Cover of Working Girls (Widescreen)Friday, January 21, 2011
As a teenager I cleaned a bakery for cash after school. The handful of dollars it paid me was plenty for all a schoolboy requires, cigarettes, six packs.
I also cleaned the toilets out the back, they were shared by a whole row of shops and backed onto a mechanics workshop next door. After cleaning those loos night after night I noticed a crack in the wall gave me a glimpse into the mechanic's tea room and their posters of young ladies with their boobs out performing simulated sex acts on various parts of automobiles.
If you'd shown me such a poster under normal circumstances I would have commented on the embarrassing custom of Australian men turning their cars into fetish objects, I was a precocious little prick. Somehow peeking at those images through a crack in a toilet wall, when I should have been working, made it exciting. It was a glimpse into another world that I never knew existed. The girls in my upper middle class life didn't look like that. Their hair was never teased that way and they certainly didn't possess such enormous breasts.
I occasionally take coffee with a couple of working girls. They carry bags on their shoulders on their way home from work. I always wonder what's in those bags? Of course I've seen lingerie and sex toys before, but in the context of coming straight from a day at the brothel they seem more interesting than usual. Working nights I've always known a few strippers. Hearing their stories over a beer early in the morning is always fun. They are just work tales to them but to me they come from an exotic place I'll never know.
These working girls and strippers find their work pretty awful most of the time. It's a world driven by male ego, drugs, exploitation of the desperate. They treat it like work, they talk about most of their clients as if they had come in on the bottom of their shoe.
Chances are that the same guys who hang saucy posters in their tea room are the customers of hookers and strippers. In real life I find it sad and pathetic. I'm certain their wives and girlfriends do too. No one is ever going to offer me money to pose naked or have sex with them, I'll never pay for those services, it's all a fantasy world to me.
Glimpsed through a crack in the wall of the everyday the seedy appears exciting. I wonder if the people on the other side of the wall, those who live in that seedy world, ever sneak a look back at me?
Solo, acoustic Red Brown Dust available for download at iTunes, all the other sites.
I also cleaned the toilets out the back, they were shared by a whole row of shops and backed onto a mechanics workshop next door. After cleaning those loos night after night I noticed a crack in the wall gave me a glimpse into the mechanic's tea room and their posters of young ladies with their boobs out performing simulated sex acts on various parts of automobiles.
If you'd shown me such a poster under normal circumstances I would have commented on the embarrassing custom of Australian men turning their cars into fetish objects, I was a precocious little prick. Somehow peeking at those images through a crack in a toilet wall, when I should have been working, made it exciting. It was a glimpse into another world that I never knew existed. The girls in my upper middle class life didn't look like that. Their hair was never teased that way and they certainly didn't possess such enormous breasts.
I occasionally take coffee with a couple of working girls. They carry bags on their shoulders on their way home from work. I always wonder what's in those bags? Of course I've seen lingerie and sex toys before, but in the context of coming straight from a day at the brothel they seem more interesting than usual. Working nights I've always known a few strippers. Hearing their stories over a beer early in the morning is always fun. They are just work tales to them but to me they come from an exotic place I'll never know.
These working girls and strippers find their work pretty awful most of the time. It's a world driven by male ego, drugs, exploitation of the desperate. They treat it like work, they talk about most of their clients as if they had come in on the bottom of their shoe.
Chances are that the same guys who hang saucy posters in their tea room are the customers of hookers and strippers. In real life I find it sad and pathetic. I'm certain their wives and girlfriends do too. No one is ever going to offer me money to pose naked or have sex with them, I'll never pay for those services, it's all a fantasy world to me.
Glimpsed through a crack in the wall of the everyday the seedy appears exciting. I wonder if the people on the other side of the wall, those who live in that seedy world, ever sneak a look back at me?
Solo, acoustic Red Brown Dust available for download at iTunes, all the other sites.
No comments:
Post a Comment