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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.