Anniversary

It’s been exactly a year since I began writing here.

In that time, I’ve discovered something about being a whore:

I’m not one.

Not to say that I’m stopping exchanging money for sex, when it really boils down to it. I have an assignation planned with Be-My-Real-Friend. I’m being sweetly and aggressively courted by a Mystery Man who has recently entered my professional sex life.

Not that I’m any less slutty. I’d like to see Fucked-Up Guy again when I get the chance, my path will be crossing quite soon with Secret Scientist and Zurich (in the same room, no less…what a shame they’re both solidly straight), Big City Lover has been back in touch, and I’m contemplating changing my social networking profile photo to decrease the frequent expressions of interest, so time-consuming to sort through (never know when you’ll find a pony).

And not that I’m resigning my role as muse. In the past two weeks, I’ve read quite a bit of poetry, part of a novel, consulted on an album or two and given writing assignments to some stuck writers.

But just as hourly dropped away as I discovered it felt icky, so, too, is whoring in general fading from my life. Case in point: Tourist has been texting me and leaving messages for months. Finally, I pick up the phone out of pity on Christmas Eve. I agree to meet for coffee, which suddenly becomes lunch and then how much would it be to eat your pussy in the car afterwards? I tell him I’ll email him. I mull it over, I use the calculator, I figure I’d ask $750-900 for the three hours of getting there, lunching, and, er, dining, a bargain considering his normal rate. And then I email him lies on Christmas Day: My mother has come in from out of town, don’t you hate surprises? I send him a naughty picture to “tide him over”. And I realize:

There is no amount of money worth feeling icky and bored with this man.

- Would you have sex with me for ten thousand dollars?
- Yes
- How about for fifty dollars?
- What do you think I am?
- We know what you are, now we’re just haggling over the price…

I don’t want to see any man whose only attraction is that he can afford me. I would see Be-My-Real-Friend for less. I talk to him on the phone because he’s the person I feel like talking to at the moment. I don’t know if I’ll ever actually fuck Mystery Man – I’m still waiting to see if I like him like that. I won’t see them for free, because I don’t have enough room in my life to add another thing to do without being compensated for my time (I don’t, in fact, want a social life and friends). Their gifts overcome my lack of time, not lack of desire. Am I burning with the need to fuck them? Not at this point. But they don’t have to buy their way past revulsion.