I was a young prostitute, about 15, with straight dirty blonde hair. I lived in a large, dark room with blue walls with several other women of all ages and looks. The way people were dressed and the way the room looked reminded me of the 60s, although there was one woman who looked like a 90s Olympia punk. She was the one sent out every day and night while the rest of us stayed in. When I did get out to the red-walled restaurant, I noticed that all of her clients were young women like herself. Everyone wanted her. She never spoke and I barely ever saw her because her time was too precious and spent with all of her clients. I almost forgot she was one of us and lived with us.
The best part about her being 'out there' all the time was that the rest of us were not pressured to go out. I was laying in bed a lot in the large blue room with my bank of light switches next to me. I could control a series of lights in the room from where I lay.
The man in charge of us was tall, thin, attractive, Caucasian, and wore a light blue suit, 60s styled. He had blue eyes and was very kind. I was used to his kindness. When, one night, no one could locate the woman that was always out working, and there began rumors that she didn't even live among us anymore, and that she never really had, he became angered. I tried switching off all the lights from my bed before he could find me. I was wearing my light blue silky nightgown and hidden as much as I could on the perch of my dark bed. When he came to me I could feel the dread. He was no longer kind. I tried to convince him she was still one of us and would return. He was grim and told me that we would all be going out every night, every one of us. I was filled with despair thinking of us all being forced to go out and work in the night now, and full of despair that he had lost his kindness completely.
