Is It A Full Moon?

Ok, picture Phillip Seymore Hoffman. Now add about 60 lbs. Don’t forget the stretch marks, cause of course he isn’t wearing a shirt. I know it’s hard to take your eyes off that massive belly that’s covering his gross black sweat pants but pan up… ignore the gold chain, and over sized pendant nestled in the curly blond chest hair, keep panning up. It’s worth it. (by the way, what’s with gross men wearing gross black sweat pants? If you or your man have gross black sweat pants, throw them out! If you don’t think they’re gross, they probably are) We’re above the shoulders now. His sweaty greasy head which looks like PSH’s younger brother. And a magnificent mullet. Seriously. His hair is about as long as mine, going down to his mid back, and the tight curls are clumped together due to him constantly stroking it with both hands from end to end. Don’t forget the three inch long French tickler. Are you weirded out yet??? I haven’t even told you the story.

By the way, this was the last call of the evening. I am going to tell you about my night backwards. 

When I make the initial call, I’m filtered through dispatch, opposed to a cell phone number. Not ideal. Typically guys will ask me about me. What I look like, what my rates are, when I can get there. This guy asked no questions. It was weird. I didn’t have the greatest feeling about this. When I called the agency, I let them know about the call. When I get there, I go up to his room, and I can hear him sleeping. I knock loudly hoping that he’ll here me. No dice. I call to the lobby and have them call the room. I could hear the phone ringing on my end, but not through the door. Mmmm… This night is not going well. I bang on the door, and shout his name. Finally I hear movement, and he opens the door. “Hi! I’m Alison,” I say, “Were you sleeping?” “Yes,” He mumbles, he doesn’t look happy to see me at all. “Are you Tyler?” “No.” No? What the fuck.

I am certain I have the right room number. Am I not at the right hotel? I walk down, and start looking for signage, and there is none. What the hell kind of place is this? I go out to the parking lot, and see a large sign for the hotel I am supposed to be at in front of the door of the hotel I am at, but despite this I am not at the right hotel. Stupid airport hotels. There were two hotels sharing one parking lot. So I drove to the other hotel –yes I drove, it was far, and my heals were high – and went to the 406 of that hotel. PSH opened the door. I wouldn’t say he was surprised to see me… I’m not quite sure what word I would used… stunned? Shocked? Maybe Startled… “Hi…” He says, “Uh, Ok… Uh… Wait… Hold on…” “What’s going on in there?” I can see there is someone else in there, but he has already closed the door on my face. What the fuck. I hear the dead bolt slowly lock, and the latch creek across the door. I can hear him talking, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. Less than a minute later he opens the door again, and invites me in. I don’t want to cross the threshold until I know what’s going on. There’s another woman there. I don’t know who she is. She’s in her 40’s, long blond hair, about 30 lbs over weight, and shops at Wal-Mart. Who is this woman? Is she his girlfriend? Wife? Another escort? I don’t know how to ask “Did you call another girl?” She says pointing at me. This man is frazzled. Clearly very high on something. Constantly stroking his hair. I just can’t help admire the blond mullet. It’s epic. He mumbles and stutters a lot, and he’s trying to talk his way out of this mess he’s gotten himself into. “Hi,” I say to the woman, “I’m Alison from…” and I tell her my agency, hoping she will tell me who the hell she is. “Ok, you need to figure out what’s going on.” The woman tells him. She doesn’t introduce herself to me. “Could we have a threesome?” he asks, helplessly. “No,” We both say. I’d like, more than anything, to get out of this situation. I’m still closest to the door. “Listen,” I say. We’re past being nice to this guy, and are just blunt. “It’s $70 for me to walk through this door. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I want that money so I can go. “Do you take credit cards?” I hold out my hands, “Does it look like I take a credit card? How were you expecting to pay us? How much cash do you have?” I ask him, and quickly realise, it’s way to many questions for him to process. “How much cash do you have?”  He can’t/won’t answer this question. “Your ad says you take debit.” “No it doesn’t.” I say with certainty. He goes and gets the phone book and shows me. Sure enough. What the fuck. “Well, I don’t” “Those phone books are old,” The woman pipes up, “Agencies don’t take credit cards any more.” This goes on for a little while, various solutions are offered. Finally this woman volunteers to pay my $70 out of the money he’s already paid her, and we both leave.

The call before that was at this completely random hotel that I’d never heard of also out by the airport. It was quite classy looking. I made it there in good time. When the client opens the door, I see the cold sore right away. It’s a gooder. He hands me the cash right away in an envelope, and invites me in. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m going to have to decline,” I say as politely as I can as I put the money back on the table. “It’s just that your cold sore is a concern to me. I hope you can understand.” He moved his hand up to cover it. I felt bad for the guy. He seemed nice. “Did you want me to call another girl for you?” I was trying to make this as not awful/awkward as possible. “No,” He says, obviously humiliated. Sorry dude. I didn’t get the $70 from him.

And yes, I did not forget, today was emerald day. My Texan regular who went to South America and said he’d bring me back an emerald. Before I left last time, he re-booked for today. I phoned him yesterday to confirm, and he didn’t call back. I tried him a couple times, then again today. I thought he was going to blow me off. My last msg. was going to be telling him that I was just teasing about the stone, but I didn’t have to. He confirmed. Surprise! I went over, and it was very friendly, very girlfriendy. The problem with being to friendly as soon as I get there, is we start chatting and then I have to interrupt things to collect the money. . In the TV series, Secret Diary of a Call Girl, with every client she has, as soon as he walks in the door, he hands her a thick envelope. No discussions. If only it was like that in real life. Sure enough, one thing is leading to another and before we get to carried away, I stop, and ask if he can pay me, he says yes of course, and continues to kiss. I sit back on the couch, just out of his reach, and he reaches further. “If we could look after that now, I would appreciate it.” I tell him. Frick. Why do you make me ask. It’s over there on the table, and I go get it. There’ll be more later,” He tells me. Uh-huh, there isn’t enough here to cover what he’s getting now. Last time, he didn’t pay me enough either. He paid me a lot, and it was mostly conversation. He made a big deal about being able to pay me, but I told him, that if it was going to be a regular thing, we could let this one go. I knew saying that, that it may or may not be a regular thing. When I counted the money, I stated the amount with a question mark on the end, and he got the hint, and handed me more. Dude with the cold sore just gave me an envelope. That’s the way it should be. Anyway, I stayed for less than an hour with Mr. Texas, and left without emeralds. Oh well.

Dear Mom,

I've been putting it off for a while, but tonight I did it. I had a very big day today, and we were driving home. I was the passenger for a change. I felt myself starting to doze off, and the letter began to just form in my head. Perhaps it was rude to exclude myself from others and start writing, but there was a pretty good program on the radio that everyone seemed to be tuned into, and my conversation wasn't missed. I find that when things like that start writing themselves, you don't pass it up. 

It was really hard to write, and I've been putting it off for months. It's like writing your own obituary, only much worse. How do you write a letter to your mother explaining this. There really is nothing one could say that would make it better. Especially since her obtaining the letter would be a result of something awful happening to me. I hope with what I wrote though, it would give her an understanding of why I do it, and that it's not a shallow thing that I'm doing. 

I thought about posting the letter here, or even telling you what I wrote. I thought it would make for a good read. Heart wrenching and honest. But it's none of your business. I say that will all the love I have, not all things need to be made public. This is between her and I, and is not to ben sensationalised. I want to write the letter out by hand and put it in an envelope on the back of my bedroom door. She will find it when the time comes.

I hope that if something did happen to me she would be able to forgive me for the shame I brought to my family. Even if she could understand, I don't know if the rest of the family could. "Did you hear she was a..."

Sugga Daddy?

As of Tuesday I'll be gone for almost a month. I may still blog if the spirit strikes me, and I have an appointment on the 23rd which I imagine you'll hear about, but beyond that it's summer vacation for this girl. (You know, cause my life is so hard). I'll be back September 10th.
 
Because I'll be gone so long I've been a little concerned about money. I wouldn't even say stressed though, just mildly concerned. Lately, everything just seems to work out. Everyone seems to want GFE. And by everyone I would say about 80% of my clients, where its usually 5%. It's blowing me away.
 
Remember the story I told you about the man and his son? I think I wrote about it in June. I saw him again today. He called me back in July to book for this appointment, then he called again a couple days ago to further confirm. He couldn't come up with a legitimate work excuse for coming to town so he called in sick.  He booked me for two GFE hours, and with the agency only taking 25% of the first hour, that is a very good day for me. He also bought me a present. I haven't had a client give me an expensive gift before. It was a Swarovski Pendant. Not something I'd pick out for myself, but I still think it's really beautiful.
 
 I don't know what I'm doing differently, but I'm working less and making more. My theory for the flux in the GFE is sub-consciously we know summer is ending. We're preparing for hibernation, nesting... Nuzzling... Cuddling....clearly.
 
I have another new regular. His name is Jim and he is from Texas. He sure is! He's a good guy. He has a lot of similarities as today’s client, but very American. He travels to South America a lot. He wants to take me with him. I was playing along like I'd go until he called me out. Of course I wouldn't go! The funny thing is he thinks he'd be the tough one to get along with. Ha! Little does he know how cranky I can get. Honey, being this charming all the time is exhausting! I just couldn't do it. I hear some girls insist on having their own suite and private time. We agreed to revisit it once we got to know each other better. He asked what he could bring back for me though. He is my one appointment for the 23rd. I have no idea what sort of goods they have that I would want down there. "I'll take one of those 20K emeralds you told me about" I joked, referring to previous conversation we had. He said, “Ok,” Then eyed up my tiny diamond earings. I’m not sure if he’s gauging the size I like, or is going to try to do better.

Do I honestly believe he’s going to bring  back emeralds for me? Not really. I bet when I call him on the 23^rd as promised, he’ll dodge. Like I say, I’m not that good at the money grubbing end of this job. But it would be nice.

Happy Anniversary To Me

I just realised today is the 10 year anniversary to the loss of my virginity and look how far I've come. I was thinking of making a list of the awesome sexual things I've done in the last decade, but the list would just be too long.

Silly Little Fantasy

I lost two calls today because I don’t do in-calls. I don’t provide the accommodation. I lost one yesterday as well. I generally lose a few a week. I started thinking today I should get a second apartment. I shitty little bachelor suite, in a shitty neighbourhood where the neighbours mind their own business and don’t say, “Hi”. Two calls would cover the cost of it, and I was thinking I could even share this with Andrew. The idea of sharing anything with him doesn’t sit well with me, as I hate him. You know, the grade four kind of hate where you just want to push him in a mud puddle. Being around him makes my blood boil, I just wish he wasn’t such a good lay. But I could put aside my petty feelings for business. He has already approached me about this last time I saw him. I was against it because having a place for the purpose of prostitution is illegal. It would a bawdy house.

“common bawdy-house” means a place that is (a) kept or occupied, or (b) resorted to by one or more persons for the purpose of prostitution or the practice of acts of indecency;

I was thinking if we made it look like someone lived there… Andrew could change his drivers licence to that address, throw some dishes in the cupboard, food in the fridge. This could work. I was discussing this plan with Alex who is looking for a studio to work in his art in, loved this idea. He thought the idea of sharing a studio with two hookers was hilarious. It would be so perfect. None of us would use the place for more than 10 – 15 hours a month

Whilst writing, I have also been researching… definitely illegal, whether you’re living there or not, and I phoned the agency, to ask their stance on in-calls. “Absolutely not!” said the Serious Voice. It’s a $2K fine for me and a $3K fine for my boss. She would not be impressed with me. Ha ha. And the fun part is you wouldn’t get caught the first time, or the fifth, you’d get caught six to eight months down the line when you let your guard down. Sure you would have made well over that amount by then, but … no deal.

Delicious

Mmmm-hmmm That’s what tonight’s client was. I almost booked off early tonight. I’m home from spending a week living at my Grandma’s while my mom was on vacation, and I am exhausted. But on of the reasons why the agency loves me so much is because I’m always available. In order to maintain that love, I must always be available. So I stayed on and hoped for no calls. He called around 12:30, and it was an easy booking. I’ve gotten a mixed bag of men lately, so I was in suspense as to what this client was like until I saw him. He opened the door, and I was relieved to see that he was normal. Tall, mid-thirties, fit, with dark blond hair, and relaxed. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t rushed, he just treated me like a guest in his house. He treated me with the same respect when we were upstairs too, so in return I did the same. He was very sensual starting out. I enjoyed it. I let him treat me a bit. It’s not often that the men are as concerned with my pleasure. He really took the lead. And I don’t know how to put this nicely, but he also had the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. Ugh, it was incredible. Seriously.

We just kind of hung out and talked afterwards. I was rubbing his back and he had these two symmetrical horizontal white lines on his back and I asked him if they were scars from falling on something. He said no, it was from when he was in the war. “What war?” I ask. “The Bosnian war.” He tells me. When I was in college I met this man who had very few teeth. He had a gentle spirit and the best sense of humour anyone I’ve come across in a while. We bonded quickly. He was arrested in the Bosnian war, and as a prisoner, they pulled out most of his teeth. I felt compassion for this man in lying beside me, imagining what he had suffered. “I was captured, and they did stuff to me.” “Really?” I ask. “No, I’m just joking.” He laughs. “That’s an awful thing to joke about” I cry out, and try to shove him off the bed. He wraps his arms around me and tells me that he did serve in the war for three years. He had such interesting stories. He told me about his time in the war, then afterwards he lived in Holland and made his living finding war criminals. I could only imagine what that involved. He told me about his family immigrating to Montreal, and his Dad getting involved with organised crime. We talked about relationships, he was concerned about me. He was worried I was wasting my time. He told me that he wasn’t preaching to me, but having a relationship with this job just wouldn’t happen. I laughed and said no kidding. He was serious though. He said if a man told me he didn’t care that I do this for a living, it probably meant that he didn’t care about me. That made me pause for a minute. Definitely something to think about.

I left shortly before the hour was up. He walked me to the door. He told me I was lucky he didn’t run into me in a coffee shop, or else he’d be all over me. Charmer. He kissed me good night, and sent me on my way.

My client this afternoon wasn’t nearly as pleasant. He came across me through my ad in the Sun. I’m thinking I should pull my ad out of there. Who reads the Sun these days? Creepers. Creepers and old people. Not my ideal clientele. This man would fit into both of those categories. He was very chatty on the phone, telling me he was going to have me there for a few hours (I don’t believe) and asks me to wear sexy satin lingerie. I have discovered that men who make special requests as to what I wear (aside for perhaps that dress discretely) are creepers. It’s happened a few times, and it’s always the same type of men. My theory is they get stomped on and shit on through out the rest of their life, this is their chance to have it their way. Like Burger King. The apartment was a dive. Of course he had a cat. It looked like he hadn’t washed his clothes since he bought them; in 1987. Yes, of course they’re sweat pants. I’m trying not to be completely turned off by this guy. But he’s being a little weird. He doesn’t really want to talk, and he doesn’t really want to fuck. And this is one of those clients where I just grin and bare it, but I don’t know what he wants, so I straight out ask him. “I want you to kiss me.” He tells me. He hasn’t paid for GFE, but he wasn’t subtle about showing me how much cash was in his wallet when he paid me. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, “I don’t kiss.” “But your ad says GFE…” He tells me, “Does it?” I play dumb. Frick, how am I going to get out of this? “Well, I don’t kiss” “This is not good at all” He tells me like a disappointed father. “What do you want to do?” I ask him. I do kiss, but no this guy. He was just too gross, I couldn’t do it. “I want you to give me my money back, and get out of here!” Yay! I win!!! I keep a third of the money and bolt. “I’ll be calling your agency!” He shouts at me as I walk out the door. “So will I,” I let him know. Our girl calls me about five minutes later. “So what happened?” She asks. “Ugh, I just couldn’t do it,” I tell her, “He was just too gross.” “Did he pay for GFE.” “Heck no! He didn’t even pay for the hour” “Well then forget him! What a creeper!!! You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just because you post it, it’s still up to your discretion! Lets black book him!” She says with glee. I love my agency.

Richard Gere texted me today. “Oh so you didn’t lose my number after all!” I tease him. He wanted me to come over this afternoon. He wanted a deal. Man, that boy already gets one hell of a deal, and I tell him as much. The markets have crashed, money is tight. Why don’t I just come over and give him a massage, and he’ll get me next time. “You know you want to” Ha! I remind him that I’m going to be gone for a month coming up, so I need to keep working. It was tricky getting out of giving him a freebee without offending him, or ‘rejecting’ him. I told him that he should buy me something from Burberry, then I’d give him lots of massages!!! “And they take credit cards!!!” When that was met with silence, I informed him of my size. I’m sure that’s what he was trying to figure out. I like being sassy. 

 

Perspective

It's been almost a week since I worked last. The agency still calls me every day though. I wonder if they're getting annoyed by my lack of availability yet. Hope not. The timing of all of this has been quite convenient though, I have to admit. I'm babysitting my Grandma again. This time until Sunday. So today I woke up around 9:30, and headed over to my apartment for the standard 8 hour work day. I will do something similar tomorrow so that it looks like I do work sometimes. 


I read, and am now watching the TV series of The Secret Diary of a Call Girl. I'm really enjoying it. I saw an ad for the military one time saying, "When was the last time they made a movie about your career?" This is it for me. I feel like I can relate to Hannah/Belle so many ways. There are so many situations that she is in that I have been in. So many raises eyebrows. So many looks to the camera and the words "seriously?" escape your mouth. I don't really know how to explain how much this series means to me. Because Hannah is not crazy, or pimped out, or does drugs, as often portrayed on TV. She has her head on straight, and loves her job. I feel like I finally have a co-worker. Someone who I can talk about the clients to, someone who gets it like I do. Yes I know how delusional that sounds, but even the co-workers that I meet have a man-hating/"it wasn't that bad" mentality. This isn't a complaint, or a poor me rant at all, but I really do feel alone in this. And that's ok. I really is. But it's really nice that someone has acknowledged that I'm not the only one with this perspective. I knew they were out there somewhere. 

I just want to clairfy something real quick

I was telling Alex about running into Andrew, and he's like, "But you're really pretty, you don't have to pay for sex." With a sympathetic hand on the knee. I know this.

As a wise woman once said, "You don't pay an escort for her services, you pay her to leave afterwards."

Dr. Love

I was listening to Dr. Drew tonight. They have a love/sesx advise radio show and I relised, "I have a question!" so I tried calling in. My question would be "How and at what point should  I tell some one I'm dating about my job?" I figure that's unique and interesting to get me on the air. Yes? It took 14 tries to get me past the busy signal to ringing and it rang for a while, then cut off. It was near the end of their show, so it made sense. I saved their number in my phone for next time. Under Drew. Not Dr. Love as he calls himself. 

Alright people of the world! Latvia, USA, England, Malaysia, Canada, Russia! I know you're reading. Tell me what you think. Weigh in. Post a comment, or you can email me at alisonsblog2032@gmail.com

Also just wanted to say, I saw Crazy Stupid Love. Hilarious! Ryan Gosling is a sex God, but that is not news. 

A Little Bit Of Irony

I was thinking last night how nice it would be to fall asleep with someone's arms wrapped around me. Obviously, given my current health condition, I was not looking for sex. Just a little snuggle. I was feeling a little lonely, a little greedy and just tipsy enough to work up the nerve to search out some male companionship. I went on line and googled male escorts for my city. Then I googled straight male escorts for my city. The site I came across with the most selection had 11, most of which were gay and/or unattractive. Essentially there were two that were appealing enough to consider, one of which had an area code that was not local. I had a choice of one. His name was John Wayne. He had a nice body and a cowboy hat covering his face in his pictures. The pictures were classy and I texted him, "John?" It was 1 AM. I went to bed right after thinking if he did get back to me, I would just wake up. I got a response at 3 this afternoon. "This is John" Too late John! But for future knowledge we discussed rates and services via text. He asked if I wanted to book and I asked if his real name was Andrew. Based more on the way he texted than his photos I was fairly certain. Made me really glad I didn't have him over last night. He is the worst snuggler of life! There was about five minutes of silence, then the phone call, "Who is this?" I laugh, "It is you!!!" He hangs up and I tease him via text. He had told me his work name was Tyler. That's what you get for lying. He told me not to text him on his work number. I asked, what if I wanted to talk to John and not Andrew. Him and I are like oil and water but he's a good top. I thought keeping it pro would make it less complicated. I assured him I didn't know it was him when I texted him last night. He said he would top me if I wrote him a review on the site. We left it at that.

I don't know if that's what I want. Last time he came over he whined about his job for an hour, then at the end of the night he said to me, "You really would rather if I didn't talk at all." I jokingly said yes. We both knew I wasn't joking. That's why I want John and not Andrew. I want the professionalism, and I really don't want him to talk. I want the control that the client has. 

Posted from iPhone on the beach... Therefore unedited.