My Best Friend is a Prostitute
Have you ever glanced someone up and down, dismissing them after one cold look of sheer judgement?
That’s what I did on this scorching night one July at BKK Airport in Bangkok, Thailand. It was about 3 am, or at least, that’s what it felt like after traveling for over 26 hours. Once I grabbed my backpack from baggage claim and the sliding doors opened to the outside world, I was immediately met with the stickiest air I’d ever felt in my life. All I wanted to do was get in my pre-arranged transport that would take me to my hotel, so I groggily followed the man holding a sign with my name.
Judging A Book By It’s Cover
That’s when I saw her. She was decked out in an all black outfit covering more skin than any sane person would do in 100 degree weather (40+ C for the rest of the world), looking more like she was en route to a Fashion Week after party than the airport of a developing country in the middle of the night. She, too, followed the man with the sign, so we made small talk.
I really did not like this girl.
She was wearing a floppy hat and stood outside for a quick cigarette (another thing I hate), before getting into the van. Looks like we were going to the same hotel. As she talked to the driver and to me, fairly pleasant, I realized she was also going on the same tour as me, an Intrepid trip. Only after we arrived to the hotel for check in and both handed the concierge our passports, I then found out that she was my roommate.
First Impressions Aren’t Everything
Surprisingly, that was about as bad as it got.
Once we checked-in, I remember being pleasantly surprised by the mellow personality she hid underneath her high fashion exterior. She told the most interesting stories about her innumerable adventures across the globe.
We were about the same age, but with all the traveling she had done, she seemed so much more mature than I was. In her young life, she’d already traversed the Middle East, smuggling refugees across an international border in the middle of the night, with a few local men she’d just met. She’d been air lifted in a rescue helicopter because she partied just a little too hard at the Full Moon Party. And she was literally kicked out of some European country, for what, the story still remains unclear. And that’s barely scratching the surface of her adventures.
At the time, I had just finished college, so I was a fresh-faced 22-year-old on my first big solo trip. And it was the first time I’d gone to anywhere other than Europe or the Caribbean, save for a few weekend trips from my Study Abroad experience.
The Cover Story
On our first night, when everyone was still in the getting-to-know-you phase, my friend (we’ll call her Nikki) told our group that she worked for Qatar Airways, an airline with which a few of us were familiar. It explained her erratic schedule and insatiable appetite for adventure, plus a laundry list of stories she already could share from her decade or so of travels. Not bad for someone who was only 24. Airlines are known for giving their employees quite a few travel perks, including free and cheap airfare.
Nikki also mentioned she had a taste for the luxurious. She said that working for one of the world’s best airlines came with added perks — discounts to some of the world’s top retailers.
Her Instagram feed was full of Tiffany blue boxes and the highest Loubitin heels. Of champagne flutes and lacy, skin tight dresses. Of other skinny girls with fake tans and blown out hair, puckering their lips for the camera.
How The Story Quickly Unraveled
It took about one night of getting drunk in a remote part of the country to turn our group of strangers into a close-knit family. But even then, some friends grew closer than others. It’s true when they say you really do click with the people you meet traveling. There’s something about the novelty and excitement about the environment you’re in which allows you to be truly yourself.
Except Nikki had never really let her guard down fully, until this trip.
Nikki and I got quite close to another girl, Jess. It didn’t take long for days to feel like weeks that we’d all known eachother.
Our trio couldn’t be more different. Jess was a small town, country music loving dairy farmer from the UK. Me, a fresh-faced, polished Ivy League graduate, obsessed with talking about landing my first desk job in New York City. And Nikki, the well-traveled and high fashion expat. Without the need for a college degree, she, instead, quickly became a citizen of the world, chasing the sun and embracing life’s journey with dual lives in Europe and Australia.
One night back in our hotel rooms, Jess was scrolling through Nikki’s phone, laughing at some of the photos we’d taken at the floating markets. I couldn’t help but notice Nikki tense up with anxiety.
She stared at us nervously, almost as if we’d seen right through her. She kept looking over her shoulder, just to check if anyone else from the group had left the bar early, unexpectedly coming back to the hotel. But no one had.
The Truth Comes Out
“Guys..I have something to tell you,” she said. “I don’t actually work for Qantas.”
We didn’t say much, so she continued.
“I’m sure you saw that picture of me in the mirror. I took it while I was at work.”
Puzzled, Jess and I exchanged a glance. We had no idea what photo she was talking about.
“And the fishnets in my suitcase…those are for Europe.”
After Nikki launched into a speech about what she really does for a living, suddenly all the odd details of her life began to make sense.
How she had so much money at such a young age. Why she developed an expensive taste.
We learned about the picture she was referring to; a scantily clad mirror selfie. Around the mirror were photos of dysfunctional male genetelia. She took it for one of her customers.
All those dick pics? They were there in an effort to protect the girls who lived at house so they’d know what to look for in case of disease. Only Jess never scrolled quite that far.
What it’s Like Being A Prostitute
I still only know through the lens of my friend, Nikki. To some extent, having 40+ women living under one roof, talking about sex 24/7, partying excessively and raiding each other’s wardrobes is none too different from life in a sorority. At least that’s how Nikki puts it.
But I think it goes a bit deeper. She’s told me stories of old, lonely men who just want a chance to see a naked woman. Of young boys, barely older than teenagers, with money to blow and drugs to do, riled up on coke after clubbing on a Friday night. They come to the “house” because prostitution is legal where they live. It’s a guaranteed way to have a safe, fun night.
The brothel is a place where money is easy to earn and even easier to spend. Where all of life’s insecurities are left at the door and fetishes are not only encouraged, but embraced. Where all the girls have a maid, a fake name, and a wad of cash in their pockets after a few hours’ work.
The craziest story Nikki told me was about a customer who really liked snails. Yep. Real live, slimy molluscs. He brought a bag of them to her brothel one day and expected her to step on them. She obliged, and he licked her feet. He was infamous in the Sydney brothel scene. I can’t make this stuff up.
The Moral of the Story
Time to get cheesy again. Meeting Nikki has definitely changed my life and my perspective on the world. She’s helped me broaden my definition of what’s “normal” or “right versus wrong.” Technically, there’s nothing illegal about what she does for a living. And literally, she makes double my yearly salary, probably in just 3–4 month’s time.
Nikki has taught me that morals are relative. That experiences are up to the individual. And that traveling opens you up to a whole world you didn’t know existed.
*I changed some of these details so my friend’s identity isn’t discovered :)
Originally published at Lost With Liv.
