Oh boy. This is going to be a fun one.
I can’t decide what to call it. “Romance is in the Air?” “The Emotionally Needy Top?” “Emails of Passion?”
I have a new client. Haven’t been working at the Secret Job much the past two weeks because, as you know, I’ve been focused on Keeping My Shit Together. I’ve only seen a few regulars I am totally comfortable with–who do not drain me emotionally or psychologically.
New Client is the sole exception. I need to think of a moniker for him…I think I referred to his in my “I Haz $?” post as Sad Dad, but that is kinda disrespectful. Don Juan? No, that’s mean. Let’s call New Client…Mr. Crush.
Mr. Crush saw my ad and sent me an email. It was a good email, so I wrote back requesting more information about what it was, exactly, that he had in mind.
Mr. Crush told me, respectfully, what he wanted us to do.
Alas, what he wanted was not on Miss Margo’s Menu of Services. I wrote him a polite note informing him of this, suggested another woman I know who I thought might be better able to accommodate him, and thanked him for his interest. Adios!
Mr. Crush responded: I’m sorry to hear that. I am very interested in seeing you. Perhaps we could work out a compromise. Would you be willing to meet me at (public park) to talk about it for, say, 30 minutes? I would pay you $60 plus cab fare.
$60 to listen to a dude try to talk me into doing something that I absolutely will not do. Shit, when I went to bars, I had to do that all the time, and I wasn’t getting paid for it, either.
I wasn’t doing anything else that afternoon to make money, so what the hell? I hopped in a cab and went to meet Mr. Crush.
Mr. Crush turned out to be a pretty nice, cool guy. Despite the literate and respectfully-toned letters he’d written me, after I told him “no” and he offered to bribe me to talk me into saying “yes,” I was honestly expecting a scumbag. An educated scumbag. I was just going to listen to the scumbag with a polite smile on my face, nod, say “No, sorry, really wish I could help you. Thanks anyway,” and go back home with the cash.
Mr. Crush was not a jerk. I could tell that he did something creative because of his slightly weird brown glasses frames and the cut and color coordination of his clothing, which was professional but neither conservative nor hip nor flashy. Eclectic? I wish I could describe it better. He had a sense of aesthetics that was off-beat, like an artistical person.
He gave me the money upfront and bought us both a refreshment. We made small talk and then got down to business.
“How long have you been topping and seeing pros?” I asked.
“Since my divorce three years ago. I never did this with my wife. Once I was single again, I decided to try new things. I try to date a little, but it’s hard to find time between all my work and when I have my kids, I want to be with them.”
Then: the negotiation. What he wanted was not obscene or repellent to me…it was just outside of my boundaries. I said a lot of no, sorry, can’t do it. He didn’t whine or ask me WHY NOT?, he just kept calmly compromising. Concession, concession, concession, all on his part.
Finally, much to my surprise, we reached an agreement for a session. That session bore only a faint resemblance to the one he originally wanted. Still outside of my comfort zone…but just a bit. I knew that I could do it and not feel violated or bad about myself afterward. And all my instincts told me that Mr. Crush was safe–he gave me references, two forms of ID, and he wasn’t asking for anything that would put me in a physically compromising situation. He wasn’t going to tie me up or take my vision away, for instance. He let me take photos of his face and his ID with my phone.
Ultimately…I agreed. We set up an appointment.
“Excellent,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Would you like me to have some wine or champagne available when you come over?”
“No thanks. I’ll bring my own water. I certainly don’t mind if you have a drink, though.”
“Oh, I don’t drink. I’M IN AA,” he said.
I tried to keep my face completely normal.
“Good for you,” I said, as casually as possible. “How long since you quit drinking?” (I avoided the word sober because that is a word I almost never hear people outside of AA use.)
He’d been sober for several years. I won’t say how many because I feel that would be a violation of his privacy.
So: that weekend, I packed my bag o’ swag and went to his apartment. We did the session. He was true to his word and did only what we agreed to do. He did not push or even humbly request me for anything more. I did not enjoy the session itself, but at no time did I feel threatened, upset, offended, or frightened. I gave the best performance that I could–I always do. And he’s paying me a lot of money by any objective standard. I respect that and try to earn my wages.
It was rather exhausting for both of us, so after cleaning up and collecting my things, I hung out with him on his sofa for half an hour, listening to jazz and making small talk. He was intelligent, pleasant, good company. I wasn’t attracted to him, but I didn’t dislike him at all.
I cabbed it back home, fed my animals, and hit the sack.
I did not expect to hear from Mr. Crush again. I expected Mr. Crush to be a one-shot deal. He’d enjoyed himself and seemed pleased and content afterward, but come on…the session was such a modified, watered-down version of what he really wanted, I naturally assumed he’d find another person to meet his needs next time.
You can see where this is going. Can you see where this is going, gentle reader? Yes, I know you can see where this is going.
To Be Continued
P.S. I know I have unread email in my email box. I really appreciate it (assuming, of course, that it’s not mean hateful hatemail), and I intend to get to it soon, but I am still trying to stay off the internet and Work On My Shit. Thank you for your patience.
Oh boy. This is going to be a fun one.