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Having a ball!

Men get a real kick out of me


Published by: Polly Taylor
Published on: 12th May 2011

The contents of my purse were scattered across the kitchen table – a handful of coppers, some old receipts, and… well, that was it. Not even enough for my bus fare.
‘Guess I’ll have to walk, again!’ I sighed, pulling on my coat.
As a part-time receptionist in a London beauty salon, I earned peanuts. I’d been struggling to make ends meet since I could remember. But in the last six months, things had really got out of control. I had a stack of unpaid bills, my rent was overdue, and I couldn’t even scrape together my bus fare!
Still every cloud has a silver lining, right? At least I was on my way to my other part-time job. And it was one I’d dreamed about from when I was little.
Okay, I wasn’t Kate Moss, but every so often I’d model for catalogues. The cash eased my troubles – for a little while.
But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t smile for the camera today.
‘Cheer up,’ the photographer said. ‘It might never happen!’
‘It already has,’ I sighed, telling him all about my money worries.
‘I’m so down,’ I finished. ‘I feel like a kicked puppy.’
‘I know something you could kick,’ he chuckled. ‘And it could earn you some extra cash.’
‘What do you mean?’ I frowned.
‘I know some men who love being kicked in the, er, privates,’ he explained. ‘They like women
to do it wearing high heels. And they pay, too.’
‘They pay to be kicked… down there?’ I gasped. ‘You’re joking?’
But he wasn’t. ‘Some pay up to a grand an hour.’
‘No way would a guy pay £1,000 to be booted in the nuts!’ I scoffed. ‘The tiniest knock there, and they fall to the floor in agony.’
‘I think these guys like the pain,’ he said.
Well, I might have been desperate, but it sounded weird. At the end of the shoot, the photographer insisted on giving me his card.
‘Get in touch if you change your mind,’ he urged.
‘Trust me, I won’t,’ I smiled.
Back home, yet another electricity bill had landed on my doormat. I had a week to pay up, or else I’d be cut off. Great!
Heating up some baked beans for dinner, I couldn’t help thinking about the photographer’s offer.
A grand would cover my rent, my unpaid bills, and put some food on the table. All that for putting on a pair of high heels, and kicking a bloke where it hurt the most for an hour! I’d have to work a month in the beauty salon to earn that much.
The idea sounded more tempting by the second. I called my best friend Crystal, 24, for her advice.
‘I admit it’s weird,’ she started. ‘But think of how many ex-boyfriends you’d give that treatment to for free!’
‘You’ve got a point,’ I sniggered. ‘And I’d only have to do it once to get out of debt, then I could forget all about it…’
Nervously, I rang the photographer and he set up an appointment with one of his friends for the following day.
Standing on his friend’s doorstep in five-inch stilettos, I was shaking like a leaf. Some dirty old man will open the door, I bet.
Instead, I was greeted by a middle-aged bloke in a smart suit, who looked so, well, normal.
‘Come in,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s get started.’ Slowly, he unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to his ankles. I froze like a rabbit caught in headlights. Did he expect me to sleep with him?!
‘Come on then!’ he said. ‘Sock it to me.’
So he really did want a kicking.
‘B-but what if I hurt you?’ I spluttered, wringing my hands.
‘That’s the idea!’ he smiled. ‘Don’t hold back now.’
Closing my eyes, and thinking of the money, I lifted my leg and gave his bits a… gentle tap with the tip of my foot.
‘Come on, you can do better than that,’ he encouraged. ‘Harder!’
So I pulled my leg back and gave him a good, hard wallop.
‘Erm… are you okay?’ I gasped, guilt flooding me as he winced in agony.
‘I’m fine’ he grunted, his eyes watering. ‘More!’
Getting into my stride, I booted him again, following it up with a swift knee to his groin. The more I did it, the more he enjoyed it.
I still couldn’t get my head around it, though – how someone could get so much pleasure from extreme pain – but I wasn’t complaining. When the hour was up, he handed me £1,000 cash!
‘That felt fantastic!’ he wheezed, as I turned to leave. ‘Can you come back next week?’
‘Er, I can’t,’ I muttered, walking out the door.
I might have earned enough in an hour to write off my debt, but this was strictly a one-off.
Back at the beauty salon a few months later, though, my money worries had resurfaced. I dreamed of opening my own place, but I wasn’t earning enough to live on, let alone start my own business.
But there was one way I could make enough money. That bloke had asked me to come back, and my photographer said there were loads more like him out there.
I knew it was weird, and my family wouldn’t understand – I mean, even I couldn’t figure it out. And, even though it didn’t have the slightest thing to do with sex, some might think it was sordid. Still, it would mean I could finally kick my debt into touch.
Taking a deep breath, I called the man and arranged another visit. Afterwards, he recommended me to a friend, and it went from there.
Now I have 30 regular clients, and earn at least £3,000 a week from busting balls! Some of them say it’s a stress reliever, while others just like the pain.
Most of my friends think my modelling work has picked up, those who know think I’m… nuts!
This may not quite be what I had in mind when I was a little girl, and I don’t plan on doing this forever. Soon, though, I’ll have enough to open my own beauty salon. But I admit, I’m getting a real kick out of my well-paid profession.
Nathalia Steel, 26, Golders Green, London