The Lines get Blurry

You try to prepare yourself. I understood that there could be emotional ramifications. I also understood that I could find myself in a threatening situation. I never considered the impact this job would have on my sexuality. One of the funny things is, is if I haven’t worked in over a day, or if I’m on my way to a job, I get this feeling. It’s not aroused, or turned on, it’s a hunger. Regardless of whether or not I enjoy the sex, my uterus hungers for it. I would also like to bring your attention to something I said (and meant) in a previous entry. And I quote: The catch is, there’s just enough straight in me to enjoy my job, but the rest. Gay. Gaygaygaygay. Yes. I said this. Just over a month ago. Well, I don’t know how true that is any more either. Ok, yes I do. Not very true. I had my usual weekly call with Sixfingers last night and finished up around 9, and was looking for somewhere to go for a late dinner. As most of my friends have ‘real jobs’ I was flying solo. I headed down to a neighbourhood which used to have a reputation of being quite trendy, and looked for a venue. I found pub and sat at the bar. The bar tender was a young Pierce Brosnen. Accent and all. And charming! We chatted quite a bit, then the band came on, and I got called away for work. I was enjoying myself so much, that I returned afterwards. We continued to flirt. The drinks flowed freely. I could have taken him home. I wanted to take him home. The only reason I didn’t was because I couldn’t figure out why. I’d already fucked two guys that day, why do I need a third? I think to myself, that it would be nice just to have Realme sex. Not Alison sex, whose main goal is just to get him off, but fun sex. Would I achieve this in a one night stand? I think, perhaps in the anonymity of it, I could be most sincere, most real. I wanted to be held. I wanted a sleep over. It’s been so long since I’ve had a one night stand, do people sleep over, or do they sneek out once the deed is done? Regardless, I ended up dreaming about the man all night long. It was almost as good. Almost. That little pub may be my new late night dinner haunt. Can’t a girl have a second chance?

Also. I would like to make a confession. There is a chance, perhaps, I may have agreed to go on a date with Richard Gere. Ok. Here’s how it went down. It’s a long story, so I will make it in point form:

• I got drunk and texted him late at night
• He texted me the next day, very excited to hear from me
• We made a date for 8 o’clock drinks
• 7:30 he cancels, his work dinner went late
• The next day (Saturday)he wants me to come over and give him a massage.
• I tell him Realme doesn’t do casual encounters. If that’s what he wants he should call Alison
• So he does.
• It was good to see him again. We spend our time together, have “the best sex he’s ever had”. He’s sorry about cancelling and promises to make it up to me by taking me to an uber swanky restaurant on Monday
• Later that day I text him telling him saying I can’t do Monday, what about Wednesday.
• Today is Monday, and I have not heard back from him

 This would be reason number 27 why I hate dating. Why hasn’t he gotten back to me. I’m telling myself just to be cool about all of it. Don’t you think he should have called? Ugh. This is stupid. I hope he doesn’t think I’m just twiddling my thumbs waiting for his call. I think I’m going to go twiddle with the bar tender. Please comment. Is this the worst idea of life?

And now for the joke of the post:

I had a client going down on me, and he starts pulling at things, and I think, perhaps he got a hair in his mouth. Nope, it’s his gum. Some how he lost control of his gum (who gives oral with gum in their mouth, what the fuck) and it was every where! Stuck in his whiskers, on his chest, in my labia. And I think, “fuck I don’t get paid enough for this” Then I realise. Yes I do.

Dear Dexter,

I was reluctant to write about this because my friends read my blog, and I don’t want them to worry. However, in my commitment to this blog, it would be unfair not to write about the good, bad and ugly. Tonight wasn’t just bad but it was ugly.

I’m learning to tell the types of guys my calls are. This evenings call was the type of guy who will be respectful but will push for as much as he can get with in the confines of the rate he’s paid. Coming from a customer service back ground it’s hard to say no, I naturally want to please. I’ve needed to learn that these boys need boundaries, and I can say that they can’t do that. I accidentally miss-quoted tonight’s client. He wanted a second girl, and I quoted him the usual hourly rate, and then found out much later that the rate would be higher if she and I were going to be interacting. He was disappointed, and I felt bad. At this time I still thought of him as being a nice gentleman. As consolation, I agreed to join him in the shower, even though that is usually not done. (Logistically; it ruins your hair and make-up, and you have to re-do it all before the next client) I get out of the shower, and I notice that there were four bright red blood drops on the floor mat. I point this out as being odd, and asked him if he’d cut himself. He said, “no” with a surprised face. And I’m confused. Where did this blood come from? As I’m looking around the bathroom floor, I notice that there’s quite a bit more blood. Quite a bit. I flip the mat, and it’s the brass colour of blood mixed with water, and I also notice that blood is splattered all over the bottom of the toilet bowl. Splattered. Not smugged, or dripped, or… I don’t fucking know, but it’s splattered. Maybe I haven’t seen enough Dexter, but if you could tell me how blood splatters without being hit from something, like a head bashing against a toilet seat… well, I’d be happy. My Gut said “GET OUT!” My Brain said, “I’m sure it’s nothing.” To which my Gut replied, “if this is not a red flag, what the fuck is? Get the fuck out of there!” So I did. I was straight with him. I told him that that’s a big red flag for me, and in my industry I have to keep myself safe. I gave him all his money back, and he insisted on paying me for the hour. Then I got the fuck out of there.

Slut? Well maybe....

I have these boots. From time to time they've been my first date boots or my bar night boots. I'd never wear them to work though. They're way too slutty.