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. I was with my friend Ariella in her brother's tree house, and we found his stash. Giddy and flushed, we pored over each magazine, carefully inspecting the curves and body hair we hadn't yet developed. There was one picture I lingered over: a woman lay on a massive white bed, surrounded by silk sheets and fluffy white pillows. Her legs were spread toward the camera and she was holding her pussy lips open. This was my introduction to sex work. It was also the first time I was attracted to a woman. It didn't occur to me that the woman was being objectified or degraded. To me, she was S – E – X.
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After I dressed I went to the front room, where Leah gave me an application to fill out. There was a section for measurements. Next to "cup size" were two choices: real or implants. I checked "real." On the following sheet I listed my turn-ons (tattoos, piercings, massages and good food) and turn-offs (egregious amounts of body hair and poor personal hygiene). I didn't want to sound prissy, silly or smart. I just wanted to seem unobjectionable. I gave the completed forms to Ray, sat down and asked for a beer. I figured it would impress them if I hung around.
Throughout the night calls came in, which Ray and Leah answered. At some point, someone called a delivery service and ordered pot. Someone switched the CD, someone else vetoed Justin Timberlake.

"Who wants to go?" Ray asked. "Short Chinese guy, comes in two seconds. Last girl had an easy time."

    A caller requested a thin blond girl. Ray cupped his hand over the receiver.
    "Who wants to go?" he asked. "Short Chinese guy, comes in two seconds. Last girl had an easy time."
    "I'll do it," said Bella. She was a ballroom dancer with a narrow face, sky-colored eyes and bony shoulders. She'd arrived a few minutes after the delivery service guy left, taking the place of Emilia, a thick-boned Monica Lewinsky type who'd gone home early to write a biology lab report. This was Bella's first night on the job. She fidgeted in her chair, smoking cigarettes and twisting her dry, bleached hair around her fingers.
    Ray spoke into the phone. "Okay, we're sending over a beautiful girl. Hottest girl we've got." He paused and gestured to Bella. "He wants to know what kind of shoes you're wearing."
    Bella looked at her scuffed tan high-heeled sandals. "Nine West," she whispered.
    "Manolo Blahnik," Ray told the receiver. Bella's eyes went wide. "Okay, we'll send her over. She'll be there in thirty minutes." Ray hung up. "Are ya ready? We'll send you over in a car."
    "He's gonna see my shoes!" shrieked Bella.
    "He's not gonna be looking at your shoes," Ray sighed. "Now listen, we said seven hundred. But see if you can get a thousand. Do it right off the bat, as soon as you walk in the door. And do it with your clothes off. You're much more powerful with your clothes off."
     Bella nodded. She didn't look eager to negotiate. "What if he doesn't want to pay a thousand?"
    "Well, that's up to you," Ray shrugged.
    "You're worth a thousand," Leah interjected firmly. "If he says no, leave."
    Bella glanced at Catherine, Marisa and I. "All right guys, wish me luck. No less than a thousand."
    Ray's excitement approached that of a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. "Remember, clothes off first thing!"
    As Bella left, a sleek young Asian woman — shiny, black shoulder-length hair, pointy-toed boots, high cheekbones, impeccable skin — stumbled downstairs with a stocky, dark young guy. They were bleary-eyed and startled to see us. The guy nodded, head down, and left. The woman sat down, smoothed her hair, crossed her legs, and introduced herself as Sandra.
    "How'd it go?" asked Leah. "That was her first time," she explained.
    "Fine. It was good," said Sandra. "What I expected." She didn't elaborate, and no one asked her to. Sandra lit a cigarette, picked up an issue of Maxim and casually flipped through it. You never would've guessed she had just been naked, ass in the air, with some guy pumping at her. Had she just made a thousand bucks?
    I looked over at Catherine. Tall and catwalk skinny, she had been working in a strip club in Queens but wanted to make more money. She had long, straight brown hair, and wore a lot of blue eye shadow and tight black pants. Her trashy club-girl look didn't quite match her contained demeanor. At first I thought she was older than me, but she turned out to be only nineteen.

She had breast implants that she'd paid for by working at McDonalds.

     Marisa was a twenty-one-year-old Dominican with a charming soft accent. She was curvy and short — a couple inches over five feet — with breast implants she'd paid for by working at McDonalds. After a bit of Ray's cajoling, Marisa opened her shirt and showed us her boobs.
    "You can touch them if you want," she told me shyly. I poked the right one, which was hard to the touch. Ray told her she was lucky to have such nice ones.
    Like me, Catherine and Marisa thought they were applying to accompany men to dinners. They had gone through the interview process that day, had been accepted, and were hanging out to see what exactly they were getting themselves into. Unlike me, they had qualms about whoring themselves out. While Leah was on the phone and Ray was looking at something on the Internet, Catherine and Marisa began to talk.
     "You know," said Catherine, "I really thought I'd just be going to dinner."
    "Me too," said Marisa. "We were so stupid."
    "I think you'll feel better after your first time," Sandra said.
    "Really?" Catherine raised her right eyebrow.
    Suddenly Leah was standing over us, flashing a tight smile. "How're you ladies doing?"
    "Fine."
    Silence.
    "So, Leah," said Catherine. "Do we have to sleep with the guys? Is that part of the deal?"
    "Um, yeah," Leah sighed. "You can't take their money and then not go to bed with them. Of course, you don't have to, if they don't want to. Some guys just want to talk. But if they want to, you can't say no. That's what they're paying for."
    "I don't think I could live with myself if I did this," Marisa shuddered.
    "You mean you've never thought about it before?" Ray was incredulous. "You don't pay all that money for fake boobs just for yourself!"
     Marisa shook her head.
    "Then what are you doing here?" Ray said.
    "The ad didn't say anything about sex," Marisa murmured.
    "Oh, come on." Ray scoffed. "What did you think it was?"
    "I thought it was for dinner!" Marisa said.
    "No, you didn't. Come on. Who pays that much for a dinner date?" Ray looked at Marisa, Catherine and me.
    "Listen," Leah said evenly. "How many people have you slept with?"
    "Just two," said Marisa.
    "Two! And you're twenty-one?"
    Marisa nodded. "My family, my sisters, they taught us to wait until marriage."
    "Same here," Catherine mumbled.
    Ray turned to Leah. "Leah, my dear, how many have had the pleasure of your lovely body?"
    "I'd say about forty."
    "Sandra?"
    "Probably thirty."

I've seduced guys into threesomes, been drawn into a foursome.

    Everyone looked at me. "I don't have an exact count. Fifteen, maybe."
    Catherine, suddenly the authority, turned to Marisa. "You shouldn't be doing this if you've only slept with two guys."
    "A lot of girls who come in here have only slept with three or four guys," said Ray.
     Funny, I thought, he forgot to mention if those girls actually took the job.
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