The last time I worked, it was a challenge. My client was a nice, older man, but unfortunately, also an alcoholic. In the span of two hours, he managed to knock me in the teeth, poke me in the eye, and elbow me in the breast – all by accident, of course. I had to keep reminding myself to have compassion, which is not always easy when you’re in pain.
He did a couple of the things that irritate me during sessions with clients. He was drunk, not just buzzed, but sloppy drunk. He felt bad for hurting me repeatedly, and I was nice about it, but man, that takes all the sexy out of a session. Trust me. Once you poke me in the eye, it’s hard to recover from that. Second, he kept insisting that I should quit escorting and marry him, that he’d look after me and save me from the awful life that I was living. I hate that. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. My life is great. I do what I do, and I enjoy it most of the time. I make pretty good money, I’m independent, I make my own hours. Why would I give that up to be in a monogamous relationship with, and financially dependent on, an alcoholic? I spent most of the session telling him that no, I would not marry him, no, I was not interested in meeting for a date outside of work, and yes, I like my life. I kept reminding him that we were on the clock, and that there were much nicer things we could be doing within that time than him trying to convince me to do something I would never agree to in a million years.
“Will you marry me?”
“No. I’d make a terrible wife. Trust me.”
“Why? Would you cheat on me?”
“Yeah. I’d cheat on you all the time.”
“What if I fucked you all the time?”
“I’d still cheat on you.”
Another thing that pissed me off was that he put up a fight about condom use. He would clumsily swat at my hand and try to climb on top of me without the condom. “Don’t worry about the condom, I’m ok. It doesn’t matter.”
I became quite insistent. “No!” I said in a loud voice. “It matters to me. I NEVER bareback with clients.”
He finally gave up trying to convince me to forego the rubber. Of course, it was a moot point, because he was too drunk to get it up anyway. The second half of the session, we just cuddled and talked. He told me about his wife who died of cancer a few years before, and how his kids are grown up and don’t come to visit anymore. He told me he was lonely and that it helped to have someone close to him, even though he was sad that I was a prostitute. He said he didn’t want to think of me as a prostitute, but rather as a person. I thought, well, prostitutes are people too, but I decided not to get into it. Just take the money and run as soon as the last hour is up. Sometimes that’s what a gal’s gotta do!