Ecstasy by Madame B

Author:Madame B
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.

A WORKING GIRL

There are a lot of things nice girls aren’t supposed to do. Being paid for sex is one of them, but you’d be surprised how many women I speak to who have tried on the world’s oldest profession for at least a night or two. This is by far the most orgasmic account of a woman’s experience of prostitution I’ve ever been told.

It takes a lot of money to look like me: the red-gold highlights that I never allow to grow out, the always-matching underwear, the bikini line that’s freshly waxed, the must-have bag, sky-scraping heels in this season’s color, plus cab rides everywhere because I can’t walk in them. You name it, I’ve gotta have it. From my personal trainer to my weekly massage. I’m a regular Park Avenue princess.

Shame, then, that I’m a magazine assistant struggling on a salary that barely covers the basics of food and shelter here in Manhattan. The difference between my champagne lifestyle and lemonade budget came to a head last year, when I finally sat down and looked at my finances, confronted the credit cards I’d used to pay off the store cards, the overdraft that grew every week, and the loan I couldn’t pay back. I was over my head to the tune of about fifty thousand dollars, and I had no way to raise that kind of cash.

I couldn’t tell anyone at work about my predicament. At the upscale magazine where I work, we have a weird attitude regarding money: We don’t talk about it. Probably because it’s never an issue for most of my coworkers. The staff consists almost exclusively of pampered white girls who’ve had money since the day they were born. Their Upper East Side apartments have been in their families for generations, and if they run out of cash, they can call Daddy, and he’ll have his accountant wire a few hundred dollars to keep them going till the end of the month.

But when you’re losing sleep over your debts, something’s going to give, and one day Annabel, my senior assistant, found me crying in the ladies’ room. She’s the last person I wanted to see me in tears. Blond, sleek, upper-class, she’s the embodiment of perfect poise. For her to see me lose it like this meant I could kiss my chance of promotion at the magazine good-bye.

“Kerry!” she gasped when she saw me, mascara running down my face. “What’s happened?” I blurted it all out: the mountain of debt, the pressure I’d been under to maintain a perfect glossy exterior. I knew that letting my guard down like this would result in my becoming a social outcast, but what the fuck? At this rate I’d have to leave Manhattan within a couple of weeks anyway, and it felt so good to finally confess to someone about my double life. The relief was immense, like taking off a layer of clothing on a sweltering day. To her credit, Annabel didn’t judge me or tell me off.

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