Movember

My Movember client count: ZERO! 

Listen, I am, by no means, an advocate of the moustache. Beard yes. Moustashe alone, eww. But men, you've disappointed me. Zero! Seriously? Shame on you! Shame on you, Men!!!

Grow your Mo!!!

(and raise money for a worthy cause, don't just look like an idiot cause everyone else is doing it)

From The Bottom Of My Heart

     I often write blogs ahead of time and wait for a good time to post them. I wrote this one yesterday morning but there was already a post for yesterday (posted past midnight) I had something else lined up for today, but in response to yesterday's comment this post bumps the line.
    It doesn't convey what I want to say. Although I'm an over sharer and I talk/write incessantly when it come to saying thanks, or showing true appreciation, I often find myself not knowing what to say at all. So here it is. Written yesterday morning all tucked in my flannel sheets with my tea and toast at my side.


    I woke up this morning feeling all mushy and lovey dovey. I want to thank you guys. Thank you for reading, and thank you for coming back time and again.

     Blogger keeps stats, and although they are not super consistent, it shows that the majority of you come to my blog by googling "Exploits of an Escort", meaning that you're return readers. That means so much to me.

     Most of my friends read my blog, and the feed back they give me is tremendous. I know that they're reading my blog, not out of support because they love me, but because they love my blog. I can't tell you what an impact that has on me.

    This blog is such an important part of my life. I have to confess, I'm probably my own biggest fan. It's like a touch point for me. It reminds me that although my job is not normal, I still am. Mostly anyway.
    Because of this blog I have decided to go back to University and take Communications. Hopefully there I will learn proper use of commas. I know I use them way too much... ~~~ insert reddit.com joke here: This is, who I picture, whenever, you use too many, comma's. Then it shows the kid from Malcom in the Middle.

    This post sucks. It's not saying what I want to say at all. I tried to write a similar one for my 100th post, but the words aren't coming to me easily. What I want to say is Thank You. Thank you for reading, thank you for your comments, your emails and your support. You guys rock!

P.S. I didn't realize my email address isn't currently posted. I thought that the little box at the bottom was to email me. It's not. I've added my email address to my profile if you want to get in touch.

Not The Saturday I Was Hoping For

9:32 First call - I was still sleeping. The phone number was not in service. Go back to sleep

9:50 Second call -  Still sleeping. Call Raj, he sounds iffy. Not sketchy, just flakey. I confirm with him the rates, and everything, tell him I'll be there in an hour, and set my snooze for just ten more minutes. 

9:58 Agency calls - Apparently Raj called them. He cancelled. Glad I hadn't gotten out of bed yet. Go back to sleep. 

10:03 Alex calls -  Yes, I had managed to fall asleep in those 5 minutes. Oh well. It's been a week since we've talked. It's been a week since I've talked to anyone. I've been flying under the radar for the past few days. Don't know why, I'm finding social things exhausting. For the sake of the friendship, I invite Alex over for pancakes. I told him there was a pretty good chance I'd get called in to work though. 

10:36 Agency calls - there are two calls lined up for me. Dave and Scott. Call Dave first, it's a no go, he's looking for a black girl. Fine. Call Scott, it's a no go, he's looking for an asian. I say to Alex, "Too bad I'm just a little white girl." 
    "Alright little white girl, lets make some pancakes," He replies.
    I phone the agency back and let them know.

10:52 Agency calls -  Apparently Raj has changed his mind and wants to see me after all. I phone him, and tell him I'll be there in a little over an hour. I put Alex in charge of making pancakes, and I go do my make up. Yesterdays hair will have to do. 

12:01 Text from Agency asking me to call Raj -  I'm just pulling up to the corner where his house should be, but isn't. I call him he tells me that he has to go get money. I'm not concerned about that. If that's the case, I'm going to start the clock as soon as I find his house. He's insisting it's the pink house on the corner, but the house on the corner is brown. Aggravating. I tell him to walk out to the sidewalk so I can find him, then wait for a couple minutes then decide, fuck this and get back in my car. I call the agency, explain the situation, and they put him in the bad book. They give me another number to try.

12:08 - Try this other number, goes straight to voicemail. Typical avoidance tactic.

12:09 - Andrew calls. Wants to know what's up. Awkward. I keep it short, and tell him I'm driving

12:11 - Try the number again. Voicemail again. Phone agency and let them know that it's a no go. This is not uncommon. 

And then the lull. Mid-afternoons are always dead. I did a little shopping, then went to yoga. I'm back doing yoga all the time, well my schedule is yoga, yoga, swim, break. And repeat. I like it :) There's a call waiting for me when I get out. 

3:51 - Call new number. Discuss rates and services. He does not want to pay for GFE. Sorry buckaroo. 

3:54 - Call and book off for a little while. I'm supposed to go for dinner with a friend who I really want to get to know better, but I'm just feeling so run down and tired, I call her and cancel. I feel really bad. I went home, made dinner and napped. 

5:37 - Booked back on. 

7:00 - No calls. 

9:00 - No calls. 

11:00 - No calls. Come on Team! It's saturday! What's going on?

11:46 - Agency calls, she warns me that this guy has trouble with the english language. I hate getting warnings. I like forming my own opinions. I phone the guy and he def has problems with the english language. I don't particularly mind, but if I can't clearly get the address, forget it. I don't book. 

11:54 - Agency gives me another one. I call, and in the amount of time for me to return his call, he already has another girl on the way. But he likes the sound of me way better. He tries to cancel with her, but can't. It's a no go. 

12:09 - Another call to try, Dan. I phone Dan. Dan is actually Paul, and Paul wants to book for tomorrow. Paul doesn't actually want to book, he's just saying that to be nice. Probably isn't impressed that I called him Dan. Girl at the agency is very sorry. 

12:14 - Agency calls, Bambi was out on a call, and although the guy was nice, she didn't feel she was right for him. She gave him some of his money back and left. Would I be able to go see this guy? Seriously? What's his issue? No, I don't want someone elses rejects! Sorry!

12:49 - I still have two hours of potential work, but based on my day, I'm callin 'er quits. What a retarded day. I made NO money for all of that BS. Lame.

He Actually Gave Me An Effing Bible

    I saw my least favorite regular tonight. I would prefer to say most hated regular, but he's the only one I hate. He was mentioned in my October 29ths post. Lenn. I can't stand the guy. He's like a soul vampire. He just seems so preditorial. He books for two hours and we spend most of our time talking. Only we don't talk. He talks. But rather than talking to me he's informing me of shit. Ugh. I can't stand it.
    "Have you ever heard of TED talks?"
    "Yeah, I watch them quite often," I say.
    "Oh, well, what they are is..." then he will go off on a tangent telling me all about them, like I didn't just say I knew.
    I've decided I'm going to up my fee's by 30% next time I see him. Or just refuse to see hm again. That sounds like a better idea.
    But as the title states, he actually gave me a friggen bible!!! But don't worry, it's non-secular. Like I friggen care. He didn't even do it in a preachy way, he just thought it would be a good read. No, he hasn't read it. More often than not, when I'm with him, I'm imagining punching him. Donkey style. For some reason my favourite is to the back of the skull.
    On my way back the the car I tossed the (3" thick, inscribed by him) book in his neighbours bushes. I hope he finds it.

Cheaper Than AIDS Treatment

Supplies were low and needed some serious replenishing so I headed over to my neighbourhood drugstore to stock up. I generally don't buy everything all at once, but today I didn't feel like running out and I was down to my last couple regular and large condoms. So I grab a basket, head to the family planning aisle and get the trojan magnums, trojan thins and a couple little (handbag size) bottles of KY. I also bought some makeup remover and other beauty products. I reach the cashier, she rings in my six items and the total bill was $78.
"Wow! Condoms are expensive aren't they?!" She exclaims.
I don't know about you, but would you not say making comments regarding customers proflactics with a line present is bordering on inappropriate?
"It's cheaper than AIDS treatment," I said cheerfully.

And conversation over.

What I didn't tell her is how much money each one of those $0.70 condoms makes me.

Watch Out For Yourself

    I don't want girls reading my blog and go into the business based on my experiences. I got extremely lucky to get hooked in to the agency I'm with (pun!) I frequently have chats with the girls who work the phones and they tell me stories about the other very prominent agency in the city. Most of our girls are from there. With my agency I call my own shots 100% of the time. If I don't want to work, I don't book on. Sometimes they'll still call me, but most of the time they won't. And when they do call, most of the time I'll answer as a courtesy, rather than screen their call. If I am booked on and I decide a client creeps me out over the phone, not only am allowed to not take the call, but it's encouraged. 
    I was called to an address today (one I will from now on have locked in my memory) When I got there, I phoned the agency. 
    "Ummm, I don't know what to do, but I'm not taking this call." 
    "Why?! What's going on?" She asks.
    "It's an old-folks home! A Catholic old-folks home! I'm not going in there!"
     And then the cackles of laughter rang out over the phone.
    "It's not funny!" I plead, "I've been there before. Not only did the guy nickel and dime me, literally, he paid me with his piggy bank, but I got heckled on the way out!" 
     More laughter from Leanne.
    "I was wearing pants! I don't know how they knew I wasn't just someones grand-daughter, but they did! Don't make me go in there!"
     "No, no, no, don't worry. There's another place that we don't send the girls, it's a mental facility, we'll just say this is the same. You don't have to go."
    "So how do we handle this?"
    "If he calls back, we'll just say that he'll have to get a hotel, and we don't send girls into nursing homes." 
    
     At the other agency, Ashley's, you are allowed to refuse calls but it's strongly 'discouraged'. If you're not at their beck and call, they will starve you out, and not give you calls. Not cool. With Andrews agency, he has girls on shift. He tells them when their available, you know like a real job, with a schedule. That doesn't mean they work eight hours a day, but they don't get to decide when they do and don't want to work. I think my agency is as close as it gets to being independent, except they put ads in the phone book for us, run our website, and act as a safety net. Totally worth the 27% cut they take. I also heard that the woman who runs Ashley's is a real bitch to work for. 

    Don't get me wrong, I'm not just trashing my competitors (ok, well maybe I am) but I still would see them as best case scenario compared to a lot of other situations. I guess what I'm trying to say is a lot of people see the sex trade industry and abuse going hand in hand. Do not settle for that. No one has the right to abuse you. No one. No one has the right to treat  you poorly. Not your boss, not your clients, not your boyfriend. Do not let anyone make you do anything you don't want to do. 

    And carry mace. Not a knife. Knives get taken from you, or if it doesn't have a hilt, you'll end up slicing your own hand when your stab attempt hits a bone, and your hand slides down onto the blade. Just sayin. You don't want to deal with those criminal charges. Mace. If you've been watching the news lately, it's pretty clearly effective. Canadians, mace is illegal; dog spray is not. Dog spray comes in much smaller containers than bear spray. And they're pink! Pick it up at your local gun range. 

    I was doing a bunch of research on violence in the sex trade industry, and the stats are across the board. A good one is 98% of sex trade workers will or have been raped in their career. That's a pretty big statement. First question, where did this stat come from. An out-reach centre? Oh, ok. So where did they gather their information? From girls who are reaching out. Hmmm, bias? Second question, how do they define sex trade worker? Just girls who walk the street, or escorts? In-calls, or out-calls? What kind of scope does this research have? Because girls on the street have a very different experience than escorts who do in calls. When a prostitute gets in a car, no one knows where they're going, when they'll be back, or who is in the car. Is there even any one keeping an eye on them? When I'm working the agency knows where I am at all times, and if I'm going to a hotel, they check with the hotel that the guest is in that room and is who he says he is. My next question is how did they get their information? The way I see it, if an escort is doing her job, she's doing fine, and never gets in any kind of trouble, whether it be with the law, or with a client, she's going to stay under the radar. Then of course, where are the stats taken. Las Vegas for example, they play a different game there. I would never work there. Or Los Angeles, or New York. Too big, too crazy. No thank you. 

    Then there is the stat that I quoted the other day; 75% of women in the sex trade industry have been sexually abused at some point in their lives. You know what? I think it would be fair to say that 75% of all woman have been sexually abused at some point in their lives. Period. And this is from my personal experience and discussions with friends. Whether it be rape, assult, harrassment, something small, or severe, it's discustingly common. Aside from my experience with the babysitter, there was an incident when I was, maybe, 20 where dude from the bar, a friend of a friend, walked me home when I was ablsolutly shit faced. I tried to leave him at the outside door of my appartment, but I was too drunk to walk, so he walked me up to my place and invited himself in. As I was passing out on the couch, he took me into the bedroom and fucked me. Date Rape. His name is Dave. Now seriously, the extent to which I don't care, is great. I really don't. He's a douche, end of story. Maybe 25 years from now, it will rear it's ugly head, but for now, I really don't care. He tried to get his flirt on with me the next week, and I told him to go fuck himself. I also was neither quiet nor discrete about what happened. And yes, Dave is his real name. My point? It's common! 

    When I spoke to the woman from the assault centre, she said so seldomly is it as violent as what you see on TV, they really glamourise it. It just happens through corresion, or guilt, or for whatever reason women don't fight it. This is what she told me: 8% of women who are sexually assulted come forward. Of that 8%, 4% are able to press charges. From there, only 2% are able to get convictions. So to that 75% they're talking about, I say, "Uh-huh... and?". Ok, my last little bit of trivia, I heard on the radio the other day that there's a link between ice cream and car thefts. Studies show that in the summer time, both consumption of ice cream, and car thefts increase dramatically. Clearly there must be a corrolation between the two. Catch my drift?

I am able to referenece these stats, just not right now, I'll get back to you...

I Thought This Was Funny

Bizarre

Sometimes while working, I'll look down and watch his cock slide in and out of me and think my job is so fucking weird.

Who Knew!?!

    So we got new currency. Although I pretty much only listen to news radio, I seemed to have missed this memo. 

    A client tried to pay me with a hundred dollar bill that I've never seen before. It fit all the themes of the old hundred dollar bill, but neither I or the girl I was working with knew any thing about it. 

     It made for a bit of an awkward situation when I refused to accept it. 
    "We got it from the bank today," They tried to assure me. 
    "I'm sure you did, and I'm sure it's real but wouldn't I be the fool if it wasn't. I'm sorry, I can't accept money that I've never seen before." 

     Some how they magically were able to come up with five 20's. I find that push comes to shove, there's always some money in a drawer or pocket that they forgot about. Funny how that works. 

My Past

     When I had my chakra's aligned, the woman said that something had happened in my childhood that had hurt me. She said that this memory would come up loud this week. I've never thought of my childhood as anything extraordinary, and when she said this nothing in particular came to mind. 
     "I was bullied in school lots...?" I suggested. 
      "I know, but you always just ignored it. That's not what this is." 
     I honestly didn't know what she was referring to. My brother and I fought lots, and violently; sibling rivalry. My mom was divorced twice, and the first time I was quite young, the second time I was a teenager and it was much more real. But I didn't think that was what she was talking about. 
     I stewed over it for the day and wondered if it was the incident with the baby sitter. I am fully aware that it's the whole chicken before the egg. Maybe I've been thinking about it a lot because she said I would be, or maybe I've been thinking about it a lot because she was right. 

     As a young child I had two working parents, and so we had a babysitter two houses down where we would go every day after pre-school or kindergarten. She had a teenage boy who would babysit us from time to time in the evenings when my parents went out. I don't know how old I was, but I know I had to reach above my head for the door knob. I remember one night where the babysitter and my brother went into the bathroom and locked the door. I didn't know what they were doing and hated being left out. I yelled and banged on the door until finally he opened it. His pants were open and his erect cock was out. He instructed us to lick it. I remember sliding my tongue up and down his shaft. I remember when the pre-come dribbled out, I asked, "What's that?"
     "It doesn't matter. Just lick it."
     I did. I didn't know anything was wrong. It was a fun game and I was glad I got to be included. 

      I remember it like it was yesterday. 

      I said in one of my earlier posts that I've never been sexually molested, and I didn't view it as a lie. Because I wasn't hurt by this incident, I didn't feel victimized, and because I wasn't victimized, why worry about it? I also want to make clear that this wasn't a repressed memory that has surfaced as a result. It's just something in my past that just happened. 

     Further to the memory, I remember later I was sitting around the kitchen table at their house, the babysitter, the father (a narc) and I. And I was cherping away about something, as kids do, and I said, "Remember when you were babysitting us and you made us lick your dink?"
     "That didn't happen." He said flatly. 
     I was confused as to why he would deny it. It was a game! But I was smart enough to know that the mood in the room had changed. His dad looked at me, he looked at him, then back at me. I could feel the tension, and me being me, wanted to push it as far as I could.
     "What do you mean? It did happen! It was in the bathroom, and you made me and Cam lick you!"
      "It didn't happen!" He said and left the room. 
      I remember his dad staring at me, and me feeling like I've done something wrong. 

     Fast forward twenty years. Dad and I are driving down some residential street, and there they are, Mr. and Mrs. Cop. Dad, being the friendliest guy of life, pulls over and we have the standard, "Hey we used to know each other, what are you doing with your life now?" chat. I was nice and polite, but the rage was starting to boil within. As we pulled away, and dad rolled up the window I turned to him and said, 
      "What the fuck happened when we were children?" 
      "What do you mean?"
      "You know what I mean! With Marc! In the bathroom!" I knew he knew about it. He had to. I have never done well with secrets. I was so angry and emotional, five years later, I don't remember much of the conversation. I remember I yelled a lot. I remember how cornered Dad felt. Dad doesn't do well in conversations when he's cornered. He kind of just taps out. 
      "You were young, we thought you made it up." Was pretty much his defense.

       So here we are. Present day. It's never been talked about since. I've been afraid to talk to Mom about it because I think it would hurt her too much. So I've been stewing over it for a week. I feel angry. Mostly at the parents. They all knew. Nothing was done. He was still our babysitter. I don't know what I want to do. It's been 25 years. He would be close to 40 now, or older. It occurred to me I could press charges. Out of curiosity, I phoned the police, my heart in my throat, and asked them if it wasn't too late. I asked if there was a statute of limitations. There wasn't. I said there is no proof. 
      "Even with current sexual assault and rape cases there is often no proof. It often gets washed away." 
      She suggested I come in and talk to some police officers. After I hung up with her, I had a couple of sobbing gulps then tried to laugh, wondering where these emotions were coming from. I wasn't hurt. I am not a victim. 
      The thing is, if we pressed charges, it would end his life as he knows it. It would be over. What if he's married? What if he's worked his whole life to get the career he has. 
     "I don't want to make him a sex offender," I told Max.
     "He made himself a sex offender."
     What if he was just a horney teenager though? Part of me thinks that there is no age where your lack of judgement would tell you that thats ok. Yes, kids play around. They do inappropriate things at ALL ages. But when it's peer to peer, it's a different story. This was not. And the fact that the parents did NOTHING, that's what makes me the angriest. They were supposed to protect us. Parts of me wants to press charges just to fuck them. This DID happen. It was wrong. And the way you dealt with it was WRONG.  
      Going to the police would involve Cam. I don't know if Cam even remembers. He's a super laid back guy too. I can see him not understanding why I'm digging all this shit up. 
      Also, as I said, Marc's dad is a cop. I'm worried that if I go after his son, he may start digging around in my life. He has cop buddies, call the cop buddies here, find my escort license, and cat's out of the bag. 

       Cam called me today. We talk about once a month. We were shootin the shit, talking about his work, and family, and he starts ranting about something mom did. 
      "Speaking of our parents dropping the ball..." I segwayed, "Do you remember that babysitter we had."
      "Yes," He said with complete certainty as to what I was talking about. The funny thing about Cam, is he started doing drugs young, and he did a lot. He's almost 11 years sober now, and he's not even 30. Most of his childhood is a blur, and I completely didn't expect him to remember. But he remembers just as well as I do.
      "How do you feel about it?"
      "I feel nothing"
      "Yeah, me too." And so began the conversation. We've had seriously heavy conversations in the past and they went a lot along the lines of, 'That thing that happened that time, I'm sorry.' 'I'm sorry too.' Conversation over. This we talked about openly and candidly. 
       Cam remembers things that I don't. Apparently we told our parents, in the car, outside of their work, and they lost their shit. I have no memory of this. And nothing happened. Cam and I are both completely baffled as to why nothing happened. We talked about that for a while, and I told him the story about the kitchen table, and he has a matching one where he told Marc's mother about it, and she looked straight at Cam,
      "That didn't happen."
      "As a little four year old, I was so confused. It did happen, why would she say it didn't." Cam tells me. 
       I tell him that we are still able to press charges.
      "Lets do it!" He says with out skipping a beat. 
       We talk about the potential repercussions it would have on his life, and Cam doesn't care. I ask him about his drug use. It's something we've never talked about in detail. 
      "They say, there's often one incident that happens in childhood that can set you down a path. Is that a cliche?" I ask him, "Do you think that's what happened to you? Do you have an incident?" 
      "No, I don't know, but I was a fucked up kid. Do you remember? Do you remember how I was suspended off the bus for showing kids my penis?"
      "No, I remember you were always in trouble, but I don't remember that!"
      "I would run around on the playground, and kids would shout here comes the pervert! I didn't even know it was wrong."
     "Do you think that that was the cause though? It was something that happened just the one time, how could it affect us like that?" 
      "You ever listen to Dr. Drew?" He asks me, "It's a stupid show, but I was listening to it a while back, and there was this guy who was telling this story about how he was confused, and Dr. Drew asks him if he's been sexually abused. Dr. Drew can just pick them out. It's not victimization, it's psychology." 
     "I'm just worried that if we start messing around in his life, they'll start digging in mine. I know you know a little about my life, but theres a lot of shit I don't want our parents to know about."
     "Listen. I don't know what you've going on, but ever think it might be because of this?"
      No. I never did. I seriously never did. Cam wanted some time to think about this, about what he wanted to do. He said he will call me back on Sunday. 

~~~~~~
I wrote the above on November 4th. It is now November 14. A lot has happened. 
~~~~~~

      After hung up with my brother I phoned the non-emergency police line and left a message with their sexual assault department. I didn't expect to hear back from them until Monday. I spent some time with Mom on Saturday and we were in the car. There was a story on the radio about a child being sexually abused, and the subsequent cover up. We started talking about it.  She asked if I've ever been sexually abused. I said yes. She asked if it was bad. How could she not know? 
     "I don't know, define bad, Mom."
     She didn't know what to say. 
     "I wasn't hurt." I clarified for her. 
     I didn't expand. I felt like I should wait until Cam was involved before I discussed it with her. I was angry though. How could she ask me that. And why wasn't she asking more question now? I felt like it was going to come up like word vomit. She had already changed the subject to something similar, and I didn't want to hear it. 
      "Mom, Cam and I were talking and we're thinking of pressing charges against Marc Johnson."
     She knew what I was talking about now. My mom isn't in the greatest place right now, emotionally. She's under a lot of stress in pretty much every aspect of her life, and I felt really bad about bringing this up. In addition to that, I also felt I should have waited until Cam and I had the opportunity to talk to Mom together. I regret saying anything now, but at the time, I felt like the door was open. If I didn't walk through then, I wouldn't later. There never is a good time to talk about this shit. 
     Although it is a total lie, I wanted to stress to Mom that I wasn't angry with her for how she dealt with things. At this point it's done, and there's no sense making her feel worse about everything. I told her about the different options Cam and I discussed, and where we're both at with things. I also just really wanted answers as to what happened. 
     She didn't remember the story Cam told about us telling them in the car. She does know that we told her, but does not remember specifically how or when. She said that we never specified exactly what happened. She said that we told her that he made us touch his private parts. 
     "Either the same day, or the next day I sat Marc and his dad down at the kitchen table and confronted him," She told me. She believed us. She said that one kid may lie, but not both. "But he denied it. He denied it to the bitter end, and Dave said, 'If my kid says he didn't do it, he didn't do it.' And I told Marc, 'Your dad may believe you now, but a seed has been planted. You will never get away with this again.'" 
       I know what you're thinking. I'm thinking the same thing. How could she have left it at that. I don't know. I just don't know. She did say that he never did babysit us again.
     "Yeah, but we were left unsupervised with him after that. I don't understand."
     "Susan did look after you, but I saw that as different. I thought you'd be safe with her." Apparently Mom saw her as some sort of domestic Goddess. 
      "And where was Dad in all this?" 
      "We were just divorced. I think he expected that I just handled it."

     Mom said she would support whatever decision I made, but she really stressed forgiveness. She stressed it to the point where I felt like she was saying I should just forgive and move on. Maybe that's just my perception. 
     There is truth behind the fact that, no matter what happens to him, I will still be me with the problems that I had before. I agree with that. However, I do believe there should be consequences for his actions. 

     Sunday came, and I spoke with Cam. Because of Cam's affiliation with AA, he has a great network of people who can help him, and he was put in contact with an individual who received a settlement from the First Nations Residential Schools lawsuit. He echoed the same thing Mom said, in that fucking up Marc's life will not make mine better. 
     "Perhaps you should just write him a discrete letter," Cam suggested.
     "A discrete letter? What happened to 'Lets do it!'?" 
     "Well, that's a little extreme, don't you think? I just don't think it will help anything." 
     Is this the same guy I talked to two days prior? "Cam, I don't know what I'm going to do, but I know it's not going to be discrete! He was allowed to hide before. I don't want him to be able to hide any more. That's the whole point of doing anything. A discrete letter?! Saying what? 'You hurt me?' That would only give him more power. So you're not doing anything now?" 
     "No, this is your thing. It doesn't bother me." 
     Must have been one hell of a conversation he had with that guy. I kind of felt like we were boating down the rapids together and he just jumped ship. 

     When I talked to Dad, it was like talking to him for the first time about it. He didn't remember running into his parents as in the car not so long ago. He was aghast though. He couldn't believe that he brushed it off. 
     "You should have hit me over the head!"
     "Dad, I was yelling at you! Then you just ended the conversation." I exclaimed. Dad and I are best friends. We don't pull any punches. 
      He remembers that the incident happened, but remembers nothing more of it. He can't believe that he did nothing about it. He's as baffled as I am. To say he feels awful is a gross understatement. He told me he was sorry. He was almost crying. I told him that I was angry about it, but I'm not holding a grudge. I just don't understand how all of the parents could let us down like that. Through talking to him, I realised one of the most important outcomes of this for me will be that his parents admit that they knew it happened.

      By Tuesday, I hadn't heard back from the police, so I decided to call them again. I spoke to the dispatch lady, and she told me that she would be the person I should talk to. She told me that when I was ready, I was to call her back and she would send squad car to my house to take my statement. 
    "What?" This wasn't how I thought it would happen at all. I thought I would go down, and sit in an office and give a statement there. I don't know why I was really uncomfortable with this, "You mean the police would come to my house? I'm not sure if I want to press charges though." 
     "That's ok, they'll just take your statement. If you'd rather, you can do it at a friends house, or somewhere you feel safe."
     "No, I just thought I'd be coming to you."
     "Well, you can make an appointment to come down, and then we'll have a Police Officer meet you there."
     "No, that's just silly." I was struggling to deal with this new idea. The whole thing sat really uneasily with me. Ok, I just need to wrap my brain around this new idea. 
     You may be wondering why I chose to call the police if I hadn't decided whether or not to press charges. A few years ago, I was in a situation where I believed something very bad was going to happen. I knew I was in over my head, and I needed help. I phoned the crisis help line, and they questioned why I was even in that situation. I questioned their training. I needed to know what to do now, I didn't need to be judged. Not knowing what else to do I phoned the non-emergency number, and the man on the phone told me what to do and how to handle the situation. It helped. 
     I called the police this time because this is what they do. They know more about this situation than I do. They will be able to help me or give me guidance. However, I didn't want them parking their car outside my apartment. I didn't want them sitting on my couches. I didn't want to bring this into my home. So I did nothing. I've been looking after Grandma over the weekend, so everything has been on pause.

      Today, I called a sexual assault hotline, and I have an appointment with them in a couple weeks to discuss my options. That is what I want. I want to know what roads I can take, and what consequences they will have. I also have an appointment for therapy in three months through them. I'm happy about that. I can wait three months. 

    I've had a life time plus two weeks to think about it. I don't think I want to press charges. As I said, what I want most is for his parents to admit that they knew. I don't want them to deny it any more, and I want him to live with the shame of that. But there's the nagging thought of what if we weren't the only ones? What if it wasn't a stupid horney teenage boy thing? What if he actually is a sexual predator? My gut says he isn't. But I don't know. How would you know? 

      I found him on facebook. He lives here now. I couldn't fucking believe it when I saw that. I'm an impulsive person, and my impulse was to add him. To talk to him, to say, 'Hey, remember me? Remember me, you fucking asshole' Would he? I didn't do it. This isn't a game. This isn't something to fuck around with for the sake of drama. He looks like he's just a dude though. Hasn't really done any thing with his life. He went to Greece. No apparent wife or kids. I expected more. 

Blurring the Lines

    He had be back the next night. As promised. He thought he was going to have to bail because his employers were supposed to be taking them out, but instead he ditched to spend time with me. When I got there the door was held ajar by the deadbolt, and he was waiting for me on the chaise lounge in the far corner of the room. I walked over to him, slowly unbuttoning my long coat as I went to reveal what I was wearing underneath. 

    "I hear you have a weakness for sweater vests," I say with my sexy voice, holding down laughter, as pull my jacket open to reveal a white t-shirt blouse, with a red sweater  vest over top and an ass hugging pencil skirt, slit almost all the way up. 
    He had confirmed last minute, and I'd given myself an hour to get ready and get there. I thought it would be enough time to stop off at my apartment and pick up the outfit I had in mind. In the end, I realised it wasn't and I ended up being about 15 minutes late. 
     "Totally worth it!" He exclaimed after I explained the situation to him. I think we put equal value on a good joke. He had me sit on his lap for a while as we shared some wine, and talked about our day. It was dinner time and neither of us had eaten yet, but neither of us were hungry. 
    We went to bed and played for a while. His total focus was on me. This was the first client I've ever had whose goal was to pleasure me without selfish motives. He straddled me as I lay on my stomach, and bit and sucked and pulled on my ears, back and neck. He held my arms down with his hands, and all I could do was squirm, and moan in ecstasy. 
     Then he stopped cold. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Shut the fuck up." Those who aren't kinky may not understand. Those who are, may know that that just sent me over the moon. I stopped everything. I tried to stop breathing. I held as perfectly still as I could, but I could not stop quivering. Then he went back to work on me. I don't even know what exactly he did. I know my underwear hadn't even come off yet. He hadn't touched me between my legs, and he still made me come. I grabbed his arm, and made him put me in a kind of half-nelson. I couldn't look at him. How could he do this to me? What just happened? Who is this guy? Clients aren't allowed to make me feel like this. He held me close, and he held me tight for a really long time. Then the kisses. The light, light kisses up and down my back and he turned me to look at him. And that's what we did. We looked at each other. He tilted my head forward to pull my hair loose, and ran his fingers through it, as he looked at every part of me. He rolled on top of me and started moving his body up and down against mine. I could feel his erection forming. He crawled up my body and knelt there with his cock bobbing in front of my face. I grabbed a condom and rolled it on with my teeth. He grabbed at the headboard as I grabbed his skin. Squeezing and pulling at everything. 
     "Bite it like this," He said showing me. 
     I chewed on his dick like a dog on a bone. My two favorite fetishes rolled into one, biting and blow jobs. He showed me that hip bones had become an erogenous zone since the surgery, and how to rub my fingers up and down it just perfectly. I pushed him back on the bed and showed him that the inside of his elbow was an erogenous zone too. I didn't succeed in making him cum, but he said he had never come closer, he'd never felt so many endorphins come from sex before. 

    We ordered dinner and sat at the foot of the of the bed eating and watching tv. I looked in the mirror after I brought the food in and saw that my mascara and eyeshadow was a mess.
     "Oh my god!" I yelled at him from the bathroom, "You should of told me I looked like such a mess!" 
     "You looked like that when you got here!" He shouted back. 
     I popped my head out from the bathroom, "Shut your face! I did not!" 

    I stayed until we both almost fell asleep, then I knew it was time to go. As I gathered up my clothes, he put a stack of cash by my purse. I knew it was there, I didn't want it though. I felt like he'd given me as much as I've given him. 
    "I feel weird taking your money,"
    "I feel weird paying you," He said. "I don't even know how much to leave."
    Judging by the pile there, there was enough for two or three hours. I'd stayed for five. 
    "I'm going to take enough for the agency fee, but I'm going to leave the rest."

    In hind sight that was a mistake. I should have taken the money. Regardless of what happened, and whatever connection we may have felt, by not taking the money, I opened myself to be taken advantage of. It was like I tried to make a date out of it. If I wanted a date with him, he needs to take me out for dinner. With our clothes on. 

He Calls Me Ally

     He phoned a few days ago. He was looking for someone else, but he got me. He asked a few questions about me, and I gave him my description and referred him to my link on the company website. He said he would call back. They never call back. They say that because they don't want to tell you no. 

     Later that evening he called back, said he checked me out and was excited about meeting me. He booked for last night. Normally I hate advance bookings, but this guy sounded different. He was coming in from out of town, and although he knew which hotel he was staying at, he did not have a room number. He said he would call me at 7 for our 8:00 appointment. He wanted me to stay for two hours. I still had doubts. And don't get me wrong. This isn't me being insecure, this is just what happens. Remember that part about trusting things clients say? It's just ill advised. 

     7 PM rolls around and sure enough he calls. We chat for a little bit, and confirm our plans. This is the fourth time we've talked. There's something about this guy. He seems different. 
     "You sound like a cool guy," I tell him. 
     "I am."
     I believed him, and spent a much longer than usual time getting ready. I was looking forward to meeting him. I reminded myself to keep my expectations low though. You really don't know whats on the other side of the door until it opens. 

      When the door opened, I was struck by the Christian Bale/Ethan Hawke bone structure to his face, and the water dripping down his temple from the shower he'd just taken. His T-Shirt was clinging to his still wet body. 

      "I didn't tell you I was in crutches." He said with false bravado.
      "Well, I was going to judge, but..." I said without skipping a beat. Instantly it was friends-on. 
      
      Our wit just bounced off each other as I hung my coat and he wobbled to the seating area on the other side of the room. He later explained to me that he had broken his back when he was 19 and only had 40% of the control he used to on his lower half... well, from just above the belly button. But that's not what we were talking about now. Now he wanted to know if I liked the new outfit he just bought, and we discussed our mutual love for the sweater vest. Something I haven't worn since my office job. 

     "I can fuck though," He says out of no-where
     "Ok," I tell him. I say it in a way that I hope conveyed that I had no expectations. 
     "I just have reduced sensations, so you have to bite me and shit."
     "I can do that," I think he was waiting for some of this to phase me. It didn't.
      "Well lets do it then!" 
      We move to the bed, and he pushes me down on to it. The energy level between us spikes. We roughly fumble to take each others clothes off as he lifts me and pushes me further back on to the bed. And then, as soon as things heated up, they cooled off again. I'm straddling him, and we're kissing each other lightly
     "Do you want a massage?" I ask.
     "Yes."
      I go to the bathroom to grab some lotion. The back massage is expected, but I decide not to go with that. I can't imagine how his arms are feeling from carrying himself around on those crutches all the time. I come back, and put his left hand around my waist as I begin kneading my thumb in to his right palm. His eyes roll back in his head. I made the right call. I massage up and down his right arm, then his left, his pecs, and the back of his neck. He sits up, cradling me in his lap, and I move on to his shoulders, his face nuzzled in my neck as I rub the many knots out of his back. Despite his request, I don't go any lower than his shoulders. I don't want to fuck his back up any more than it already is. 
     "We need more lotion," I tell him as the hotel mini runs out, "I dare you to call down to the front desk for some!"
     He looks at me. I don't think this guy has ever backed down from a dare. He reaches for the phone. 
     "Ask for 13,"
      "Hi, yes, I'm going to need 13 bottles of hand lotion brought up to our room, please... What? Yes, body lotion is fine... thanks"
     
     "I like your tattoos," I tell him.
      He laughs, "Most people don't." Above his left hip bone it said 'Fuck', and above the right it said 'Shit'. 
     "They're appropriate. I'd be saying the same thing if that happened to me."

      We alternated between playing and talking for the next two hours. From between his legs, I looked up at him, and I assured him I wasn't afraid to hurt him. 
     "I meant it when I said you can bite me!"
     "No, really," I said, squeezing his balls tightly in my hand, "I'm not afraid to hurt you."
      He writhed on the bed underneath me, gasping, and punching the head board. "Oh my God!" He cried out. 
     I lightened my grip, only a little. " 'Oh my God' good, or 'Oh my God' bad?" I asked.
     "Good! Good, good, it's good!" He moaned.  
     "Good," I said, tugging harder, and pulling his dick in the opposite direction. I moved up his body, taking sharp little nibbles as I went, stopping at his left nipple. I gripped the areola between my front teeth and leaned back. He cried out in pleasure. He knew not to touch me while I worked. He knew the rules. He'd told me the pain level he required, but we never talked about this being a dominant/submissive thing. Fuck was I enjoying it though. Perhaps there's more top in me than I thought. His eyes were closed, and I swung back and slapped him across the face. They flashed open as I slapped the same cheek again. That was it. He wrapped his arms around me and flipped me over on the bed. He was on top now, but my fingers were still wrapped around his balls, pulling as hard as I could. He was pulling against me, groaning with pleasure. He went for my neck, biting, and sucking, and kissing like mad.
     "Stop it!" I yell, pushing him back with my right hand around his throat.
     "Sorry," He mouths. He can't talk. I'm choking him. 
     "Lean into it," I whisper. He closes his eyes, relaxes his death grip on my breasts, and places his weight on the hand I have wrapped around his neck. I lighten up on his balls, and he starts rocking back and forth a little. He hasn't had an orgasim since his accident 7 years ago, so it's wind down time. I lower him down on to me, and wrap my arms around him. He's panting, trying to catch his breath. 
      "I haven't felt anything like that since..." He whispers, trailing off. He has one hand cupping the back of my head, the other stroking my ribs. He starts kissing me. Lightly at first, then with more and more passion. Between his lips, whiskers, and little nibbles, I'm suddenly the one gasping for air. He lowers him self down my body, and lifts one leg into the air, kissing and biting everywhere.
      "No," I whisper, as he's about to go down on me.
     "I'm not going to," He assures me and licks every where else. My cheeks, my inner thighs, my outter thighs, my knee pit. He puts his mouth everywhere, dragging his teeth across my skin. I'm convulsing. My body so far beyond my own control. He's been dragging his fingers along my labia, but when he decides the moment is right he pushes them in me, and starts pounding me with his knuckles. I cry out and soak the bed. He moves himself so he's sitting up against the head board, and pulls me up on to his lap. He holds me as I pull myself together again. We sit like that for a while before the talking begins again, and with the talking comes the joking and the laughing, then the playing and more not-sex. 
      I spent three hours with him and charged him for two. The third hour was paid for with a poutine. Completely worth it. 

Good Bye Andrew

I am no longer pimping out for Andrew. My reasoning being threefold. 

1: Andrew is poison. This is not news to anyone. He is my guilty pleasure. Things just haven't been to pleasureable with him these days. The negativity that he spews is just toxic. I don't need that in my life. I've told him to back off so many times. I don't want to hear him complaining, he's very well aware of how I feel. Finally I just had to cut him off. I felt really guilty about though. He pleaded with me. I was straight with him though. I told him why. The timing was really bad for him though. He was due to go on a trip, and was counting on me to keep his business afloat while he was gone. I did not know this. Had he nicely asked me to stay on for the weekend, maybe I would have, but instead he said. "Well thanks! Now I can't fucking go on my trip." Mmmm. No sympathy. 

2:  His girls COMPLETELY undercut me. They do COF (cum on face) CIM (cum in mouth). I think that's fucking discusting. Yes, I have a cumphobia, we may have talked about this before, but still. Swallowing a strangers cum? That's fucking gross. (Yes, I know there are many people out there who think the exact same thoughts about what I do) Just the idea of it makes my stomach turn. Yuk! They also don't charge more for GFE, and their rates are way lower than mine. I'm tired of them getting calls after calls after calls, and my phone not ringing. I'm well aware that there's competition out there, and that's how captialism works, but I don't have to facilitate it. 

3: I don't like taking to these dudes! I have a new found respect for the ladies who work the phones. These dudes are TROLLS! The pre-screening that our ladies do is throrough. 

Bottom line, I like where I am. I like the rates that I charge, and what I get paid. I am worth what I get paid. That's why I will not bargin at all. I like the ladies I work with (mostly). I like calling my own hours. I have got a sweet gig here. I think we all knew that the pimping thing would be short term. I can only handle Andrew for short periods. I'm sure you haven't heard the last of him. I will say, there were times, when I felt like I could go to him for help when I couldn't go to anyone else. So he surved his purpose, and he surved it well. For a little while. 

This Is My Life

I'm definitely whoring it up tonight. A regular phoned me and asked that I wear something "special". I don't have a lot of my 'special' outfits, given that I'm living at my new place now. I left a lot of it behind. I did manage to pull a little something together for him though. I'm kind of dressed to kill right now. I'm wearing my long wool black jacket that I picked up while visiting the boy. It goes so nice with my knee high boots. They're slutty enough for the job, but not too slutty to wear to moms house. Underneith that, I'm wearing my red satin corset with black lace trim, black fishnet stockings, with red lace trim, a tiny little skirt, and a tiny tiny little lace thong on underneath
 
So when a client asks me to dress up nice, why the hell not. Especially when I know the guy. Not only do I know and like this guy, but I really like his dog too. Really. She's a beautiful little black mutt. I have some clients who are assholes, but sometimes it's the dog that keeps me coming back. And I'm not even a dog person, but if there's a dog that's well trained and poliet, I melt. And if that's not enough, this dog reminds me a lot of my puppy that died last summer. 

Business has been SLOW lately. That's why I haven't been writing. There's been nothing to write about. It's been super super super slow. I've was talking to my favourite lady who answers the phones about it. I asked her if things have been slow, and she tells me it's been average. Then I look at the availability I've been giving them. For one reason or another, I've booked off almost every single night this week. Family dinners, moving, and I've been fighting a bit of a cold, so I'm trying to get a lot of sleep. Bottom line, prior to friday, I've had five calls this week. That sucks!

I've received some feedback about my blog that I thought was quite funny. I have a new reader, that had started reading from the very beginning, and she's all caught up now. She's complaining now that she has to WAIT for the new blog posts. I find that funny! That's why I don't watch cable TV. I don't have the patience to wait all week for the next episode. She has the same perspective on my life. I kind of want to appease my readership and write more and write faster, but at the same time, this is my life! I can't make it go faster. I don't know what's going to happen either! I know there's some shit coming down the pipes that is going to shake things up pretty fucking good though. I will be posting something about it by the end of next week.  There's going to be a big change coming up. AND THAT'S YOU'RE CLIFF HANGER READERS! Stay tuned!

Greek

     I did something very bad today. I did something I said I would never do. I had this client early this morning. He was 20, cute, very well built. Lived in mediocre neighbourhood in a place that looked like a crack house from the inside.
     He hired me for two hours and paid in full up front. This is not common practice. We did not spend much time talking. Can I just say the sex was amazing? It was. The sex at work is never amazing. There was nothing particularly special about this guy. I have lots of good looking clients. But everything he did, just hit me the right way.  He wanted GFE for free, of course, and I wasn't letting him have it. I wanted to. I really did, but, a girl's gotta make a buck! He just kept pushing, and sneaking kisses.
      "Listen," I told him with my serious face, "I want to be able to trust you, but I can't if you keep doing that." Ohhhhh manipulation, so effective.
      I don't know why but my brain was telling me that this was the guy. I'm completely baffled as to why. I wanted to save it for someone special, but it was obvious that that is never going to happen.
     "Alright, lets make a deal." I said, after more of his pleading to go down on me.
     "What?"
     "What if I only stay for an hour, and you can have everything."
     "What do you mean, everything?"
     "I mean everything." And I used my serious face again.
     "Nah," he said, "I want you here for the two hours."
     "Ok, then"
     But I'd already decided. I wanted to do it. I wanted anal. Ugh, I wanted it so bad! So I told him, and I told him I've never done it before. I had always been really nervous about it, but this felt right. Again, don't ask me why, it just doesn't make sense, it just did though.
     Of course he was on board with this little adventure, and did exactly what I told him to do, when I told him to do it.
     "Does that feel good?" He asked in his sexy voice.
     "No." I told him. But once I got past the initial discomfort, it felt amazing! We fucked every different way! It was great! Then he went down on me, and I had the most drawn out orgasim ever. Ugh, I'm such a dirty whore, I love it!
     He came shortly after I did, and we lay there basking in sweat.
     "It wasn't a line, what I said, about not having done that in a really long time."
     "I don't care," He said and started laughing
     I started laughing too. "I like you."
     He went out to smoke some weed, and I got myself cleaned up and dressed. I was outta there in an hour. Pretty please with myself I may say.
 
      Can I also add... cause I know you care so much... I'm back living down town!!! I'm soooo happy, I can't even tell you. Well I'm not actually down town, but if you look out my front window, you've got road, small park, down town. YAY. And my place is sooo beautiful. Two living rooms, two fire places, beautiful bedroom, jet tub, fantastic porch, bbq. I can get used to this. Yes.