Beth's Summer Break Pt. 07

Catch me if you can, Tra-Jo!

Last night's row was coloured green. Special entries were green, the bad ones red, the others left un-modified. Most of the red ones were in the early days when I was working the streets of Liverpool and Birkenhead.

There were a few black ones as well. I knew all too well when the last black entry was and it was mercifully a very long time ago. I didn't need to look at it to know what the comment column said.

Bastard hit me. Cut him, hurt him bad. LAST FUCKING TIME!!

I had transposed the words from my diary exactly as I written them. No, not written – more like inscribed. I had scrawled them in an angry red tirade, almost tearing the paper. I went over those last three words so many times. I had pressed on so hard the imprint could be seen for a dozen pages beneath.

The next entry was not for a while afterwards as he had left me bruised and battered, but I had left him with a few scars of his own and half an ear missing. It was a green entry – one of the good ones. My audition for Jytte, the agency owner who had finally got me off the streets and on the beginnings of an upward curve.

I went back to a more recent entry. Column A said 'Bethany & Sam'. There were 1's in the columns for new male and female partners and facials received. The orgasm count was high thanks to the evening Bethany and I had gone on to have after Sam left. The comments said, Bethany at last! Rescued a bad day. She was as good as I hoped. Better. I think we have a special one here.

My Chablis was nearly done and I didn't want to open another bottle so I poured myself a large gin and tonic and pulled up a movie file. I had played it so many times over the years. If it had been on video tape it would have worn through long ago. I knew it off by heart. I knew the five lines of dialogue that girl spoke, her exact inflection; the exact responses from her male partner. I knew when she grunted, sighed, moaned and groaned. I could tell you how many times she tucked her long blonde hair behind her right ear as she worked the guy's cock, how many times she looked at the director for instruction. The hard-faced woman had kept giving her hand signals and she was desperately trying to comply, but whatever pills they had given her had addled her brain and she was seeing things as if through a misted-up window. I knew exactly where the cum shot hit her face. I touched my cheek as I had done probably a thousand times before as the skinny girl with large tits and long blonde hair walked up behind the tall, unremarkable looking guy and slid her hand over the bulge in his jeans.

I mouthed the words with her as she spoke her first ever line in the porn industry. "That's a nice cock – wanna see what I can do with it?" In between that line and the final, inevitable, "I want you to come on my face," there were two "oh yeah"'s and one, "Harder, fucking harder."

Gina Harcourt - This Is Your Life.

There were three other movies out there somewhere but I had never found them. I had only found this one by accident and at first had barely remembered making it. My seven minutes and twelve seconds of fame. I had timed it once, from my slightly wobbly, stoned entry at 14:33 until my last, glassy-eyed look at the camera at 21:45. Unless I found the others, I couldn't even manage Andy Warhol's 'famous for fifteen minutes'. God knows, I had tried. Every search engine, every search term, everything I could recall from that hazy time. For the moment, all that I had of 'Georgie's' porn career was in this movie. It didn't even have a name, though I did get a credit.

As ever I paused it as the girl licked cum from her lips and smiled at the camera, just before it faded into the next scene.

Eighteen years ago. I had been down in London for a couple of months when the chance arose. I thought it would be a chance at fame and fortune but soon realised that I could make more from the day job. Besides, it had not been the best of experiences. I was still glad I had done it – Josie was jealous as hell even though she had earned a damned side more from her erotic modelling than my brief dalliance in the adult industry would ever net me.

Maybe one day I'd find the others – one was a solo masturbation with jerk-off instructions. A slutty blonde smoking a cigarette, playing with herself and talking dirty in a Liverpool accent. Another was a long, slow blowjob with an in-the-mouth cum shot. The last was a pretty good, varied foursome that ended in a great cum-swap. I'd pay a lot of money for that last one.

Maybe one day.

Maybe I'd show it to Bethany. She was good with computers. She may be able to find the others for me. I hadn't told her about this little part of my life yet. Nor how I had gotten into the oldest profession. I had told her everything else. Maybe it was time.

I refreshed my drink and went through to the bedroom, putting my bathrobe on the bedside chair. I took out a rubbery black vibrator and a magic wand from the cabinet. Closing my eyes I imagined the black dildo was Mick's cock going home and the magic wand was Bethany's sweet mouth on my clitoris. Even with my vivid imagination, it didn't quite work, but they both felt nice.

As I looked around the luxurious London flat, I thought of how far I had come. I thought back to another entry in my spreadsheet, from very early on when I was a couple of months past my eighteenth birthday. Column B said 'Myfanwy's Flat', and it was very a different flat from where I was now. The comments column said, 'First paid gig. I'm a pro!' I still recall writing it in green ink in a very shaky hand. On the spreadsheet, I had entered it in green Comic Sans font for effect.

I had not long left school and had somehow got a job in an office. It was a crap job, but as I had been crap at school it was no real surprise. I was lucky to have got anything at all with my results. As with at school, I was getting a reputation for being an easy lay and word was getting around about my skills in the oral department. I'd had some nice encounters in store cupboards and the adjacent warehouse, and one of the office managers was getting to like our regular Tuesday night sessions in his office even if I wasn't. I had come to realise that it was virtually the sole reason he had employed me and continued to employ me, and it was wearing very thin indeed.

This particular Friday night, one of the girls in the office was having a party, so I went along hoping for some action.

Somehow, I ended up with a new job; one that I am still employed in today. It didn't seem like it at the time, nor for a long time afterwards, but it changed my life.

It was a typical late-teen party. Too long in the pub beforehand then too much cheap drink, too many cigarettes and too many pills. I wasn't in a very good state when one of the guys from the office started hitting on me. He was a horrible, sleazy type and I really didn't want to show him my tits or suck his cock as he very impolitely suggested I might like to do. He ended up with a face full of some hideous alcopop, the fad of the day back then, and a livid red hand mark on his fat, sweaty face. I ended up out in the street wanting to get home but not knowing where the hell I was.

It was a warm night and I didn't have enough money for a taxi, so I decided that if I found, then followed the river, I'd be ok. So I lit a cigarette and started walking.

I found the river easily enough and had been going along it for a few minutes when someone stepped out of the shadows in front of me, making me jump. In the streetlight, I could see it was a girl, probably a four or five years older than me. She was short, pale and freckly with a bob of jet black hair. It looked dyed. She was wearing a halter top and cut off shorts and suede boots up past her knees. I noticed other girls further on up the road, standing by the streetlights, smoking, looking around furtively. I may have been slightly out of it, but I knew immediately that I had wandered into the red light area.

"Sorry, didn't mean to shit you up. Just wanted to see if you had a cigarette?" She had an accent and it wasn't local. It was lilting and quite gentle and turned the end of her last sentence into a question. If I hadn't been so scared and so stoned, I'd have realised she was Welsh.

My heart was still pounding from the scare she had given me. I fumbled in my bag and brought out a packet. I handed her one with a shaking hand. She flicked a lighter at it and drew on it deeply.

"Ta, needed that." She exhaled and the smoke drifted out under the halogen of the streetlight. "God, I thought that last one was never going to finish!" She squinted at me through the smoke. I still hadn't said a word. I didn't know what to say. "New here are you? Not seen you before."

I realised that in my own garb, a black pencil skirt, fake leopard-skin print silk blouse and ankle boots, I probably didn't look out of place. Add in tits the size of mine and long blonde hair and you could forgive her for making the mistake. I tried to be offended but ended up taking it as a compliment.

I managed to stammer out some words. "No – I'm not workin' nor nothin' - just headin' home. Been to a party. It was shite, so I cut and ran." I gestured around me. "Looks like I gorra bit lost!"

She shrugged, smiling. "Yeah, we all got a bit lost down here luv." She took a pull on her cigarette and gestured towards me. "Stick around; you might earn some money, body like that."

I was rooted to the spot. She finished her cigarette and ground it out under her boot heel. "Don't suppose..." She pointed to my bag. In a trance, I pulled out two more and handed one to her. We both lit up.

"Candice." She held out a small hand. "Or at least that's me name down here. Myfanwy doesn't quite work in this line of business. It's Welsh, like. Same as me funnily enough."

I took her hand. It felt cold despite it being a warm night. "Sandra. Nice to meet you." It felt odd saying that to a street hooker, but I meant it. Candice seemed a nice girl on the face of it.

She had a pretty face, open and warm. I could see that she had to work hard to cover acne, but she had nice eyes and a wide, sultry mouth. I glanced at her bare arms. There were no marks there, so I assumed she was not doing this to fund a habit.

She caught me looking and laughed. "I'm clean. None of that shit for me. I do this three nights a week to make some money for Art College. Pays better than bar work and its sometimes more fun." She nodded up the road. "Look you'd best be off before you start getting offers. Thanks for the cigs."

I was about to say something when I heard a voice behind us. A Scottish accent – Glaswegian. "Evening Candy, who's your new friend?"

I turned to see two guys standing there, mid thirties. Just ordinary blokes, nothing unpleasant looking about them, nothing menacing or startling. Candice smiled and responded brightly. "Hi Joe, Greg. How you's doin'?" She glanced at me. "Look, sorry - she's not-"

I was about to cut and run for the second time that night when something snapped inside of me. Candice seemed so ordinary. These two guys seemed ordinary. I had been shagging anything that moved for the last few years. I was blowing my boss each week virtually to keep my shitty job.

Why not?

I flicked my cigarette away and put a hand on my hip. I tossed my hair and tried to look alluring. Maybe it was still the effect of the pills, but I thought it worked. "Hi, I'm Sandra – Sandy to you lads. Haven't seen much of Candy for a while, just catchin' up like. So, what's the deal, boys?" I put my arm round her and stood grinning up at the two Scotsmen. Candice's face was a picture.

The other one spoke. "Candy and Sandy, eh? Sounds good, Greg, no?"

Joe nodded, smiling at us. "Does too, Greg, nice ring tae it! So, the usual, eh Candy?"

She nodded mutely, almost unable to process what I had just done. He looked at me. "Make a change frae wee Ingrid up there." He pointed down the road at the next girl in the line who was staring at us. I was hoping I hadn't cost her any business when I saw someone approach her and she lost interest in us and began to make her deal.

Candice looked at me in amazement and then spoke. "Ok boys. The usual it is. See you in five, eh?" She took me by the arm and led me away. I waved at the two men and flicked my hair again.

She whispered to me, laughing. "Deal's done, don't overdo it!" We were heading towards a tenement style building a few hundred yards away. "Shit, you gave me a shock there. I thought you'd have fucked off the second they showed! Are you sure about this? Look, I can get one of the other girls-"

I cut her off for the second time. "Candice, I like a good shag, my job's shit. I'm prepared to give it a go. Besides, they look a bit more experienced than my usual suspects. I might even get off!"

Candice was giggling. "Oh fuck, go on then. I'm game if you are. They're ok, those two. They're down from Glasgow during the week, so they like a bit of company. Can't guarantee they'll let you come first though!" She got serious for a moment. "Once you're in there, there's no goin' back. My reputation..."

I was nervous as hell, but I wouldn't let her down. I tried to be as brave as I could. "I give my arse-faced boss a b-j most Tuesdays in his office. Probably keeps me in my fuckin' job. I think I can handle this."

She shook her head. "Fucking hell, I can't believe I'm doing this but I'll give you a chance. But it's my flat, so I want twenty percent. You can have Greg – he's a bit gentler. And insist he wears a condom. Even for a b-j. He'll moan and offer more money, but stick to your guns and he'll be ok with it."

I hadn't even thought about what I might be asked to do or how much I'd get paid. "Is there a time limit?"

"Don't worry, they won't last long enough. Besides it's my last job of the night. You can stay after if you want. Bit late to be wanderin' around these parts by yourself." She looked at me once more and shook her head. "Hope I don't fuckin' regret this..."

We had reached the door of her apartment building. She ushered me inside and up the stairs. It was dingy but not unpleasant. Her flat was small and smelled of curry. She said there were an Indian family downstairs and the smell was making me hungry. She showed me into a tiny room which just had enough room for one single bed and little else.

I heard a harsh buzzing sound from the hall and she turned. She put a hand on my shoulder. "Good luck, just be yourself." I sat on the bed as she closed the door behind her and I heard her say something into the intercom.

I muttered to myself, more for courage than anything. "Don't worry, Candice. I won't let you down."

Thirty seconds later the door opened and Greg was standing there, grinning down at me. "Wee Sandy, eh? Don't look so scared pet, I'm no' goin' to hurt you. I can tell you're new to this. Candice is a good girl, one of the best. You'll be fine wi' her." He moved towards me, smiling. "And me, o'course!"

Greg had not exactly been gentle, but I didn't care. He was a good fuck and I was experienced enough to let him do what he wanted within reason. As with most blokes, he was fascinated by my breasts and I let him tit-fuck me for a small bonus. I was relieved when he came and it was all over. He thanked me and said he hoped he'd see me again and that Joe would like me. A few minutes later I heard him and Joe stomping down the stairs and stared in disbelief at the envelope on the tiny table next to the bed. I got dressed, picked it up, opened the bedroom door and stepped into the small hallway.

I heard a voice from the other room. "You ok? Sounded like you were having a good time." At least I had made the right noises. I may have faked a few, but they were obviously authentic enough. There would be many more occasions ahead of me when I did the same thing.

Candice was sitting on the edge of the bed in a larger room than the one I had been in. It looked more like a bedsit. She held out the joint she was smoking and I took a hit. "Yeah, I'm ok thanks." I looked myself up and down. "Looks like I survived." I handed it back to her and she finished it off.

I made to give her the envelope but she shook her head. "All yours. This is one fuckin' weird night. A strange girl wanders onto my patch, I bum a cig off her and she ends up screwin' one of my clients. Does a bloody good job too. He was impressed. You deserve every penny. How d'you feel?"

I sat down next to her. "Not sure. I'm a bit numb to be honest. Can't quite get my head around it all." I swept my hair out of my eyes. It always was in a right mess in those days, hence my obsession with it now. "It was ok. Greg was..." My head felt clearer than before but I still searched for the words. I could only come up with, "...not bad. I... I think I could do it again. Yeah, I think I will!" I shook the envelope at her again. "You sure?"

She nodded and began rolling another joint. "You did a brave thing. Mad, but brave. Have this one on me. Next time - if there is a next time - I take a cut." She pointed at a tiny fridge in the corner of the room. "There's some wine in there. Tastes like piss, but we can toast your success."

I grabbed the bottle and asked her where the glasses were. She lit the joint and grinned up at me. "Fuckin' bottle's glass innit?" She took it from me and winced as she took a swig. She handed it back and I did the same as the acrid liquid hit my empty stomach. The smells from downstairs were really getting to me.

She must have read my mind as she picked up the phone and began dialling. She rattled something off into the receiver and sat back, sighing. "Right- wine and dope sorted. Pizza makes perfect. I like the look of you Sandy Sandra, but you were half off your head when you made your decision earlier. I want to get to know all about you. In the cold light of day, I'll decide if I think you have what it takes, not you. It's not always as straightforward as tonight. Oh, and you can call me Myf now we're not working." It sounded like 'Mivv'. She went on, sounding slightly rueful. "Myfanwy Morgan, known to the world as Myf and to the patrons of this fine parish as Candice."

I took a long hit on the joint followed by a swig of the wine. It didn't taste so bad the second time. This time I held my hand out and it was her turn to take mine. "Sandra Higginbottom. Known to the world as Sandy and in the shithole I call home as 'Oi, you...'

We began giggling, the dope getting to us. For some reason, I felt good.

A few minutes later, the harsh buzzer went again and Myf went downstairs, returning with a pizza box. We ate, smoked, drank and talked and it was starting to get light when we went to bed.

Greg was right - I was fine with her. We clicked immediately and became firm friends for many years. I only lost contact with her long after she had quit the business and had settled down to raise a family on a small farm back in Wales where they raised sheep and she had a craft shop – a legacy from her Art School days. She taught me a lot in those early days and helped me through a few dark patches before I signed on with Jytte's agency. She said she had seen a lot of herself in me. She had left a job she hated and come to Art College in Liverpool aged 23. When she ran out of money, a friend suggested a certain course of action that had worked for her. She had been doing it for nine months and while not exactly loving it, it was a means to an end and sometimes the sex was great. As she had said - "Sometimes - just like in real life. I'd be doin' it anyway, so may as well get something out of it, eh?"

I started slowly, doing one or two jobs a week and soon realised that it wouldn't take too much more effort to be earning more than my dead-end job paid me. Six weeks later, I went full time. I've never done things by halves, so my short career with Knowles & Sons (Birkenhead and Warrington) went out with a bang.