Bunny

By Joe Giarratano on March 28, 2014 in Other

The taxi driver stopped to a hail on Military Road in Mosman.

“Going to Bellevue Hill. Take the bridge and not the tunnel, please,” she said.

She was tall, gorgeous and more skinny than slim. Her straight blonde hair fell to her lower back. She had recently returned to Sydney after spending five years in New York as a fashion model.

“I’ve modelled for high end department stores, magazines and done some catwalk. Also modelled nude for artists… but I’m in the sex industry now,” she said. “I know it’s sounds like a big step down, but you know… you are what you are.”

This response to the question “What industry are you in?” caught Brainy Bob, the taxi driver, by surprise. He replied the only way he knew how: silence.

After a time she said, “Modelling sounds glamorous, but the reality is, it sucks. It was the pits for me, and you still had to come across. Sex was always on the agenda. If you wanted to get the gigs, you did it. You always got an invite to private functions that eventually turned to drugs and orgies. At least now I’m more honest.”

The taxi driver sensed she was troubled and needed to talk more. And what better place to talk than in confined privacy with a stranger that you will never set eyes on again.

“I would never have thought,” said Bob.

“It was the worst time of my life, and besides, in this job I earn just as much. But my hourly rate is dropping now that I’m getting older.”

“Isn’t what you do now a risk to your personal safety?” asked Bob.

“Both jobs are risky… like yours,” she shot right back. “Continually starving yourself is the worst. Most execs want you to look anorexic and the photographers are after a ‘special’ look… but not your look. They pressure you for the perfect body, but don’t give a stuff about what that does to your head.”

“Well you’ve told me the negatives of being a fashion model. What are the negatives of what you do now?” Bob asked.

She gazed through the window and across to the east and the sea as they crossed the harbour bridge, tempted to open the window and let the breeze cool her face.

“I miss the intimacy when you’re with someone you connect with, or even better, when you do it with a soul mate, or at least with someone you like a lot. Sometimes I feel like a…” she wiped a tear from her face before continuing. “I remember I was with a guy, back at the terrace, and while we were doing it he kept calling me ‘Bunny’, which is an unusual name here in Australia. So after we finished I asked if ‘Bunny’ was his girlfriend’s name. It turns out it was the name of his blow-up doll. Do you believe it? Being compared to a latex sex doll. I felt as big as a flea. But what’s worse, the girls now call me Bunny – real funny, ay?”

Bob remained silent, thinking of something to say.

“I’m on the job now. Going to a customer’s place – some rich dude with no manners. I don’t normally do outcall, but my boss insisted. Haven’t had him before but one of the girls said he’s a genuine slime ball – got a bit rough with her. You mentioned risk earlier. With outcall there is always a risk, but the money is better, much better,” she said.

“We have something in common – customers that treat you badly and sometimes… like shit,” said Brainy Bob.

“What happens if he gets rough with you? Can you ring someone nearby?”

“Nah, but I’ve got a taser. Brought one back from the States. I’ll shoot him in the balls once or twice. That’ll quieten him down.”

“Ouch,” Bob replied, not lost for words this time as he felt for his groin.