They call me The Lady of the night because that’s what I am. I am that person with whom everyone wants to be – but not forever. They pay me to be with me; that is all our relationship is — a transaction.
Every night is new for me, for I dress that way. I look my best self so people can come to me like moths to the fire. The only difference is I don’t burn anything. The moths burn their desires on me, leaving me soaking in their filth. Some say my job is terrible, but I see myself as a butcher. Sure, my job stinks, and it’s dirty, but it’s work. A contract killer, a smuggler, a drug dealer, all of them are bad. But they say mine’s the worst. I’m no philosopher, so I’ll leave the thinking to those thinkers who criticize, condemn and talk about women’s rights and sneak their way to my bed anyway.
I start my day at Sunset, so my days are longer in winter. It’s also the busiest time. People get horny in winter a lot. I used to stand on the roads late at night, near bus stands and railway stations. That’s where most decisions happen, and that’s where people are too tired to think. There’s no point in knowing how I got here, but knowing, understanding and accepting that someone always owns me is the point. When someone pays me, they own me for a bit of time. Else, someone who runs the show owns me.
They don’t come and tell you that you belong to a pimp. When you talk to someone, you just figure it out and obey. It’s a trade trick that helps to keep everyone their hands clean.
Someone who owns me walks to me one day and tells me that I’m now going to attend hotels. It’s slang for a prostitute’s promotion. It means now people get to fuck me at a specific location, and I get paid more for it. Well, the owner gets paid more, but whatever sells.
I see all kinds of people in their authentic selves. They take off their clothes and let their guards down. Sometimes I see men and, at other times, women as well. The women are more guarded, so it’s hard for me to tell what they’re thinking. But men are crystal clear to read. I was told that the way to men’s hearts is good food but trust me, I say this with experience; it’s usually cruder than that. For some, it’s fucking in the ass; for some, it’s giant boobs and blowjobs; for most, it’s beating during sex (whatever gets them off, I’m not here to judge, remember?), but this one man had something different going on. For some reason, I remember him.
It was a Monday night, the slowest for our business. When I was on the street, I used to stand for hours before some drunk picked me up but comparatively, it’s better in the hotel. I get to sit down. My owner deals me with someone, and I get a call. I go out of the room, meet the customer, he does his job, pays the owner or me as decided, and he leaves. It’s a simple process.
I had done two customers already at 11 pm on a slow day – which was terrific. I was exhausted, though. The first customer was a middle-aged man in his fifties who did it quickly, and the second was a woman. She took a lot of time to finish and insisted on two orgasms. Women’s orgasms are not only long but exhausting as well. It’s not as quick as men’s orgasms. Pleasuring a woman is no easy task, and the best way to do that is not do it at all.
I returned to my room and took my third shower of the night. I don’t want to say I don’t want money, but I don’t want to get fucked for it. To be honest, isn’t that what everyone does anyway? Who gets paid without getting fucked? Especially the people who have ‘legitimate’ jobs.
I walked out of the shower and saw three missed calls—two from two of my work colleagues and one from my owner. I called the boss first.
“There is a customer.” Came the voice without any formal greeting.
“I went for a bath. I’ll be there in some time.” I said.
The voice on the other end hesitated.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This guy likes younger women.” His voice whispered.
“Got it,” I said and hung up.
People had fantasies, and that’s fine with me. I am here to fulfil them anyway. Some had a fantasy of being with a young girl, some wanted to fuck a tall girl, others wanted thick girls, and on and on it went. The list was endless. This customer wanted young girls, so I had to dress like one: tight jeans, a t-shirt with a big neck and fancy perfume. While getting ready, I called my other two colleagues, who said this customer rejected them for wanting a younger one.
It’s so sad when a prostitute gets rejected. We have a hard life in our old age when our bodies are no longer our income source. Sure some horny kid comes over once in a while, or some drunk guy with a fantasy of a fat woman, but it’s not consistent.
I went out dressed younger. My boss was standing with a guy who looked hesitant.
“Is she okay?” asked my boss, and the guy nodded. I noticed a hint of excitement.
I had big breasts and a big ass – most of the guys liked either of those, so I was never rejected.
I walked to the room with the guy behind me. I opened the door and lay down. I never took off my clothes unless told by the customer. The guy was slightly awkward. He sat on the bed and tried to relax. I could sense his excitement and nervousness.
He laid down next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
“What’s your name?” he asked, slightly lowering my shirt.
“Tamanna“, I lied. That was a business name.
“That’s a lovely name,” he said, inching slowly towards my breasts.
“What’s yours?” I asked.
“Subhash,” He said, and I saw a hint of instant regret in his eyes for sharing his real name.
I put his hand on my breasts to get things rolling. So that I could be done with this, he squeezed them gently. I pulled him closer. I could hear his heartbeats. He stopped me and got up to get undressed. He looked around the room and found the light switch. The moment he switched it off, it became too dark to see. He turned it on and murmured if he could find a small light.
“Turn on the washroom light and open the washroom door slightly and then turn off the main light,” I said.
I did this all the time. The slit of light was equivalent to a night bulb. He followed what I said and now came closer to me than before – the darkness instilling confidence in him. He started getting me undressed. I obeyed.
Then he turned me towards him and asked, “Can I hug you?”
I’ve seen many requests over the years. Sucking first, kissing, gentle touching or full-blown sex. But this request left me confused. It also left me vulnerable. He might’ve sensed this and was beginning to talk when I agreed and pulled him closer.
He hugged me, and that hug was pure, gentle and a cry for affection. Would you believe if I said a prostitute would feel her body exposed, like something being taken away from her? Well, hugging him, I felt that. He took away something I didn’t know I would mind losing. My body has been used by hundreds of men and women – in every imaginable way. But this hug… just was overwhelming. His arms were around me and mine around him, and we were in that dark room, quiet, feeling each other’s breath against each other. I had forgotten this feeling for a long time.
He later finished his business, but two times before leaving, he hugged me just like that. The first time was midway through sex, and the second was after. I could feel his sweat and labored breath. But every time he hugged me, he touched a part of mine I didn’t know existed anymore. He made me consciously aware of my being naked, and trust me, you can’t do a lot of things to embarrass or shame a prostitute.
Maybe this guy didn’t get enough love. He looked in his late 20s, and I saw no ring. He could have no one to love him back, or he is just another horny teenager, or maybe he was deprived of affection. In any case, he looted some from me that night.
Towards the end, he tried to tip me, but instead, I hugged him. This time, a little warm and tight hug. He wasn’t expecting it, and the moment I took him in my arms, he melted. I could feel his tense muscles getting softer and softer until his hug was just as well cozy. I gave him a peck on his cheek and left.
I never saw that guy again or anyone like him. I continued my business for subsequent years until a drunk guy shot me over money one night. As my life flashed before my eyes, it stopped on that one particular night when a random guy made me feel like a woman. Whatever his reasons were for doing what he did, it affected me. In a good way, a memorable way.
They call her the lady of the night.
She’s a woman of the world.
And easy-living girl with love for sale.
That’s what they call her the lady of the night
by Donna Summer – Lady Of The Night.