PARLOR DAZE.....(part 3).

This is the happy house
and we're happy here in our happy house.
We've come to play in our happy house.
And waste a day in our happy house.
We're all quite sane.....

So much happened in such a short time period.  Through good days and bad days, busy days and quiet days we lived in our own world of sex and drugs, but  above all friendship.

After my 'incident' with the client Graham gave me an extra job.  Every Friday I would start work at 8am cleaning the Tranny Parlor and then walk around to his private house and spend another 3 hours cleaning and ironing for him.

It was here that I got to know Graham  really well.  His lifestyle, his other 'businesses' and his vulnerability.  He was a weak man living in a tough world.  My shift at his house was always the same.  I would arrive to find him cutting up his weekly shipment of cocaine (of which he would promptly give me 2 or 3 lines) and then start with the ironing, the dusting, the vacuuming and then clean the bathroom.  Every week was the same and every week Tony would be with him - Tony was the strong man in the business.

The house had secret caches of drugs hidden everywhere.  I could easily have helped myself to any of these but never did.  I knew Graham was trying to look after me so I made sure I did the right thing by him.

So I was amazed one afternoon, high as a kite, when a truckload of police arrived at Graham's with a search warrant for drugs.  I denied any knowledge of Graham dealing in drugs and was really amused when the police 'searched' the house and returned with the remains of a joint which they said they found in Graham's bedroom.  Graham never smoked grass but having been tipped off the DEA had to return some evidence.  Graham was paying the right people!

I also started to get given more responsibilities at Brett's Boys.  Often Tony would be busy with Graham and I would take over all or part of his reception shift.  On other days I would be called in on my days off to be the receptionist at Diamond Lil's.

I was part of a big happy family.  Here I would meet my best friend Brett who would become my closest companion.   A vibrant optimistic and loyal country boy from the outback.  We became a team.  Betty and Constance!  In the times ahead we would share many fun times, comfort each other at other times and end up running the whole show (that will come later).

One night Michael, the receptionist, came in really stoned and plonked himself down on the glass top coffee table. Crash!  He went right through it and ended up on the floor in a pile of broken glass.  Betty and I used two broomsticks to hold him still while one of the other boys swept up the glass before we could get him standing and attend to his thankfully minor cuts.

Another night one of the boys crashed back into the parlour after a 3 hour session with a client which had obviously involved lots of alcohol and drugs.  The poor boy made it to the back courtyard before passing out. One of the drags decided to undress him, place his hand onto his cock and blob yoghurt in a trail up his stomach and chest........he was still in the same position at 10am the following morning when he woke up - with a cheering crowd of us laughing and taking polaroids.

Working the tranny parlour was always fun.  The drags always had the best drugs which they would share in abundance.  The street girls and their clients were always a good source of amusement too.  Each room had an intercom so we could buzz them when their time was up.

Most of the girls were junkies and their clients were often drunk so there were many occasions when we would find either the girl or the client passed out in the room - sometimes both.  Then it was always a dare for one of us to go upstairs and throw a jug of water over them....and run back downstairs like hell!  The girls or clients would eventually come down dazed and demanding to know what had happened.   Dripping wet, we would all sit there and deny all knowledge. Often having the temerity to demand an extra $5 for going overtime - this would become our 'grass money' which we would save and then  buy another stick to smoke during the night.

On many occasions we would have to drag some passed out street girl down the back lane and dump them on the street corner a few houses away.  There were a few occasions when we were pretty sure the girl (or  boy) had overdosed then we would make an anonymous phone call to the emergency services and hope the ambulance arrived  in time....

One of the funniest events was when I answered the door to find the police holding one of our boys.  They were explaining to me that the boy had stolen a car and crashed it and that as he was under age and had given our address as his home address where his parents were (I'm quite sure they knew it was a brothel).  Before I could even think of an answer, Betty came running down the hall and loudly told the police officer 'Never seen him in my life before Sergeant'! Then abruptly slammed the door shut in the police  officers face.

We never saw the boy or the police again.

Over time, both Graham's and Tony's involvement in the business lessened to the point where most of our contact was little more than 10 minutes a day when Graham or Tony would come to collect the daily takings.  One day Graham announced that he had bought a 'girls parlour' out in the suburbs and that Tony would be running it.  To my surprise, I was not only offered the full time position of receptionist, but given Tony's shifts.  This actually meant that I had the full running of the parlour.  From rostering shifts and employing new boys to being in charge of the daily takings which I would take to Graham's house once or twice a day depending on the amount of money.  I was even given a key to let myself in and deposit the money into his safe.....

Life was taking on a new turn.

DEATHLY DAZE.....(part 2)

Although my days at Brett's Boys were some of the best times of my life, there were a few times that they became my worst.

As I related earlier, I would make a near fatal mistake in 'reading' a client and it was only my sheer determination to live, combined with a few other factors, which ultimately saved me from an early death.

Graham had sent me on an out call.  The client lived in the Sydney beach suburb of Manly, or rather had an apartment there which I felt certain was used only for his dalliances with boys.  Being a Saturday night I went with one of our drivers, rather than taking a taxi.  Arriving at the apartment which was located on the 10th floor of the building I was greeted by a very drunk and very large middle aged man.

As per custom we always rang in as soon as we had arrived at the clients place.  This was for both safety and timing reasons.  The client was not particularly pleased with me as he had asked for a 'straight looking, muscular boy'.  Graham, as usual, had sent me and told me to 'act the part'.  I apologised to the client and explained that it wasn't my fault but would be happy to return provided he paid the money for the driver.  The client softened at this and decided to keep me, told me to ring back and say that he would have me for 2 hours.

Cleverly I asked for the money in advance, which he gave me, and we spent the next two hours drinking whiskey, getting naked (and not much more) and then when the whiskey ran out, walking down to the nearest liquor store to buy another bottle.  When the time was up I rang the parlour to let them know I was ready and they beeped the driver who was waiting outside for me.  Graham asked me to remind the client that he still owed $200 for a previous call and that I was to bring that money with me.

When I asked the client for this money he suddenly went into a blind rage.  Before I knew what was happening he had punched me in the face, knocking me back  down onto the bed, then jumped on top of me and started to strangle me.

I managed to bring my knee up hard into his testicles and jump from under him.  I was desperately trying to reach the door, but he caught up with me and pushed me down the small flight of stairs leading from the bedroom to the lounge / kitchen area.  Then he pulled me up and pushed me straight towards the balcony sliding doors.  It was a small 'juliet balcony' less than a metre wide.  He was going to throw me over the edge!  

How I managed to stop him, I really don't know.  I remember desperately holding onto the wall and the side of the glass door as he repeatedly screamed and tried to push me out and over the balcony.  I guess being so drunk he was not as in control as he thought and I managed to push back against him, loosening his hold on me.  I hit the floor and crawled between his legs, again making a dash for the door but he was behind me in a flash.

The next few minutes were like a scene from a Charlie Chaplin movie.  Me running into the small kitchenette and leaping over the breakfast bar with him behind me.  I managed to do this 3 or 4 times before he stopped and double backed on me again pushing me down onto the ground.

On the wall he had an ornamental curved sword which he grabbed for and started swinging at me.  Using my legs I kept kicking him, trying to keep him and the sword away from me.  Finally I managed again to get a good blow to his balls and ran for the stairs.  He was on me in a flash, the sword swinging closer and closer with every stroke as I desperately tried to push him back using my legs.

Two miracles happened.  I heard the driver outside banging on the door and calling my name.  By this time I was screaming wildly, death by sword was inches away.  Then with an almighty crash the driver kicked the door open, pushed the client over the top of me and grabbed me by my shirt collar and dragged me out the door.

We went straight to the local police station where I spent the next hour telling a not very interested police officer my story.  It would only be later when Graham rang the police that they would press charges against the client.  For the first time ever, Graham, not only admitted his mistake in sending me, but also gave me a mogadon pill and let me sit out the back of the parlour with the other boys and get stoned.

The second time I felt sure I was about to be killed actually happened with one of the boys.  Funnily enough this was one of the boys I was closest too.  He was a big, muscular, rough looking boy but with a heart of gold or so I thought.  At the time he was probably one of my closest friends and constant smoking partner.  He used to call me 'little buddy'.

I was on the phone talking to a client (at this stage I had been promoted to receptionist by Graham) when the door  bell rang and down the hallway came the boy.  Whatever drugs he had taken had turned him into a raging lunatic.  He was yelling and punching the walls as he stumbled his way into the kitchen where our phones were.

Because it was him, I thought I would be able to calm him down.  With my hand over the receiver I abruptly and loudly said ' Allen, shut up, I'm on the phone to a client'.  Allen lunged at me and with all his force grabbed my head and smashed it into the side of the counter. Not once, not twice, but three times.  I was dazed and bleeding profusely.

It took 3 other boys to pull him off me but he was still screaming at me and trying to get at me.  I managed to run through the back door and jump the fence into the lane way where I headed for Diamond Lil's, screaming at my friend Brett to lock the door as I ran inside.  

Brett locked and bolted the door but the next thing we knew Allen kicked the door in with one almighty crash, he was holding a kitchen knife in his hand!  I made a rush up the hallway for the front door but was not quick enough.  As I reached the door Allen had me by the hair with one hand and as he swung his other hand back with the knife, unbelievably Brett grabbed the knife from him.

Allen didn't even register this and just swung at me.  I instinctively ducked and Allen's fist went straight through one of the door panels.  With Brett bravely trying to hold Allen back, I squeezed myself through the jagged opening in the door, my shoulders getting raked by splinters, blood everywhere and made it out onto the street.  Amazingly there was a taxi in the street which I managed to flag down and jump into.

I went straight back to my new terrace house.  Shock and horror etched all over me.  I even pushed the fridge against the front door, terrified that Allen would come after me.  I spent the next few hours absolutely terrified and getting stoned in between bouts of uncontrollable shaking and sobbing.

Later in the day, Graham rang me and asked me to come back to the parlour as Allen had 'recovered' and was mortified at what he had tried to do to his 'little buddy'!   It wasn't easy to do it, but with all the boys and Graham assuring me that Allen was truly sorry I approached him in the room alone.  He was crying and trying to apologize.......eventually we fell into each others arms.  Until the day he left he looked after me, brought me grass to smoke and wouldn't let any
one say a bad word against me.

The third time was so unreal that it was actually funny.  Graham had asked Brett and I to go over to Diamond Lil's (the Tranny Parlour) as both girls had been called away on an out call.  Brett was sitting at the back reception area, where the street girls and their clients paid there $5 room hire, and I was in the front room cleaning.  The trannies were notoriously lazy when it came to cleaning so I decided to give the place a good going over.

Over the noise of the vacuum cleaner I heard the door bell ring.  This was unusual as most clients came through the back entrance.  By the time I had switched the vacuum off and opened the front door, Brett was already halfway up the hallway.

Standing at the door was a very desperate looking junky guy holding a gun.  He had it pointed straight at me and said something along the lines of 'give me your money'.....(with the street girls calling all day, plus the tranny clients, it wasn't unusual to have quite a few hundred dollars in the 'till' at any time.  I totally froze and the next thing I know Brett pushes past me, tells the guy to 'fuck off' and with one hand slams the door shut and with the other hand pushes me and himself onto the floor.  BANG!  The bullet goes straight through the door and down the hallway where we eventually found it embedded in the back wall of the kitchen.

My next encounters with near death would come both unexpectedly and from the person I least expected. 

MUGS......(part 1.)

Naturally the main focus of Brett's Boys were the clients. Mugs as we used to call them.
They come in every shape and size, from all walks of life, from every culture and from every age.
From 18 to 87, gay, bi or 'straight'.  Some are wonderful, charming fun people, others are horrible bastards.

I've got at least 101 individual stories I could tell you but it's more concise to give you a cast of characters who I or my friends dealt with.  There are hundreds to choose from and others will be mentioned down the track.  

Generalizing extremely you get your regular gays.  Open and easygoing.  The richer the harder to please.  Sleazy gays.  Dirty old men who look revolting, smell revolting and are revolting.  Hey it's a job and you get used to it or turn off.  Nice guys living a straight life in the suburbs, some often married, but who come for gay sex once a week or once a month.   Finally you get your kinks.  They again come from all walks and types.

One of my favourites (there would be many) was one of my earliest regulars.  A young suburban boy in his early 20's. Great body, good looking and great fun.  He would bring a bag of  cocaine and we would snort and cavort for 2 hours every Friday for 3 or 4 months.  We had great sex, fun chat and a good time.

I went on an out-call to a local hotel one night.  The mug was a businessman, 40'ish, fattish and cosnistently during the very boring sex, he kept getting up off the bed and opening the room door and peering, half naked down the hallway.  Afterwards, or rather as I was getting dressed and he was standing naked looking down the corridor he  told me...'I'm sure there must be other men like me in hotels.  You know, married men who just want to have sex with another man?'  Yea, I'm sure there are but I didn't want to dissolution him with what I actually thought.

Colin was a regular at least twice a week.  Probably in his 30's, small and extremely overweight and unfortunately not quite right in the head.  He always chose either myself or another boy called Bobby.  He came dressed in a boy scouts uniform and had many kinks.

His main desire was for humiliation.  We could undress him, make him sit in the corner, sometimes for over 30 minutes, hit him, urinate on him (he was begging for it).....it was really sad and pathetic but he was an easy and regular client.

I once spent two hours with a rich young gay guy in an amazingly (for me) penthouse apartment.  Admittedly naked, but we spent the whole time smoking dope, snorting cocaine and talking about his collection of porcelain antiques.

A Queens Councillor who was also a weekly regular.  Always took a big strong boy.  Always arrived in a taxi, so drunk that I would have to take his wallet out of his pocket and pay the driver, and so drunk that it took 3 boys to get him upstairs.  Regular as clockwork, 6pm every Friday evening.  Must have been a tough day at Court.

There were minor and some major celebrities amongst our clientele.  Again a mixed bunch.  Some regular in their desires others way off the deep end in the kinkiness.  Privacy is something I respect so I would never reveal names or fetishes.

Everyone's favourite was big in the Australian music industry.  Mid 50's, pleasant and jovial.  His apartment was lavish, as was his lifestyle.  He would call at least twice a week and always hire 2 if not 3 drag queens and one or two boys.  The next 3,4,5 hour, and sometimes longer sessions would all involve lots of cocaine.

The drag queens would then parade a number of dresses like models.  Naked underneath and changing on the spot.  They boys would also be naked, watching.  Sometimes the client liked to watch the boys and drags having sex, sometimes not.  Everyone was paid well and had a great time.
One client was one of the original 'organic' store owners in Sydney.  He had a store in Bondi Junction, which was then the main commercial centre for the wealthy and trendy Eastern Suburbs set.  His clientele ranged from hangover hippies to wealthy Jewish matriarchs of many of Australia's wealthiest and famous families.

One of his products was home-cultured natural yoghurt.  It was one of his biggest sellers.  Little did the clients know that at least 3 times a week he had some young, boyish looking male prostitute jerk off and cum into the yoghurt!

One evening I found myself in a cheap hotel room with the most obese man I had ever seen. He honestly took up so much of the bed that I had to lie as best I could on the small strip left with one leg on the floor supporting me.  There wasn't much but fat down there and the sex was easy and quick.  The mug was wheezing and gasping so much at the end I thought he was dying.  Even worse when he finally stopped gasping and started to sit up he had another attack and I thought he was going to fall back on me and the newspaper headlines would read ' anorexic male prostitute crushed to death by 200kg client!'

Another time I was on all fours on a cheap bed in a run down bedsit with a 60+ smelly and not too clean man.  He jerked himself off while he spread my buttocks apart and probed my bottom with his fingers.....'I really wish you had worms', he kept saying over and over.  'I'd love to see a white, wriggly worm coming out of your bottom'.....his fetish ever since childhood when apparently his mother used to kneel him and his two sisters on the kitchen table and check them for worms!

For a fortnight we had a middle aged man and his 'guardian'.  A young boy who had been orphaned at an early age.  This guardian was not related but had been raising him since he was six.  They were on holidays from Canada. The boy had just celebrated his 17th birthday and his 'guardian' was taking him on a world tour.  It was actually a 'gay world tour' as I would find out the itinerary was San Fransisco, Sydney, Amsterdan and London, with a stop at all the gay brothels and bars on the way.

The poor boy was not only shy and akward, but he was not pretty either.  Oily, stringy long blonde hair, glasses, buck teeth and acne.  He was a nice boy and took an instant like to me, choosing me everyday for the hour that they came over a two week period.  He was nervous, but keen to explore.  I gave him a few small puffs of a joint then gently let him relax while I delighted him in a variety of sensitive and pleasurable ways.  

We became friends of a sort and on my day off I invited him to spend the day with me.  I took him down to the harbour.  We walked around The Rocks, Circular Quay and the Opera House then took a ferry ride to Manly, had fish and chips for lunch and then a ferry ride back.  We finished at my,by then, shared terrace house.  He had paid for the entire day and I had spent nothing.  I didn't want to spoil it by charging him for the sex we had on that day.

Their last day and they both arrive at the parlor.  This time the older guardian picks me, much to my surprise, especially as the young boy seemed fine with this.  Of course what pursued was a sad and slightly sickening experience.  We did everything, the whole time he kept telling me how young and soft I was.  Eventually while he was coming inside me (condom on) he kept moaning the young boy's name over and over again........

We had 'straight' young guys, who would all come looking rugged and macho, get you into the room and simply unzip there fly and flop it out while you gave them a blow job.  No touching no reciprocation.  

Mostly, gay, bi or 'straight' the clients were just regular guys from all works of life who just wanted a fun time with a young guy without any hassle - of course that wasn't always the way.  From Graham I learned to never sell a product unless you know it is what the customer wants.  We were constantly getting rejected by out-call clients whenever Graham answered the phone.  They would ask for a particular type, and even if that 'type' was not available, Graham would send anyone telling them to 'act the part'!  When your slim, petite and pretty it's hard to pretend your a pumped up straight boy and vice versa.

I learned also to judge clients by simply looking at them and interpreting their initial greeting.  Whether it's a physical or a subconscious look, you learn quickly to size up a 'mug' by appearance and manner.  I would make a near fatal mistake in the coming months......... 

WHERE THE BOYS ARE.....(part 2).

So many boys came and went during my time at Brett's boys.  Many I have forgotten but to complete the picture there are two other boys who particularly stand out - others I will mention as part of my story in other blogs.

Aaron was perhaps the most unlikely of all the boys I worked with.  Tall, bronzed, good looking and with a muscle toned body.  He only worked on Friday and Saturday nights but due to his 'look' made a fortune every week.  He was studying at university and this was his way of paying for his studies.  He neither took drugs or got involved in our many outings to Oxford St, but got along with everyone and always made sure that things ran smoothly if the occasional client caused trouble with any of the boys.

Peter, or Israel (his working name) was there for the duration.  He was the typical straight looking, muscular boy who would have looked equally at home on a construction site as in a parlor.  He was a lovely, easy going guy who looked after us all and was liked by everyone.  That was unless he was drunk.  Which unfortunately was his downfall.  He was always a 'friendly' drunk but often he would arrive for work so drunk that he would spend his shift asleep or partying out the back.  We often had to hide him when clients arrived as he was loud and boisterous.

Sadly after almost 3 years we parted company and not on a good note.  He arrived one afternoon totally paralytic, still clutching a whiskey bottle and collapsed onto the lounge.  Within minutes he was doubled over and groaning.  Before our eyes we watched his stomach suddenly start to extend, like a scene from the movie Alien. It was Aaron who realised his liver was malfunctioning and got us to remove his belt and trousers and then got me to call an ambulance.

Israel was taken to hospital and from there placed into a detox centre for 2 weeks to dry out.  When he came out he returned looking to kill me as he blamed me for being put into re-hab.  Thankfully our new boss was there and while the other boys got me away she calmed him down.  Things between us were never the same and a few weeks later he failed to show up and we didn't see him again.

Graham also ran a 'Tranny Parlor' called 'Diamond Lil's'.  This was in a building in the street behind us but could be reached from Brett's via a narrow back lane way.  This was the place where we would spend much of our day time shifts as it was quiet and we could get as stoned as we wanted as Graham rarely visited.

Diamond Lil's served two functions.  Firstly this was where the drag queens worked, using the upstairs and downstairs large front bedrooms.  The other 3 rooms upstairs were sold at $5 per half hour to any street workers who would bring their clients there.  This was where most of the money came from with street workers coming and going non stop from 9am till after midnight every day of the week.

Here we had the best of times.  The queens were wonderful.  Not your glamorous show girl types but a variety of cross - dressers, transexuals and sex-changes.  Some were to become my best friends for 3 years.

Donielle (Yeti - we all had pet names) was a drag whom I had first met in Adelaide where she worked in a straight strip club.  With silicon breasts and a good tuck job none of the straight clientele ever tricked that she was a man.  Anytime you walked in Yeti was always ready with a long fingernail full of speed for you to suck on and spend hours having fun with the street girls and their clients as  they passed through.

Linda was the 'girl' I was closest too. Very similar in personality to myself, petite and pretty.  She was taking hormones and although small breasted her angular blonde looks were always a hit with the clients.  Not only that but she was very hospitable when servicing clients so had a long line of regulars.

Then there was Monique.  Monique should have been born a girl.  Even before hormone treatment she passed in the streets as a girl.  She had had a pretty tough upbringing in the rough suburbs of Wellington in New Zealand before escaping to Australia and living her dream of being a woman.  She became one of the first 'girls' to undergo a full sex change operation in Australia.

She was so physically feminine that she was given the operation after only one visit to the psychiatrist.  Usually it was a full year process of analysis with several different psychiatrists before the operation was allowed.  After her operation she was even featured on 'A Current Affair', the most watched news program in Australia at that time.

Claudia was a lovely, friendly but tragic girl.  She had been physically and sexually abused throughout her childhood and this was obvious not only in her subdued personality, but by the fact that she was one of the few girls willing to do 'submissive' work with the clients.  Constantly on one type of pill or another she was happy to get one or two jobs a day and spend the rest of her time with 'the family' - which was of course us, the only people who were kind and loving to her.

Of all the girls (and others I will mention in later stories) the most amazing and successful was Christie.  Christie was over 6 foot tall, with distinctively rugged and angular features.  When she started she looked the least like a girl of many of the queens I was to meet.  Another of the few who didn't touch drugs of any kind except hormones and lived a healthy lifestyle which she rigorously followed out of women's magazines.

3 years later she had transformed into the most beautiful girl you could imagine.  Even with her height she looked and moved like a Brazilian model.  Eventually Christie would go on to be one of Sydney's premier drag artists with her own troop of male and 'female' dancers, even getting to take her revues around Australia and eventually to do a stint in Las Vegas.

So, amongst others, that was my family for three years.  There are many more who will get mentioned later, including my best friend and my boyfriend who would quickly become my worst nightmare.......

WHERE THE BOYS ARE.....(part 1).

Where the boys are, some one waits for me.
A smiling face, a warm embrace
Two arms to hold me tenderly.....

A romantic song I know, but one which perfectly fits our 'family' at Brett's Boys.  Over the 3 or so years I spent there I would meet many boys.  Some would stay a few days or weeks while others were there from the day I started until the day I finished.  But we were a family and as the words say no matter how low we felt, how hard times were, we were there for each other.

Graham, the owner, was nothing like the stand over stereo-type pimp most of us imagine.  He was a gentle guy, friendly and caring and although he didn't spend a lot of time with us, he seemed to know us all personally.  If we were in trouble or needed a reference (to rent a flat) he provided any assistance we needed.  However he was a ruthless businessman and we knew that he had his hands in many other illegal businesses and also knew exactly what went on in all of them.  None of us tried to cheat him as we were all sure of the consequences.

There were 3 Receptionists.

Tony, who was Graham's right hand man.  He ran the business, the bookwork, staff rosters, hiring and occasionally firing and was always on call when needed.  I spent most of my time working on Tony's shifts and got to know him really well.  He was a 'leather queen' and used to delight in telling new boys about his sexual perversions.  He and his partner (who was a pharmacist) were into body piercing during sex.  His stories didn't bother me, it was only one day when he left me his laundry to do and I started putting his bed sheets into the machine that I noticed they were all covered in tiny pin pricks of blood.  That was a bit much for me as the stories suddenly became reality and quite sickened me.

Michael, was a beautiful guy.  In his late 30's and had never quite evolved from the hippy era. Working with him was always fun and we were all constantly stoned on his shifts. He always brought in home baked goods to share with us.  He was the mother figure that none of us had.

Colin was a different kettle of fish altogether.  He was an ex worker and was fat, pretentious and extremely lazy.  He chose his favourites among the boys and regardless of the clients requests he would always try and sell his 'friends' first.  We never really got along and he would be the cause of serious trouble for me twice during my time there.

As for the boys themselves, well they came and went.  They were from all backgrounds, most like me were simply middle class suburban gay boys who wanted to escape their boring environments and live the good life.  Selling yourself was not a good way to get sexual gratification, but it ensured you could live well and life the lifestyle you wanted.

A few came from welfare backgrounds, the type of families my mother would have shunned.  Some were simply poor families, but most came from dysfunctional families where drug and alcohol abuse was common.  One boy had even spent half his life in and out of boys homes - his father was a petty thief and would hide stolen goods in the boys room.  When caught his father would deny all knowledge and as the stolen property was found in the boys room he was the one arrested.

Another boy was a really sad case.  He was angelic looking but had such low self esteem that he was willing to do anything with the clients no matter how base their fantasies were. One day we got stoned together and slept in bed that night.  Just chatting and cuddling each other while he told me that his father had repeatedly raped not only him but also his 3 younger brothers for as long as he could remember.  His father was then currently in jail for this offense, his mother a heroin addict and his only choice was to live on the streets or work in  a brothel.  His brothers, all being under age had been fostered and he had no knowledge of what had happened to them once he left home.

Then there was the gorgeous Peter.  We all knew that he was under-age but Graham had no issue with hiring him (or being caught out as he was paying off the police, proof of which I will detail later).  Anyway he was a lovely boy who still lived at home with his single mother. I felt sorry for him and very often would invite him to my apartment for a home cooked meal and a sleep over after work.  Even though he was keen to have sex, I had certain morals, and as much as I would have liked to have sex with him his age prevented me from taking advantage...you can choose to believe that or not.

Anyhow he was just a kid who needed tender, loving, care.  He was a smart kid in many ways, able to look after himself, cope with the not always enjoyable aspects of the job and hold his own amongst boys much older and world wise than him.

To end this section of my story I will relate an incident which happened one evening.  Most of us rarely talked about our former families, but on this night about 6 or 7 of us were sitting in the back room.  It was a quiet mid-week evening and we were all smoking grass.  One of us would put a 'stick' in the bowl and mull up and the bong would get passed around until the bowl was empty.  Then some one else would do the same and so the evening progressed until the early hours of the morning.

We somehow got onto the topic of families and one of us was talking about their mother.  Peter, innocently said, 'you know when you suck your mothers tit.....?'  There were a lot of puzzled gazes amongst us before some one said, 'you mean when your were a baby?'.. 'No' said Peter, 'like when you sit on your mum's lap and she lets you suck on her tit'.  It suddenly dawned upon as all that he was talking in the present!  His mother was obviously interfering with him sexually and probably had done so for many years.......

PARLOR DAZE.....(part 2).

The thousand dreams I dreamed
The splendid things I planned
I always built alas on weak and shifting sand
I lived by night and shunned the naked light of day
And only now I see how the years all ran away.....

Brett's Boys was to become my life for the next three and a half years. In reality it would affect my life for much longer than that.  I would meet friends with whom I would share my life, re-build my self esteem, indulge in my insatiable desire for sex and drugs, meet the boy who would have the most disastrous impact upon my life and face death on more than one occasion.

Initially I had it all planned out.  I would work for as long as it took me to save enough money to return to England and if necessary work in London as a prostitute before finding a real job and living in the city where it was all happening.  England was my mecca, the music, the fashion and the yearning for my 'homeland' were calling me.

It worked well for nearly a month.  I stayed as apart as I could from the other workers, trying not to get too involved in their seemingly aimless lifestyle.  I worked my shifts and returned to my apartment where I would spend my time alone - stoned and happy.

Not only was I a 'new boy', but my look, far from discouraging customers, seemed to have an appeal that many clients wanted.  Not only did I look much younger than I was but my 'new wave' style attracted many clients of all ages.  I was popular, polite, and above all possibly more intelligent than the other boys so I could hold a conversation with the clients when needed.  I was also keen to show that I cared about the business and quickly took a part in helping the receptionist with cleaning and answering phone calls, which didn't go unnoticed by my boss.

The only downside in the early days was that Graham (the owner) was adamant that no drug taking went on at the parlor.  This did not apply to what went on in the rooms with clients, but outside of the rooms we were not allowed to partake in drugs.  Not that we followed this rule.  Graham only came for a few hours each day and again in the evenings.  When he was not there then we would all sit in the back courtyard smoking bongs.  The sound of a key in the front door was an alarm that Graham was back and then it would be a mad rush to hide the drugs and bong amongst the pot plants and for us all to pretend that we were innocently enjoying the sunshine and chatting.

It was ironic actually, because later I would spend a lot of time at Graham's house where I soon learned that he was dealing heavily in cocaine and speed.  But he was a sensible businessman and knew that having drugs on the premises could cause him trouble.  I don't believe that running a brother was strictly legal in 1985, but keeping on the good side of the police (and certainly paying some money into the right hands) was the way to ensure that his business was tolerated.
 
There are a thousand and one stories to tell about my days in Brett's Boys.  To detail them would be an enormous and expansive task.  So in coming blogs I will probably deal with them in themes and chronologically when detailing my life.

But Brett's boys was my new home for over 3 years.  The establishment was a far cry from Belvoir Boys where I had first worked.  Unlike the run-down Victorian working class two up - two down terrace, Brett's was in a beautiful, double-fronted Edwardian Terrace in Paddington.  The downstairs rooms, including the front 'boys room' were all immaculately furnished and looked straight out of the pages of a Laura Ashley catalogue.  

 Upstairs there were 4 bedrooms.  The Zebra room, with it's jungle print wallpaper, zebra striped bedding, leopard skin rug and a selection of wooden African artifacts.  The Blue room, tastefully adorned with saphire blue chintz curtains and matching bedding, and a blue and green persian carpet.  The Red room, with red faux velvet flocked wallpaper, a dark wood four poster bed with red velvet drapes and a chinese style carpet.  The fourth room was smaller and simply decorated and was only used when we were extremely busy.  The bathroom was outrageous - marbled floor and wall tiles, gold swan taps in the bath and sink and a floor to ceiling stained glass window along the back wall.

The house was filled with beautiful paintings and Victorian wooden plant stands with ornate ceramic planters and pot plants. The custom made kitchen at the rear of the house had an adjoining dining area, which looked out through huge bay windows to the landscaped back courtyard.  This was where we would spend most of our time.  I had arrived......

PARLOR DAZE ......(part one)

The road is long
With many a winding turns
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where

But I'm strong

What factors choose us to make decisions that will affect the rest of our lives?  For me it was a combination of things which occurred during the early months of 1985.

My illness had cost me not only my job, but also my self esteem and my shield of invulnerability.  Being told that you have an incurable disease at the age of 22 is not something that is easy to come to terms with.  Luckily I didn't have to but the prolonged illness which lasted over 2 months left me feeling weak and vulnerable.


My relationship with Bill was starting to fall apart.  His main faults were vanity and selfishness. His extreme optimism and self confidence led me to question my own social skills.  Being sick and weak added to these feelings of insecurity.  My biggest problem was feeding my now out of proportion drug habit.  On a reduced income, Bill would often stay out after work, smoking with friends, while I stayed at home feeling wretched and physically having marijuana withdrawals if I didn't get to smoke at least once a day.

Bill also started a new hobby, ceramic arts.  This would be the death knell of our relationship.  The first week he was in the beginners group learning how to throw pots, the second week he had advanced to the 'professional' group, and by the end of one month he was creating ceramic tableware collections for 2 shops in Paddington.  Any chance of re-starting our clothes making stall was well and truly gone.  It had been Bill's flair for design and skill at printing which had really been the success behind our clothing range.  My dressmaking skills and design talent were rudimentary and our clothing sold on Bill's design appeal.  I had realized that early on in our venture, but while it worked and was fun I wasn't upset.

His friends also were not my friends, but rather people I socialized with and who tolerated me because of Bill.  I felt inadequate with my lack of skills and profession.  His friend's were all up and coming designers, wealthy Eastern Suburbs socialites, actors and artists.  My few friends were all outer suburban refugees, desperate to identify with a happening trend but without the skills or abilities to do more than dress up.

 While I was walking once a week 4 km up and down Sydney's hilly terrain to get a box of weekly groceries from a charity organization and then walking back again, Bill would be out with friends getting stoned and I was sure seeing another boy who he occasionally  would have at our apartment when I returned.  Always with other friends but after a few visits I could sense the closeness between them.

My ultimate reason for choosing the path I did was my desperate addiction which was now costing me $20 a day.  I had to be stoned from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed.  My friend from the diet company was returning to Queensland and offered me her two part time positions.  One was at a cake shop just off Darlinghurst Rd in Kings Cross, the other was cleaning jobs for 3 different elderly ladies living in either Kings Cross or Elizabeth Bay, which were all really, combined with Rushcutters Bay, part of the same big suburb.

The cake shop was fun and brought me back to my earlier days of working the streets.  I worked Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights from 4pm until 9pm, alone, and got paid $20 per shift.  On top of that I managed to always 'under-ring' the cash register by at least $10 each night, plus take home a litre of milk, a loaf of bread and cakes and pies to munch out on when I got home.

The bonus was that between 8 and 9pm the street girls would start their shifts.  Most were young girls already trapped into the world of pimps and heroin.  Many evenings when they started they had no money to buy food.  I was happy for them to pay later, or even better, for them to give me a handful of pills or some grass in payment.  Looking after the girls meant that I kept their pimps happy and whenever there was brewing trouble in the shop, usual in the Cross on a Friday or Saturday night, I wouldn't have to wait more than a few minutes before car doors started opening and the shop filled with big, scary pimps ready to sort out any trouble.  The bosses thought I was wonderful as I had managed to go for 2 months without being robbed.

The cleaning jobs were easy and enjoyable.  4 little rich old ladies who needed company rather than cleaning.  I would spend two hours chatting and doing limited cleaning as the places were spotless anyway.  Only the bathrooms and window cleaning were beyond them so I did that first before pottering around tidying and vacuuming generally propped up by lots of gin & tonic and chatter from the ladies.

With my government subsidy for sickness benefits I was earning about $180 per week.  $70 of which was my half of the rent...it wasn't enough to pay the bills and get stoned daily.  I only got through because of the extra drugs I exchanged for cakes and pies.

My decision to go back into prostitution came easily.  This was the only job I could do stoned.  This was the only job I had any real skill for, and this was the only job which would guarantee my lifestyle.  I didn't want to work the streets again so decided to try a parlour.  

I clearly remember the day I went for the interview.  It was raining and I stood for 30 minutes under a viaduct about 50 metres from the address.  Was I too old?  Would they want my look?  Could I really do this again?

I eventually summoned up the courage to enter and was immediately met by the owner, Graham.  I recognized him instantly.  He had starred in a really bad TV soap opera in the early 70's which I remembered distinctly.  He had played the part of the local butch thug.  The fact that I recognized him and that one of the drag queens recognized me from my Adelaide days got me the job.  He didn't even ask me any really personal questions.  He just advised me to 'tone down' my look for the clients.  'Be more boyish', were his exact words.

I was to start the next afternoon, Sunday, and work from 4pm till midnight.  The next stage of my life was about to spiral out of control, though I didn't see any of it until it was too late.