PANTS DOWN IN PARADISE; BOOK ONE

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CHAPTER THREE

The Early Days; Humping, and Little (or big) White Lies

One my very first shift, I got humped five times, and I made almost four hundred dollars; Ohhh, thank you for being so nice to me God! Stacey gave me three shifts on my first week, and then she must have been happy with me, because she gave me four shifts the next week. I was living my dream, and during my third week, I got introduced to one of our highest earners.

A stunning blond walked into the room, and Bree asked, “Evie, have you met Ruby?”

Evie glanced at me, looked me up and down, then turned away. Bree must have noticed my blushing cheeks, because she said glibly, “That’s Evie’s way of saying hello.”

Evie unzipped her backpack, and without looking at Bree, she asked, “Is the moron on tonight?”

“Donna, no.”

“Good, because I’m not in the mood for another lecture from that idiot.”

Bree smirked and asked cheekily, “What kind of mood are you in?”

“Brianna, as usual I’m in the mood to make money,” Evie huffed, then she asked, “Who else is on tonight?”

“Didn’t you look at the roster?”

“How about you just tell me?”

“Well, me and Ruby, Chasey, Dixie, Asia, Luanne, Jordan, Trixie and Star.”

“God, what a motley crew,” Evie huffed, “It seems like I’ll be on my back all night again.”

“If you like, you can throw some of yours my way.” Bree quipped.

“Hmmm, no offence, but from the customers point of view that’s like down-grading from caviar to mince-meat.”

Bree chuckled, then said, “Wow, that’s about the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Evie began undressing, and she said haughtily, “Excuse me Brianna, even though I said no offence, I was hoping to offend you, so if my statement didn’t offend you, I take the statement back.”

“See what I mean Jemma, Evie’s just the sweetest little thing.”

Evie ignored her as she said, “I told someone to tell Jordan to change her name. What is that idiot thinking? Is it like, Hey, I’ll use a guy’s name and then none of the customers will ever ask for me?”

“It’s a unisex name.”

“It’s a guy’s name, and any working girl who calls herself Jordan is a moron.”

“It’s not important, because she can call herself whatever name she likes.”

Evie glanced at me and asked, “What name are you using?”

“Ruby.”

“See, feminine name,” Evie began, “And what about the other idiot, Star; like are you kidding me?”

“I like the name.” Bree stated.

“Star is a name for a prize-winning dog in a dog show, or for a drummer in a 1960’s pop band called The Beatles,” Evie began, “And what about Trixie and Dixie? When they’re on together, it sounds like we’re having a tea party with the fairies in the Enchanted Forest!”

I couldn’t help chuckling, although I stopped very quickly when Evie swung her gaze to me. She’d taken her leggings and top off, and completely naked, she strolled over and stood in front of me. “New girl, huh?”

I gulped, then nodded.

“How long have you been here?”

“This is my third week,” I mumbled, then I said, “I was on with you last Thursday.”

“I probably didn’t notice you because you’re very plain looking.”

“Be nice Evie.” Bree grumbled.

“That was me being nice,” Evie replied, then she asked, “How many are you doing a night?”

“Maybe four, but on Thursday I did five.”

Evie ran her right hand through my hair, and even though I was nervous, I tingled at her touch. She said blandly, “I don’t hate you … yet; so you can be my new errand girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I need anything from the Seven-Eleven, I’ll send you out to get it, or if I need a massage, I’ll ask you to do it.”

“You don’t have to do it Jemma,” Bree advised, then she swung her gaze to Evie as she said, “I thought Sian was your little servant.”

“Is she on tonight Smarty-Pants?” Evie asked, then she said, “And anyway, I prefer my helpers to be able to speak and understand English.”

God … for the first time in my life, I felt my bi-sexuality breast-stroking towards the surface as I stood in front of this naked Goddess. Get you stuff from the Seven-Eleven? … sure; and really, massage you? Touch you? I knew I was blushing, but I mumbled, “Yeah, I don’t mind; I can help you out.”

Evie asked crisply, “Are you looking at my tits?”

Whoops … it felt like a deeper blush was colouring my cheeks now, and I said timidly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, you can look, all of the bitches do because I’ve got the best tits ever.”

“And the biggest ego.” Bree quipped.

“That Indian bitch has got the biggest ego,” Evie snapped, then she faced Bree and said, “And anyway, you probably dream about humping me.”

“No I don’t, although I do fantasize about you being nice to everybody one day.”

“Yeah right; life is too short to worry about being nice to anybody.”

My first introduction to one of our super-stars, and I was feeling flushed and fluttery. I knew that I would do whatever she asked me to do, and being faithful to my learned and earnt station in life, I looked forward to being ordered around by her. I kept my eye out for her that night, but I didn’t see her; I’ll be on my back all night again …

On my very next shift, I met Shana, and the meeting was … arhhh … interesting. Quite simply, Shana was gorgeous. She had a strikingly attractive face that featured huge green eyes, and her luxurious, shimmering dark hair almost reached her buttocks. Her skin was a subtle caramel-colour, and in her tight-fitting casual clothes, it was clear to see that her body was svelte and slender. I liked Chris, although her mocking assumption that Evie and Shana were the same person was way off. Either Evie/Shana was the greatest shapeshifter ever, or else the more likely prospect was that Chris was chuffing some high-quality weed. Asia was walking with Shana as she strutted into the dressing room, and Shana sniffed the air as she approached her locker, then she said, “I can smell skankiness and scragginess; the blond slut must have been on today.”

“You mean Miss Evie?” Asia asked.

Shana was just about to reply, but then she spotted me. She turned to face me, then she asked, “Are you lost little girl?”

I was surprised by her voice, because I was expecting some kind of sub-continent accent (you know, like most of the tele-marketers) yet her voice was distinctly Aussie. I was also a little overwhelmed by her stunning looks, and I asked uncertainly, “I’m sorry?”

“What are you doing in here?”

“I, I work here.”

“Really? It looks like you missed the turn-off for the Under-15 girl’s netball game.”

Asia said, “Miss Shana, Miss Rubee work here.”

Shana must have been confused by Asia’s pronunciation, because she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Ummm, my real name or my work name?”

Shana raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are we at work?”

“Yes.”

“So how about your work name.”

“It’s Ruby.”

“How long have you been working here Ruby?”

“This is my third week.”

“Okay Ruby, you and me should get along just fine if you do one thing for me.”

Gee … this ravishing beauty didn’t seem so bad, and just quietly, she was so ravishing that I felt my bi-sexuality breast-stroking again; so I asked, “What’s that?”

“Don’t talk to me, don’t come near me, just stay out of my way.”

I sucked my bottom lip as I blushed, then Asia tapped me on the arm and said, “Miss Rubee, no talk to Miss Shana, just stay away.”

I nodded bashfully, then I began slinking away, although Shana called out, “Ruby, how old are you?”

I turned around, and without looking at her, I mumbled, “Twenty-two.”

Tut-tutting, Shana turned away from me, and Asia shook her head and waggled a finger at me as she said, “Miss Rubee, no talk to Miss Shana, ever.”

“But, but she asked me a question.”

“Is like, errr, what is word? Is like a test, but no talk to her.”

I’d now met both of the super-stars, and even though Evie was the snobbiest and rudest person I’d ever met, I think I liked her more than I liked Shana. They didn’t like each other, and on that single point, I agreed with both of them.

Life can be so unfair; gorgeous girls are normally bitchy, while plain girls like me are normally the nice ones. Thinking about it, maybe plain girls like me need to be the nice ones so that people will be incentivised and encouraged to talk to us, and gorgeous girls are bitches because they want to discourage people from talking to them.

One was blond, one was dark-haired, although funnily enough, skin wise, they were almost the same colour. If I was cheeky enough, I’d love to ask Evie how many hours she spent in the solarium, and then I’d ask her if she was doing it because she wanted to be the same colour as Shana. And then she’d probably get Sian to punch me, and Sian would say, Sorry Miss Rubee, but whatever Miss Evie tell me to do…

*

Prostitute was probably the right name for someone in this profession. I didn’t mind Hooker, although I didn’t care for the implication; Well done girl, you’ve got this guy hook, line and sinker. I didn’t like Whore at all, although funnily enough, there was a girl at my school whose surname was Hoare. Rumour had it that her first ambition after she left school was to get married to a guy who had a more respectable surname. Slut or Mole were simply too harsh, so I was comfortable with prostitute, or even its shortened version, Pro. I could just imagine discussing my job with a nice man; he would say, Hello Miss, I’m a Tennis Pro … and I would say, I’m pleased to meet you, and I’m a prostitute Pro.

There can be complications about being a prostitute, especially if you have parents. I could never tell my parents about my new job, (my mother would have a fit, or a breakdown) so I did what I assumed most young, fledgling prostitutes did; I lied to my parents. I told them that I had taken a job as a data-processor, and the job involved shift work. My dad was a nice guy, and after having been brow-beaten and controlled by my domineering and overwhelming mother for more than twenty-five years, he was placid and easy-going, although I suspected that if I told him about my new profession, it might turn him into someone who wasn’t placid and easy-going. As well as being domineering and overwhelming, my mother was a Wanna-Be-Snob. Mum thought she knew everything, and because of that, she assumed that she was entitled to order everybody around (and just quietly, she was very good at ordering everybody around, especially me and dad.) I had a sister, Darlene, who was two years older than me, and it appeared that Darlene had taken mum as her role model, because she was vain and stuck-up. Darlene was in her final year of University where she was completing a Batchelor of Something-or-other (I could never remember what it was, because quite frankly, I couldn’t care less). A general lesson in life is that parents should never favour any of their children, although that lesson didn’t apply in our household. Mum considered Darlene to be the Golden Child, and she treated me like I was the Embarrassment Child. Unfortunately for me, out of the combined gene pools of our parents, Darlene had been gifted with both the looks and the brains, and that left me being the Nice-Girl-Next-Door. Sometimes I think mother would have preferred it if I was the Daughter-who-lived-next-door, because she was always at me; What goals have you set for yourself? … What are you going to do with your life? … Why can’t you get a boyfriend? Mum’s obvious favouritism towards the Golden Child had dad swinging his favouritism my way; Listen, ease up on Jemma, because she’s doing just fine … And yeah, I was doing just fine, but if my dad even found out …

Darlene was never mean to me, although she didn’t have a lot of time for me, because even though we were sisters, she considered it to be pointless talking to someone of my calibre and status. To illustrate what my sister is like, I’ll tell you about this conversation I had with her last year. I asked her for her mobile phone number, and she asked, “Why?”

I said, “If I have your number we can chat occasionally or send each other messages.”

As sympathetically as she could, Darlene replied, “You and me are kinda different okay, and I think it’s best if you chat and send messages to the people in your social circle, and I’ll chat and send messages to people in my social circle.” She must have sensed my disappointment, because she added, “Jemma, since I’ve been at University, I’ve been really busy, and I’m time-poor.”

“So the course you’re doing has a heavy workload?” I asked.

“The course workload is manageable, but the social activities are non-stop.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean there’s parties just about every night, and in the large group I knock around with, we’re all experimenting with drugs, and I’m drinking more booze than I ever have, and I’m getting more sex than I’ve ever had, and the funny thing is that mum and dad are proud of me.”

Hmmm, maybe I should have tried to get into Uni; then Darlene said compassionately, “So Jem, don’t ask me for my number again, because it hurts me to refuse you. This isn’t about you, it’s about me, and I think you need to be more considerate of my feelings if I take the time to speak to you.”

So that’s my older sister Darlene, a younger (and obviously wilder) version of my snobby mother. Funnily enough, mum said to me recently, “Jemma, I feel distraught that one of my children is a lowly data-processor, and since you’re only twenty-two, there’s still time to follow in your sister’s footsteps and try and get into University.”

I remember thinking cheekily, Just quietly mum, I’m doing most of the things she’s doing, and I’m getting paid for it.

Lying to my mum and dad came naturally to me, although lying to my best friends was a more difficult task. I was perpetually on heat, and because of that I had inadvertently become the leader of our masturbation group, and Marcie and Beth seemed lost without me. Really Jemma, you have to work on Saturday night again? Data-processing really sucks! Yeah well, on most Saturday nights I did a little sucking of my own. I knew that one day I would have to tell my best friends about my dramatic career change, but I was hoping that it would be later rather than sooner, and as far as my parents were concerned, I was hoping that it would be never. From what I can ascertain, a prostitute’s earning capacity begins to wane after she hits thirty-five, and I wondered if I could lie to my parents for the next thirteen years. Actually, I could easily and comfortably lie to them for the next thirteen years, I guess I was more concerned about lying effectively.

I took all the precautions I could, and I washed my work clothes at the Laundromat, although my mother’s questions often rattled me; Are you seeing anybody, have you ever had a boyfriend? If I ever wanted to shock my mother and put her in her place, I could say smugly, Last week I had twenty HALF-HOUR boyfriends and eight FULL HOUR boyfriends, and I made more than two thousand dollars, but no mother, I’m afraid that you’ll never meet any of them …

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