Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Whore Sex vs Not Whore Sex, Part I


I start the day by breaking my glasses, missing the airport exit, and getting charged extra to standby for a later flight. I fly into National, which I refuse to call Ronald Reagan Airport. My skin is a mess – I’m already dehydrated from working all weekend, the flight made it worse. I powder my nose again as we taxi in, turn on my cell…and get a message that no, my hotel is not booked. Turns out that on Last Minute Travel some of the deals aren’t actually assured until they call you back. Spit. Dirty Drawers. Garbage. But I pull out my guidebook and book the swanky boutique hotel I’ve been eyeing for the past two weeks, figuring, ok, the extra $100 will be worth it if I’m having a lousy time and need somewhere nice to lick my wounds.

I see him on the other side of the security doors, he’s short with the stocky but not fat build that bespeaks a good-sized cock. As I come through the doors, he:

1) Ignores my outstretched hand and lunges over to kiss me on the mouth, open-mouthed, repeatedly, taking off the top third of my left big toenail with his giant clunky shoes;
2) Reeks of some godawful cologne;
3) Does not take my suitcase.

In my head, the robot starts flailing his arms…

We get to the car. He gets out something about “can’t wait to taste those-” (eewww!) and goes for the lips again. The robot has his hand on his forehead, shaking his head. This is worse than less-expensive whoring because it’s going to last twelve hours and it’s just starting.

A momentary digression on cologne:

Anteus

“Anteus is the God of Fire and Earth. He appears to his followers as a short, stout man with a bulbous nose, a long cap and he is often seen carrying a pickaxe or hammer.”

Rrrow! Bringin' sexy back!

scent strength: intense (I’ll say)
scent life: 6-10 hours (Oh dear God make it quit)
recommended use: evening (or never)
recommended age: mature (Estimated Age: Mummy, anyone?)
classification: woods (They crept through the woods, the sickly-sweet stench leading inevitably to the rotting corpse. “Some whore’s sorry she shagged that,” mused Constable Wexford.)

We make awkward small talk, me asking about his job in my time-honored technique of “You talk, I’ll think about what the heck to do about this.” The robot in my head waves a printout of flight times, damn the standby fee, get out while you can! Be-My-Real-Friend reaches across me to the glove compartment and points to a greeting-card envelope inside. “That’s for you.” The envelope is fat. Inside, there’s a card, clearly stuffed with money. “I’ll read this later.” I’ll count this later.

I check into the hotel, it’s delightful. The robot does a little Saturday Night Fever spin and pose. The clerk is from my home state and gives me a complimentary late checkout. We get to the room and Be-My-Real-Friend lunges again. The robot’s still dancing downstairs in the psychedelic lobby, I’m on my own now. I work up my guts and tell Be-My-Real-Friend that I’m so sorry, his cologne is one an ex-boyfriend used to wear and would he mind washing it off? He takes it with good grace, and while he ducks into the bathroom I check the money. All 20’s, too much to count right now, so I stuff it in my purse. Be-My-Real-Friend comes out of the bathroom, warp speed ahead, over to the bed. More kissing – he’s not a bad kisser, but the timing and pace are so wrong I’m ready to cry.

(maybe if I kiss you you’ll like me maybe if I suck your cock you’ll like me maybe if I’m available, I do whatever you want, I don’t expect dating or calling or thinking of me first you’ll like me and smile at me when you pass my locker and I’ll have a secret no-one else knows and all I have to do is give up all of me)

And there’s the rub. If I’m a whore, I show up, we fuck, you pay, that’s cool. I don’t care if you like me, except for liking me enough to pay me again. But when the personal element enters in *at all*, I can’t just be a fuck. I have to be wanted, and that means taking a fucking minute to court me, however informally, before the cock slides in. I don’t want to have whore sex any more, it kills my soul. And so far, this feels just like whore sex.

I duck down and suck his nipples to avoid the floodgates, then sit up and look him in the face.

“So you want to have the real me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you want me to really like you.”

“I hope so.”

“Well the real me with my real friends doesn’t fuck until we’ve hung out for awhile.”

It gets much better from here.

12 comments:

Al Laddin said...

Oh. My. God.

A. Reader, Esq. said...

All 20s eh?

This has the makings of Gone with the Wind or maybe Primary Colors.


A. Reader, Esq.

Ps: Yikes!

Blissfully Wed said...

"...the robot starts flailing his arms."

I remain hooked on your writing. Staying tuned. ;)

~Him

C. said...

Oh Mandy...It's 8:15 AM...Thursday's post (part 2) not up yet...2nd cuppa joe in hand...need my morning Mandy 'fix'...must know what happened next...like Blissfully Wed am hooked on your writing...

:-)

C.

la fille mariƩe said...

Dammit, Mandy. That actually brought a tear to my eye. You were me in high school. Or I was you? You get the point.

Your writing is wonderful... I know how much thought you put into crafting it, and it's really paying off. Congratulations.

Gillette said...

There is a difference, yes? And it killed my soul, too.

Can't wait to hear the rest!

Anonymous said...

I am SO glad you turned things around. No one should have to deal with that kind of crap.

Tom Paine said...

My favorite silent movie heroine, always in a cliff-hanger moment, but you give us hope you'll sort it out. Robby will calm down, though Inspector Mortimer may be looking over your shoulder to see if you kill this poor S.O.B.

Finding the real person. It's no easier with swingers, either.

A. Reader, Esq. said...

There's always an opening for Bond-girls. Afterall, 007 needs someone for Spy v Spy. wink wink nudge nudge.

Oh, and there's this too.
The Life of the Courtesan - A Model for the Post-Industrial Woman?


A. Reader, Esq.

Ps: Yes, I know I'm not being helpful. But it's the thought that counts. ;)

Mandy said...

Tom, how funny you mention silent movie heroine! Wait til you see tonight's post, started before your comment :)

Anonymous said...

darlin' darlin' darlin'!!! you make me gasp out loud with your fabulous directness!! (i've been working on that myself- life is too interesting to put up with crap!). i adore you EVEN MORE. as if it were possible. LOVE you!!! bg

Mandy said...

Thanks - I'm glad you all liked it! One of the best parts is that the blog is a lifeline - even when things aren't going well, I start thinking about how to write them for the blog and it helps me not be too overwhelmed.

LFM - yeah, we were each other :) Thanks for appreciating the craftsmanship, I'm enjoying being challenged by frequency!

More and more, I'm finding that if I work with generosity of spirit, I can be quite blunt about my real feelings and observations - the trick is to keep coming from a place of love. Cheesy but true.