What do you call a black pirate?
A pirate, you f-in racist!
So when I started, I thought, I will never see more than one client in a day. Ever. I'll just feel like a whore, and not in the good way.
Drove over to a major city to see a client - it's been a booked appointment for about three weeks. I've had numerous phone calls with the client, he found out my real name and what I do (I foolishly made one phone call on my regular phone, before I got the prepaid working) and while it was at first a freak-out, it has been a relief to have real conversations and not lying conversations. I know his real name, he uses his business email, I'd seen a pic, etc.
We chat pleasantly over salad and coffee at the local TGI McGillicuddy's Good Time Emporium (slooooow service) and head back to the hotel. I like my room, fluffy duvet, nice sheets, finally a place that understands that in a room for two people, those people may want more than one slender towel apiece.
When we step in the door, he puts on the chain lock, shuts the drapes, drops the money in front of me as I'm putting on music and is all over me. DFK apparently means "shove your tongue down her throat" and all I can really do is keep my mouth open and go with it. I feel like I am a lousy kisser, since anything I attempt ends up being contrary to his thrusting pattern. But I like him and he's smart and nice, and I've driven all the way over here, and we've had good conversations.
He takes off my clothes and sets on my pussy like a starving man. Will someone please notify mankind - and I don't mean that in the 'including womankind' sense - that while there are some girls who get off on having several fingers thrust hard inside them while you go down on them, you may want to start gently until you know her? And get a damn nail file? (Later, there is blood on the sheets). Why don't I say anything about this at the time?
He urges me verbally to come. It's so clear that he is not even paying attention to what might make me come that I just fake it.
Yet I am still reasonably enjoying being here. We trade and he comes in my hand during oral. A brief rest and he's good to go again. Condom on, cowgirl, mish, cowgirl, mish, they always love putting my feet by my ears and he comes again. Resting and chat. More mish - he may have come again here - then on to standing up against the wall and finally more oral for him. I'm kneeling, so I duck my head and spit into my own lap while he's still breathing hard. During all this, I come twice. It's interesting to have gone from being the girl who could never come (25ish partners in the first 5 years before I got a lover who cared enough to take the time and I could help him figure it out)to being in the place of, ok, I'm in the right position and we're rubbing the right things, it'll be less frustrating to come than not to.
He's decided I'm one of his all-time-favorites. I think he's ok, though he has shed quite a bit of bodily hair in my sheets.
So...after an hour of lunch, two and a half hours of private time, and coming a minimum of three times, he gives me my basic fee, no tip, and I have to remind him about reimbursing me for the hotel. !!??!!
This is not his fault. I need to change my price list. The answer to the question, do you think people will take advantage of me if it's a one-price-however-much-time situation? is YES. And it's not even taking advantage, because I set the deal. My level of resentment clearly indicates a change must be made. So now I am calling appointments 90 minutes flat. Still more than most SP's, not so much that I'll feel used.
After he leaves, I pour coffee into the bed and call the maid for new sheets.
I decide I must do something about this level of resentment unfairly directed at Client #1. My pussy is sore as hell - I tend to be fairly tight, and the client has done rather a lot of hard thrusting. But I weigh the possibility of money against pain and money wins.
So I set up a coffee with Client #2, with whom I've exchanged emails. I don't actually know if we will do anything, but at least I can maximize my time here in the city. I go get dinner and get ignored by the waiter, as often happens for a single diner. While eating, I read the paper and find out that a touring Cirque knock-off is in town, so I figure if the coffee is short tonight I'll go, or perhaps tomorrow to the matinee.
Client comes to the TGI McGillicuddys, which is jammed,no hope of sitting any time soon and as he walks in the door, sparkly eyes and shy smile, mischief rises in me and I say, "Let's go to the circus."
I tell him we can go Dutch, since I have sprung this on him, but he's a good sport and gets both tickets. We watch the show, I tell him my real name, I tell him what I really do, and I happily bitch about the quality of the acts and the lame between-act choreography, and point out the really hard tricks (I'm a big circus fan). He's sweet, he's a gentleman, and having taught two daughters to drive, he says "OK, get over to the left lane--when it's safe". He tells me he wants to see one lady on a regular basis. I ask him why he doesn't get a girlfriend. Oh. He's married. Oops.
At the circus, I say to him, "OK, it will sound like a line, but I do find you genuinely attractive and I'm really enjoying being with you." He thanks me. I say "Since I know that sounds like a line, I'll also tell you this, at the risk of sounding like a racist instead of a liar - one of the things I find really attractive about you is that you are mixed-race, and that's a big turn on for me."
I tell him he's off the hook if he wants to go home afterwards - I've had a great time, and he has, too. He opts for the hotel. We look at pictures from my last trip. We have long, slow oral in both directions - he has the right mix of firm and gentle and I tell him that while I almost never come from oral, he makes me feel like it's a possibilty. There is a lot of touching and kissing and stroking - he has great hands. He stops himself from coming several times, and I tell him, "you get more than one shot." He says, "I only have one shot in me tonight." Eventually, I ease him into me - his cock is huge, long and thickening towards the base - and he comes immediately. For which he apologizes. I don't say it, but my sore, sore pussy is relieved.
We stay there talking for a long time - I tell him about Amsterdam and the red light district, he tells me about his daughters. He says I remind him of his mother, but it is not nearly as creepy as you might think, given that is cock is in me at that point.
He, also, gives me the minimum, plus $5, more a function of not having change than a tip. But I do not resent him his six hours (three private) because I have had a nice time, and there was a real connection beyond, OK, you're reasonably interesting. I am ok sleeping in sheets we've been in. I even debate not bothering to take a shower, though the shower wins.
The thing is, I have this naive, romantic idea of the sacred whore. The idea that sex can be a healing, nurturing thing that can deepen a person's self-awareness and change how they look at themself. I've been with people in my personal life where there was great joy and great love, even though we were not in love. Sometimes I never saw them again. Sometimes I have stayed connected to them as friends or lovers.
Seeing my second client was joyful and fun and spontaneous and romantic and exciting. I felt cared for, and I cared for him. The money was nice - I wouldn't have driven over here without some money - but had the evening ended at the circus, had I paid my own ticket, I still would have had a lovely time, and I think he would have, too. My job in his life, should he see me again, is to help him have a good time and feel like someone adores being with him and wants him. And I can't do that unless I really feel it, so I'm glad I do. No, it's not as intense or as deep as being with someone I've picked out myself, or with Lover or Husband, but it is really there.