The Rules of Prostitution

I'm going to apologise for this blog entry in advance.  I've done some quality over-thinking in a sort of 'out of the box' kind of way and it has lead me into a bizarre and inappropriate direction.

Again, sorry.....

Basically I am absolutely stony broke at the moment.  Depressingly broke in fact.  I had somewhat of a tantrum this morning as I left the house, and yelled up to my Tidiness Nazi of a house mate that I may just have to become a prostitute.

I've said it in grumpy jest before but today, in a full on grumpy mood and driving to work, I started to over think the implications of the major life shift I'd so casually bandied about in conversation.   How does one just become a prostitute any way?  I reflected that I could just hang around the docks, only the local ferry workers will have only been at sea for half an hour.  I'm guessing that this wouldn't therefore make any of them desperate enough to want to pay the likes of me.

...and how much would one charge any way?

I am a Stand Up so am hardly naive but I really don't know how much prostitutes charge and whether they have a going rate which adjusts to being down South.  I mean, I'd expect to charge one thing for a bit of a fiddle and something completely different for something more, erm..... 'involved' but y'know, you've gotta be competitive within the market.

How would one carry out market research into the working operations of one's competition?  I mean, I couldn't just go up to random blokes in the street and do a survey. I guess it would be even worse if I approached random women to ask if they were or had ever been a prostitute.  I was talking to my 'mental health twin' work colleague about it and was strangely comforted when she said she had considered and worried about the same issues (we're so alike it's frightening, it really is....)

...actually, I have to say - my mental health twin work colleague horrified me recently by getting cured!  There I was enjoying a bit of  hypochondria expecting her to join in with stories of lying awake in the wee hours just waiting for death due to some random and bizarre head twinge or something but she didn't!  She'd had CBT and had been taught to stop 'CATASTROPHISING' everything!  How rude - the biggest part of my existence is made up of over thinking pretty much everything to one of two final ends - my death or eventual ruin.  I am comfortable with these fears and actually once had a jolt when I realised I had nothing in my life to worry about.

...fortunately this only lasted for about 12 seconds before I remembered something.

So, back to becoming prostitutes.  Mental Health Work Colleague (MHWC) said that she thought she'd be able to do something with the 'Yummy Mummy' type market.  Being short, strange and a bit shit I reflected miserably that I'd have to try to appeal to a more specialised market.  My former Gym Buddy work colleague (of the headless, 3 legged cat skeleton) said that I could advertise that I was new to the game and therefore 'clean'.

Erm, cheers....

I then added that as I hadn't been able to pull for bloody ages I could advertise the non-bucketness of my 'love tunnel'.  The three of us nodded in agreement that this was a definite plus point when working out my potential prostitute tariff/advertising campaign.

With a face twisted with disgust I quietly asked MHWC whether we'd be expected to (cough) give oral sex to strangers.  Leaning forward she contemplated the prospect

MHWC:  ...well, if it was clean looking I might.

Me:  Would we be allowed to spray it or wipe it over with anti-bac hand gel or anything?

MHWC:  That'd sting it wouldn't it?

Me: Well you're the one with the boyfriend - can't you road test it with some and report back the results?

MHWC (uncertain): Erm......dunno really, I'm not sure he'd like it.

Me: Would we be expected to......y'know...

MHWC: What?

Me: Y'know!

MHWC (oblivious): No, what?

Me (whispering and with a traumatised expression): SWALLOW?


MHWC: I guess so, if that's what he wants.  I suppose you charge extra for that

Me: Sounds like we need to design some sort of comprehensive menu or something.  Is that what they do?  I really don't get it.  I mean, it's difficult isn't it?  If some old ropey slag does all that for 10 quid, is anyone going to pay for my prime, sort of unwanted, practically healed up 'lady garden' facility?  I keep it pretty neat but saying that, I did nick it shaving a few nights ago so it might look a bit damaged and scabby in parts...

MHWC:  The only problem is, you'd have to talk to people and take your clothes off and we all know that those are two things you hate doing.

Me (lost in thought): Yeah, 'cause remember that time I had my own aromatherapy business that I closed down?  That was because I didn't like people enough to touch them.  I really don't like people that much and if my punter wanted to chat or touch me in any way I'd probably go a bit strange and get that appalled look on my face, a bit like the shrunken headed hunter in Beetlejuice.  Me screaming, smacking his nob and running off would no doubt ruin his prossie experience and would prevent me from getting some extra dosh to see me through my current financially embarrassed state wouldn't it?

Former Gym Buddy:  I guess you could just do some more gigs and make some cutbacks.

Me: .....

Sigh, how much do prossies charge any way?  I'm still wondering.  It seemed such a good idea when I was in a bad mood this morning.  Hell, I even had my business logo planned.  Of course, a big part of me suspects the punters just jump on and have a good bang.  I don't think they'd appreciate me discussing my menu no matter how nicely set and printed it was.  I guess they'd appreciate the feedback form even less.