AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER THREE
Jessica
The next morning, I go to the local corner shop to buy some groceries for my mother. As I approach the newspaper stand, I scan the covers of the Sunday tabloids. Dripping with double entendres and copious helpings of scandal, I never buy them but always read the headlines for a bit of a laugh. In our household, Cynthia is a committedGuardianreader and wouldn’t be seen dead touching what she calls the ‘sleazy red-tops.’ I’m inclined to agree with her, however, on this occasion, one particular story catches my eye.
‘I sold my virginity for £250,000,’ screams the headline ofThe Sunday Sport. Frowning, I step forward to take a closer look. The cover story features a photo of a stunning brunette wearing very little clothing, lips parted, cupping her breasts with a look that says, ‘come hither.’
Wow, what an explosive headline. I’ve got to hand it toThe Sunday Sport. They have featured some supremely crazy stories in the past but this one takes the biscuit.
For a second-long eternity, I gaze at the woman’s heavily made-up face and let reality sink in. She sold her virginity for £250,000.What the fuck?In one night, this lady made more than I’m ever likely to earn in my whole entire lifetime and all she had to do was have sex with someone who was willing to pay to be with her. Insane as it sounds, I admit to having a grudging admiration for her audaciousness and it does get me thinking.
All throughout my fundraising exploits, it never once occurred to me to enter the sex trade as a short-cut to success. Working as a waitress is good and honest work, but the money isn’t great and won’t be paying for Mum’s medical bills anytime soon. The astronomical sum this girl made from selling sex is jaw-dropping, but I know Mum would kill me if she ever thought I was considering selling my body for money. It would be like a knife in her heart because she has always had such big plans for me.
She wants me to go to university someday and do something academic with my life, something that makes use of my brains, so it would completely destroy her if she knew I was considering joining the world’s oldest profession.
“Your body is your temple,” she always says. “Never let a man take advantage.”Oh, what to do, what to do…
Biting my lip, I stare down atThe Sunday Sportagain and wonder if I would ever have the guts to do something like that. I too am a virgin—not because I’m a prude or religious, or particularly sentimental—it’s because I’ve never met a guy I liked enough to have sex with. Well, except for Jack Parker, but he’s taken so that doesn’t count.
Every time I’ve heard girls talking about their ‘first time,’ it always sounds like such an anti-climax and not particularly enjoyable. And nine times out of ten they nearly always end up breaking up with the boy, so would it really be so bad if my first time was with someone who paid me?
I wonder if I could do it. I wonder if I could spend a night with a complete stranger for money, someone who I wasn’t in the least bit attracted to. Probably someone much older than me. It’s such a moral conundrum. Would I be compromising my principles to go on the game? Sure, I’m nowhere near as pretty as this brunette, and doubt anybody would be willing to pay me £250,000, but I could try for say £50,000 to cover all of my mother’s medical expenses.
Deep down, I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the sex industry (although I would never admit this to Cynthia). Ever since I watched Natalie Wood playing a stripper in the movieGypsy, I’ve always felt there was an excitement and glamour to it that is hard to surpass. Escort or stripper, the idea of being the object of desire and earning a living from it is undeniably sexy. However, the truth is, it’s probably just a naive daydream of mine that could never play out in reality. The world of Gypsy Rose Lee was always just a little fantasy, something I swore I would never act upon.
Until now.
Imagine that.
One night with a stranger could solve all my problems. One night with a stranger and afterwards I could get on with the rest of my life safe in the knowledge I managed to raise the funds required to save my mother’s life. It would be just a one-off, not something I would continue to do on a regular basis; a secret deal to solve all our money worries and give Cynthia the cancer treatment she so desperately needs.
With rising excitement, I decide I need to know more, so I pick up a copy ofThe Sunday Sport, at the same time grabbing yesterday’sSouth London Heraldto cover up my embarrassment. Mr Kumar who runs the newsagent is a good friend of the family and God knows what he’ll make of me buying this paper which treads the line of soft porn. He’s known me since I was ten and probably still thinks I’m all sweet and innocent. Sadly, that illusion is about to be shattered.
Somewhat sheepishly, I enter the shop and hastily browse the aisles in search of milk, bread and sugar. After I’ve filled my basket, I take my purchases up to the till and grab a couple of penny sweets to tide me over as I forgot to eat breakfast this morning.
Funnily enough, Mr Kumar barely bats an eyelid as he runs the newspapers through the till and keeps the conversation light by making jokes and asking me to pass his regards to my mother and Freddie.
Thank God for that.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I leave the shop and head for Clapham Common to get some privacy to read the story in peace. It’s a Sunday and the place is packed with families wanting to catch a bit of that ever-elusive British sunshine. After walking aimlessly for a couple of minutes, I finally retreat to a secluded clearing dappled with lights and shadows where I find a nice bench to sit on. Confident that there’s no one around, I unfold the newspaper and eagerly dive into the story.
It says that a twenty-something woman called Vanessa Taylor from Stoke used the services of an escort agency to set up an auction to sell off her virginity. Following a heated bidding war, a successful businessman (who the paper refuses to name) secured Vanessa’s affections for the princely sum of £250,000. What follows is a toe-curling description of their night of passion at a Mayfair hotel and I pretty much skim the rest. Their sexual shenanigans are of no interest to me, but at least I’ve got the information I wanted—namely, how to go about selling off my virginity. Quietly, I fold up the newspaper and put it to one side.
So, it seems I’ll need to find myself an escort agency…
I’m no expert in these matters, but one thing I know is that for the kind of fee I’m looking for, it will need to be one of the high-end ones. Somewhere located in the West End.
For a long time, I remain frozen on the park bench, battling with my conscience, agonising about which road to take. Could I really cross the Rubicon and do something that might change my life forever? In my head, I pick apart the pros and cons.
Pros: obviously, saving my mother’s life. Cons: somebody might find out and I’ll never live it down. Then there’s the potential long term psychological damage. What if after I’ve committed the deed, I regret what I did? What if I’m traumatised by the experience? Could I ever live with myself?
In the end, I decide to leave it to fate and toss a coin. Reaching in my jacket pocket, I pull out a 50 pence piece.Okay. Heads I do, Tails I don’t.
Heart thudding, I throw the coin in the air and catch it in my palm.
Heads.All right. Let’s do this.
Opening my copy ofThe South London Herald, I flip to the back pages to view the ‘Classified’ section. This is where people advertise everything from second-hand clothes and furniture to unwanted pet supplies. It’s also the place where premium rate sex lines, dubious ‘modelling’ jobs and escort agencies are displayed.
