The Scorpion's Sweet Venom Read Online Free PDF Page B

option . . . Washing the linen and clients' towels was the launderette's job. But the girls had to change them,
     otherwise they got revolting. Exceptthat (don't tell) it wasn't one sheet per client. Sometimes it was the same one all day
     long, where several men had been. Smooth out the creases and volla. I was always asking if I could change the sheets. Since there weren't that many, and she didn't want spend much at the launderette,
     the manager used to get angry and say no. Sometimes I'd spread gel on the sheet on purpose so she'd have no choice. She used
     to tell me off, of course. But I didn't care.
    The first time I moved houses was about seven months after I started working. Actually, the madam of the house on Alameda
     Franca kicked me out, together with two other girls, because someone had told her we were smoking dope in secret. Although
     I'd met some really nice girls, with stories very similar to mine, there was a lot of jealousy. After all, the girls are competition
     for one another. That was why I'd never wanted to work in places like Cafe Photo or Bahamas. Just think! If it was like that
     with just ten girls at the brothel, imagine a hundred! I also don't like the idea of having to solicit clients. Either they
     want me and come to have sex, or I'm not interested. Since the most important thing in this profession is your body, there's
     a lot of bitching between the girls. It's not easy to make real friends in this business. I've never worked in a company,
     but I imagine it must be thesame . . . So when you're chosen by the client, you'd better beware, because this is when the
     lid comes off. On one such occasion, a backstabber decided to let the cat out of the bag about the dope to make life hard
     for me. It worked.
    I ended up going to a yellow house on Alameda Jurupis, close to Ibirapuera Shopping Centre. I had to keep working. It only
     lasted a few months because of a twist of fate. Mari called me one day saying that lots of clients were walking out of the
     Franca house because I wasn't there any more. As a result, the madam, Larissa, had to swallow a bit of pride and ask me back.
     I liked the house and went back, but only to work, since I'd rented a flat for myself on Avenida Miruna, in Moema. Although
     I'd blown a lot of money on alcohol, dope and coke, I already had some savings from the house on Alameda Franca, before they
     kicked me out. Since no bank would let me open an account (try doing this when you're an eighteen-year-old prostitute, with
     no recognised profession or fixed address, except the brothel), I went around with my money in a little bag, always worrying
     about it. I rented the flat more to have a place to hide my savings - and slept there because I'd already paid for it.
    My return to the Franca house wasn't what I'd expected. The girls I knew were no longer there andit was all very strange.
     I needed action, something new, a horizon. I was also depressed, a bit lost and really wanted to give up coke. I knew that,
     if I didn't get my act together, I'd completely lose myself, with no objectives, just fucking all day long so I could snort
     and smoke after work. In other words - the image of a sorry, worn-out pro who ends up alone on a street corner or hanging
     out the window of an old house. I was determined to save enough money to be independent, without having to support some pimp.
     So I'd have to work more. A girl who lived in my building told me about the 'Big Twenty'. A pat on the back for whoever figures
     out the name. I was really curious to know how a girl could sell herself for 20 reals. If it was about quantity and high turnover, I was all for it.
    She took me to a place in Campo Belo. It had a high client turnaround, lots of tiny individual rooms, zero luxury - and hygiene.
     A squalid, filthy fleapit. Imagine a room so small that the only things that fit in it are a rickety chair and a single mattress
     on the floor with a disgusting sheet on it (that's