Hookers: Their Lives in Their Words

  ‘Seems she wants to give us another chance, says she loves me and can’t live without me,’ I lied a little more.

  Jane was upset but seemed to take it as well as can be accepted. ‘If you give me two weeks I’ll have somewhere to go,’ she sobbed.

  ‘That’s OK Jane, my ex isn’t coming for three weeks so that would be ideal.’ The lies were flowing out of me by now, I was a natural.

  Things were very quiet around the flat for the next two weeks, even Bruce looked sad and depressed. I comforted myself with the image of me and Bruce taking our walks in the park once more, just Bruce and me, no hookers or gangsters following us.

  ‘D-Day’ arrived on a Sunday and sure enough Jane had packed all her belongings and moved out. Her room was left tidy and nothing of mine seemed to be missing. The only thing was I had this nagging gut feeling something wasn’t right, like when you leave the house and have the feeling you’ve left the bath running or the cooker on.

  At work on Monday I was going through everything in my head when I remembered Jane hadn’t left me the key I gave her. I thought that she may have put it somewhere for me to find, like on top of the microwave where I usually leave my keys. Yes, I thought, it will be on top of the microwave. As soon as I got through the door I realised something else was wrong. The painting I had of a battleship on the passage wall was gone. I ran through the house and everything of value was gone: the television, DVD player, microwave, electric guitar and everything that she could have put in her car. The bitch had outmanoeuvred me and taken everything I owned. Then it dawned on me that she had taken Bruce with her, the evil bitch!

  The police were helpful but seeing as nobody knew where she was from and whether Jane was actually her real name they were powerless to act. I didn’t know her surname and didn’t have a photograph of her. The only thing the police could go on was that her name may or may not be Jane and she had a bulldog called Bruce with her.

  About three days later I got a phone call from the DVD rental shop asking for the three films that I had rented to be brought back and that I may have to pay a fine. I wasn’t even a member but according to them my girlfriend Jane had joined. I screamed down the phone at the knobhead on the other end, ‘Look mate I’ve been ripped off, of everything I own. The person who did this to me is the same person who became a member of your shop. Why the fuck would I hire Batman with Michael Keaton, not only is the film crap but it’s been on the fucking television a million times.’

  While I started to get my life sorted, like buying things for the flat, I decided to go to the pub and sink a few pints. My mate Martin was there and I told him everything that Jane had done. He knew Jane from going to the pub and said that she seemed a nice girl in her way. Then he told me that he had seen her the week before she had moved out of my flat. Over a few drinks (that Jane bought) she had asked him about my ex-girlfriend who was living in Australia. He then said, ‘So I told her about how she threatened to rip your eyes out and hated the very ground you walked on. I also mentioned that there was no way ever she would come back to you unless she was coming to axe you to death.’

  I couldn’t believe it, after all my master plans this stupid moron more or less tells Jane that I’m a liar and was kicking her out under false pretences. On the other hand the criminal genius may have gone to the pub just to get information on me from my friends, and what better way to do it than to get them drunk first. She was one step ahead of me the whole time.

  The next thing I did was buy myself a little bulldog called Bob, and no fucking hooker is going to take him away from me.

  The Drug Addict

  Being a drug addict was the lowest point of my life.I sold everything I had just to get heroin; nothing mattered to me but that. I’d taken family possessions and sold them to dealers and of course I denied it was me. At first my family gave me the benefit of the doubt but it became so obvious to them that I was stealing to pay for drugs, they threw me out on the street. I don’t blame them though. I moved in with another smackhead and we shoplifted and burgled to get by. Being a smackhead and living with them caused more trouble because we’d rob off each other. When we had heroin we were fine but when we didn’t there was hell to pay. We’d both look at the other as a source of drug money. My jacket would go missing; his rucksack would disappear. Both would end up down the dealer’s house and he’d be the only one to benefit from our betrayal.

  It wasn’t long before I ended up begging and living in abandoned houses and apartments, again with other smackheads. That’s where I got to meet female addicts who would sell their bodies for drug money. If I had earned a bit of cash I’d buy some heroin for myself and a bit extra to trade or sell. In one squat there were five of us all crammed into one room talking the usual shit most smackheads talk. I knew the others didn’t have any heroin on them, just methadone from the doctor, to wean them off the harder stuff. I knew one girl was a hooker and called her to one side. I told her that if I could fuck her I’d give her some heroin. Before I knew it we were in the kitchen and she had dropped her jeans down and I was fucking her across the old table that was there. The others could hear us but that didn’t bother her at all. As soon as we finished I gave her about £5 worth of heroin and she went back into the other room happy.

  Over the next few weeks I’d fuck her or one of the many other girls that came to the squat. Most were prostitutes who had turned to selling their arses just for their heroin fix. Some were once pretty girls but were now like skeletons or had scar tissue up their arms where they injected. Looking back now that I’m drug free I just don’t know how I didn’t catch AIDS or at the very least VD from them.

  When you fell asleep in the squat you had to watch out that nobody stole your stuff. I woke up from a deep sleep one night to find a hooker taking my Dr Martens boots off me. She had taken ages undoing my laces and had even removed one boot before I woke up. I jumped up and punched her straight in the teeth. I think if I remember right I knocked her tooth out and she screamed at me all through the night. What you must remember is that you can’t show other smackheads any weakness or they will take everything you’ve got. That’s the nature of the beast and loyalty and friendship don’t come into the equation at all.

  Some of the prostitutes who slept at the squat were hard bitches who wouldn’t think twice about cutting your throat in an argument. I remember one girl coming into the squat in a right temper because some guy had fucked her and wouldn’t pay her. She grabbed a baseball bat, ran outside and clonked the fucker on the head with it. She nearly took his head off.

  One night I was fast asleep and suddenly two hookers jumped on me and started to hit me about the head with what I assume was a baseball bat. I tried to fend them off but one good shot caught me on the top of my head and sent me into the twilight zone. Even though I was out cold I could still hear them stamping on me and hitting me with the bat, like I was in a dream and could hear these distant noises.

  I woke up a short while later to find the bitches had broken my arm, cut my head open and bust up my legs so bad I could hardly walk. They had gone through my pockets and taken the few pounds that I had to my name. I managed to hobble outside to seek help but collapsed onto the road. I was in and out of consciousness until I finally came around in a hospital bed. I have a vague recollection of waking up in the ambulance and the paramedic saying, ‘Not another fucking addict! Why don’t they just let us throw the twats into the river? That would be a lot better for all of us.’

  My legs were now swollen up from the beatings and it would take another few weeks before I could walk unaided. On the second day my mother turned up and cried her eyes out at the state of me. Even though I had robbed my family blind she still cared for me deeply. She told me that my father and sister were outside and they wanted me to come home. They understood that I needed their support to get off the drugs and if I would try and stay clean then they would give me all the help I needed.

  It’s been a hard year and I don’t think I could hav
e done it without my family at my side. I’m now drug-free and hope to stay that way by taking one day at a time. About six months ago I bumped into one of the hookers who jumped on me and put me in hospital. She looked in a right old state with scabs on her face, sunken eyes and matted hair. She smiled and asked how I was, hoping I wouldn’t identify her as one of the hookers who had done me over. I told her I was drug-free and had come into a hell of a lot of money (I was lying about the money). I asked her how she was holding up and she told me she was skint and homeless again.

  ‘Do you think if I give you a hundred pounds it will help you get sorted out?’ I asked. She of course said yes and I said for her to stay there while I went to the bank to fetch it for her. Of course I never took any money back to her, cruel I know but it was the only way to get her back.

  Chapter 19

  Emmalee

  Age: 48

  Monroe, Michigan, USA

  MY FATHER WAS a complete drunk and I didn’t have much of an education. There was my mother, father, myself, two brothers and two sisters with hardly any food in the house each week. When my mother got the welfare cheque she would rush out and pay the bills and get as much food in as she could before my father got home. If he had got his hands on the money first the bastard would have drunk it all.

  By the age of seventeen I had no job and the only things to do all day were drink, drugs or fuck. The girls I went around with felt the same, we had no self-respect and didn’t give a shit about anything. One of them, Georgia, had been hooking since she was fourteen, selling her ass to get drink and drugs. I sort of resemble Georgia so when one day some good-looking guy came looking for her, he had only met her once and thought I was her. He asked me how much would it be for full sex and how much for oral. I always had a wicked streak in me so, for fun, I gave him a price. He looked at me and asked if I had a place so we could fuck. I had another friend with me who said we could use her house which was just a boarded-up crack house. Before I knew it I was lying on her stinking bed with this guy banging away. I have always tried to justify that first time by telling everyone that it was the only way I could earn some money and get away from my family. In reality I was just a stupid street girl who found a way to make a fast buck, using the only thing she had that was worth anything.

  For about a year or so my family didn’t know anything, just that I had a fancy boyfriend who was buying me new clothes each week. Truth was, I was selling sex and drugs on street corners. They didn’t want to meet my imaginary boyfriend and I didn’t have one to introduce to them. My father was beating my mother so I kept away from the house for as long as I could. One day my mother’s friend argued with her and in a temper she blurted out that I was a stinking drug-dealing hooker. My mother beat the crap out of her for lying but her friend insisted it was the truth. I came home one night spaced out on drugs to find all my belongings thrown halfway down the street. My drunken father came to the door and told me that if I ever tried to contact the family again he was going to kill me. He said I was nothing but a disease-riddled whore and he didn’t want me to contaminate the rest of the family. All in all, I think he took it rather well!

  After that I moved around a lot and it wasn’t until years later that I met up with some of my family. I stayed at a friend’s house and we both sold drugs and sex hoping to get out of the rat hole in which we lived. We started work in a massage parlour and it wasn’t long before I started raking the money in. We were selling coke but as fast as we were earning the cash we were spending it on our own drug habits. I realised that the only way I was going to stay ahead of the game was to put money aside each week and cut down on the coke. Unlike my friend I started to stay clean for longer periods of time until I could get through the day without anything. I opened a bank account and a deposit box and each week I stashed as much as I could away. Eventually I had a large sum of money saved up from all the hooking and dealing.

  One day I was having sex with a customer and slipped on the polished tiled floor of the massage parlour. I sprained my ankle real bad so I couldn’t go to work for over two weeks. In the meantime the parlour got busted and the cops locked everyone up. I approached the owner of the parlour’s brother and after he sorted things out for me, like how much the business would cost, and I then became the owner of my own massage parlour, the madam if you like.

  Now the cops were hot on everyone so I hand-picked a few girls I knew and made sure they knew the score. They could spot a cop a mile away, and were trained by me in what to say when a customer asked for sex. I had each room fitted with strong locks so if we got busted the girls wouldn’t be caught with someone’s dick in their mouths. We tried to stay focused on our regulars and from introductions rather than having strangers walk in off the street only to flash their cop badge at the first sign of a girl’s nipple.

  I bought my own house for cash in the first year and by year three I owned two more places in Mexico. We opened up shop at eight in the morning and closed at five. Then I’d have the escorts going out at all hours and I had someone offloading coke for me each day. Money was pouring in, I paid my taxes and the girls all had regular pay cheques with sickness benefits. I employed a few heavies to keep some of the customers in line and a manageress to take the pressure off me. A client once said as long as you pay your taxes you’ll stay in business longer. Only time you’ll ever have trouble is when the local elections start and someone wants publicity so they get the brothels and crack houses closed. I remembered that and sure enough whenever we had a local election come up, some candidate would bring up the subject of prostitutes and brothels. Guess we must have been an easy target so I always took extra security measures in election years. By now the police had stopped busting the parlour and I had branched out and bought another one a few blocks away. We would get the odd cop in who would take a look around and end up getting a free blow job for his trouble. Usually they would ask for a free massage and within a few minutes have their dick out. Funny thing was it was always the older cops who did this.

  We did have one cop who was in every other day demanding his freebie. One of my managers got sick of him so he paired the cop off with a transvestite, Jenny, who worked as our cleaner. Jenny got paid $90 by us to blow the cop, which he/she did as good as any Swedish porn star might. When the cop returned with his partner to the parlour a few days later I had Jenny walk out to the patrol car. The cop was sitting in his patrol car with a young rookie cop in the passenger seat and Jenny walked over and introduced himself to both of them. Turns out the cop had just been bragging about being blowed by the same pretty young lady walking up to the car. The cop’s jaw dropped as Jenny introduced himself as James and asked if the older cop was going to visit the parlour today. We never got a visit from that cop again and I would have paid thousands to have been in the car as he tried explaining the situation to the rookie.

  My parlours were such a success because I tried to make sure the customers not only came back to us but never went to anyone else. I’d give them free soft drinks when they arrived, never alcohol, because if they drank too much some would take ages to come. I’d have porn films playing for the regulars so the sessions would be shorter. That way we could get the next customer in faster. I had extravagant bathrooms put in each room and after the customer paid he could take a long shower or bath while the girl went into another room to another customer. Sometimes they would even pay the girl extra to scrub them down or bathe with them. I gave out membership cards with a discount to regular users. I made sure the girls knew the big spenders’ names and made a fuss of them when they came in. Also some of the customers had their favourites so if they phoned a day ahead I’d get their favourite girl to meet them. I worked out that out of every hour only about ten minutes were allocated to sex, the other fifty was just talking. Therefore the girl could enter the room, put on a porn film and make the customer comfortable, then go to the next room and do the same with another customer. Then she’d come back, service the first customer, run a bath
or turn on a shower for him, then the same for the other customer. The girls would then bring the customer a soft drink or a coffee so it looked like they were out getting the drink when the customer was bathing.

  With the escorts it was different. I’d always tell the girls, if the guy pays for three hours stay for four; if he pays for four stay for five. I found out that other escorts would stay only for the amount of time they had been paid but with my girls the customer felt the girl was staying longer because she liked him, so he would ask for her again. It was important to get the customer to believe the girls really liked them and create some sort of bond between them. After all, they were paying for the girls to turn up at their homes which was a minimum of $600 and out of that I’d get a $200 introduction/ agency fee. With twelve girls working most nights I had to do my research and stay ahead of the game.

  Once in a while you would get some bitch trying to make some money on the side. I turned a blind eye to that but when a customer reported that a girl had given out her private number then that’s where I’d draw the line. They worked out that they could charge the same money but not have to pay in the agency fee, that way the girls would be up $200 on top of the money they were earning. At first I’d give them a warning and they had to pay back what they owed me, or what I believed they owed. If it carried on then I would have to make an example of them. This is not something I ever liked doing but I wasn’t running a little shop selling children’s clothing, was I? Without saying too much, we had a good few connected gentlemen visit us. These were men who I paid money to each month to lead a quiet life. If any of my girls stood out of line then I’d ring someone up and they would pay the girl a visit. They would express to the girl the importance of honesty and get any money owed to me. From what I recall there was some disputes that ended with violence but I feel that those incidents had nothing to do with my business and were just between the girls and the evil bastards that paid them a visit.