So I’m noticing on the bulletin boards around Midwestern State that a lot of guys are bitching and moaning about girls who want to switch to condom blowjobs only, since right now there’s a bit of an STD scare going around. (Girl posts that she’s the owner of a brand new, turbo-charged STD, everyone panics, I’m just grateful I haven’t seen many guys, and they haven’t seen many girls (so they claim)). The big observation is - imagine whiny pasty middle-aged guy typing petulantly on company time - “Well I notice they’re still letting us do oral on them for their pleasure!!”
Oh, those selfish, overpriced girls! Letting you pleasure them without protection because it feels so nice, and then refusing to return the favor! Ummmm, whiners? News bulletin:
I’m not. Getting pleasure. From you.
When I come with a lover, I’m with them. I’m with them. I’m enjoying how their body feels, their hands on me. I can tell them, touch me here, do it softer, try it another way, without worrying about offending them or turning them off – even with a new person, I presumably have a personal connection that led us into bed, and I don’t have a vested interest in them coming back to spend more money. If they find me bossy in bed, fine, fuck off, there are lots of less-complicated girls out there if they don’t want to put the effort in.
When I’m with a client, I can’t say, “grab my ass like this, not like that” or the equivalent in nicer language, because that’s not my job. It’s not my role to discover together how they can please me. It’s my role to please them, in whatever way they overtly or covertly ask for. Overtly, they tell me they don’t want me to fake it. Covertly, they clearly expect their skills to make me come nearly instantly. In a way, I think playing this role makes me a lousy whore - or at least, not the kind of whore I want to be. Judging from comments on bulletin boards, I think there are guys who want (or think they want) to be treated like they are really someone I want to be with. Like I care about how they please me, rather than just hoping it will be less-unpleasant than it could be.
More often than not, I come with clients. They like me on top (less work) and that happens to be the position I come relatively easily in. Rub the space below my clit enough, there it goes. But even in the throes of orgasm, part of my brain is ticking off the clock. I’m thinking: How much should I give away in my face? Am I loud enough? Too loud? Crank up the volume a little. No, bring in the lower register, that always sounds good. Close your eyes. OK, throw in a couple extra spasms. Stretch it out a little. Breathy voice. “Mmmm…thank you…that was great…you make me feel so good!” It’s like eating something very nice when you’re just not hungry. You can appreciate the taste, and maybe you paid a lot for it, or maybe someone you care about made it for you and took some trouble, but it’s not the same as sitting down to the table with the sauce of appetite.
I’m thinking more and more about this – how perhaps the whole point of moving into upscale whoring is that I can be me, I can be a lover whose time is purchased rather than a whore whose services are the product. What’s valuable about me is real me – Mandy is a lot more interesting and worth a lot more money for her time than the person I have pretended to be for my clients so far. I also suspect that men with more money have more to lose. I’d rather be able to tell my real name, and what I do, to someone who will enjoy talking with me about it…and will lose his wife, kids, and standing in the community if he tells.
So here’s what I think. I think that if I charge ten times what I charged before, only do long dates and overnights, and put up a cute little website, perhaps 100 men (who are genuinely potential clients) will find me. Of them, 90 will not be able to afford me. Five will not find me attractive and will get a girl with a Barbie body instead. Of the last five, I will not like three. But at ten times the price, I only need two in six months to make the money I want. If I’m lucky, maybe only one and see him twice.
I notice there are fewer seats in First Class...