This is another reason the brothel was so enjoyable for me. It was live improv theatre, with different players every evening.

Once my makeup was applied, I was ready to join my co-workers in introducing ourselves to the clients that came in. I’d work for eight to ten hours doing up to eight bookings. After my eighth booking of the day, I was neither mentally nor physically capable to provide a good service anymore and, as such, would request to go home. Our managers always obliged with a motherly smile. “Shall I call you a taxi, darling?” was a phrase I heard every shift.

When a potential client arrived at the brothel, he could make any special requests clear to the manager. If there was one worker he particularly liked, or if he had a particular fetish (we had one dedicated mistress in house), this was his time to let the manager know. If he didn’t, which was usually the case, the workers would go into the waiting room to greet him one by one.

This was our opportunity to make an impression on the client. I always made sure to touch his hand or shoulder or his arm, as I found initiating contact to be extremely important for the comfort of the client. It was also your opportunity to communicate your boundaries to the client. I personally had only one hard “no,” but I tried to make a joke out of it: “I won’t put anything up my butt, but I’ll put stuff up yours! Har har!”

After the client met all of the available workers, the manager returned to the waiting room to make the booking. The client paid the manager, cash or credit, and then she placed our cut (just over 50%) into a folder, the sort that restaurants use for the bill, which was handed back to the client. She returned to the rear area, which consisted of a TV room, a kitchen, a dressing room, lockers, a bathroom and a smoking patio. In the TV room, there was a monitor with running CCTV footage of the waiting room, sidewalk and parking lot. There were bins full of single serve packets of lube and condoms organized neatly by size, style and flavor.

The manager called for the chosen worker. “Vivian, darling! Thirty minutes with Jonathan! Thank you!”

I’d return to the waiting room to greet my client and receive the folder from him with a coy smile. “Hi! I believe you have something for me.”

Then, I’d escort the client upstairs to my room. There, I instructed him to take a quick shower and await my return. I’d leave the room, return downstairs, place the money in my locker, choose my assortment of condoms, toys and lubricants for the session.

Sometimes, if I needed a moment to myself, I’d have a quick ciggie as well. Followed up with a handful of breath mints from the communal bowl, of course. I’d purr, “So sorry to keep you waiting!”