and I could see the marks of Reece’s pummelling, still fresh nearly 12 hours later. The bikini sat snugly on her hips, but it was too big at the top, leaving a big gap between the cup and the flesh. I noticed how, when she bent down, her nipples were just visible – and instantly wondered if that was the idea. Was it another trick to lure in the punters?
But I didn’t have time to ask her. She pointed at me and told me brusquely to put on my own bikini. It felt cold and clammy and my skin was suddenly covered in goosebumps. I had taken the first faltering steps towards my own downfall.
Sally opened the door which connected the little back room to the one with the big glass window, and motioned me to go inside. She followed and stepped over to the glass.
‘Okay, this is it. I’m going to pull the curtains now and unlock the glass door. You need to come over here and keep an eye out for a punter. Once you see one, make sure you hook him and reel him in. You know what to do now. I’ll be back there watching. Tonight John will want his money and I’m not taking the blame if there isn’t enough for him. Okay?’
I knew there was no way out; no way of avoiding what was going to happen to me. But maybe I could put it off, keep it at bay for as long as possible?
‘It’s only ten o’clock. Surely there won’t be any punters around at this time, will there? Can’t we just sit and talk for a bit?’
But she took no notice. She drew the heavy curtains, unlocked the glass door and pointed to where I was to stand. Then she moved out of sight into the room next door. I looked up and down the alleyway. There were a lot of people on the street – men and women – and with a start I realised that some were clearly eyeing up the girls in the windows. At 10am? It seemed the sex business kept office hours here – at least in the morning.
Five minutes later a man walked up to ‘my’ door. I didn’t have to do anything to hook him. From the look on his face I knew he wanted to come inside. I had seen that look many times before – a disgusting animal sort of lust, a rush of perverted adrenalin, making his eyes cold and piggy. I was terrified, but I knew what I had to do. I opened the door and let him come in.
He was in his fifties and Dutch, but quickly spoke English when he realised I didn’t understand his language. He looked sort of ordinary; if I’d walked past him on the street in Gateshead I don’t think I’d even have noticed him. Yet here he was, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and telling me he wanted ‘everything’. I mumbled something about 200 guilders and he handed me a little rolled-up wad of notes.
For a moment my mind seemed to switch off, while my fingers fumbled with the little bikini. He stared at me.
‘The curtains? Aren’t you going to pull the curtains?’
I snapped out of my trance and quickly shut out the light and view from the street. My body, though, seemed to be on automatic pilot as he stepped over to the bed and began to get undressed. Bizarrely, he spent a few minutes folding his clothes and putting them into a neat pile on the floor by the bed, then he turned round to face me. I found a condom and somehow managed to put it on him. And then it was time.
I have tried ever since to blot out the memory of the next few minutes. Tried, but never succeeded. What he did is burned into the soft, vulnerable flesh of my brain so deeply, so indelibly that I know it will never, ever fade or heal. I cried all the way through it – but he seemed to like that and carried on doing it ever more roughly.
How long did it last? It seemed – still seems, when the tape plays over and over in my mind – like hours. It couldn’t have been. Probably it was no more than 10 or 15 minutes. And when it was over, and after I had done as Sally had told me with the condom, he stood up, carefully put on his clothes and simply said ‘thanks’. Then he was gone.
I sat on the bed, curtains still
But I didn’t have time to ask her. She pointed at me and told me brusquely to put on my own bikini. It felt cold and clammy and my skin was suddenly covered in goosebumps. I had taken the first faltering steps towards my own downfall.
Sally opened the door which connected the little back room to the one with the big glass window, and motioned me to go inside. She followed and stepped over to the glass.
‘Okay, this is it. I’m going to pull the curtains now and unlock the glass door. You need to come over here and keep an eye out for a punter. Once you see one, make sure you hook him and reel him in. You know what to do now. I’ll be back there watching. Tonight John will want his money and I’m not taking the blame if there isn’t enough for him. Okay?’
I knew there was no way out; no way of avoiding what was going to happen to me. But maybe I could put it off, keep it at bay for as long as possible?
‘It’s only ten o’clock. Surely there won’t be any punters around at this time, will there? Can’t we just sit and talk for a bit?’
But she took no notice. She drew the heavy curtains, unlocked the glass door and pointed to where I was to stand. Then she moved out of sight into the room next door. I looked up and down the alleyway. There were a lot of people on the street – men and women – and with a start I realised that some were clearly eyeing up the girls in the windows. At 10am? It seemed the sex business kept office hours here – at least in the morning.
Five minutes later a man walked up to ‘my’ door. I didn’t have to do anything to hook him. From the look on his face I knew he wanted to come inside. I had seen that look many times before – a disgusting animal sort of lust, a rush of perverted adrenalin, making his eyes cold and piggy. I was terrified, but I knew what I had to do. I opened the door and let him come in.
He was in his fifties and Dutch, but quickly spoke English when he realised I didn’t understand his language. He looked sort of ordinary; if I’d walked past him on the street in Gateshead I don’t think I’d even have noticed him. Yet here he was, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and telling me he wanted ‘everything’. I mumbled something about 200 guilders and he handed me a little rolled-up wad of notes.
For a moment my mind seemed to switch off, while my fingers fumbled with the little bikini. He stared at me.
‘The curtains? Aren’t you going to pull the curtains?’
I snapped out of my trance and quickly shut out the light and view from the street. My body, though, seemed to be on automatic pilot as he stepped over to the bed and began to get undressed. Bizarrely, he spent a few minutes folding his clothes and putting them into a neat pile on the floor by the bed, then he turned round to face me. I found a condom and somehow managed to put it on him. And then it was time.
I have tried ever since to blot out the memory of the next few minutes. Tried, but never succeeded. What he did is burned into the soft, vulnerable flesh of my brain so deeply, so indelibly that I know it will never, ever fade or heal. I cried all the way through it – but he seemed to like that and carried on doing it ever more roughly.
How long did it last? It seemed – still seems, when the tape plays over and over in my mind – like hours. It couldn’t have been. Probably it was no more than 10 or 15 minutes. And when it was over, and after I had done as Sally had told me with the condom, he stood up, carefully put on his clothes and simply said ‘thanks’. Then he was gone.
I sat on the bed, curtains still
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