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My name is Megan and, as you would guess from the name Scottish. I am 5ft 5”, blonde and 36:32:34 and men tell me I am pretty. Although Scottish my family moved to West London when I was 5, so I speak with a London accent. This is the story of how my journey from a working class wife to become a prostitute, no coercion and no drug addiction, just circumstance and good luck!
My relationship with Phil, my husband was going from bad to worse, we had got married when he was 21 and I was 18 and it was good for a couple of years, then he started drinking more and staying out. I think he was also seeing other women but I don’t know for sure, Phil worked on building sites and sometimes worked away from home. Money was also an increasing strain, I had been working in a shop but they had gone bust, we got some compensation but it didn’t add up to more than a couple of weeks money and soon run out. I have tried for jobs but there is nothing about and I don’t even rate an interview when one turns up.
Six months ago he came home from a job in Southampton and a row started, for the first time he slapped me, after which he apologised. But this happened a couple of more times over the next six weeks. It came to a head a week ago when Phil came home drunk and was looking for a fight. He started that the flat was a tip, then I was a lazy cow and a tart, he slapped my face hard enough to knock me off my feet, he then grabbed me by the hair and punched me full force in the stomach a couple of time, I was unable to fight back and he ripped my jeans and pants down and raped me up my arse. Although he has tried when making love in the past we had never had anal sex and I was still a virgin there.
I shocked and was in pain, but he pulled me up by my hair and threatened to give me more of the same if I did not shape up. He told me get my jeans up and get his tea. I was crying and scared so did what I was told.
Packing a bag with a few clothes and essentials I fled the home and, having no money, caught a train to Hounslow which is only 2 or 3 miles away. I went to a café and sat down with a cup of tea and thought what I could do but not really coming up with anything. I could not contact my father was an alcoholic who thought the man should rule the home and thought Frank was a real man, my mother had died the year before I married, perhaps that was what drove me to marry. Finally, I gave Isobel, an old school friend who, I had not seen for over three years a ring,. Fortunately her mobile number had not changed. Though tears told her of my situation, and she told me not to worry and offered to let me stay with her for a bit.
She gave me directions to her flat in Hammersmith where she welcomed me. Isobel shared the flat with her friend Angie who had made herself scarce so I could talk. Isobel told me not to be shocked but explained her and Angie actually worked as prostitutes. She told me that she had not been forced into it but it was her choice and that she enjoyed it, she worked at a house in Barnes two days a week and a Flat in Baker Street one day as it was best not to work where you lived.
After about a week I had settled in and felt I needed a job as I could not scrounge of Izzy, I had gone to the benefits office and signed on but that gave me £45 a week so would not even cover food yet alone a contribution to the rent! Angie suggested one night that the Parlour in Baker Street needed a “maid” and that this would give me £200 a week but did not involve sex work, just answering the phone, cleaning and receiving clients. This seemed fine, I certainly did not want to become a sex worker but had no moral objections and could do that. I was taken on working four days a week from 11:00 am to 10:00pm weekdays and 11:00 to 12:00 Fridays and Saturdays.
The day came and I was nervous. Finally I got to the Parlour and Isobel had selected my clothing, tiny black lace pants, black patterned hold up stockings, a black Basque with red lining a see through black negligee. I had been waiting about half an hour when the first client came, normally, the client would choose which of the two girls on he wanted but Felicity, the other girl on, told me as it was my first client it would be best for me to get it over with otherwise I would get more tense and nervous.
The client, Roger, was about forty and seemed more nervous than me. He told me I was beautiful and would like oral leading to sex. He gave me the £120 fee and I told him to take his clothes of and I would be back in a minute. I gave the money to the maid, who kept the takings, and went back. I lay on the bed next to Roger and caressed him for a bit, he caressed me, kneading my breasts and exploring my pussy.
Take my pants down” I whispered in his ear, he removed my pants and I rolled over and got a condom which I put on him, I then positioned myself so I could take his rock hard member in my mouth whilst he could squeeze my breast and buttocks. I rubbed up and down on his shaft, rolling my tongue on his member, stopping a couple of times so he did not get too excited.
And that was my first time as a prostitute. Five more clients followed that day and they were all different. I soon gave up being the maid and became a whore which I love. Moneywise life is good with me earning between £1200 and £2000 a week, I am a good girl and pay my taxes and love seeing my accountant, and apparently I am a part time model, demonstrator and magician’s assistant!
I have no complaints and make a good living – the money is fabulous but I know it will decrease as I get older so am building up a small no of properties and putting some money investments so when the time comes I cannot earn the money I will have a future. Mind you there is a market for mature ladies so I hope to still work whilst laying on my back till my 50s or 60s even if the pay will be less. .
