Love for sale

What does sex mean to you? For most of us, it goes hand in hand with an emotional attachment. But some prefer the act of sex to be anonymous, while for others it is a living and possibly even an art.

While most businesses are vulnerable to financial headaches such as recession, a drop in tourism or slashed marketing budgets, the world's oldest profession still appears to be doing a roaring trade, with plenty of people making their living out of it. Letitcia, one of Brighton's most famous residents, is an independent erotic service provider. Claiming to have been born 'the year the flow-thru teabag was invented,' Letitcia bears absolutely no resemblance to the stereotypical brassy slapper or tragic victim that working girls are often portrayed to be. Warm, funny, articulate and intelligent, what is a nice girl like her doing in a job like this?

'People are always disappointed when I tell them how I became a working girl. They expect to hear about a dreadful childhood or an awful past - preferably with plenty of dirt - that they can analyse and explain why someone like me might end up in the sex industry. It amuses and annoys me in equal measure. The truth is that when I was living in Sydney with my boyfriend he went off to visit his parents for a few weeks without me. I had a childish fit at being left and decided to perform an "I'll show you" act of defiance. I was living near a brothel in the red-light area of the city and just walked in and asked for a job. A lot of people assume that I can't do anything else, but I can and I do. I used to play the stock market (I taught myself) and I have worked in fashion. My first job was with Jaeger and I even had a shop of my own. At the moment I'm working on my second book. My first, Body Worship - True stories of a Sex Goddess, was a great success.

spread their seed as far and wide as possible and so they are unfaithful gits. That's what they do. They love the thrill of the chase, but they like the comfort of having a woman running their home.

To be a sex goddess you need individuality. In Australia we were taught to think of ourselves not as sex workers but as entertainers - modern-day geishas, if you like, who were of course very multitalented. You need to be able to talk engagingly and to be empathetic, intelligent, caring and compassionate, and it's important to be very centred in yourself. The physical aspect is almost secondary, and a lot of that is all smoke and mirrors. My own personal style is very glam, which men love, but it's actually having the right hip, bust and waist ratio that catches a man's eye, not big or small. I've never had any surgery because although men like looking at the silicon jobs, they actually prefer to touch real boobs.

In terms of what you do, you need to set yourself apart. In Oz there were 50 or 60 girls at the parlour where I was working and so you needed to stand out. I've honed my body worship skills to such a degree that I'm rarely asked for penetrative sex. I felt that it broke the flow to do the condom thing and so I decided to market my speciality of blowjobs and body worship, which includes reflexology and all sorts of tricks that I picked up in the Far East. I don't kiss my clients on the lips. I don't know why, I just suddenly decided that I didn't want to. I'm selling a sexual experience, which although it's not dispassionate is not love, although I will kiss someone if I fancy the pants off him, but it's discretionary on my part. Besides, it really fucks my lipstick up and I have to start all over again which, if I've not got long between appointments, can be a real pain. When I was in Australia, where prostitution in some places is either legal or decriminalised, we had to have a certificate of road-worthiness and so everyone was much more on the case about using condoms.

My oddest request was perhaps the guy who got his kicks by standing in my bath wearing a pair of green wellies. As the bath filled with cold water and got closer to the rim of his wellies he would get tearful and his dick would enlarge, although at no time did he touch himself. As the water splashed over the top of his boots he would come. Apparently his sexual predilection was rooted in an adolescent experience that involved a fishing trip where he witnessed a buxom woman removing her top to reveal amazing breasts, just as a boat passed by causing the river to swell and splash into his boots. The human psyche is so infinitely fascinating – and it's a great story for dinner parties.

I advertise myself on my own website, which has been carefully worded so that I attract the sort of patron that I want. It's not overly explicit like some that have the full-on beaver shots. For instance, it was the word "luxuriate" that appealed to one bloke, because this suggested total pleasure to him. I don't actually state that I sell sex, although technically it is legal to do so and always has been.

I guess I'll retire in time, but I have such a wonderful life and I feel privileged to have found something that suits my personality so well. I don't really have any regrets. Sometimes I think it might be nice to have a steady partner, but then I see what's out there and I get over it.'

- Vicky Edwards, South Coast Magazine , February 2006

All you need is love

Getting ready for the sudden play-off: a personal journey to the other side of singleton

One of the saddest days of my life was the day my big sister got married. This pit of despair was not borne from a feeling of being ‘left on the shelf’, nor from my judgement that she had chosen her life partner unwisely – it was simply the knowledge that the view she saw from her kitchen sink would (unless they moved) always be the same. That somehow unnerved me.

Now, 30 years on, with the addition of a conservatory and the ever-increasing height of the surrounding hedge, this has proved to be the case.

As for whether love has flourished and reached new heights along with the vegetation, I’m not entirely sure... but they are still together. They are at a stage in their union that pilots (when on take off) call ‘the point of no return’: Hurtling too fast down the togetherness tarmac to abort, and therefore much safer and easier to continue the flight to their final destination.

Are they happy? I suspect they actually are to a lesser degree. The ‘hurly burly of the chaise lounge’ having been swapped for the comfort of the ‘marital four poster’.

As a teenager I held the deluded belief that the first man I slept with would be immediately entranced – and ask for my hand in marriage. However, by the time I had racked up triple digits worth of notches on my imaginary
chastity belt (I was quite a gal), I was fully aware that I had been seduced by this ‘fairy tale’ notion.

In love with the idea of being in love, having my very existence validated by the attention and a plighting of troth by another, I then looked closely at the smugness of the couples who had walked the walk
– but they were not remotely talking the talk. Infidelity, lies, deceit and abandonment (from both male and female parties), was it real or was it imagined? Were they leading lives of ‘quiet desperation?’
What is Love? A myth perpetuated by Hallmark cards? Prince Charles himself said, “whatever Love means”. The man could not have been more overt if he had tried.

“Do you love me?” we country girls would ask of our spotty oik dates.

“Course I love ya... I **** ya don’t I?” would be the reply. After a while, the realisation that I was blessed to have
escaped this sham was really liberating.

Men choose and make a very clear distinction between the women they marry and the women they schtoop, and I was very happy to be the latter.
The ‘Madonna/whore

syndrome’ is engrained and prevalent to the degree that men do need several women to satisfy their myriad needs. The mouth that has fetchingly performed fellatio is not the one that they want to kiss the kids goodnight!!!
With my nose pressed up against the ‘love window’, from the outside looking in, I saw the subjugation that many women seemed to almost enjoy. They want to feel needed, I assume by virtue of the innate desire to nurture. Men want to feel looked after, so all the trades work out, one assumes.

I just happen not to feel that way. I want to be enhanced and not defined by love. I don’t want to be locked in a form of human bondage where the fear of being alone ensnares me into an unsuitable or abusive relationship. So who is right and who is wrong? The answer is neither. What works for one person can give another a nervous tic.

Some people settle for less and some people (like me) always want more. I go all soppy when I see an elderly couple holding hands but, alternatively, I see the true ‘nuclear family’, going through the motions, arguing and frustrated at the prison of their own making. Now that’s what I call ‘Schadenfreude’

Women tend to have sex to find love and men find love to haveregular sex. That’s when the fun begins: women find it hard to compartmentalise between the two and men are duped by the prospect of a guaranteed ‘in house’ shag.
I leave you with a little critter that mates for life. Ladies and gentlemen ...drum roll... pray be upstanding for the... prairie vole. These creatures engage in sexual congress for 36–48 hours and then emit a secretion into their brain that leaves them as a committed couple (and, we assume, truly, madly and deeply smitten) and they are one for life. Isn’t nature wonderful?

Text: Letitcia (still single but still looking)

- Letitcia, Insight Magazine, February 2006

LETITCIA'S LETTER TO HOME OFFICE MINISTER: FIONA MACTAGGART
RE: New sex laws

Greetings, I am recognisant of the difficulty in pleasing "all of the people all of the time" (no pun intended), but you CANNOT BE SERIOUS.

Yours and other misguided politicians sound bites ..along the lines of ALL SEX WORKERS ARE SUBSTANCE ABUSERS (does Champagne count?) ALL PUNTERS ARE PAEDOPHILES(they would have to stretch their imagination with me) and SENDING THE MESSAGE TO WOMEN THAT SEX WORKING IS A CAREER MOVE (what's wrong with pleasure and money... a winning combination in my book).

Would it harm any of you law changers in this granny state, to swim toward a different and brighter light - i.e. entrepreneurs who work in the industry by choice (much like myself and there are thousands out there like me). Smart, sassy, bright, educated women who combine what they love doing (we are all sexual beings after all) with the ability to earn a living.

Why don't you see how the other half (or 7/8th) of the industry live?

Like all forms of Media, you have, as usual highlighted for your own delectation or reasons, the grim, negative and illegal elements of the trade. Please pretty please, may we have a positive piece for a change?

There are so many examples of shining beacons of GOOD in the industry - it WOULD be rather spiffing to be represented from time to time.

I am sure you wading through myriad emails and letters, but I invite you---as a responsible Member of Parliament to see that it is not all doom and gloom in our demi-monde-ish netherworld. My web address is brightonbodyworship.com  - and i did in fact take part in the initiative for changing strategies where the industry was concerned. Brighton and Hove council kindly paid me a fiver for my time - which, since  the form filling took an hour, leaves them still owing me £145!!!!

I think I may use that money to have an each way bet (OOOOoooohhhhhhh they bloody gamble as well) on you replying within 5 days.....the bedside clock is ticking.

(Saunters off to do a bit of light 'EROTIC BODY WORSHIPPING)

P.S. I don't do half price for MPs, so please alert your male colleagues to that fact... since refusal often offends.

- Letitcia, January 2006

Delicious Anticipation

Obviously some research was called for, so we prevailed upon that sexual oracle of the South Coast, Letitcia . She replied at some length, but it's worth a read so:

"I don't know how I overlooked the cracking character, who had a tie and tease predilection, for inclusion in my book Body Worship .

He was around 85 years old when we met and, since that was at least 20 years ago, I figure he has already died and gone to hog tied heaven. Horace was his name and he was a widower. This information is significant, since one of the small pieces of frivolity he enjoyed embarking upon was placing his dear departed wife's wedding ring round his flaccid member and then feeling the exquisite pain/pleasure of his tumescence growing.

I met him in a parlous, raggedy, threadbare massage parlour, where for £15 men received a perfunctory massage with perfumed oil, followed by an even more derisory five knuckle shuffle (naturally for an additional fee).

There was no equipment provided to speak of, so one had to improvise with what ever was to hand. So Horace was tied to the massage bed with old tights and the blindfold was an old knitted bobble hat which I pulled firmly over his eyes.

I figured a bit of aural deprivation would ice the cringe cake and whacked an old Sony Walkman in his log hairy lugs. The only tape I had to hand was A/C D/C, so I pressed play, stuck it on maximum volume and went to service another customer in the next room.

I checked on the old duffer from time to time and he was humming away quite happily, with his wife's wedding ring slowly biting into the flesh of his burgeoning pensioner prick.

He would have been quite content to be there all day, but that would have caused gridlock in the contra-flow of the grimy emporium.

After an hour or so, I finished him off and sent him back to the home for war veterans.

His pleasure was not borne of the 30 second wank, swiftly administered due to a punter tail back half way up the street, nor was it because he had sullied and defiled his band of gold with octogenarian seed: it was because of the delicious build up of expectation.

Another two characters who did make it to my worthy tome, adored the same frisson of tension.

Nick was a dispassionate ex-army officer, who held young ladies in complete thrall with his bondage prowess. They would willingly allow him to bind which ever part of their body he chose in myriad positions and just leave them for hours.

When you are dangling in the countryside from a tree or hanging from a warehouse rafter, I'm sure the eventual relief must be quite overwhelming. The fear, the discomfort, and the control that is relinquished must build up to a veritable tsunami of exquisite release from the danger, culminating in the arms of the bad boy bondage lover. What a high!

Conversely, Mr G would hand over total control to the lady from time to time. This phenomenon is extremely common with people in high powered or high profile jobs. An exchange of power is not only the element of helplessness that is bequeathed to the woman, but again the element of "Oh no! (or maybe it's really "Oh yes!") What the bloody hell is she going to do me now?" Throw in poppers, electrics (I'm not talking Dixons or Currys here, chaps), whips, paddles, choker, sandpaper (that should get you thinking) and a dildo the size of Florida and you have all the ingredients for an almighty explosion of mind blowing proportions.

Mr G had the chance to turn the tables occasionally with a mega willing participant called Pru. She also was a high flyer and he would deliver her to various Madams around the city, whereupon she would assent to a blindfold before entering the Madam's building. Once inside the apartment, her clothes would be taken from her and Mr. G would leave.

She would then be bent over a horse frame, shackled firmly and gangbanged in an orgiastic free for all.

Her thrill was wondering how far they could debase her. Since she couldn't move, the excitement was mounting with each act of defilement until the moment of her bone crushing climax.

These are, it goes without saying, extremes of the temptations of tie and tease. Probably the most popular, however, is one where there is visual encouragement. We are not talking about pain (apart from the gut wrenching throb of the old fella), we are talking how long can you hang on without wanting to murder the bitch who's keeping you waiting.

It's the ultimate prick tease: you are lightly bound with the finest, fully fashioned, seamed stockings, or mink lined leather restraining cuffs which can be clipped to the wall at the top of the bed (works for me); and your voluptuous vixen is undulating and fixing you with a desultory stare while fully dressed in your favourite hard on- making outfit (pick your fantasy).

She strips slowly and seductively (she has taken lap dancing lessons), but she's so far away that you cry "Come closer!" But she ignores you and enjoys watching you squirm with pleasure and the discomfort of blue balls.

She then starts to pleasure herself with a huge black dildo.

The more you beg her to stop and allow you to join in, the more she enjoys it. This is one sadistic siren.

She makes herself cum and licks her perfumed juices from the dildo. She exaggerates her licking, teasing and deep throat technique (though lamentably still on the dildo) as a precursor to what is on offer for you.

She stops for a fag break and pays no attention to you swearing and practically blubbing like a spoiled sprog.

She wanders off to the other room to teach you a lesson in patience. You comply because, Sunshine, you have no choice!

She returns and slowly moves toward you, motioning that she is finally going to touch you; but after the most fleeting brush of her hand, she pulls away.

You will now gladly make a Faustian pact with the Devil himself if you could just imbed your twitching tool into a soft palm or a luscious mouth or a juicy quim; you are straining so hard on your binds that the flying buttresses which support the walls of your bedroom are in danger of collapsing; and when you finally make contact the sensation is magnified tenfold.

Anticipation: you just can't beat it!"

- The Old Fart, Daily Jolly, January 2006

Scarlet: Lesson from a pro

Working girl and author, Letitcia, decided rather than satisfy the needs of clients, it was her turn to hire. What follows is an account of her search to find a suitable male escort, which lead her to coin the phrase 'fifth time lucky'...

My name is Letitcia, Brighton-based intimacy facilitator, comforter of men and erotic service provider. My various soubriquets in magazines and newspapers include 'vice dame', `legendary sex goddess' and 'the person putting the sex into Sussex'. One would therefore assume that my own love life is burgeoning. Dear reader, you could not be more wrong.

Then one evening while checking out rival working girl sites, I stumbled across a site for male escorts. I emailed, phoned and texted the agency ('rapid response service' wasn't part of their remit) and asked for the number of the man I most fancied. Finally my first date was set and as the New Year approached, I felt hopeful that I was about to come as the old year went, so to speak.

DATE NO 1

My first date can be described in one word: dreadful. It took place at my home and I prepared myself in the same ways that I would if a patron was coming to see me - I was spick and span in all the right places. I wasn't nervous, just hopeful that my escort would have the same degree of professionalism that I have.

Then this likely lad from Essex turned up, "buzzing" his "nut off" on some speedy substance, hiding behind both designer stubble and tinted glasses, and he was gauche enough to think it was peachy to receive and send text messages throughout dinner.

I did have sex with him, but then I couldn't stop him wanting more. In the end I couldn't get rid of him. Finally I gave him the agreed fee of 2400 and he left assuring me that anytime I "fancied it" he would happily see me for nothing!

DATE NO 2

Undaunted I next saw a gorgeous Calvin Klein model with brooding good looks and a 'ripped' V-cut physique. Unfortunately he came from Chesterfield, so when I enquired what he would like to eat on our date he replied in the broadest of Derbyshire tones: "mushy peas, pie, chips wi' gravy, lass." The voice didn't match the man and the fantasy was somewhat dented. To compound this problem, we ate at a mega trendy eatery, which had drizzled 60 kinds of oils, pine nuts, herbs and even wild flowers (I kid you not) over our food. When we arrived back at my lair we spent the rest of the night creased up with gas and laughter.

DATE NO 3

Stepping up to the plate was male escort number three, and on this occasion I had not seen what he looked like since he had used the old 'blur with Vaseline' trick on

his visage. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to see the face that will be grazing my expectant thighs. However, I was assured by the agency's head honcho that he was lovely and thankfully she was telling the truth. He was very handsome, beautifully dressed and, as an added bonus, on time.

We had dinner (avoiding the previous restaurant) and we really seemed to bond. By the time we arrived back at my 'work bench' a whole six hours had elapsed. "What can I do for you?" he asked. "I'd really like a foot rub," I replied. After a little while he asked if I required anything else as he "really had to go" and

I found myself saying, "No, that's fine - I'm quite happy." And I was. Then it came to the 'crossing his palm with silver' part and it all went tits up.

We had agreed (as far as I was concerned) a fee in advance, so when I gave him that amount I was surprised when he looked up at me as if my wad of notes was doggie doo doo in his hand. He was under the impression he was getting £250 per hour, rather than per evening. When a client comes to me I keep an eye on the time, so I merely thought that since he was the professional in this case he would let me know when our time was up.

DATE NO 4

Like a dog returning to its own vomit I soldiered on in my quest for what seemed the unattainable. All I wanted was the male equivalent of me - how hard could it be?

I had high hopes for the fourth guy. He was (as so many gigolos describe themselves) a gym instructor, martial arts expert, lawyer and model. He was also a liar. But he was smartly dressed, attractive and looked eager. Perhaps he had applied a tad too much make-up and his cologne was just the wrong side of masculine, but hey ho.

He had also brought me flowers. Alas, they were dead. How pathetically I thanked him for a hastily bought offering of wilting chrysanthemums, which were standard garage forecourt fare. Over the starter (yes, I fed him too) he asserted that he "loved giving oral." Nice one, mate.

I rushed through the main course and skipped dessert, coffee and brandy. I sodding well knew what I wanted and got us back to the workbench pronto where yet another horror story unfolded. This time though I considered it to be my fault.

Several days before our date he had sent me a jpeg of himself splayed on a fur-covered bed, stroking what can only be described as a baby's arm holding an apple. It took ages to download! He replicated the scene (I too have a fur covered boudoir) and reclined, nay, posed expectantly waiting for me to suck his tool of oppression. Some sodding busman's holiday this was turning out to be, I thought dolefully.

What with his hair-free back, sac and crack, his fondness for soulless doggie- style, an unwillingness to snog and the most perfunctory licking of my life, I finally twigged. He was a chuffing woofter. They had sent me a poof at the pricey sum of £400! I emailed the agency to complain the next day and they were full of apologies and promises to recompense me with something really special.

DATE NO 5

Dear reader lets do a recap shall we? So far in my futile search I had encountered a texting pill head, a fart buddy, a foot rub with an argument thrown in for good measure and a homosexual. I had also relieved myself of pecuniary advantages that would wipe out the national debt of a small country. I had reached male prossie fatigue limit. Had a gunman stormed the ramparts of my apartment I would have listlessly said "shoot me and put me out of my misery."

As it transpired, providence was just around the corner, but I was so disenchanted with the whole scenario that I only begrudgingly assented to my final date with destiny. I didn't even bother to shave my legs (nor the bit in between).

I need not have worried; date no.5 bounded up my stairs like an enthusiastic Labrador. He was sex on a very tall (6' 5") and turgid stick. Quite simply a God. He had the most magnificent presence I had ever seen, and I have seen over double digits. I turned from a woman who is always in control to a gibbering idiot. I started stammering and prattling on, and so entranced was I, that I was pouring vintage champagne into a chipped coffee mug which bore the legend: 'So many men, so few who can afford me.'

His physique was a combination of Adonis, David and Mr Universe, and it seemed hewn from granite. What a specimen. This was flesh made real for a few hundred quid. He was worth more. His touch was so deft, his tongue was so wet and his caresses so soft. He was, and will always be my ultimate fantasy. Lickyicky ya ya and yabba dabba doo. The tower has finally been cleared. Sig(h)ning off, Houston.

- Letitcia, Scarlet, January 2006

Column Inches With Letitcia

Brighton and Hove council have just paid me for an hour of my time. They very kindly gave me a fiver in a brown sealed envelope.

Before 'disgusted of Ditchling' starts putting a fevered quill to vellum about 'disgusting waste of council tax money' OR some bright spark emails 'cor blimey Letitcia. Didn't know you had DOUBLED your charges' allow me to elucidate.

They wish to implement some policies to be included in a strategy regarding 'the profession that dare not speak its name'

Since they know bugger all about the sex industry (apart from those on the receiving end that is----OOO Er missus), they need the actual sex workers of this city (and there are more per capita than any other) to fill in their ridiculous forms.

There was one question (No 68), which made me wonder if I inhabit the same planet as my fellow man.

One of the proposals was: ******drum roll for the most stupid thing I have ever seen written*****:

'JOHN'S' SCHOOLS TO EDUCATE MEN THAT IT IS WRONG TO PAY FOR SEX.

I wrote in the space available: 'are you ****ing kidding me?'

I hand delivered (no pun) my completed questionnaire and queried this particular policy.

'You're havin' a laugh' I said.

A po faced trustee (though not trussed) worker replied.

'It is an absolutely valid proposal'

'You cannot be serious'

'We are'

'And just who do you think would turn up?'

He fell strangely silent.

How out of touch can people be!!!

I can see it now. The Brighton centre illuminated. On the billboard the legend : 'JOHN'S SCHOOL' ROAD SHOW'

They would camp out the night before, lest they lost their place on the road to redemption, and the queues would stretch all the way round to West street right up to the Clock tower and beyond.

Rotten fruit would be hurled from incensed members of Women's institutes from miles around.

It would be the hottest ticket in town!!! Touts would be selling them at QUADRUPLE the price.

I always find that food analogies work well where the sex industry is concerned. Imagine attempting to implement the following: SCHOOLS TO TEACH PEOPLE IT IS WRONG TO PAY FOR A RESTAURANT MEAL WHEN THEY SHOULD COOK AND EAT AT HOME.

That is the whole POINT about the sex industry, if you have an itch (well, not THAT kind of itch) you scratch it, ------ in the same way that people go to a bar/pub to drink when they are thirsty.

It's that simple.

Incidentally it could be argued that it is harder to sell food and libation, than it is to sell sex. According to the latest home office directive, you need a license for the first two and have NEVER need one for the third!!!

I'll tell you the number of chastened blokes who would sign up for this twaddle and arrive at a venue ---A BIG FAT ZERO. Men don't think it's WRONG, they think it's a jolly good idea!!!!

Forget hiring Carnegie or the Albert Hall. Like wise the conference rooms of any hotel.

Think more Dr Who's Tardis or Bill and Ted's 'Excellent' phone booth. Even then, there would STILL be room to swing a scalded cat.

As usual the 'powers that be' are COMPLETELY out of touch (how DO they get their positions?), and while they are busy with the perusal of outmoded forms, one in 30 men, according to Woman Magazine (how DO they collate their statistics?) will be availing themselves to an 'in tim acy facilitator'.

As if on cue, my doorbell is ringing.

(wets lips and liberally applies perfume)

Letitcia.

- Letitcia, Latest Homes, December 2005

FRM Interview

My formative years were spend in a sleepy little village in the Fens (Norfolk), where i was bought up to be a good Catholic girl. From school i went into the fashion industry and have eschewed what is deemed to be fashionable ever since. I make my OWN style.

Julie Burchill wrote about me in her Autobiography, and verbatim were the words 'i have been sexually shocked... ' And if readers want to know why, they will just have to read Body Worship to find out!!

Cynthia Payne had heard about my book from mutual friends and i eventually, after many phone calls... got to have dinner with her I have photos of the event, but Cynthia's computer keeps spitting them back when i try to send them!!! She also personally invited me to the launch of her online website: houseofcyn.co.uk in Mayfair London recently.

My work requires me to treat a man like a god.

No wonder they like it!! I Body Worship them from head to toe... AVOIDING all erogenous zones to start with. It's just a style of lovemaking that i have honed and crafted to be my own. So many sex workers offer penetration... so i thought that i would leave them to deal with that side of things and concentrate on being an 'artiste in my field'.

My clients are a cross section of all socio- economic groups – but the most popular request remains: 'CAN I GET A SUCK WITHOUT A CONDOM... AND WHATS THE PARKING LIKE ROUND THERE!!! '

I work from a luxury seafront apartment and i always answer the phone myself. That way i can tell if a guy has an attitude problem... and would therefore turn out to be difficult. I don't do difficult clients. I'm in it for the pleasure and not for wishing away the clock until i can boot a person out of the door.

Inspiration wise, i just dig deep inside. I don't want to be anyone else – i just want to be ME – and find the best inside myself.

I wrote my book last year over a period of 4 to 5 months – basically just to shut people up!!!! My mates and acquaintances kept bugging... or should that be BEGGING me to write about my life and my experiences, so at least that way i got some peace and quiet.

People cross the street to shake my hand (rather than slap my face) and say:' i enjoyed it immensely' Locally it has sold loads and slowly i am being approached by those who can sell nationally and internationally. I have done book signings in Brighton and London and loads of interviews with magazines and newspapers. GLOBAL DOMINATION CANNOT BE FAR BEHIND!!!

Goddess good looks?? It's all done with smoke and mirrors – Glamour is an illusion, any icon/diva would tell you that. The only difference being, i don't have a hoard of flunkies and make up artists to do it for me. Though apart from 8 hours sleep and plenty of water... oodles of orgasms and Anusol have to be my beauty tip. (When i was young the boys used to say: 'swallow it love, it's good for the complexion' – WHAT A CROCK OF SHIT!!!!)

Most clients merely require you to be extremely compliant and nice to them. Though if you are a demon at oral and like a bit of 'rose leafing' then they like you even more.

I used to measure success in terms of Money, I have lost that mindset of utter stupidity. I'm quietly proud of my achievements and i don't like to limit myself with the thought of 'i can't DO anything else' I'm successful at making money – and then spending it!!

Relaxation wise... who's got the time to relax??? I'm so busy doing so many things – i often don't make it to bed before i crash. My only hobby is having as many gorgeous young men to pamper me as possible.

I don't have a wardrobe – it would only be big enough for my LIPSTICKS. i HAVE TWO ROOMS of clothes – not to mention loads of stuff that have made their way back from Australia... which languishes at my Mum's. Much to her chagrin. I have the usual... fabulous furs... jewellery... 5 zillion pairs of shoes and 6 trillion HATS...

I don't get asked for special requests that much clothes wise – they like to feel my undulating soft flesh and silk stockings crawling all over them. Some times they want me to replicate EXACTLY what i am wearing in a photo on my Web Site – but thats about it.

People who DO inspire me are those that come out of adversity much stronger, or people who have shaped the world and the attitudes of people in some way. Nelson Mandela, Steve Biko, Martin Luthur... Ghandi... i think the fact that they stood up for what they believed in a non confrontational way – and that they were prepared to DIE for it – was awe inspiring.

I don't frequent the fetish scene... seen it, done it, kissed it fucked it... -it is SO far removed from what i am. i used to wear hard core fetish 35 YEARS ago just to walk down the street. But i liked it just for the visual appeal... not for the kind of sex that was supposed to go with it.

I have very few friends and contacts, since i like to keep myself to myself... a wise Editor from the monthly Mag: G.Scene once advised: 'Letitcia, just dip in and dip out where required'... and thats what i do – but not in the sense that you are thinking...

I won't do ANYTHING i'm not deriving pleasure from. So in that sense, i wont do ANYTHING for money. If their tastes coincide with mine – or if i am attracted to some people – or if they want to give ME pleasure... then GREAT. If not, that would be 'HARD YAKKA' as the Aussies say. I always say: PROSTITUTE,BUT NOT DESTITUTE. I DON'T HAVE TO TURN CLIENTS AWAY – i can sense if there may be a hassle – or if they want what i am not prepared to give. I'm simply not that desperate. There's no point in being self employed if you cannot make choices. That is the whole point.

Absolutely NOTHING HAS CHANGED WITH REGARD TO THE SEX INDUSTRY over the years in the UK People still think it's illegal (it's not) or unsafe(not if you are in a safe environment) or unclean (it's up to the worker not to indulge in unsafe sex practices) It's still Taboo, even though every second programme or magazine or newspaper is about the Vice or sex industry scene. People are always fascinated by it.

The only thing i have ever been shocked by, is the wonderful sexual prowess of Virgins. They are so fan-fucking-tastic!!

I don't have a partner – and deliberately so. i would not want a man who thinks it's okay for me to 'work' I just have casual encounters, where i can from dating sites... and they are usually cheating on their partners.

Future plans may be another book – after dinner speaking – i would love to do that... i can see it now... being guest speaker at the W.I... Who knows... everything is limitless...

Yes i have heard of Petra Joy, TWO of the journalists who have interviewed me for separate publications have been collaborating with her for one thing or another. Brighton's full of creative people like that Am having coffee tomorrow with a lady that runs a lap dancing school and puts on Burlesque nights a-la-Betty Page the striptease artist from years ago.

I get more orgasms per capita from English men than any other... i avoid Irish people (too many issues with God)... certain ethnic  and religious groups are a no-no and as for any one from the Middle East (with very few exceptions) don't even get me started. Indian men can come more times than any other i have ever encountered – and they are damn proud of the fact too. Aussies are anaethema to me... all that thrusting and rooting... very loveless and soulless. Again there have been glorious exceptions to the rule.

I don't have a dungeon or medical room... my men's fantasies are in their mind.

Body Worship can be administered to me as well as the other way around. I often find it's like a game of Hockey... suck on an orange at half time... and change ends.

I have fallen a little for some patrons – and being proffessional will not stop you from doing that. That's what attraction, lust and love is all about. The worst that can happen is that you lose your customer – as you inevitably do.

What i like to see a man wear is... a smile. Seriously – a good looking man need only wear jeans and T – shirt Dinner suit with white shirt and bow tie is appealing. I don't like designer... and fetish turns me off. I know i'm strange but there it is.

I don't see women clients, though i think they would relish the sensations i could give to theit deprived body. Women like softness and sensuality – how hard can that be... but not many people get what they want.

My Youngest client was 16 (i checked his bus pass to avoid arrest!!!!) Currently i see a young 19 year old – they are so sweet – i have a penchant for younger men. I don't see old men any more – they play too much on the better side of your nature. They are diabetic and have heart conditions and whine all the time I can't be doing with all of that. Imagine if a ninety year old woman wanted to get laid... HA! CHANCE WOULD BE A FINE THING... it seems more disgusting the other way around doen't it??? Though naturally i would like to be the exception when i reach that age.

You don't need loads of money to look glam – lots of my stuff are from charity shops. If you don't have a sense of style – then no matter HOW much money you throw at it – it won't work. You have to wear the the clothes... they mustn't wear you.

My patrons often buy me Champagne or flowers... but in the UK – the puchase of gifts or even tipping is fairly rare... as opposed to Australian Men. They used to be great present buyers and gratuity givers. Maybe it was because they were so dreadful in the cot (as a generality).

If i wrote my book again, i would have made it 20 pages longer – there was so much material that could have gone in – in fact there really is enough for book 2. I would also have insisted on 2 more proof reads to ensure that there were not the odd typo.. hopefully people will be enjoying it too much to notice.

I don't consider that i have competition. I have seen other ladies who have unique style and fantastic web sites which are different and quirky. It doesn't make me panic in the least... i just think: 'Good on 'em' I applaud excellence... there should be more of it, and more people thinking good things about themselves.

Let's face it – a SUCK will ALWAYS get a man's vote... it's one of the least invasive forms of sex for the man – he just has to lie down and go MMMMmmmmm!!!!! Men are very visual, so they like a lady to dress in differing outfits sometimes – though i'm not so much the naughty school girl as the Sexy Secretary now.

Famous men are SO stupid. Why do they insist on making an appointment in the name of Peter, John or Dave... when you know full well he has either been on the TV in the Newspaper – on stage/film. They are taking an enormous risk since lots of Kiss and tell Girls would think it was 'Manna from heaven'. A K & T girl can be both sex worker or non... and these men in a funny way deserve everything they get (if they are in a relationship or married) If they are single they should be VERY careful about the working lady they choose. I love watching the TV seeing a patron and thinking: ' only hours ago you was watching a *****movie'.

What do men really want from women??? THEY WANT A WOMAN TO FORGIVE THEM WHEN THEY HAVE STAYED OUT ALL NIGHT SHAGGING ANOTHER WOMAN (EVEN IF THEY HAVE GIVEN THEIR PARTNER AN STD) What do women want? THEY WISH THEIR MAN WOULD NOT BE SUCH A FAITHLESS DOG AND A COMPLETE FUCK UP (AND IF THEY CAN COME TO TERMS WITH THE REALITY OF THEIR PARNER'S INFIDELITY... THEY WISH THEY WOULD ****ING USE A CONDOM!!!)

BOOK DETAILS: Body Worship: True stories of a sex goddess
ISBN: 0-9533493-8-1
Price: £8.99
Publisher: Flesh Press
Website: brightonbodyworship.com/book, you can now purchase online (secure payment with NOCHEX) or phone me for nearest stockist.

Okay guys – anything else you need you will just have to whistle for it!!!... My shoulders are killing me... seriously ring if you need to sharpen some stiff i mean stuff up. Let me know what photos you want and i will JPEG them for you.

Letitcia.

- Letitcia, FRM Magazine, October 2005

My Favourite Room

NOT the boudoir.I'm not that predictable!!

It WAS nearly the bathroom..the morning ritual which is so engrained, that it is almost a form of meditation to start the day.

But no... I nominate my OSTEOPATH'S ROOM. This is the reason why.

I have been described in various publications as: The lady who 'PUT THE SEX INTO SUSSEX '...'LEGENDARY SEX GODDESS'.. ' BRIGHTON 'S VICE QUEEN'..and even 'BRIGHTON ICON OF THE MONTH'.

It therefore behoves me to sashay, strut or even shimmy down the road in the style which my newly created public have become accustomed.

Currently I am hobbling, limping and staggering in the manner of Whistler's mother.

I self diagnosed and came up with 'misplaced disc giving referred hip pain' An injury sustained whilst sliding down a barrister!!!

'Get undressed, and we'll get to the bottom of this' said my saviour.

It was almost like a de ja vu working moment in reverse!!!

My night in shining armour came in the form of Jonathan at The St James Osteopathic practice. He truly was the 4 th emergency service. He established my discomfort had arrived for a completely different reason.

Greed, ... and a predilection for fine champagne.

Threshers currently have 'buy two get the third free' for champagne and wines..it therefore saves me enough to afford my favourite: Laurent Perrier Rose..and the three bottles are held in my right hand, voila..dodgy left hip.

Jonathan gave me almost instant relief (wink wink)

I sailed from misery to merriment within one hour, and at the mere cost of £29.

Even I cannot beat that on a time/cost ratio!!!

Osteo Room, I salute you!!

P.s I'm sure there IS a reason for him to naked during the treatment-but at the moment I cannot fathom what that is!!!!

- Letitcia, Latest Homes, September 2005

Woman Magazine Interview

Letitcia, 53, from Brighton , is an independent erotic service provider, or sex worker. She used to work in massage parlours both in Australia and the UK , before branching out on her own. She's been involved in the sex industry for the past 20 years.

'When I was 33, I was living in Sydney with my Kiwi boyfriend. He went to Auckland to visit his parents for a few weeks without me and I became really annoyed. What am I, chopped liver? I'd left behind a terrific job in trade fair promotions and a flat in Brighton to go to Australia with him, and here I was, alone.

'As a Catholic girl, I always wanted to be a bit naughty, and as I was living behind a brothel in the red light area of the city, I decided to walk in and ask for a job. I had more front than Harrods and I must have arrived at right time as they were just setting up. I was over 21 and loved sex, so why not? I got into it because I wanted to show my boyfriend that I could do without him and be really bad. It was terribly childish really.

'The first time I saw a client, my knees were knocking together. This was the first time I was going to have sex for money, but I needn't have worried. He was a lovely 18-year-old man with a fit body and we got on really well. We're actually still in touch now. He's 38 and he says I'm the only woman he's ever fallen in love with.

'I spent the next ten years working in Sydney and I'd get into relationships with clients quite frequently. They'd promise to take me out of the industry but I'd always end up going back. What can I say? I love sex and money. I learned a lot during that time, including not take it personally if a client who came in to see the girls, didn't pick me.

'I came back to the UK in 1992 with practically no money, responded to an ad in the local paper and got a job in a parlour in Hove . It wasn't anything near as luxurious as Sydney , and the bed was only 3ft wide. Because of British attitudes to sex, anyone wanting to run a business has to structure it so it's not like a brothel, which is illegal. It's all terribly cloak and dagger but I think people like it like that and that's why the laws haven't changed.

'I decided to set up by myself 11 years ago. When you're working for other people, all you have to do it be nice and caring, but when you go it alone, you have to adopt a business brain. You need to decorate the place, get the accoutrements, and think of all the little things. As a self-employed person, I had to cultivate qualities such as marketing myself, and lowering the timbre of my voice on the phone to potential clients. I also had to listen and make executive decisions quickly about whether I wanted to see them. In the parlour, the clients chose me, whereas now I was choosing them.

'People of think of sex workers' clients as being horrible, oleaginous, greasy types but they're rarely like that. English men are pretty good. I get more orgasms per capita from them than other nationalities. But there's no 'typical' client as such. A typical client is a guy with money in his pocket and a hard-on. They come from a cross section of socio economic backgrounds and are usually lovely and respectful. I do get quite a lot of business from younger men. I think they find mature women more attractive. Perhaps I give them attention than younger women. They're paying their hard-earned money to see me so I'm happy to do so. If one shows up who I've spoken to on the phone and he's not quite as attractive as I thought he might be, I grin and bear it.

'You get a sense on the phone whether you'll warm to a person or not. Sometimes I'm wrong but if I feel a sort of sixth sense that we're not going to get on, I'll just say I'm busy.

'Sometimes I get difficult customers who are very trying. But sometimes they book for half an hour and they stay all day because we're having such a good time.

'In all my time in the industry I have very very rarely come across a nasty person. Of course there are always bad apples in any business but I've never had someone controlling me.

'If a client starts saying 'My wife doesn't understand me,' I'll change topics. It seldom happens anyway. I never ask them questions about themselves - they're coming to me for a good time. Some of them want to know the ins and outs of what I do but I just deflect them.

'There's no such thing as a regular - that's a misnomer. A client probably sees several other women between visits. For many, the reason they pay money is so they can have the variety. There may be a few guys who have favourites, and there have been some who see me again and again but it's not once a week like clockwork.

'Sometimes someone will book me for the week, other times I might just work a couple of days or I could do ten half an hour jobs in one day. It just depends.

'The best thing is that there are very few jobs that you can earn money and have orgasms at the same time. I haven't had one today and that's disappointing. But I had one on Friday with a young virgin. He was 19. I know because I checked his bus pass. I think he'll be back for more. I get lots of business through my website, which I set up 18 months ago.

'What's the worst part? I can't think of anything terribly negative. Sex workers are responsible when it comes to safety, and it's down to us to be self-regulatory. I have no way of knowing the sexual health of the guy seeing me.

'Sometimes I have to tell clients they can't stay, because I can tell they have an STI or some other condition. They may be unaware they've got it, but I can often smell it on them. It's difficult to broach the subject but I have to because it's not going to go away.

'I don't have penetrative sex anymore - what I do now is more specialised. I call it body worship and it's a combination of techniques I learned in south east Asia. People can often orgasm by being touched not in the obvious erogenous zones but elsewhere, so it's very sensual. I stopped doing penetration because it wasn't needed and I'm more into sensual eroticism anyway. My clients love it.

'Sex work or even its periphery trades like lapdancing, is so stigmatised. But how do you change people's minds? People's belief systems are ingrained and I'm not on a crusade to change them. I've never had people treating me badly. I don't expect it.

'It does take a special type of person to do this work. You've got to know what you like, and what you're good at. You've got to be caring, you've got to like pleasing men, and you've got to enjoy having orgasms. You need to be very centred as it's an exacting job. You can't do it for the wrong reasons - which I did at first. Luckily though, I was old enough to not be sucked into anything exploitative.

'What I do is totally legal. What's illegal is being underage, being controlled or forced to work as a sex slave, and streetwalking. I work above the law and in fact I've had several lovely policemen as clients. Some of the guys from Scotland Yard get free rail travel within a radius of 60 miles so they come to Brighton for a have-it-away day. Funnily enough, I bumped into a client once at Victoria Station while he was doing surveillance with a colleague. He's black but he nearly went white when he spotted me!'

- Fiona Sandiford, Woman Magazine, August 2005

Source Magazine Interview: Icon of the Month

David Bramwell meets Brighton sex goddess Letitcia, author of the candid and witty book Body Worship , and a woman whose work has given her 'an insider's perspective of how life really is'.

What led to the creation of the book?

So many people pestered me to write it, it reached a point where I couldn't refuse any more. It's based on my experiences in the sex industry of course. And it's meant to be funny! Each chapter explores different themes. 'Sick Puppies' tackles the kinkiest stuff I've ever been asked to do, 'Don't Panic Mr Mainwaring' covers jobs that went horribly wrong. The very first chapter, 'Jostling for Pole Position', deals with how clients clamour to be my "first or last" of the day.

No, the most commonly asked question remains: "Can I get a suck without a condom?". and "What's the parking like?!"

How do you feel about your chosen career?

I often get asked the same questions by people: "What do your family think?" "Were you damaged as a child?" I enjoy what I do and won't do anything with anyone that I don't like. Prostitution is just a service industry that the English seem to take way too seriously. If an Australian man fancies "having an empty" he'll go find a Sheila, do the business and if she's any good, recommend her to his mates!

It does happen from time to time. The acid test is: am I still enjoying being with this person even though he's not paying? It helps of course knowing that they're good in the sack for starters! I did once have a long relationship with one client. He was happy to tell people I was an ex-prostitute but never revealed that he was an ex-customer. Most guys still seem afraid of appearing less of a man for having visited a prostitute, which is strange. If you've got an itch.

There's a chapter about this in my book, called 'Aroma Coma'. It doesn't happen very much though; most guys seem to take care of themselves 'down there'. If a guy is a little grubby I'll give him a bedbath; men like the whole nursing thing. But I did have this one client, everything that could be wrong he had it - dogbreath, the pungent aroma of twenty-year-old sweat... Alarmingly, he produced a medical certificate from his doctor to allay my fears about this strange rash on his chest. I was more concerned that when he took off his underpants he appeared to have elephantitis of the balls. They were the size of footballs. And as for his feet , well let's not even go there! I sat him down and drew up a list of things he needed to attend to with regard to his body. It was the kindest thing I could have done.

As opposed to a free Babycham with Maraschino cherries?! I started in Brighton around 1980. I was a promotion girl. We were often treated like prostitutes anyway. It was only a minor quantum leap. Since then I've worked around the world: Singapore , Malaysia , the brothels in Australia ..

And has your work instructed you as to the true nature of men?

I think at the bottom line men just want someone to be nice to them. They're all faithless dogs at heart, and greedy for sex, but this hasn't tainted my view of them at all! My job is like a study in anthropology.

I can tell the way a man has been brought up by the way he presents himself when he comes to see me. I feel like I've been on the inside track of how life really is. But at the end of the day when a guy comes to me I do everything I possibly can to make him feel wonderful. After all, that's my remit!

- David Bramwell, Cheeky Guide to Brighton, Source Magazine, July 2005