From dollars to esscentz, Part 1

Not too bad a week, smiles Rose as she stuffs abandoned lingerie and discarded condom wrappers into her gym bag. She'd managed to acquire a pretty reliable clientele of regulars over the past six months. Who were, well, exactly that. Reliable and regular. Paid the bills, predictable, didn't question her overly enthusiastic orgasms. Not that, she imagined, they even cared. After all, they were paying for it.

Rose snuggles into her oversized hoodie, exiting the lobby. She loves this time of day. That gap between darkness and morning rush hour, when everything still seems possible. The promise of new beginnings.

She breathes deeply, like she'd been taught to at the yoga classes she really should attend more often. Until her generous inhale fulls her nostrils with Nigel. A friend-of-a-friend Rose recalls fondly from undergraduate days, before heartbreak and the bottle saw him sleeping rough outside The Fats. Rose stifles a gag, reaching for the coin purse in her hand bag. Still digging for the purse, she momentarily freezes as her hand grazes something vibrating. Surely all the toys were tucked away in her back pack? Nigel arises from the grimey doorway, making a move to see what's delaying the small change.

Fucks sake, mutters Rose, detaching the bag from her shoulder and dumping it on the footpath, still sticky with beer and who-knows-what. Finally locating the coins in the better light, Rose picks up the phone in her other hand, the raucous of coins against a vibrating phone finally over. Emptying the purse into Nigel's waiting hand, Rose turns onto Cuba Street, thoughts turning to a takeaway cheese scone and latte before a long bath. Until she remembers that the vibrating meant a call, or as it turns out, half a dozen calls, all from her boss.

Reluctantly, Rose jabs the call icon next to her bosses face. Meghan answers on the first ring. Not a good sign. Rose inhales deeper than she ever has at yoga. Even deeper than before taking Mr Full Length into her mouth.

Babe, Michelle's sick. I've tried everyone. But all the other girls are down with it too. Food poisoning from that Thorndon orgy last night. Last time I let my girls be sushi platters, babe! The desperation weighs heavier than an 11 inch in Meghan's voice.

Rose rolls her eyes. Yeah, just like she never drinks on the job, certainly won't be eatting on it now either. Both the cock and the conversation must have been pretty bad to stuff themselves with warm sushi they were supposed to be modeling.

Baaaaabe! scretches Meghan bringing Rose back to the present moment. So, the job. Starts in an hour, if you hurry you'll have time to shower. Fuck it, okay, Rose mutters. Yay! Thank you! squeals Meghan, less boss than excitable blonde at her bridal shower. Rose scribbles the details in lip liner on her forearm, about to sign off from the call when Meghan starts...and Rose, it's Mr X.

Meghan starts blubbering fast talk now, about the $500 tip she'd likely get, how Mr X brings all his own toys so at least Rose doesn't have to wipe down all the gags and chains, and...wtf, the benefits of Voltaren on the wrists and ankles in advance. No longer fantasizing about sconey carbs and a long soak, Rose mutters all good, ends the call, and heads for the pharmacy.