The Chastity Belt

     I no longer fantasies about sex. I mentioned this about a week ago, but it’s really weird. I’ve been having a lot of dreams about deep emotional connections lately. Like running into old hook ups and just the strong feeling of affection. Like, ‘Damn it’s good to see you!’. Some dreams have cuddling, some don’t. I dreamt that Ryan Gosling was in love with me. That was a pretty sweet dream... I even dreamt about my puppy that died a couple years ago. We had some good snuggles, him and I. I don’t think you need to be a psych major to figure this one out. I feel like I have the chastity belt of all chastity belts on. The reason for telling you this, is because I’m sure this is a direct result of my job. I am not receiving the emotional connection that I need. 

     I got some snuggles this weekend. It was very much what I needed as far as faux intimacy goes. I really trust the person I slept with, and I knew he wouldn’t try to pressure me into anything I didn’t want to do. Sex was on the table, and don’t get me wrong, I’m sure we both wanted it just as bad, but I knew if I did engage, I would be full of regret the next day, and it would have just fucked everything up. So whenever things got too tempting for me, I would just move over to my side of the bed and have a little chat with myself about how it wasn’t worth it. It was really nice to be able to have just a little physical contact, opposed to a lot, without the guilt of being a tease. And if I was being a tease, it's pretty safe to say that that was a two way street. 

     I ran into an old fuck buddy last week, and we got our flirt on in a pretty serious way, and he wants to start hooking up again. I kind of eluded to how I’m ‘growing up’ and I can’t do casual sex any more. He said that I just need a good fucking, some hard raunchy rough, no strings attached, sex to get my head back in the game. I laughed at him and said, “If you only knew.” I told him I needed someone to love and respect me and call the next day. He did not pretend that would be him. He was cool about it, and we had some good chuckles. Maybe I will call him later on, maybe I won’t. I told him he’d have the best odds if he didn’t pester me about it. He knows me though and knows what I like. Not having to train him is a major bonus. He is very trainable though, full credit for that. 

    That last client I told you about really affected me. I’ve only taken one call since then. I haven’t worked since last Saturday. I needed to take time for myself. To re-charge. Get a new perspective. I have new photos done and ready to go and I’ve created a new persona, with a new name and everything. I’m ready to get back in the game. 

    In addition to that, I have an exit strategy. I’m going to apply for a job at a hotel bar that a few of my friends have worked at. They joke that the fact that I’ve had no experience bar tending is perfect! None of them started with any experience. Make up a story that I was over-seas teaching english for the first part of the year, then going to school for the second. With my new photo’s up, I will be able to only take internet calls and call-backs. I won’t have to take generals anymore, so it will cut down Alison’s work. I want to get the job bar tending just to get back in the game. Even if it’s just one shift a week, I want to get used to working again. I’m sure no one has any sympathy, but it’s going to be fucking hard. I haven’t worked an eight hour shift in a year. It’s going to be tiring, and stressful, and to give up my freedom. It’s going to suck! But I’m excited, I’m looking forward. And school is helping with the adjustment. I’m happy about this change. 

     I’ll be back at work by this weekend, I promise, and I’ll tell you all about the hard, raunchy, rough, no strings attached sex I’ll be having again. 

Rape Prevention

     I went to a Rape Prevention class a few nights ago. It is put on by the University. I think by the time it’s done it will be 25 hours worth of classes, including a self defense class. I didn’t seek it out, it found me, well, the girl at the booth said, “Hey!” as I walked by. There are lots of people involved, but we’re divided up into small groups. Of my group of five, I’m the only one not doing it for extra credit. (I’m not taking the psych class) I’ve been meaning to do something like this for a long time though. 

     Are many of you out there are thinking that it’s a little redundant for me to take this class? “You can’t rape the willing” Kind of thinking, or how would I get raped if I go there to have sex. The possibility of me getting raped is very real. In my job I have control of the situation 100% of the time or a frank discussion is had. I’ve only had to use my Mom Voice a few times. So far it always works. 

     If I am not calling the shots, then it is no longer consensual. That’s rape. Sexual assault is any unwanted or unwelcome touch. It’s like when that dude the other day grabbed me before we’d even exchanged words. If things went further, or he didn’t let me up, I would have freaked out. 

     It was hard for me to pay attention in the class. My brain kept wandering off to hypothetical situations, or real situations that could have ended differently. What I learned with my last little round dealing with sexual assault (Blog Entry: My Past) is Law and Order: SVU really glamourises rape. Rarely is it violent, and 0.017% end in murder. The majority of the time it is committed by someone you know. Fighting back or screaming like a mother fucker greatly increases your chance in the rape being unsuccessful. 

     My brain keeps going to what would happen if I was raped. My greatest fear is that there would be drugs involved. Something that I never told you is that when I was a teenager my brothers friend came to live with us to try to get his life straightened out. I loved him. He was like a brother to me. He didn’t get his life straightened out and three years ago while high on crack he strangled a prostitute to death. He is in jail now, and will be for a long time. When drugs are involved things are so unpredictable. Men try to justify it to me, and say that they’re fine when they’re high on... whatever... but that is not how the word unpredictable is defined. I won’t hang around when there is crack involved. 

     What would I do? Would I call the police? Would I fight? How would it affect me afterwards? Given certain situations, and if it was a non-violent attack, part of me thinks it would be easier to lie there and just check out. Wait until it’s over. Do what I have to do to make it ‘not that bad’. If it were to happen in someones home, there wouldn’t be a lot of point in screaming. I think if it were in a hotel, I would scream bloody murder though, I would totally fight back. There is a part of me that gets really afraid, and timid when people get in my face. I just don’t know what to say. I was bullied a lot throughout school and rather than dealing with it, I turtled. For years. And I think in certain circumstances, I’d do the same. And then there is a big part of me who doesn’t take any shit from anyone. Lets call that part Alison. “Fuck you. Yeah. Maybe you did it, but you’re sure as fuck not going to get away with it.” Part of me has this image of me waiting outside the hotel room door afterwards with hotel staff making sure he doesn’t leave before the cops show up. 

    But what if it was violent? I would like to think for sure I would call the cops. When you call the cops though, the guy doesn’t just get arrested, and then goes away forever. Best case scenario; There’s a process. A slow, slow process. I’d have to go to court, and testify. My whole life would be on trial. My sexual deviancies didn’t start when with this job. I think of the movie Lincoln Lawyer, and how that girl got torn apart on the stand, and I struggle with the decision. Worst case scenario (that I want to imagine) the cops don’t take me seriously cause I’m a prostitute. 

     Then the after affect. I was robbed once. I think I was 19 or 20. I was working in a deli alone late at night. That night, and the next morning I felt ok. I was a little shaken up, but hardly traumatised. My boss gave me the next day off work (without pay), but I assured her I was fine. I took that day off though and went to the mall. Out in public. I thought I was fine, but I wasn’t. I’ve never experienced fear like that before. Completely irrational fear of every person who walked towards me. That’s what scares me about this potential experience. That, and being alone afterwards. I don’t want to think how awful it would be to be alone after that. 

    I know I’m going pretty deep into a hypothetical situation, but even if I wasn’t in this job, it’s a very real threat. Frick, it’s already happened to me twice. The stats on this stuff is just disgusting. 

     It doesn’t matter if your a slut, or a whore, or a tease, or a drunk or just a fucking girl trying to get home after work, rape is rape. Nobody asks for it. It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing or what she does. If she says no, that’s where it needs to stop. Regardless.

     The majority of my friends are dudes, and pretty cool dudes, if I do say so myself. I was talking to one of them recently about the male and female perspective. We were talking about how women are oppressed, and men just have no clue. There are no guys in my women’s study class because they see it as a “women’s issue”. But it’s everyones issue. It’s not just about being raised with pink and Barbies, it’s systemic. He has full respect for women, and doesn’t consciously think of them as less than, but it runs so deep. I heard on the radio yesterday, racism isn’t just about hating people of different colour, it’s about not caring. It’s about not seeing people of different colour and their struggles. It’s about their struggles not even occurring to you. The same goes for sexism. 

     “It doesn’t even occur to men how conscious women have to be of their safety on an on-going basis,” 

     “You know what though, a friend of mine told me the other day how it’s so much more likely that a woman is raped by someone she knows. It blew me away! like 60% more likelyI had no idea how common date rape is at parties.”

     “I know three girls who have been date raped at parties. Fuck, that guy who walked me home that night when I was super drunk date raped me when he got in my apartment.”

     “What?! When was this?! What happened”
     “I think I was 20...? He was a friend of a friend, I got shitfaced, and he offered to walk me home. I appreciated it, cause I was so drunk, but I tried to leave him on the sidewalk. When he saw I couldn’t get my key in the door he took me into my apartment. When I was almost passed out on the couch, he carried me into my bedroom and fucked me.”

     “He raped you.” It a statement, not a question.

     Hearing it said like that was like a little a slap in the face. I almost said, “No he date raped me.” Like it’s different. Like it’s less wrong.

     “Yeah, I guess,” I said. I couldn’t not look at the floor when I said that. 

     “Did you try to fight him off?” 

     “I fought to stay conscious. I did say ‘no’ though.”

     Because, until recently, I never attached emotion to sex I feel that that incident did not have a super negative effect on me. I was mostly just pissed off and was very vocal about that amongst our friends, and friends of friends, and of anyone I thought may know him.

     One of the things we’re learning about in this course I’m taking is to avoid situations which could present an opportunity for a sexual assault to occur. Example: Don’t get super super drunk when you’re friends aren’t looking out for you, don’t go up to a dudes bed room at a house party to “talk”, cause we all know you aren’t going to be talking. 

     I was telling him about these things, then I laughed and said, “Why do you think you’re here now! Your buddy Matt was supposed to come over and re-wire my kitchen light, and I invited you as a buffer. Do I think he would rape me if he got me alone in a room? Not for a second. But I don’t want to have to deal with him if he does make a move {for consent}” 

     “Oh, he would of totally tried to get in your pants.”

     “Exactly, I don’t want that! Thanks Buffer!” I said pointing at him. 

Chickens

    Someone told me a story a while ago, and it bothered me then, and bothered me for a while, so I’m going to write about it. 

   

    It was his one and only time paying for sex. He was in Asia (so you can start by putting that stigma on it) and his friend suggested that he go to a certain bar. He makes himself sound quite innocent in this story, I have a lot of raised eyebrows, but I’ll just tell the story as he told it to me. He was promised to have a good time at this bar, and much to his surprise it was a bar where you could pick up chicks. {The irony is, in this country  the word for whore, and poultry is the same, so to call a girl a chick...} He’s there and has his good time (on the up and up), then picks out the prostitute he likes and takes her back to her hotel. Well one thing leads to another, and surprise! She’s a dude! I guess he saw this as an opportunity to try something he wouldn’t normally do at home and they went ahead with things. No big deal. So they fucked, and spend the night together and fucked again in the morning. The prostitute said he could fuck him without a condom as long as he promised not to cum in him. 

    Side note: I know that sex is better with out a condom. It is for women too. Probably no to the same degree, but how good can good be when you’re willing to risk AIDS? I have clients either be disappointed or simply not book because I refuse to go bare back. 

    “But I’m clean!” They assure me. A: I don’t believe a word coming out of your mouth. B: You probably don’t even know! If you’re fucking prostitutes bare back, you probably have other behavioral patterns that can be deemed high risk. I doubt you’re getting checked regularly. And C: How do you know if I’m clean?! I say I am? I’m sorry, but I’m a whore. Girls in my industry do not have a reputation for being super honest. The stupidity of the whole thing just baffles me. 

     Every now and then the agency will call me with a potential client and say, 

     “He’s looking for the STD experience, not GFE,” ie he wants bareback. I don’t know if any of the girls in our agency do that, but none advertise it. 

    Alright, back to his story. He’s telling me this over dinner one evening. He told me that even though he promised he wouldn’t cum in the guy, he did anyway. I was completely taken aback. Appalled would be a more accurate word. 

    “What did he do?” I asked, in shock.

    “He was upset, but what could he do? It was done.” He seemed to have a little remorse, but he was more ashamed of the fact that he fucked the guy without a condom. 

    I couldn’t believe it. I was really at a loss for words. I definitely lost a lot of respect for the guy in that conversation. And he seemed completely clueless as to what could be wrong with the situation beyond he did something he said he wouldn’t and he lied to some Asian Tranny. 

    It just kills me. My trust has been betrayed time and time again by clients, but never like that. I’d never put myself in a situation that could end like that. But each time I’m betrayed, it chips a bit away from me. The thing is, they’re people, and there’s something in me that tries find the best in people. Now, it’s an across the board rule, do not trust a client, no matter how charming they are, just don’t. I’ve let a few guys get under my skin, and when they inevitably fuck me. Later that night, when I’m home, alone, lying there with nothing but my thoughts running a muck in my head, I just feel stupid. 

    And the guy who told me this story, he’s one charming mother fucker. Let me tell you. I’m sure he said all the right things to make him feel special. I’ll bet that the Asian doesn’t often spend the night with clients, and clearly he trusted him enough to believe that he would pull out. But this guy didn’t give a fuck. Clearly he had zero respect for the Asian. And really who cares? He’s just a tranny whore. Out of sight, out of mind. People are so wrapped up in their own selfishness that they don’t even see others as people. I’m not just talking about my industry, I’m talking about all industries. I’m talking about society. Use people, treat them how you want, and carry on with your day. Tell the story as an amusing antidote over dinner. But that guy overseas has to go to bed with himself, and think about how he got played. The risk that he’s now in. The potential STD’s. The betrayal. Tell himself he’ll never do that again. Or hate himself more, because this is his job and his life. 

    Good work Champ. This is what I was thinking while smiling and listening to your story. 

Side Note:

• My mom keeps going on vacations and brings back the trashiest shoes. I don’t understand why. I think it’s hilarious though. They make good work shoes. Lord knows, I’d never buy them. 

• Business is so slow, I’m officially making less than I did at my desk job. This is why my blog posts haven't been so much about work. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s January. Come February, and once I get my new photos up, things will be gravy.

• I went to see a financial planner. His financial advice to me was to save more money. To me that’s like telling an obese person to lose weight by eating less. Thanks Tips. At this point though I'm just working and saving to pay my taxes (irony: thick) then get out.

• I have made friends with a co-worker. We hang out. She’s mostly normal. (I think it’d be fair to give myself equal credit) I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have someone to talk to about work stuff. Swapping tips and stories. I know I have you guys, but my relationship with her is two way. 

• I hate lying. 

• Immediately after finishing my blog about quitting I received calls from my two favourite clients (like within half an hour of each other) 

I Went To Church... And Didn't Catch On Fire!!!

     I’m not Christian or Catholic or Protestant. I couldn’t even tell you the difference between the bunch (execpt I’d never date a Roman Catholic again). But every now and then I go to church. I couldn’t tell you exactly what religion it is, except that they don’t say the J word that often, and when they do I hear beeeeeep. 

     I want you to listen to this audio recording. It’s the podcast from the sermon. If you’re not religious, open your mind a little, because it really is quite good. It starts out a little rocky (as it was recorded from my iphone) but then gets sorted out. It’s 45 minutes long and gets better as it goes. Jesus is only mentioned once. 

Sex and Money in the House of God

Listen to it. I wouldn’t have posted it if it wasn’t worth it. 

Kegger

     I went to a kegger tonight. My brother said, “And how old are you?” Never you fucking mind! It’s 4:41 and you’re getting Realme blogging drunk as shit! 

     What a night. Jake invited me to this party tonight, and I guess it’s been a (really) long time since I’ve been to a completely hetro party. The only person I knew there was him, and in addition to deciding to make a major career change, discovering that my life was threatened, I also had a major discovery in my personal life that would set anyone off their normal day. Things always come in threes right? Whatever. I thought this party would get me out of my funk. 

    Obviously, no one at this party knew about my job, and it made me feel like a fly on the wall observing people get their flirton. It was so interesting! There was this one guy. Totally hot, but kept to him self. He seemed to have an awesome disposition though. So I started chatting with him. The irony was so thick, I may have choked on it a little. We had one of those super drunk, super deep conversations. We talked about his marriage. We never swapped names, and I told him he wasn’t allowed to ask me any questions, because I didn’t want to tell him about my job. I told him that I interact with a lot of married men, but often when they’re not at the best part of their marriage, and it was so interesting to talk to someone who wasn’t at that point. His wife wasn’t there, and he talked quite candidly. He under-estimated how much work a marriage was! 

    “It’s work!” He exclaimed, “I never thought I would be the one who didn’t want to have sex!” It didn’t take much to get him to confess that after six years of being together (1 1/2 of actual marriage) that they still have sex three to four times a week) He was greatly relieved when I told him that’s fantastic. I don’t know why he gave me any credit in that feild, but he did. He told me that he definitely still looks at other girls, and still wants to have sex with other women, but there is no way under the sun that he could imagine his life without his woman. And hence, he tows the line. 

     Later on I was talking to this other guy. He was cute, again I didn’t get his name. Deliberately. Why is that? I didn’t want it. Maybe it was because I felt since we’re not going to hook up, then whats the point. Where else would the relationship go? That’s not what I thought. I didn’t give it thought. I’m drunk. But that’s probably the reasoning behind it. I liked him though. Liked everything he stood for. He told me pretty much the same thing as married guy did. Minus the marriage part. But he wants to be with a woman, and having said that, he knows in that relationship he will always be wanting to have sex with other women, but at the same time still want to come home and snuggle with his lady. He implied that he wouldn’t cheat, but said he would always be tempted too. 

     Married Guy and I concluded that our generation don’t know how to have relationships. When things get hard they quit. I begged him to hang in there when things got hard. Marriages breaking up break my heart. I’ve been proposed to, and I did not accept because I knew he was not right for me. It was shit or get off the pot time. I’m sure other girls see a life of security rather than a life of unhappiness that I saw and do say yes for the wrong reasons, but if you say yes for the right reasons, remember that when shit hits the fan. Remember that you are right for each other, and be patient and work it out. Go for therapy, and tell each other your secrets. That shit you’re afraid to say. Because when it comes to 50 years of someone getting to know you, you can’t just swap that out. 

By the way, I was told I should give a shout out to EM in TO. Based on your experience and background, I'd love to hear your input on the blog. 

I Want Out

    Not for the reasons you may think. Not because of what I discovered at the office last night. It was a wake up call. I won’t say I was immune to hearing that, but I am fully conscious that every time I walk through a door that could be me. 

    It’s because of the client I had last night. It was a weird call. It was a bad call, but certainly not my first bad call. He said one thing to me though, one stupid thing, and in that moment I realised I was done. We were in his room and he was trying to kiss me while we fucked and I kept subtly dodging, offering him my neck, or my cheek or something instead. 

    He looked at me, and said in a smug and certain voice, “You have a boyfriend.” 

    I looked back at him and said with as much certainty, “I don’t. What makes you say that?” 

    “You won’t kiss me.”

    “Oh, I don’t kiss.” I do kiss, but I saw his stack of cash from which he paid me. There was some left over, but not enough for GFE.

    “Kissing makes you care.” He said. 

    He was so smug, like he knew everything. In my head I thought, “Oh honey, there’s nothing that could make me care about you.” And in that moment I knew that enough was enough. That attitude is so far from what the attitude I came in with. I no longer feel like I’m doing any kind of good. I no longer feel like the clients care about me in any way. I am no longer making any kind of connections with these men. There is no honestly or integrity in what I do. 

     

     The night before, I had a good call. It was in my favourite out of town town, which of course means some very much needed extra buck for me. The guy was great. Totally some one I would date in real life. Just a dude. A guys guy. We talked for quite a while, and enjoyed a glass of wine. He had a little baby puppy named Raisin. I tried to convince him to change her name to Raisinette, but he wouldn’t go for it. He worked in my most favourite place in the world so we talked about that for a while too. Then we went into the bedroom and it was really nice. I did kiss him, and it kind of felt like a first kiss. Of course one thing leads to another, and he stops, and suggests we go back to the living room, “So we can make love in front of the fire place,” I won’t say that was my first red flag but it was definitely the biggest. He didn’t want to fuck in the bed. There were a lot of things that didn’t jive there. There wasn’t a huge feminine presence, but a woman did live there. My bet was his girlfriend was out of town. I tried to put it out of my mind and just enjoy my time with him, but I couldn’t. I felt like he was being just as dishonest to me as he was to her. And I felt like he was a douche for having me there in the first place. And this is what I’m calling a good call these days. 

     Last nights call: Fuck. A big part of what I’m getting sick of is being thought of as a commodity. He calls, tells me where he lives, and I tell him I can be there in 45 minutes. I have to stop off at home first. Then I realise that I was wrong about where this address was, and I phoned him back to say it was going to be closer to an hour. 

    “That’s soooo long!” He whines. 

    “It’s just an extra 15 minutes,” I assure him, “I’ll be there before you know it.” I made it there in 43 minutes from the initial phone call. 

    I knock on the front door. No answer. I can hear the TV is on quite loudly, maybe he didn’t hear me knock. I ring the doorbell. No answer. It’s effing cold out here, and this is annoying. I call. I can hear his house phone ring loudly through the door. It rings and rings and rings, then the fax picks up. Did he leave? Did he just decide not to wait? I walk around to the front window and peer in from the snow covered garden. I can see him in there. He’s passed out on the couch. I bang on the window. Fuck. I didn’t haul ass all the way down here, just to turn back. This is bullshit. I go back and bang on the door some more to no avail. 

    “Well, here goes nothing,” I think, and try the door knob. It opens. “Jeff?” I call out. No answer. I step in, and call out his name again. I’m now standing in his front foyer yelling at him. He’s dead to the world.... or just dead? I walk over to him, still yelling out his name. Finally I give his shoulders a shake and yell at him again. 

     He wakes up with a start, throws his arms around me and pulls me down on to him. I didn’t jump back quick enough. He hasn’t even said hello and he does this. Commodity.  

     “Hold on!” I say, and fake a laugh as I climb off him. “Let me call in and let them know I made it safe.” I walk away from him as I make the call. This is also my time to let them know how I feel about the guy. I told them to cut my time call 15 minutes short. He was so drunk. Guys that drunk usually can’t fuck which meant I’ll either be left trying to get him hard, or just talking to him. None of these things were appealing. 

     We go upstairs and get down to it, and everything he did hurt. What guy doesn’t know that you don’t go for the gold with the first thrust? 

    “Woah!” I cried out with surprise, “Warm up! Warm up! Easy now.” 

    Everything he did hurt me. His whiskers chaffed my cheek, his watch band cut into my shoulder blade, his arm pinned down my hair, his fingers dug into my ass and created bruising around my hip bone. And his dick! It was bent like Gonzo’s nose. I thought it might feel cool, but it just pressed into me, digging into the back of my uterus. And he wasn’t trying to be rough, he was just drunk. There were a couple times where I asked him to adjust or stop, and he did. He was very apologetic. 

    “I want you to know I really do respect you as a person,” He assures me. 

    As a person? He has to qualify it? Mmmm-Hmmm, I’m feelin that respect.  

   You know when you’re super drunk at the bar, and it’s the end of the night... or mid-night... and you find yourself having this really deep and introspective conversation with amazing person you just met out side the bathroom stall? That’s what my job is like. So deep and intimate, and total total bullshit. 

The White Board

    My name was up on the board for a different reason tonight. Generally it’s cause I’m in the top 5 list for call backs, but tonight when I dropped off my fees there was this big long message, then my name, and two other names. One of my clients names popped out at me too...

    “What’s this all about?” I asked the receptionist as I approached the white board. 

    “Oh yeah, he was one of your regulars wasn’t he?” 

    “Well kind of, I saw him every day for a week, then I’d had enough, so I left town.” I told her. He was this guy. Brad. I had already noticed that he was in the corner under the Do Not See list. (Lots of guys get black listed for being idiots, but then there’s the really black list where clients get violent.) 

     The message on the board went on to say that he choked out one of our girls. I kind of don’t know where to go with this. The guy was weird. I knew that. I spent hours with him every day for a week, but it got to the point where I just couldn’t take him any more, and so I actually left town. The money was too good to say no to, so I made myself unavailable. I made so much money off him. All of the girls did. 

    He would talk about his drinking, and the volume at which he could consume. It was enormous, and I believed him. He did lie about a lot of things though. Like I say, he was weird. He never drank around me though, for which I am now eternally grateful. Apparently that’s when he got violent. 

    Once he got comfortable with me he told me he liked bondage, but nothing any further, he wasn’t a sadist. I wouldn’t let him tie me up, but I would hold on to a face cloth, and pretend that my wrists were bound by it. 

    Our receptionist told me that he had flipped out on one of the other girls because, “He’d given her all this money, now she owed him. She should do whatever he wanted!” This man would terrify me if he got angry with me. He was a big guy, and ex-military. He was always very very respectful to me though.

    So how do I feel? I don’t know. Part of it doesn’t phase me too much. I am not naive. I work in a high risk industry, and bad shit happens. You’d be a fool to think that didn’t. So I'm not going to lose my shit over this, or quit or anything, but you know that feeling where you missed your bus that ended up getting in a car accident... That’s how I feel. Lucky. I’m glad I left town. I’m glad I trusted my gut. 

My Best Idea Yet

    I don’t know a lot about brothels. I know they’re not allowed where I live, and I imagine ones definition of a brothel varies greatly. The kind of brothel I have in mind right now the kind you see/read about in Old English times, or Gone With the Wind. The kind where the bar is on the main level, and the ladies are hanging out wooing the men.

     It really creates the perfect world for the men, doncha think? They can hang out, drink, nurture their bromances, and be macho all at the same time. When they’re bored, they just get to pick someone and go fuck them. They don’t even have to leave the building! 

     I’ve heard on Dateline or some other news show that there’s some places in the Southern States where there are brothels. The guy has to pay a cover, then buy the girl a drink, and she’s all his. So basically the girls get wasted, and fucked over and over again. This is not cool, and I do not condone this. I do not condone any thing that is not consensual. I think the laws should be a lot looser around the sex trade industry, but I understand the reason why they’re not is in attempt to protect those who cannot protect themselves. I respect that. 

     So that is not what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is the genius idea I had this evening. Ok, so we all know that there’s nothing more insane than women at the male strippers. They’re like kids when they’re allowed to drink for the first time. Completely out of control, and totally unlike themselves (generally). My theory is it’s because women aren’t allowed to behave like this in real life. It’s socially unacceptable for women to whistle at that hot guy walking down the street, or be forward in other similar ways. Sure it happens from time to time, there will always be exceptions. But generally women are expected to be pursued, not the pursuer. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve twat-blocked myself because I am not the shy and demure type. If I want something, I go after it... annnnd twat-block. I’m too forward. At the strippers, they’re allowed to whistle, they’re allowed to hoot and holler, and they’re more than happy to stuff dollar bills in all sorts of places. The inner chauvinistic pig comes out to play. 

     My Mom tells me this story where in her younger days, she took her bestie to the male strippers (“We left your dad at home”). Mom’s friend is the ‘nice girl’ type who wouldn’t say poop if her mouth was full of it. The next day she phoned my mom and asked why her knees were so banged up, and Mom assured her that she really didn’t want to know. Really. I believe that is a secret that Mom will take to her grave with her. 

    This is where my genius idea comes in, or, well I guess you’d call it a fantasy. A brothel for women. Can you imagine. Hanging out with your girlfriends, getting drunk, and having gorgeous men, and the occasional hot lesbian, fawning all over you. Frankly, it’s the most awesome thing I could think of. It would be so relaxing. No pressure; he’ll just wait over there for you. Or join you and the ladies at your table. Then, when you feel like it, head off to a bedroom. No worries, your friends will be there when you get back. Perhaps they’ll order dinner for you. Perhaps they’ll be off having their own mini adventure. There’d be a menu of services, all laid out. Sleep overs, snuggles, fetishes. It’s ok if you’re shy, just point to what you want and your credit card will take care of the rest. 

    Such a fantasy. Women aren’t allowed to be brazen. Amongst my friends, there are only, maybe, two who are more sexually liberated than I, and still I have never had the desire to invite them over and hire prostitutes. It’s never been discussed, nor has it crossed my mind. I can’t fathom sitting around with my girlfriends and talk about watching porn or inviting an escort over. But guys do it all the time. Their sexual freedom is not only discussed openly, but encouraged. 

    ~Amendment~ We did hire a stripper for a friends birthday last year, and everyone got lap dances. It was one of the single most awkward things I’ve ever experienced in my life. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t understand the point. You’re not allowed to touch, so...? Having someone peal their pink inches from my face doesn’t do anything for me, actually, unless I can get in there, and get involved, it’s actually a pretty big turn off. See! I’m a little conservative. 

    I want to have a brothel for women. I want to get rid of the double standard. I want to line the walls with sexy ripped men. YES! Feminism at it’s best.  

Sexual Feelin

   Sex is weird. Really. It’s an enigma to me. The evolution to my own sexuality has been an incredible roller coaster. I was such a horny little kid, but so shy and awkward I didn’t go on my first date until I was almost 18. Then it was a race to experience as much of everything as I could. Sex to me was like getting to know people on a different level. I found it fascinating.

     2010 I made a pilgrimage to the biggest city this side of the country to celebrate Pride. It was a weird experience because at the time, I referred to my sexuality by saying “My slut was broken” I knew I was a slut, but after a really bad hook up, I’d decided I’d had enough. No more casual sex. 

    “You have to earn this shit!” I would say referring to my body. And the funny thing is this is normal. As is my new dating strategy (Posted December 29) This is how everyone else operates. Where was I when they were handing out this training manual.  

    My ‘slut was broken’ for about a year. Having said that, the sexual feminine energy at that Pride was a force to be reckoned with. One night after coming home to my hotel room, alone, I texted a friend, proposing we arrange a threesome when I got back. I used the excuse of it being a drunk text, but I totally knew what I was doing. She was not impressed. At all. In fact she was pissed. 

   “What on earth would make you think that I would be into something like that???” She asked me accusingly when I got home. 

    I was not only taken aback by the fact that I was wrong and she was not down with that, but also by the degree to which she was offended. 

    “I’m sorry... you just kind of have this energy about you. It’s like a sexual energy. I didn’t mean to offend. I was pretty drunk when I sent it anyway.” Ha. Lies.

    This was Ange, and later that week I was going to find out she was an escort. She didn’t like that I called her out on it. 

    I was having lunch with a class mate today, and she was telling me about her dating life. She refers to herself as the Virgin Bitch. She’s super hot, but refuses to give it up. Good for her. But, like I say, we were talking about men and relationships, and I’m not about to spill the beans on my past (or present) just yet, but to hedge the issue, I told her, “Well, I guess you could say I’m sexually liberal” 

    “Yeah, I get that off you.” 

    What! How??? Where??? Why? She’s not the first person to say that. What is it about me that you get that. I do not dress provocatively. Ever. Not even for work. I’ll dress professionally and with class, but I don’t own a skirt that goes above mid-thigh. I never flirted with this girl, or talked about anything personal with her prior to this. 

    I now understand what Ange was feeling when I suggested a threesome. What about me makes you think that? And how can I change it? I don’t want people thinking about me like that. I received a comment on my blog from a man who met me once, and called me out on it. I used to sleep with anyone. I heard a quote that went; A slut is not a person who has a lot of sex, a slut is a person who doesn’t respect the people they have sex with. By this definition, with the exception of Andrew (so mean, I’m sorry), I was never a slut. I always appreciated and respected the people I was sleeping with, and always felt I exchanged something intimate with them. I learned (perhaps too slowly) that that thinking of exchanged intimacy is quite naive. I can’t speak for the other people, but it is how I always operated. With complete sincerely. In the beginning, I also brought that mentality to work with me. Now... not so much. I care less. A lot less. 

    The funny thing is, now I really feel committed, in my heart, to my new dating strategy. There is no part of me that has any desire to have random hook ups. I went to a party on Saturday and I had my choice of two hot lesbians that I could have taken home, and I just wasn’t interested at all. I was turned off, in fact. I felt like, nothing that could have been gained there was anything I would be interested in past the next morning. I look at people differently now. With a lot less interest. 

     In yoga class, we have a new Yoga God, as I like to call him. He is so pretentious. Doing handstands when the rest of us are resting. But so beautiful. I found myself fantasising about him most of the class (what could I do? He was right in front of me... and downward dog...) Then I realised my fantasies aren’t even involving sex. Just a lot of erotic kissing and rubbing. What is happening to me?!?! Am I growing up? Is my job having this effect on me? I know I still like sex. For sure, but it now must have pre-requisites! Emotion must be involved now. This is so weird. So foreign. 

Sex Isn't Always Sexy

    I realised (not for the first time) that readers may be disappointed by my blog because it is not more pornographic. Perhaps my title is slightly misleading. So investigated. How exactly is the word “exploit” defined? Well according to dictionary.com it is as follows:

ex·ploit1

noun

a striking or notable deed; feat; spirited or heroic act: the exploits of Alexander the Great.

    I’m comfortable with that definition. Well the first part anyway, I’m not claiming to do anything heroic. 

    It’s not that I have a problem with writing dirty things. I think that’s obvious in November 9th and 11th’s posts, that I can do it. It’s just a lot of the time (most of the time... ok, almost all the time) the sex isn’t that remarkable. I think it would be fair to say that only 50% of men know where my clit is. It’s just not worth mentioning. I find the interactions with clients way more amusing than the actual act of sex. 

   In addition to that, I’m a little bias. I don’t want to tell you about the unpleasentries of my job. Like I say, sometimes my clients are gross. I’ll tell you about my last client though, no holding back. 

    He sounded drunk on the phone. He had a bit of a red neck accent, he sounded like he was older. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. He said he was staying in a hotel on a street that I drive frequently, but I’d never heard of this place. My GPS had though, so off I went. 

    I almost drove right past it, it was so tucked away, and what a dive! A motel of course.  The parking lot was empty, except for an old beater, and a brand new corvette. Drug dealer. I hope it was the drug dealer in room 37. There was a man leaning over the railing on the second level watching me get organised before I got out of my car. 

   “Ugh, please don’t be him,” I said under my breath as I got out of my car. Then as my car door shut, I realised I had forgotten my clients name. It was written down on a piece of paper in the cup holder. I wasn’t going back for it, not while I was being watched like that. He watched me climb the flight of stairs and walk towards him following the numbers, looking for #37. He was standing in front of an open door beside room 36. 

    “Hi, I’m Alison,” I say to him. This is the guy. Yippee. “Did you want to go inside?” 

    He flicks his cigerette into the parking lot, and follows me into the room. I make small chat as I survey the room. This guy wins the prize for most empty beer cans in one room.

    “How long have you been in town for?” I wouldn’t be surprised if he was living in the hotel. 

     As he tried to put his words together, I realised just how drunk he was. Super drunk. He settled himself on the side of the bed and followed my movements with his drunk eyes as I cleared off the unused bed. 

    “Come sit over here,” I instructed him, and helped him move to the other bed and get out of his clothes, as I did the same. We made more small chat about the John Wayne movie that was playing. 

    He lies down on his back, and I get out the lube and start giving him an HJ. My fear is that he can’t get hard. It’s not that I want to fuck him, it’s that I want to get out of there. The sooner he cums, the sooner I can go. I’m able to get him hard enough to get a condom on, and climb aboard. The thing about being on top, is I’m pretty in control of the situation. He tried to lean forward to put that foul smelling mouth on me, and I casually leaned back, as if I’m switching positions. Also it’s a lot easier to fuck a limp dick from above. Just sayin... 

    “Do you do anything else?” He asks.

    “Would you like to switch positions?” GFE is not going to be mentioned here, as it is clearly not an option. 

    He doesn’t respond. He’s so drunk, I don’t think he could do anything but just lie there. Then he just stops responding completely.

    “Did you cum?” I ask him. That is my most hated question. If a guy in my personal life asks me that, it’s an instant fail. I can tell if a dude cums about 90% of the time, but some time they’re sneaky.

    “I think so,” He says. Apparently he is sneaky!

     I reach to hold down the condom and pull off of him. I don’t even really care at this point. We were done. He wasn’t getting that thing hard again.

    He rolls off the bed and into the bathroom. I grab a towel from the kitchenette, wipe off, and get dressed as quickly as I could. 

    He stops cold as he comes out of the bathroom when he sees me putting my blazer on. “You’re leaving?” He asks.

    “Well, I think we’re done here, don’t you?” I say with an affectionate smile, “You look pretty content.” I didn’t give a fuck how he looked. I just wanted to put ideas into his head. 

    I was out the door about 32 seconds later.  

And You Thought Retail Had It Bad...

I remember crying last January cause business was so slow and I didn't know how I was going to make rent. This January, I'm a little more established, but good lord...

Mr. Texas

    This is a re-write. The original was written in the heat of the moment, and I was mad. It’s actually been a full week since. I cooled down about six and a half days ago, but I’ve been super busy with school and what not. In addition, it’s an evolving, and kinda long story so... Here we go.

Mr. Texas. 

Bless his heart. 

Fuck. 

     I’m seeing him almost weekly now. I would say between 5-10% of my income comes from him. A while back (beginning of December) he promised to pay my tuition. That’s awesome! I never asked for it, and I never bring it up. He does. All the time. Great, I figure, so pay it please. I’m going to school now. Ok so that’s a little of the back ground. 

     Because he was such a good client, and not a bad guy, and was going to pay my tuition, and because he whines that he misses me all the time when I’m not there, I told him that if he wanted, on occassion, he could call the agency to get a hold of me for a chat. A: I didn’t think he would! I didn’t think he would be so retarded to not understand the dynamic of our relationship. B: I didn’t think that he would be calling me several times a day!!! Good lord! 

     So last week he calls me around noon. Convenient. I ditched out of the conversation using “Out for lunch with friends” as an excuse. Which was true. I found the loudest part of the restaurant to tell him this. At 3:30ish he calls again.

     “Aliiiiisoooon,” He whines into the phone in his thick Texas accent when I got ahold of him, “I called you four times, and you’re just calling me back now?” 

    “What?!” I said, “They just called me now, and I called you right away!”

    “No, I called you four times, and they said you were unavailable, the woman said that she should come see me. She said that I should call some Desperate Housewives number, and she would come see me. Alison, I only want to see you, you’re my sweetheart! I don’t want to see anyone else. I was worried that you didn’t want to see me any more. You’ll tell me if you don’t want to see me right?” 

     He sounded like a lost little boy. “Of course I want to see you. I always call you right away, don’t I? Don’t talk like that! Why wouldn’t I want to see you? Don’t be silly. Who did you talk to?”

    “Well I asked her her name, but she wouldn’t tell me. Alison, I don’t know why they would want me to see someone else. You’re the only one I want to see.” I’ve been seeing Mr. Texas since February. 

     “That’s really sweet, Mr. Texas. Don’t worry, I’ll call the agency and get this sorted out.”
     “I don’t want you getting in trouble now. Don’t be doing that.”

  

      The conversation lasted about 10 minutes, just going in circles, him saying that over and over again. He felt awful. I kind of wondered if he had a liquid lunch. 

     I called the agency after we hung up. I was pissed. Frank said that the same thing had happened to him in the past too. Even when I’m booked off, if I get a call-back, they’ll call me. The only time they’ll encourage the clients to see someone else is if they can’t get ahold of me. 

    I talked to the girl at the agency. It was Mindy. She’s my least favorite. She’s just kind of awkward to deal with. The desperate housewife would be her personal line. She’s in her 40’s and has been working as an escort for god knows how long. She is not an attractive lady, and if she showed up at my door, I’d want to send her away. She just has an attitude of entitlement that radiates off her. 

    “Hey Mindy, have you been trying to get ahold of me this afternoon?” 

    “No,”

    “Hmm, cause I just talked to Mr. Texas and he said he called four times.”

    “No, I can check the books, yup, he called you at noon, then you called here, then he just called now.” 

    “Well, that’s weird. I wonder why he would say that then,” I totally thought she was lying. “Did you talk to him about your Desperate Housewives line?”

    “Yeah, he said he was interested in more mature women, so I told him about it, but I told him that I would try to get ahold of you first.”

    “That’s funny, cause he said the exact opposite to me.” 

    I didn’t know what to do at this point. Back to my rule about never trusting a client... but it’s Mr. Texas... And I totally don’t trust this chick... but if I get confrontational with her, and piss her off, I’ll end up getting fucked because she’s the one who sends girls out on calls... you know that whole thing about biting the hand that feeds you. I could phone our boss, and rat her out, but that’d make me feel like a big baby, and again back to the confrontation. 

    I was super pissed at that point in time, so I thought I’d stew on it for a bit. Then my phone went for a swim, so I couldn’t call anyone. 

They look like this, only green. They are kind of like something I'd buy for my Grandmother. You can call me ungrateful, I'm good with that.

   Fast forward a week, and it’s my second visit with Mr. Texas since Christmas. He said that he got me a Christmas present. Something I can wear. When I arrived there were clothes everywhere! He pretty much bought me a whole new wardrobe. He was telling me all about how he was trying to get help from the lady who worked there, and how he was wandering around the dress shop clueless. I looked at the clothes, and they were all George brand. From

 Walmart. I adamantly boycott Walmart purely on their business practices, forget about the fact that all of their clothes are CRAP. And he got me emeralds. At least he did something he said he would do. A pair of earrings and a matching necklace. 

     These are the outfits here. You may notice the skiing pose. When I waked into his house and saw that sweater there, I almost asked if he was planning on going to an ugly sweater party... then it's like "Put those words back in, Alison." Oh well, I guess I[m prepared. As for the leopard print (cougar?) I was wearing it when I did my make up in the morning and I just felt so trashy! I hate these clothes. There's more, but I'll spare you. 

    I went to collect my money as I was leaving (he's the only client I let pay after) and he started guessing the amount there at approx twice what was owed, and I could just put the rest towards my tuition. So now he's only paying 1/4? 

    "Did you want me to count it?" I asked. I don't like confusion with money and clients.

    "No, no no, don't do that here."

    "Ok." I counted it when I got into my car and it was exactly what he owed me plus the $20 he shorted me last time. Fucking guy. Hardly twice.

  

    So further to this empty promise of tuition, it's getting annoying. Quit telling me about all your money, and how you buy your family trucks and houses and you're going to pay my tuition. If you're going to do it, do it. Don't dangle it in front of my head like a bloody carrot. We had plans for tuesday night, and I called prior to confirm (as he cancels advanced made plans 100% of the time) and I left a message on his voicemail saying that if he was going to pay my tuition it's this amount and I will need the money next time I saw him. I have not heard from him. 

    What was that you said about trusting clients?

<edit> I missed out the part where I found out the Mindy wasn't lying, and that Mr. Texas was after her. It's 1am though, and I have to be up tomorrow, so "Mr. Texas is a Douch" will have to continue later. I'm sure I'll have more stories...

WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLACE YOUR WAGERS AS TO WHETHER OR NOT HE'LL PAY?

My money is on no. 

Cumphobia

     Alright. I think we should discuss my cumphobia. People think it's weird that I have such strong feelings about it, given my chosen profession but I do. And it's not just feelings, it's a physical reaction. Dry heaves. It's just so gross. After a dude cums I don't even like looking a it in the tip of the condom. The way it just swishes around in there makes my skin crawl. I was watching a show where a panel of gay men talk openly about sex and relationships and they were asked to describe cum and I had to change the channel. It just about made me throw up. Jake and I were talking about it and he reminded me that I feel the same way about all things mucus related. He told me about his sinus cleanse he did and I nearly tossed in my car. 
     I think the phobia stems from past boyfriends. My first boyfriend and I used the rhythm method (I have no idea how I didn't get pregnant with him) and he often came on my stomach. This eventually caused my bellybutton ring to become disgustingly infected. Another boyfriend I had had very acidic sperm. I'm assuming that this is because he did steroids, didn't drink enough water and generally ate garbage. But on the rare occasion when he would come on my stomach, it kind of burned and I just wanted to get it off my skin as soon as possible. 
     It also occurred to me that it may have been caused by the second half of my time with the babysitter. From the part I don't remember. Maybe he got me in the eye. Permanently traumatized me! Is it inappropriate to joke about pedifilia when it involves you???
     I think I've only swallowed twice in my life. Once prior to my cumphobia and I was curious and then much more recently with Wonderboy (I really don't think it's fair to call him that, and am now regretting not giving him a name). I knew I had issues with it, and I wanted to address it head on. There was no way I was going to do it with a client, and he was more than happy to oblige. It wasn't awful. I kinda wanted to do it again. Ha ha. 
    I'm sure over time I will get over this problem of mine. Much like Greek, I guess. I'll get there. But unlike Greek there is no way I'm experimenting with a client. A relationship will be required. And at the rate I'm going... I'm thinking of switching back to women anyway.  I love their goop. And at the university, lesbians are every where. 

He was right about a lot of things

My client last night was a clairvoyant. The extent to which I don't want to talk about it is weird cause I talk about everything.  He looked into my eyes and read my soul. And then he fucked me savagely. 

Forced Vacation

My phone fell in the bath tub. God Damnit.

I Live in the Twilight Zone

    I had a duo tonight. The other girl was going to take longer because she had to arrange for a driver, so I just volunteered to pick her up. I was sitting at a hotel bar after a call and I wrote her address down on a coaster. I’d never met her before, but this isn’t uncommon. She was on the way anyway. When I was trying to find her place, it was dark, and I was having a hard time reading the address, I was slightly disorganised. After a few failed attempts I finally pulled up to the right building and she was waiting out front. I turned on the interior light and waved her in. She hopped in super quick, sitting on a bunch of stuff on the passenger seat. I struggled to get it out from under her ass. 

    “Hey, what’s up?” She asks. She wasn’t unattractive per say, but... something wasn’t right... is that stubble?

    “Sorry, here let me get this out of the way. I’m sorry for being late, I thought you were on 13th, not 15.”

     “No worries.” 

     “It’s ok, we’re not late yet. We’re still making good time. Thanks for being ready so quick.”

    “So what can I do for you?”

    “What?” I stop fussing with shit in my car and look at her.

    “What do you need?”

     “What do you mean? Are you...?” Shit! What the fuck is her name??? “I’m supposed to pick someone up here, but I don’t know her. What’s your name?”

    “Star.”

    “I don’t know you Star! I’m picking up someone else! I’m sorry!”

    “Alright.” And she gets out of the car as quick as she got in. 

    Did that just happen? Did I just pick up the wrong hooker? My life is so fucking weird. 

The Divorcee

     I've had a run of not awesome clients lately. Between not working, and just having clients that I didn't particularly like, it's really made me rethink my job. I've not been happy with my job in the past few months. I think part of it is that I have too much time on my hands, and part of it is that I just haven't felt like I've been able to connect with any clients recently.
     I was thinking about it the other day; you have co-workers that you see every day, and you have a relationship with these people, and there's a respect there. It's a professional respect, generally, but that's a normal working relationship that people have. I don't have that. I don't have any professional connections with anyone. So to be able to connect with the odd client really makes my job rewarding.
     I see these men for an hour, or less, sometimes more. They're always well mannered. They're always polite, and as charming as they can be... which can leave something to be desired. Lately, though, I've been feeling that all I am to them is just a whore. It's been getting harder and harder to fool myself that these men give a fuck about me in any way. So my job has been wearing on me.
     When I started, I told myself that when my job had a negative effect on my emotional being, it was time to get out. I knew I had to be really careful about it, because usually the crazy person is the last to know they're crazy. Girls in the sex business get bitter. I see it in my co-workers. Many of the girls who work our phones are former escorts. Ange, my friend who brought me in to the agency HATES men. I don't want to be like that. I love men. Most of my friends are guys, I respect the gender. Men supplement for so many things that women lack. They sure as hell keep me balanced. I don't want to become a man hater, and I haven't yet. But I do feel that it's weighing heavy on me.

     Tonight I saw a new client. He phoned me around 1 AM. He's 31, and he kind of looked like a really young Tom Cruise, with a bit of a rounder face. He was a divorcee. I get a fresh divorcee about once a month. They are my favorite kind of client. They respect me as a person. Fresh Divorcees, I find, are just so fucking , they just want someone to treat them with respect.
      I don't usually get the back story of their divorce. I don't ask. I'm their as their escape, their break from reality. I'm not going to get into "tell me how you feel" aspect. That's not my role. If they want to talk about it, they're welcome to, but I don't ask.
     This guy was like a  good 'ol Southern boy. He had Souther manners, he called me Miss (thank gawd he didn't call me ma'am!). He even pulled my hair free after helping me with my coat when I was leaving (men remember that, that's impressive). If I didn't feel so guilty about it, I'd call him a  red neck! He loved his hunting... and his dog. His dog was the most beautiful dog. Morgan. But Morgan was suffering from, and I'm not kidding, male pattern baldness. He had bald knees and a bald belly. He told me there was nothing medically wrong with Morgan, he was just getting old, and like a lot of old guys, the hair line was starting to recede.
     We sat and talked for about 45 minutes about dogs, and hunting, and the rural areas around where we live. He reminded me a lot of my step brother, whom I have no qualms calling a red neck, so I knew how to talk to him about these kind of things. I'm a big talker, but I like it when people contribute to conversations too. But this guy wouldn't say two words when he only needed one. His response to the majority of things we talked about was "Yup." or "Nope" or "Mmm-Hmm"." I talked to him like a dude. I didn't get into the emotional shit, we just talked about how much divorce fucking sucks. I didn't struggle to keep the conversation going though. I liked him. He was easy to talk to.
     A lot of times when I'm with a client, I'm very careful to keep my energy guarded, and I'm careful not to let them feed off my energy, but with him our energy just flowed. It flowed freely through each other. I often judge clients by their hugs. Their willingness and openness. Sometimes I find hugging more intimate than sex. It's heart to heart, it's not moving on to the next thing. It's like the silence in conversations. Some people try to fill it with more conversation, and some people are ok just relaxing in it. The two of us embraced for a long time. It was intimate, and it was nice. I enjoyed it. It was truly what we both needed. I needed to be reminded why I like my job.
     I still see Frank all the time, and I don't have the same level of compassion that I used to with him. He's always bugging me about giving him a deal with his "frequent flyer miles", or letting him take naked photos of me, which I won't. I still respect the guy, and I like the guy as much as ever, but the compassion I had for him when I wrote that original blog post is gone. Now we just have our relationship, and it is what it is, and it's fine. I'm not uncomfortable or anything, but it's not what it used to be.
     I actually had my first mentally challenged client a couple days ago. And, like I say about the compassion that I used to feel, where I felt that everyone deserves some sort of love, and it's my job to provide that. That is what I do for a living. That compassion is gone. Obviously this guy is not going to get a date. He works in the mail room of some downtown company, and granted, you may not notice him as being different if you passed him on the street, but I'll bet he doesn't have a drivers license. Frankly, I did not want to be there. I did not want to be doing this. It was just gross and I didn't like it. I'm sorry. I felt really guilty, because I didn't have the compassion that I started out with.
     To feel the hurt that was coming off tonights client, and to be able to help him, and make him feel better, means the world to me. It's why I do my job. In situations like that when my clients hurtin like that, I absolutely let them get away with way more than what they paid for. I stayed for around two hours, may have gave him GFE. And I didn't mind.
     He fell in love with me. Which is nice. Like I say, I haven't had a client 'fall in love' with me in while. He wanted to date me. That gets tricky. I have to reject him with out saying no. I told him (what I tell everyone) "You'd want me to quit my job." He admitted that it was true, but didn't see anything wrong with that. In all honesty, I would never date a red neck, no matter how charming they are. I don't want dead animals in my garage.