The Client That All Sex Workers Fear

Posted by SVAKOM 2018/10/22 0 Comment(s) Official blog,

How do some clients end up on the blacklist?

I had a routine. I came to his apartment and gave my name to the doorman hoping the janitor would give me back the smile in a kind of mutual understanding that yes, Walter Wack, my client, was a profligate spender and that I was just one of the many women who gave their name to that table, the real one or a fake one.

 

When the elevator reached the fifth floor, it knocked on Walter's door, although it was already half-open. I heard a scream coming from the inside. "Come In! Just a moment!".

 

Alone in the room, in the dim light of a lamp, I undressed until I was in lingerie, I put some lubricant on me and waited in a seductive pose on top of her bed.

 

Walter Wack left the bathroom in a white terry robe with a pack of cigarettes and a. Then he noticed my presence, left his things on the nightstand, lay on the bed and lit a cigarette. "Kiss me," he said. Walter Wack seemed conventionally handsome.

 

He was in shape, about thirty, and far from the unfair stereotype that is associated with Asians, his cock was huge-tightened and tense. Impassive, distant and somewhat crazy, I put motes that repeated in each encounter: his precious girl, his sexy little slut, his sexy ass ... Like the compliments and the entrance ritual, sex also followed a script. According to this, we kissed, I sucked him, fucked and came. There was something strangely comforting about the pattern.

 

 

One of his favourite positions was for me to lie down with my chest between my thighs, willing and vulnerable, like an inflatable doll. My hip always hurt after our sessions, but I made certain concessions for my most usual client. One night, on the way to our respective encounters, one of my fellow called Sarah brought up the subject of Walter Wack.

 

"It's super crude with me," she said with a laugh.

 

"Now," I replied, "It does this thing of bending my legs and my hip hurts a lot."

 

"Yeah, well," she replied, laughing again. "he fists me and it's pretty rough."

 

"Wow, he has never fisted me ..."

 

"And he calls me a dirty slut, stinky swallow, slut swallow ... Anything. He's a strange guy.

 

"He only tells me nice things," I said, hardly believing it

 

"Well, I guess he likes you. With me it's bad, but it's a psychopath, very much in the way of the pot, so it does not matter. And he does the same thing every time! "

 

"Yes! As if I were following a script! "I exclaimed, without considering the possibility that each girl had a different role.

 

"Do you feel like he is abusing you?" I asked timidly.

 

"Did not say. "He's just being Walter. But I think I need a break from him. "

 

I saw myself reflected in his words. I knew my own limits: fisting without consent combined with a string of insults is not something I would have tolerated.

I did not trust the ritual anymore. He also knew that a violent client was in a context of consent. But Walter Wack never asked me, it would be to get out of the script. I worried about the pretty, cheerful and funny Sarah, why he hurt her without either of them realizing it.

 

After a few months being my most usual client, he did something he had not done before: he booked me twice for the same night. I saw him the first and the last, with three more tight appointments in between. Five appointments in one night. It was a lot of cocks, but much more money: 800 euros with tips, more or less. I did not want it to become a habit, but money attracted me too much.

 

"Walter," I said, finally leaving the character. "You are my fifth date of the night. It hurts a little".

 

I saw the flames devouring his eyes. Betrayal, anger, disgust. Without stopping to penetrate me, with a rude but gentle voice at the same time, Walter said: "That's why I want to fuck you harder."

 

 

And that's what he did. Without stopping and with an intensity that I had not seen before, my aching and contorted body fucked harder than ever. I do not know if it was the fear, the guilt, the shame or the duty that made me stay there, I do not know, but I stayed. Suddenly, I had become a piece of whore shit that no one would ever want.

 

When the psychopath finally came and the action was over, I stood up in tears and ran to the bathroom. Crying and shaking I sent a message to my ex, for which I still felt something. I wrote: "Are you awake? Something bad happened to me. He responded immediately: "Too tired to talk. I'm trying to sleep. "

 

I felt a twinge in my heart. I did not know which was worse if I had been raped by someone who was a "friend of mine" or someone I considered my friend would have betrayed me. I showered, cleaned myself as best I could, and escaped from Walter Wack's apartment to my madam's car. She listened to me with empathy and her voice sounded more and angrier. "You do not have to see him again," she said, comforting me. He entered the blacklist. Well, in mine. Not in the other girls.

 

All he knew about the culture of rape was that prostitutes are raped because they expose themselves to sexually vulnerable situations for money. Therapists cannot contain themselves before an easy prey. So, putting me in a vulnerable situation, it was my fault that Walter Wack raped me. It's something I did to myself and, what's worse, I did it for money. Violated by a salary, my sanity is questioned - and not that of the rapist, who, when you stop to think about it, is only fulfilling his duty, socially accepted.

 

Little Mary Ann did not know. I did not know what to do, what to say, how to react, how to leave, and I forgive her. Small, it was not your fault that a psychopath took advantage of you. Nobody deserves to be raped. No one. Not a sex worker. Not a citizen on foot. No one.

 

Months later I knew Walter had called asking for me not only every day but several times a day. My madam finally said to him: "Do you realize what you did to her? You hurt her. Walter, "said he thought he was acting. That he was simply "following the game". Another tragic actress who played her role until she could not anymore. A whore out of control.

 

A year after the incident, I got a message about a meeting. The address of the apartment I had to go to was familiar to me. I was completely immobile. I called the new girl who had made the reservation. "This call is from Walter Wack?" I asked, and answered yes. It was on my blacklist - until all the servers of the agency were uploaded and apparently, they reset all the personal information of each companion, including his blacklist.

"You know? It's funny, "she said. "I've worked for a lot of agencies in Toronto and this guy is on the blacklist of almost everyone."

 

"Ya, it's a predator," I said. "A real nasty piece of shit."

 

"That's what they told me," she said with a laugh.

 

I did not laugh.

 

This text is an excerpt from Modern Whore, a memoir published by Virgin Twins in collaboration with Impulse [b:] Publishing in October 2011.

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