Prostitutes – why do we hate them so much? Really – try and think of a name for a prostitute that is not used as an insult. We hate them in a way that goes far beyond any harm they could do us.
We don’t care about a girl who earns her living giving men haircuts, or manicures, or even therapeutic massages (but we insist on the ‘therapeutic’). But any girl who makes a living by offering sex… we can’t think of a punishment strong enough.
There is a universal shortage of pussy. Forget about the laws of supply and demand; half the population may have one, and the other half are demanding access as insistently as they dare but – not a chance! Who do they think I am?
It seems to be part of our make-up, written in the female genetic code in Great Big Red Letters. An unspoken tenet of the sisterhood is do what you like, marry who you like, but never offer sex for money. How strange, when you think about it. Why should you care what other women get up to? It’s never going to affect you, after all.
Men have a totally different attitude. For them, the difference between a haircut and a blow job is that one feels much, much nicer. If they could re-write the rules and have all the sex they wanted, I’m not sure when they would find time to eat and sleep.
The profession is so universally despised, it attracts the most desperate and the most hopeless. For every sensible girl working her way through college, there are thousands of losers, the bottom edge of society who think of themselves in pretty the terms their sisters use, and would never recommend their daughters to take up the life.
Such a shame, when you think we are talking about a sort of romance and sex, magical things that deserve better. It shouldn’t be negative or squalid, and I’m sure most men would prefer something more fulfilling, but who wants to thinks of the business as respectable? We actually want it to be hidden and furtive.
Oh well, that’s life, I suppose. But I don’t have to put up with it when I am writing. I can make the world a better place. What would happen if the most respectable of women were forced to choose…
It is the castle convent of Montebello, and a group of nuns have been forced to choose; run an officer’s bordello, or have the Army grab random village women to do the job. They will have a lot to learn…
Therese looked again in the mirror. The stockings made her legs seem very long. The black of the stockings and lace stood out against the white of her skin, and the neat patch of dark hair that Wanda had left was framed by the straps of the suspender belt. She found the picture interesting. Did all ladies look like this under their dresses? Nuns certainly did not look like this under their habits.
“Stop admiring yourself and put this on.”
Therese reddened and reached for the dress. As she pulled it over her head, it seemed no more than un-sewn scraps of silky material. She pulled the straps up onto her shoulders, and the dress hung loosely from her.
“Wait a minute.” Wanda was behind her and fumbling low on her hips. She found the zip and started to pull it up. The dress tightened; first around her hips, and then upwards. It squeezed her and tightened about her chest as Wanda clicked the zip home. The bodice of the dress trapped her breasts uncomfortably, and she reached into the décolletage to pull them into place. The effect shocked her. The dress was cut so low that her breasts were almost completely exposed. Worse still, they were lifted up and offered like two ripe fruits on a tray. She stared in horror at the mirror.
Wanda stood back and looked at her critically. “That’s a very good fit. Especially at the front. Turn around!”
As she moved, she found her legs restricted by the tightness of the dress around her thighs. In the mirror she could see the shiny blackness moulding her hips and thighs. A lacy flare reached down from her knees to her ankles. Her bottom looked big and obvious.
Wanda clapped her hands and laughed. “Dear Serge! He loves a good dupka, though not usually female ones. He just can’t help himself. I must get a photograph of you. He’ll be so happy.”
“But it’s not like me….”
“Of course not. You used to be a nun, but now…now it’s perfect. If I looked like that I could be Queen of Vienna. Stop complaining and see if you can do your hair and makeup the way I showed you.”
The room was dark when they entered, lit only by the lights behind the bar and a single bulb of the many in the chandelier. Mefist sat at a table at the edge of the dance floor, and he stood to receive them. The table had glasses, a candle and a bottle of champagne. Wanda led her to him and twirled her around.
“Doesn’t she look beautiful? Serge deserves a medal, and he’s never even seen her.”
“My dear, you look wonderful,” said Mefist, bowing to kiss her hand, “and you too, Wanda. If you were in Vienna together, your beauty would set the world on fire. Sit down and we’ll toast the future.”
While Mefist filled their glasses, Wanda put a record on the gramophone. American music, Cole Porter. The curtain over the entrance to the girls’ rooms rattled aside, and they danced into the room.
Therese was stunned. After seeing the girls dance naked for so long, seeing them in their new clothes came as a shock. Not that any of them had dresses. They all wore stockings and heeled shoes, but none of them wore knickers. Above their stockings they wore a colourful mix of underwear. Short slips, lacy brassieres, bustiers or transparent night dresses, all different. As they danced in the semi-darkness, they hinted at sex and wickedness. Therese had seen none of this worldliness in them before.
“Dance with them,” whispered Mefist. “They’re your girls….”
Moving carefully in her high shoes, Therese was passed from arm to arm as she danced. Suddenly she no longer knew these girls, these beautiful women with their erotic clothes and their naked, siren sexes. They were elegant and smooth in her arms. Their hair swayed as they moved, and their red lips smiled at her. They frightened her.
Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at :