of every month I have to settle up. She’s cost me a small fortune; I’ve even given up smoking to afford her fees. It’s got to the point where I have a wank before she comes to bed or even sleep in the spare room just to save money.
The Tourist
About ten of us from my rugby club went on holiday to Thailand. How we convinced our wives and girlfriends to let us go was an achievement in itself. One thing we were told to look out for was ladyboys, or katoeys as the locals call them – young men posing as women to fleece you of your money.
Every night we were shagging a different girl. We were getting pissed up and having a ball. This pretty little thing sat by me and asked me would I buy her a drink. Before long she was on my lap and all over me, tongue down my throat and hands rubbing my balls, great stuff. A few more drinks later and I was ready to take her upstairs.
My friends were all occupied with girls of their own so I was just leaving the bar when a man whispered in my ear, ‘You do know that’s a man you’re with?’ I thought no way could she be a man, she was a stunner. Then I looked at the size of her hands and wrists. They were a little large but that didn’t mean much. I thought she had an Adam’s apple but I was so pissed I couldn’t be sure.
I decided to confront him and said, ‘You’ve not a fucking man, are you?’
He answered softly, ‘It doesn’t matter, we go upstairs and have fun, yes?’
‘No fucking way, fuck off you fucking freak,’ I screamed and he/she went absolutely mental. He started screaming and pointing at me, then pointing at his own head pretending like he had a gun. I took it to mean he was going to get someone to blow my brains out. Then he stormed out of the bar and I thought that would be the last I saw of him. My mates were still occupied with the girls they were with and didn’t notice me arguing.
About ten minutes later he came back into the bar with two Thai police officers. He pointed at me and the police beckoned me outside. The police were very courteous to me at first but when the ladyboy said I owed him money because we had agreed to go upstairs for sex, I blew my top and shouted my head off at them all. The next thing I know I’m in handcuffs and one of the officers has put a gun to my head, threatening to blow my brains out if I don’t calm down. The same officer said that I was to be arrested and locked up until I was due in court, which could be a month away. I said, ‘Can I contact the British Embassy?’ which made them all laugh like fools at me.
‘Of course, you could pay the money you owe the katoey,’ the officer said with a grin.
I agreed and had to go into my wallet and pay out the equivalent of £80, which was more money than the twat could have earned in a month. I was released and allowed to walk back to the bar. As I turned I watched the ladyboy split the money with the police. He turned to look at me and laughingly shouted out to me, ‘Here’s your British Embassy,’ while waving my money at me.
Sometimes when I think back to that holiday I imagine my hands around his throat and me squeezing the fucking life out of him.
The Dupe
When I was about twenty-five I had my own flat and didn’t have any worries in the world. I had no major debt and the only person who was dependent on me was my bulldog, Bruce. I’d come home from work and Bruce would be there waiting for me to take him for a walk. Sometimes I’d take him to the pub with me and my friends all loved him and spoilt him with pork scratchings and the odd sandwich or two. I didn’t have a worry in the world, life was good.
One night I got introduced to a Scottish girl by a friend of mine. He said her name was Jane and that she was a prostitute. I laughed at first, then realised he was telling the truth. After a few drinks she told us all these hilarious stories about her life on the game and making porn films. I never thought a hooker could be such a fun, down-to-earth character.
A few weeks later I was sitting in the pub with all my mates getting hammered. Jane came over and gave Bruce a sandwich and made a fuss of him. She didn’t look herself so I asked her why she looked so down. ‘I’ve just been thrown out of my flat and have to sleep in my car with all my belongings,’ she told me. Now, I’ve always been a soft touch for a sob story and after a few pints I said she could use my spare room until she found somewhere else to live. At the time I felt like Mother Teresa helping out all those sick orphans in Calcutta. With that she was all over me like a rash buying me drinks and making a fuss.
Back at my place she jumped in bed with me and banged my brains out while Bruce watched us. The next morning I woke up with a splitting headache and realised that I had a hooker in bed with me and had promised to let her move in. I had even given her the spare key! I couldn’t believe it, why the fuck didn’t I just keep my big mouth closed?
The next day she moved all her things into the spare room and said that it wouldn’t be long until she found her own place. While I was at work I was thinking how I could get rid of her and decided to tell her that my ex-girlfriend Julia had decided to move back in with me. I got home to find the house has been cleaned from top to bottom. Bruce had been taken for a walk and was eating his dinner. Jane was making a curry and the cupboards were full of food. This was going to be hard, so I decided to leave it a few weeks until she got herself sorted. I didn’t want to come over all ‘Hitler’ on her straight away.
About a month later there was no sign of her leaving. I knew she was still on the game as she disappeared for a few hours each night and would come back with takeaways for Bruce and myself. It didn’t really bother me, it was just that I liked my own privacy and the guys in the pub were now calling me ‘Jane the hooker’s boyfriend’, which sort of annoyed me. Not only that but Bruce had taken a shine to her and didn’t really want anything to do with me any more. In fact, if I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk he would hide behind her. I had to get my life back in order, win Bruce over and get her out of my flat. Stand up for myself!
I thought that the weekend would be a suitable time to tell her. I got up one Saturday morning and waited for her to get up out of bed to confront her. Then the front door opened and she walked in rather the worse for wear. Obviously she had been out all night, with a client no doubt. She went to the bathroom and before she went to bed she thrust some money into my hands. ‘Hope that covers the lodge for this month,’ she stated. I counted out the money and there was about £400. If she paid me that every month then my rent was paid and I’d be in profit. I could get a new electric guitar in no time at all, even change my rusty old car. I was having second thoughts about throwing her out on the street. After all, where would she go? She was basically homeless.
About two months later I was getting phone calls to the house from different men wanting to speak to Jane. I wasn’t happy about it but after all she was my flatmate. On the other hand, she was a hooker and they were either clients or maybe gangster types wh
o she owed money to. Maybe they would barge into my flat and do me over, cut my fingers off with a pliers or something like that. I know I was getting paranoid but anything could happen. You read about it every day in the papers.
The final straw came when I read in a newspaper about a man who went to prison for living off immoral earnings. Technically I could be classed the same, some sort of pimp. Being known as ‘Jane the hooker’s boyfriend’ would be hard to explain to the prosecution while they took me apart bit by bit in the dock. I’d be like John Profumo.
Saturday morning was going to be D-Day for Jane. She always seemed to be one step ahead of me. Whenever I’d picked up the courage to throw her out, before I could utter a word she’d hand me the DVD that I wanted or a new shirt that she thought would suit me. She was like some sort of psychic mind-reading hooker. This time it wasn’t going to work: she may have beaten Bruce into submission but not me.
‘Jane’, I said in my most confident voice. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to move out soon, my ex-girlfriend is coming back from Australia and wants to move in.’
That was sort of a lie: I did have an ex-girlfriend who moved to Australia but I think she moved there to get away from me. The only reason she’d come back to the UK was, as she said, ‘to dance on my grave’, so I did sort of stretch the truth a little.
Hookers: Their Lives in Their Words Page 16