Talulu: (Takes another sip of her drink) Near the very beginning of our rapidly growing business, one of the men, my friend hooked me up with, wanted me to do some very weird stuff. I'd of course heard about dominatrix behaviour before but honey, I'm not, nor ever will be a sadomasochistic partner for anyone. At first, when I saw the costumes and the weird paraphenalia: whips, chains, studded leather outfits and masks, I thought he was just kidding and laughingly said, "You want me to do what?"
However, from the expression I saw on his face, although he was smilling; I could tell he didn't find it humourous at all. Not knowing the relationship I had with my manager, he tried to coax me into going along with him by saying that he'd paid a lot of extra cash for my performance. When I told him he was a liar and said no, absolutely no way would I be a partner to his sick, perversion, he became very angry and locked the door. I tried to escape but soon found out there was no place to go; the only window in his chamber of sexual horrors, when I tore off the curtains, had steel bars implanted in the sill. When he eventually grabbed hold of me, I tried to fight him off but he was much stronger than me. The bastard basically raped me; nobody, just because they pay a lot of money for sex, should be allowed to do just anything they please.
Len: Can you tell me a little bit more about that bad experience Talulu? Like, how did you finally get away from that monster?
Talulu: Honey, it was one of the worst times of my life; if not the worst. This client or should I say sadistically perverted bastard was in a terrible rage when he went balistically mental on me. I won't go into any of the horrific ugly details; I'll just say he tied me up, beat me and did all manner of ugly things to my body – luckily I didn’t have any scars after I was released from the hospital or my days of being a successful hooker would have been over. (Wipes a tear away from her eye with the paper napkin her drink was sitting on.)
Len: Wow! I had no idea Talulu; what a terrible experience it must have been. It sounds as if you were lucky to survive. And, did your friend do anything about that; I mean, obviously he rented you out to a really bad guy?
Talulu: We were very new to the business and I don’t think we really concerned ourselves about what could actually happen when I was alone with a stranger. And like I said, many of the men I bedded were in the public eye – just like this so called gentlemen who was all smiles whenever a camera was pointed in his direction.
Len: But did your friend actually do anything about what happened to you. Obviously he couldn’t go to the police because of your circumstances and I take it he wasn’t a violent man.
Talulu: I have no idea how much time had passed before a passerby out walking his dog found me lying behind a dumpster in an alley and called an ambulance. I still remember looking at Cool Hands ( obviously not my friend’s real name) while I was heavily sedated. Although he was somewhat of a blur as he sat by the bed holding my hand (his hands always felt cool) there was something about him that looked different – a bit of the charming sparkle in his vivid blue eyes had faded. As I mumbled what had happened, at least as much as I could remember, he just sat there calmly stroking my hand – he never said a word, except told me not to worry; he’d come and see me everyday. When I went home, he actually hired a live-in nurse to look after me until I was fully healed.
Len: (About to interrupt.)
Talulu: But to answer your question; no, Cool Hands was not a violent man by any means. However, when I saw his eyes grow cold that night in the hospital and he became unusually quiet (it’s the really quiet ones a person should be wary about) and he said, “I’ll take care of it.” I knew Cool Hands wasn't about to let that perv get away with what he'd done.
Len: And what did Cool Hands do about it?
Talulu: Well honey, he never really told me if he did anything or not.
Len: Then maybe he didn’t do anything at all.
Talulu: Maybe not; all I know is what happened to me; happened to that son of bitch. Apparently they found him in a similar alley behind a dumpster about three months later after my beating; hardly a bone in his body wasn’t broken. (Winks, smiles and then laughs.) Not so sure that was a just reward, because he most likely really enjoyed getting off on all the pain, being the sadistic, masochistic beast he was. Someone really did a number on him, that's for sure but they didn’t kill him. I later heard he has to be fed through a straw and he can’t walk anymore.
Len: And you think Coo….
Talulu: Now did I say that honey?
Len: So, after taking such a beating, why did you continue in your trade? I’d have thought you’d have been terrified to be in a room with a strange man ever again.
Talulu: I was afraid alright but when Cool Hands told me it would never happen again, I believed him.
Len: But how could Cool Hands, (I like that name – reminds me of the movie Cool Hand Luke starring Paul Newman – vivid blue eyes and all) protect you all the time?
Talulu: Well honey, by this time, Cool Hands and I had made a whole lot of bucks. He invested his share in a suite that was made for love (sex anyway) - had all the trimmings – he didn’t skimp on a thing baby. Told me, he wanted total control of the environment – no more dropping me off at a rich man’s place of choice. I’ve never had a problem since with a client and business boomed. (Reaches over and shuts off the tape recorder – CLICK.)
Somewhat startled by her action, “If you don’t mind Talulu, I still have a few more questions to ask.”
“Honey, I wasn’t thinking of ending our conversation; I’m really enjoying it. However, every time I make the slightest move, the bartender has to pick his tongue up off the counter and stick it back in his mouth and I can just imagine, from the expressions of the men behind me that I can see in the mirror, what’s going through their little minds. I like you; you’re somewhat like Cool Hands – not your looks – but the way you come across – I feel I can trust you. Since the night is still young, if you don’t mind, I thought we could go some place more private.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, “some place more private” with this drop-dead, gorgeous beautiful woman – do big assed bears poop in the woods, I thought.
Like a big shot, I picked up the Shirley Temple drink tab and as we started heading towards the door, Talulu suddenly put her am through mine. I don’t know why but I suddenly felt like more of a man or perhaps more like a celebrity because everyone in the lounge turned in unison and watched us as we wove our way between the evenly spaced tables and chairs. When I reached the door, like a gentleman I opened it wide and said, “After you madam,” then looking back over my shoulder, I grinned at everyone; a phony smile but a smile just the same.
Once outside the lounge, the sun had set but it was still a little light out. As we started walking down the sidewalk, I asked her where she wanted to go and told her my car was just parked around the corner.
Talulu said, “I think we should keep the interview in context honey; let's go to one of the places I receive my clients. That will give you a much better idea how we operate and why our fees are enormous. We’ll take my car;” motioning across the street with her hand, “It’s just over there in the parking lot.”
I figured Talulu would be driving the latest model, some high end convertible but when she stopped beside a candy apple Lamborghini and started rooting around in her tiny purse for the car keys, my mouth fell open and damned near bounced off my foot. I don’t know what year it was but it looked brand new to me. She pressed a button on a tiny black box connected to her key chain and the doors, instead of opening out towards us, quietyly slid upwards. The automobile was so low to the ground; almost felt as if I should crawl in rather than just slide in and sit down. As the doors hissed shut and I adjusted my seatbelt, even though she’d barely put her foot on the gas pedal, I could feel the power of the engine press my back into the cushy pig skin seat. Heading towards the exit I asked unbelievably, “Is this yours Talulu?”
Looking at me sideways, she raised one of her immaculate, thinly drawn eyebrows and answered, “Of course. It’s one of several cars I own. The other ones aren’t as high class but that’s why I chose it; I wanted to impress upon you that I’m not just your average hooker.”
As she steered the Lamborghini effortlessly through the parking lot, then made a sharp right turn into the traffic, not that I would have noticed anyway, the headlights of a car parked just down the street came on and it swerved quickly behind two cars that were in the same lane as the Lamborghini.
Talulu looked great sitting behind the steering wheel; her well-tanned shapely legs rather distracting. Actually, it didn’t seem to matter where I looked at her; she was so beautiful, everything about her was distracting. As I looked ahead at the traffic and an upcoming green light I asked, “How far away is your place?”
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