(Independent) Oppressor for Hire

    I am going to try something new this weekend.


    I, Miss Margo, oppressor for hire, am going to (try to) go independent.  


     I’m anxious about leaving the protection of the Studio, where the only things to fear are the ferocious Russian manager, the jaundiced eye of the senior women on staff, and the (possible but highly unlikely) knock of the NYPD.  


      I have only worked outside of a House a handful of times–the first time, I guess, was when the Surgeon wanted to see me on the outside, in the very beginning of our relationship, before things between us became…personal.  


    Other people in this business have told me that the men are a lot more afraid of you than you are of them.  There might be some truth to that.  


    Could it really be any more dangerous than, say, internet dating? I ask myself.   I’ve certainly done my fair share of that!


     Craigslist Killer!  Craigslist Killer!  The panicking part of my mind shrieks.   


    Will I be raped?  Robbed?  Beaten?  Strangled?  My headless corpse left underneath the futon frame of the space I’m renting (cause I sure as hell ain’t letting anyone into my home)?  Ah, I can picture the scene in my mind as we speak…my lifeless body surrounded by the debris of my secret life, an unwashed dataset flickering on the screen of my open laptop computer…


     Enough, enough!  Don’t be crazy!  You’ll come home hauling your suitcase up the stairs with hundreds and hundreds of dollars in your wallet, and then you can write the rest of the weekend! At worst, everyone will cancel and it’ll be a wash.  


     We’ll soon find out.  Wish me luck!


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