THE PSO (Phone Sex Operator)

Dinner & Mr Rimjob

At the age of seventeen, Jane Sandra Brown was a force to be reckoned with.

Her Mother and Father had long given up trying to rein in their daughter. It was like talking to a brick wall…if a brick wall could give twice as good as it got.

Jane realised from a young age that she was untouchable.

Detention? She wouldn’t turn up.

Grounded? She’d teach her parents a lesson and disappear for a few days.

She got caught stealing from the corner shop once. The owner had his hand on the phone ready to call the police. Jane simple ripped a button from her school shirt and threatened to scream rape if he went through with it. Terrified of being labelled as a nonce by the community, the shopkeeper backed off. Jane showed up at the local lake ten minutes later and pulled out a bottle of vodka from the waistband of her skirt. Her friends cheered.

So, with her reputation and care-free, consequence-free lifestyle, it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone (other than Jane herself) when two months before her eighteenth birthday she found out she was pregnant.

“Who’s the father?” Her mother asked, face pale and grief-stricken. The poor woman looked much older than she was, her hair whiter than white.

Dad didn’t look at all startled by the news. At this point in his life he’d long learned to expect the worst when it came to his trouble child.

They sat in an armchair each; old and worn.

“I don’t know,” Jane admitted with a careless shrug, standing in front of them with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips smacked with the gum she chewed.

Mum’s features twisted, a mixture of horror and shame. “You don’t know.”

“No. I was drunk. It was a rave. Everybody was doing it,” she said so matter-of-factly her Mother wanted to be sick.

“Jane, how can you be so careless with your body like that. You could of caught something-”

“Darling,” her husband interrupted, sounding as if life had got the better of him. “What’s done is done.”

“But Patrick-”

He ignored her, speaking directly to his daughter instead. “You’ll move out. We won’t support you or this bastard child. It’s time you grow up and learn that your actions have consequences.”

Most people would have panicked having to face the scary, dark, unpredictable world all alone, let alone as a single teen mother. But not Jane. She knew she’d be fine. She always was.

The mother of her friend got her a job at the supermarket, but she quickly grew bored of mundane working life. She didn’t like how tired she felt at the end of her shifts and found herself wanting something quick and easy with better pay.

Dean, an old flame, gave her a place to live, reduced rent. A little bedsit above the local fish and chips shop. It was run down, dingy, and stank of mildew. Not ideal for a pregnant girl but it’s all she could afford. The wallpaper was peeling, the ceilings cigarette yellow. It didn’t even have carpet.

“Let me know if you want to earn a bit of easy money,” he’d leered when she collected the keys. He was older than her, way older, too old for the thing’s he’d done with her in the past. Jane knew exactly what kind of jobs he had in mind for her.

It was the unyielding pressure of working a normal 9-til-5 with the near-constant lingering exhaustion of pregnancy which propelled her to accept his offer.

Even now, years later, she never doubted her decision to do sex work. It empowered her. Made her feel sexy, desired, in control. She could work on her own terms. Men worshiped the ground she walked on. Women didn’t tend to like her too much, but that was okay because she wasn’t fond of them either.