I'm For Hire E-Book

Marie Therese

• Herausgeber: Olympia Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Originally published in an expurgated version by Sartre in 1947, I'm For Hire is the first-person account of a Paris prostitute who works both sides of the conflict between France and Germany, also taking her clientele from the Americans and Arabs. The author was not identified until after Olympia's version was published (as part of the Traveller's Companion series in 1955.) Later subtitled "The Memoirs of a Prostitute" in numerous pirate versions, this book was translated into English by OP workhorse Austryn Wainhouse. Its most-endearing quality is the graphic accounts of a mind focused on survival, and seeking simple comforts from women and other lovers in an incredibly brutal world, as our narrator describes her travels through occupied France, into Berlin, back again, along with the new problems liberation brings for her and her sisters.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

I'm For Hire

Marie Therese

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

I'm For Hire

Marie Therese

This page copyright © 2003 Olympia Press.

I'm For Hire

The Memoirs Of A Prostitute

CHAPTER ONE

I'm French. When I was sixteen I married a man thirteen years older than I was. I did it just to get away from my folks. My husband's one idea was to strap me down with kids. “They'll keep you put. I don't want you running around on the loose,” was the way he felt about it. He also felt I shouldn't use make-up. We never went out together. And there was that whizz of a mother of his. She was on my neck all the time; she came to the house every day; whenever there was a battle, she took the side of that bastard son of hers. My first kid was a boy, Jimmy. Then Peter came along fourteen months later. Jimmy died when he was three. I went a little to pieces, I guess. There was a neighbor who was nice to me. She liked good times and used to tell me every now and then that I ought to go out and have a little fun. “What the hell sort of life are you leading with that jerk?” she used to say. “Doesn't he ever break down and laugh?” Once she invited me along with a guy who had a car. We headed out into the country. There were some woods, we stopped, and he wanted to make love to me. I began to cry. Maybe I was a sap, but I didn't want to do that to my husband even though, God knows, it would have served him right. So the guy took his hands off me and cut into my girl-friend. Well, that suited her down to the ground. Her husband used to call her a whore and that's just what she was. She slept all around the whole damned town: that's how they come from Brittany. And, what's more, she was jealous of her husband. My husband, who was the jealous type himself, got his hair up and made me quit seeing her: and since I was bored to little pieces I started taking a nursing course that was supposed to prepare me for being a hospital attendant. It was good having something to do. At about the same time we went to stay at my mother-in-law's place and she did the looking after the kids. I lost the last bit of interest I had left in staying at home. As soon as I'd finished' the course, I got a job as a nurse's assistant in the women's ward of a hospital on the outskirts of Paris. And that's when I began to grow up. I met another nurse: she went for women.