diary of the call girl next door

I'm a pretty simple girl who has taken up escorting to help pay off school debts. I know that I catch eyes on the street, but I see myself as the girl next door. Or, more accurately, the girl in the apartment next to you who happens to be a call girl. Here is where I try to keep track of my evolution in the industry.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Work Is Work

Here is a story about the first client I had who truly felt like work. I shall call him Professor Smythe.

My visit with Professor Smythe was rife with characteristics that made me slightly uneasy. Not in a way that made me feel unsafe, no, it was just that this time, I knew there would be much more work involved.

Smythe was much less of a physical specimen than I had been accustomed to. Up to that point, I had been lucky enough to have only clients who were in decent, if not peak, physical shape. Of course, that was just beginner's luck; I was bound to encounter the more average man sooner or later, and Smythe happened to be the first for me. I would estimate he was a good 70-80 pounds overweight. Not morbidly obese, but certainly obese.

He was also of an ethnicity that I have absolutely no physical attraction to; in fact, I would go so far as to say I find these particular people somewhat unattractive. In work, I do not discriminate, but I was curious as to how I would react when it came time for the deed. In my real dating life, I am not rude to people I find unattractive, I simply spend my time with those I am attracted to.

Smythe and I met for lunch at a trendy restaurant. He was not receptive to as warm a greeting as I usually give; he seemed very aloof and analytical upon meeting me. He looked me up and down and avoided eye contact. I was not sure whether I had failed to meet his expectations, if he was intimidated, or if he was just the all-business type. I backed off my approach a little as we sat down to eat.

For awhile, conversation was stiff on his end. He often cut me off in the middle of my sentences in order to say what he wanted to say. His statements were purely in answer to my questions and attempts at conversation; he never tried to further the conversation on his own. Again, this was the first time I had to work so hard at talk with a client. There was more than one pregnant pause where I found myself fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, very unusual behavior for me. I am usually quite confident in these situations.

Eventually I drew him out of his shell a little and he seemed to get more comfortable. He brought up his wife quite a lot. As we were preparing to leave the restaurant, I noticed that he was a stingy tipper, a quality I cannot stand in men (or women). More work for me, to put aside my actual feelings and impressions in order to do my job.

Fast forward to our private time. As he took a shower, I wandered around the hotel suite. I could not help but notice the amazing quantity of medications or vitamins that he took. They were in a daily pill organizer, with each compartment chock full of pills. I began to get somewhat nervous. What if he had AIDS? Why was he taking so many pills? I tried to put it out of my mind.

We're getting down to business and Smythe's clothes come off. I have never seen a body like his. Obese, hairy everywhere, with a small, uncircumsised dick, my god; it was monumentally unattractive. I had never seen an uncut dick before then. At least he was freshly showered.

Now for me, the interesting part. The physical intimacy was not as difficult as I might have anticipated, given all the preceding information. In real life, I am sure it would have been impossible, but for work, it came naturally.

I am going to go so far as to say it was too natural. For afterwards, as we cuddled, Smythe kept making ridiculous comments to me. Intimating that perhaps we were soulmates, that I really understood him, that he had found the passion that he was missing, the one thing he had been searching for his whole life. Telling me that I fulfilled his every fantasy.

I was not the first escort he had visited, not by a long shot, so this type of talk made me nervous.

He wanted me to meet him in another city, but he could not afford the visit. Sorry, charlie. This is business. I smiled and told him to keep in touch, but inside I was thinking, "Could I really handle an overnighter with this guy, even if he could pay? Gross."

He told me that for him this was about far more than the sex, and I started feeling claustrophobic.

He kept asking if I had found what I was looking for in him. Yes, buddy, I found my rent money, thanks for asking.

After a few minutes of this nonsense, I excused myself to go clean up. He wanted me to linger, kept talking about when he could see me again. I made my exit gracefully and sighed with relief as I drove away.


After this visit, I had to contemplate a few things.

One, how far do I go in making the client feel like he's king of the world? I aim for repeat clientele, but I would like the repeats to be the more special ones (to me). How nice is too nice? And what is the cutoff point? There will have to be a point when I decide a client has gone too far, emotionally speaking. Smythe never reached that point, but he got dangerously close. Another visit might be the last.

Two, is it appropriate to remind a client that business is business during an encounter? I try to keep everything pretty much in fantasy land, but again, where do I draw the line?

Three, I wonder if I might have felt differently if another one of my clients, one I was more physically attracted to, had acted in the same way.

I still do not know the answers to these questions. I have not had an encounter like Smythe since then; if it happens again, I suppose I will have to examine this all much more closely.