Along with the silly, humorous, interesting, heartening moments in life and every profession, comes a darker, seedier side. In sex work, that darker side tends to peek in perhaps a bit more often.
While I was manning the front desk one Saturday afternoon shift, we got a phone call to arrange an outcall with one of the women. I took all the info and the payment details and then hung up, logging the call into the log book. All the women were busy at the time and I thought nothing of it until nearly an hour later. The first of the women, Shelly, came out of session and I told her about the call and that I’d arranged the driver for pick up in just a few minutes to go do the outcall.
I heard her swear as she read the log info and asked what was wrong.
“That address… it’s the archdiocese and he’s a regular.”
Being somewhat new to the House, I was surprised enough to have the appropriate open-mouthed response to her words. With all the Church went through to stop the (at the time) rampant races to prosecute the priesthood, how this kind of behavior could go on right under their noses fascinated me.
Shelly went on.
“He’s about as high up in the Church as you can get around here. He’s likes certain things a certain way and I’ve been there before, so I’ll take the call. He tips like shit, though. It’s like a long boring waste of a perfectly good hour. If his sermons or lectures are as boring as his idea of “fun”, I’m glad I don’t have to listen.”
This man had these women come to his offices. Well, not his offices. It was church property. He had that office so long as he had that assignment. So far, he’d been there years and had been getting outcalls for about three years at the time. I have no idea how long it went on. He was still phoning when I left the establishment.
No one wanted his outcalls because not only was he abrupt, demanding and cheap, but he apparently smelled bad. If he’d have come to the House, he’d have had to take a shower. On an outcall, that was between the woman and the client. She could demand one or waive it. Her choice. This guy was very regular money and because the offices contained no shower, most times the women got down to business and out of there as quickly as they could.
One woman, Marie, refused to go to go on outcalls to that address. Her own career bothered her enough, but she used the money she earned to keep her while she went to school. She was Catholic and couldn’t see her way to doing that particular client.
Choice for the women was never an issue. If for some decent reason a woman didn’t want the appointment in or out, with a particular client, they were not asked to do it.
Marie chose not to visit this man.
Marie however, had her own story to tell about her faith and a client.
One man in particular, who chose to set an established appointment with her one evening a week, seemed to be inordinately fond of hearing the Litany of The Saints recited as she manipulated his unsaintly bits When he first found out she knew it and could recite it, he doubled her “tip” and they were inseparable from then on for that hour each Thursday night.
We suspected they both went to mass following those hour sessions. Tiffany (there was always a Tiffany in those days) was the daughter of a Baptist preacher in a small town not too far from the city. She’d left home a few years before and even though her father and family didn’t know where she lived and what she did, they refused to have anything to do with her. She had written them off, too, feeling she had to take her own road and see where it led. As of the time I met her, her road had led to a debt free life, with apartment, car, things she loved and security for her. Young, dynamic and more than a little mouthy, she ran head first into life and lived it to the fullest with the money she earned.
Tiffany took a session one Saturday afternoon when I was there. I’d put her client in one of the rooms and told him she’d be in when he was done with his shower. I told her which room he was waiting in and she went upstairs, glad her shift was nearly over. It had been a busy day.
I heard a soft scream and then Tiffany’s loud laughter. The other session rooms were empty at the time so I didn’t go up to quiet her down.
It turns out, she told me after, that her client was one of her father’s younger deacons. He thought it would be safe visiting a parlor in a city away from the church and her dad. Apparently they each decided to keep the other’s secret.
And as far as I know, they did.
Even after they were married, they never told anyone how they came to be together.
Copyright 2008
Do not reprint without permission
Part 1 False Eyelashes and Fresh Towels
Part 2 Can you hear me now?
Part 3 Shag Money
Janet J Thompson 