Part 1 – Anna’s Story

Anna; a street hooker; 25 years old, five foot six inches tall, with shoulder-length brunette hair and green eyes.

I was just a young girl when I started hooking – barely 17 years old. I had left home a few months earlier and I was penniless with no prospects. I say home but it was far from a warm, loving environment. My old man had run out on us before I was born and Mom had been reduced to a drunken, drugged out shell that would do whatever it took to get the drugs or booze that would make her forget her miserable life for awhile. I had practically been on my own for some time, moving out just made it “official”.

All I had to call my own was a lonely little doorway in front of a run-down building that I called home, where I began by begging for money, holding up a cardboard sign and trying to forced a pitiful smile. It was a hard life and certainly not one for someone as young as I was at the time.

Panhandling wasn’t working out for me, I went hungry more nights than not and I never seemed to be able to scrape together enough for more than a small snack. Cold, tired, and hungry was a normal state of affairs for me.

Out of despair and hunger, I finally sold the only thing of value I had left ... my body. A guy came up to me one day and offered me $25.00 if I would step into the nearby alley and suck him off. I had never done anything like that before, but $25.00 was a small fortune to me and I agreed. He was a nice enough guy, I guess ... a bit of a pervert for wanting a young child, but I went willingly so I can’t judge. He showed me how he liked it, and I did what he wanted. Afterwards he paid me and, after the first decent meal I’d had in ages, I realized that here was a way I could keep from starving to death.

It was easy at first, finding men who needed company, and for some time I managed to survive. I had food and I had shelter, but life has taught me that nothing is forever. I had been giving back-alley blowjobs and jerking guys off for my meal tickets for almost 6 months I guess when it happened. One of my customers decided he wanted a little something extra. I turned him down – I wasn’t ready to give that part of myself away just yet, but apparently he wasn’t used to people telling him no. Finally, he reached a figure that I couldn’t argue with, and I agreed.

I climbed into his car and we drove until he found an unoccupied parking lot. We climbed into the back seat, him first and then as he unfastened and unzipped his trousers, I got out of my tattered jeans and panties. I climbed into the car, shut the door and gave him what he paid for.

It didn’t take long to turn me from a hungry girl giving blowjobs for burgers, to a full fledged member of the world’s oldest profession. About 10 minutes after climbing half-naked into the back of that Chevy, I was climbing back out $100.00 richer. I was sore, but sore was so commonplace anymore I hardly noticed. And I had no misguided sentiment about my “loss of innocence” ... that little birdie had long since taken flight!

Once I was done, my customer left, leaving me a few blocks away from the doorstep I called home. I was a whore now and I shouldn’t expect my john’s to be gentlemen. Besides, it was a warm night and it wasn’t raining or anything so I simply began walking back to my neighborhood.

About a block from where the guy left me though I ran into three guys who began following me, throwing jeers and smart-ass comments at me. I walked a little faster, getting scared and then just as I passed a blind alley, they ran up on me, catching me and shoving me into the alley and behind a dumpster.

They beat me up pretty good slapping me, punching me and kicking me until I was nearly unconscious. They robbed me of all the money I had – the $100.00 I had earned plus a few odd blowjobs I had done before that. In the beating, my clothes had gotten torn and I was left behind the dumpster as they ran off.

To this day I don’t know how I survived, all I can remember is faded fuzzy memories of me crawling, beaten and bloody out of that alleyway. My eyes had begun to swell and my head, along with every other part of me, was hurting terribly. I smelled of the garbage I was laying in and probably looked like it too.

When I had finally crawled out onto the sidewalk where I could be seen I was done – I collapsed and lay there broken and bleeding as people walked past and around me as if I wasn’t there. I don’t know how many people passed by, unwilling to stop and help. No one cared about a beaten up whore, even if I was still just a kid.

Finally, just as I was about to give up and let Death have its way with me, a woman stopped to help me. Her name was Candy and she was a hooker as well, albeit much more experienced and street-wise than I was. She picked me up and took me to her apartment and took care of me, nursing my wounds and caring for me until I was better.

Once I had recuperated, Candy took me under her wing and started teaching me how to survive on the streets. I learned how to avoid trouble when I could hand how to handle it if I couldn’t. She taught me how to conduct “business” – the tricks to attract, handle, and deal with prospective johns. With her help I became a lot more savvy to this world I had entered into.

While Candy had been kind-hearted and caring, she was still a “working girl” and so when I was well enough, Candy set me up with my first real “date”.

I arrived at the address Candy had given me about a half an hour later, as I had only time to take a shower and buy some revealing clothes.

Candy had told me my date’s name was Eric, although she didn’t give me his last name. Which wasn’t unusual given the line of work we’re in – a certain amount if discretion is necessary at times, especially if you are well-known or have a reputation to protect. I have since had lawyers, judges, mayors, business magnets and even bishops as my clients, and I understand the need for confidentiality.

Candy had told me of his naughty habits, especially his love of BDSM. She said that he’d pay a call girl to act out some Master/slave game, and he liked being pretty rough in bed. I’ve handled worse, so I knew what to do.

I walked down the hallway of the apartment complex, looking for apartment number nine, until I found it. Ringing the doorbell, there was no response at first, until I rang again. The door opened and a man standing at least 6 feet tall stood in the doorway, “Yes?” he said.

“Hi, my name is Cathy,” I smiled. I never used my real name on a job. “Candy sent me over – I’m glad I got the address right!”

“You’re late,” he said, simply.

“Sorry honey, but a girl must not be rushed,” I caressed his chest making sure he’d know what he would miss if he’d let me go. “Don’t you worry though, I’m sure you will have a wonderful time. I’ll take real good care of you.”

Grabbing my hand, he looked at me and smiled, “Come on in then.”

I walked into his home, it was very well decorated with expensive works of art and fine furniture. This guy had good taste! His expansive living room had a large sofa, flanked on each side with a comfortable-looking recliner.

In front of the sofa was a short mahogany table with engraved edges all the way around, expensive I’m sure. On the far wall hung a big screen TV, with a sound system set up that would make the cinema look outdated. The walls were a light tan, nearly white, and had paintings of various settings hanging on them.

After checking out the apartment, I turned around to get a better look at my client. But I could only see his back as he was locking the front door. He had blonde hair and was quite well-built, I was actually getting excited about this guy! “So Eric, why don’t you tell me your desires,” I walked towards him as he was about to turn around and caressed his back, getting him into the mood. “Candy said that you like being in charge ... so how can I serve you?”

“That’s right.” he said.

I needed to make this fast, because I had other clients to see. So I got straight to the point, “So where do you want us to do it.”

“Oh you’re a feisty one,” he said with a wicked smile, “Upstairs, first door to the right, I’ll be there in just a second.”

I walked up the stairs passed still more artwork and paintings, until I arrived to the bedroom. The bedroom was huge, with a kingsized four poster bed dominating the room. I went over to the bed and ran my hands over the sheets. I was to learn that they were 1000 count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Over the sheets he had a goose down duvet. It was all very classy and very expensive! To the left of the bed was a large chest of drawers. To the right was a window, with a padded bench under it. I felt the room was a bit stuffy, so I walked towards the window and opened it a little.