Update 9:30 PM
Mistress C. almost murdered me today.
I went to the Studio to pick up some clothes to take for dry cleaning. I didn’t even know she was there.
I was making conversation with some other mistresses in the locker room. Soon, I started to complain about Mr. Crush, and his “Do you need some money?” texts.
Mistress C. emerged out of nowhere and stood in the doorway. How appropriate.
“Wait, wait, wait, Red,” she said. “Did I just hear you say that this loser jerk offered to give you money twice, without a session, and you didn’t take it..? Did I just hear that?”
C. can be very intimidating. She is gorgeous, young, psychologically unstable, quite intelligent (but not very formally educated), and impulsive (she does keep her head, however). She is as fearless as a teenage boy. Anyone who wants to fight with this chick is out of their mind. I would honestly prefer to physically fight with a random man off the street than Mistress C. I’d lose in either case, but it is unlikely that a random male would be as cruel as C…were she in the mood.
“He’s an emotional vampire! He wants to be my boyfriend! He’s clingy and needy!” I exclaimed.
“SO WHAT! Have I taught you nothing? You make the rules. You make the boundaries. He wants to give you money…? TAKE IT! He offered twice because he wants to give it. Stop assuming you know what goes on in these clients’ heads. Maybe he has a fantasy of being a sugar daddy. Maybe he wants to be your boyfriend. Maybe he likes the fantasy of taking care of a struggling young woman fresh out of grad school. Maybe he gets off on the idea that if his ex-wife knew he was involved with you, she’d be jealous. WHO KNOWS? SO WHAT?
“He has a crush on you. SO WHAT? He’s not an idiot. He can spend his money however he wants. That is not your responsibility. Even if he gives you the money that is supposed to go into his 401k, that is not your responsibility.
“This guy is texting you and sending you emails and you are NOT CHARGING HIM for the interaction? RED! You fucking masochist! Don’t be a loser! This guy is begging to give you cash! Cash money! Do you LIKE being broke? Do you enjoy being broke and negotiating with ConEd for a payment plan? Thank God I never finished my degree so I’m not as STUPID as you. All that school and you won’t let a man give you free money.
“Take his money. Make him happy. Take everything you can,” said Mistress C.
I don’t know if I can take C.’s advice. I just don’t know if I have it in me. My personality is…not like hers.
She does have a point, however. She has a very good, good point.
I am not a good businesswoman. And I guess I have too much heart.
* * *
I wasn’t going to write about Mr. Crush again, but he just did something very ODD. Very weird client behavior. I can’t make heads or tails out of it.
I fired Mr. Crush because he was driving me batty. It’s a long story. I wrote three drafts about him, but didn’t publish them on this blog because I decided that I didn’t want to be unkind.
The short story is this: Mr. Crush is a sad, lonely man who really really really needs some love.
Lest you think: Miss Margo! You are a sad, lonely girl who really really really needs some love! So what’s wrong with that?
I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it: I don’t push myself on people. This is very difficult to describe. I feel myself getting upset just writing about my experiences with Mr. Crush, which is weird because he is not the scariest or most disturbed client I’ve ever had–not by a longshot. But this man is like some sort of emotional vampire. I’ve never seen this level of emotional neediness in a client. I don’t know what to make of it. The guy needs a good psychologist and a Golden Retriever.
Why am I getting upset and angry…?
Well, let me ask: at what point does expecting someone to provide more intimacy than they are prepared to give become ABUSIVE?
Mr. Crush asked a lot out of me. Mr. Crush wanted an All-Access VIP Backstage Pass to my very goddamned soul. Like we were in a relationship, like he was my boyfriend. He pushed my sexual boundaries, too, but I could handle that–it happens, I can manage it, this isn’t my first rodeo.
At our last (and I do mean last, as in final) session, I had to field questions such as:
“What do I seem like to you? Sometimes I don’t think that I know myself.”
“Do you think I am attractive?”
“I’d like to help you with your job search. Want me to take a look at your resume? A writing sample?”
“How old do you think I am?” (FYI: Mr. Crush is almost twice my age…but he struck me, emotionally, as someone much younger than he is. Much younger. I’m not talking “young at heart.” For all his book smarts and creativity, I felt like I was dealing with someone my age. Or younger.)
Look, dude. I just work here, okay?
He also wanted the session to be about “mutual fantasy fulfillment,” asking me via email the most dreaded question anyone can ask a sex worker: What do YOU want to do?
Oh, but it was much more complex than that…much more detailed and invasive. Mr. Crush is an intelligent gent. He is a fan of David Foster Wallace and postmodern poetry. He wanted me to tell him how I desired to be treated. He wasn’t asking for technical instruction on how to be a competent BDSM dominant–that would be fine, I’ve taught skills to lots of people. Noooooo, Mr. Crush wanted access to my private sexuality. The stuff of which only a few men in the world, such as the Surgeon, would know.
I lied. Of course I lied. I had to lie. But I resented having to lie, and I resented the question–the entire line of inquiry. I dislike it when subs tell me that they only want to do what I want to do, too, but I understand it–it fits in with the narrative of their submissive fantasy. Okey dokey. You want to please Mistress. Fine.
Mr. Crush did not even have that excuse.
I floundered. I had to make some shit up and I wasn’t going to tell him ANYTHING I liked, and since I like a lot of stuff, I was, well, really…reaching. If he wasn’t such a needy jerk and only wanted a little piece of me…a little piece of Margo…I would have been happy to accommodate him. I’m not stingy. I give a great deal of my personal energy and personality to my clients, including the male dominants. Mr. Wolf, for instance, treats me right, and I put myself out there for him. I am there for him, but boy, he is getting as much access to my sexual identity as I can safely allow.
But nooooo, Mr. Crush wanted alllllll of me. He wanted his cake…and he wanted to eat my cake, too.
I was forced to resort to something that had zero emotional resonance for me. I was going to pick tickling, but that seems to be a guy thing; I’ve never known a woman to be into it. Not that he would know that. Mr. Crush is pretty green…but I suppose that compared to me, almost everyone is green.
“Puppy play!” Yeah, that’s what I came up with. I told him that I had a fetish for puppy play.
I was ranting and complaining about Mr. Crush at the Studio prior to meeting him for our session. The other women thought it was hilarious. I went to my locker and retrieved the doggie squeak toy I’d purchased earlier in the day from Petland Discounts. I put it in my mouth and made it squeak. Everyone was busting up with laughter.
“Arf! Arf!” we barked.
Anyway…I got through it. I endured Mr. Crush’s desperate, intense plays for validation and intimacy. I got through the Sex-ay part where he tried to be, I dunno, loving. I got through the intense eye contact and the “tender” way he touched my face (barf! barf! barf! barf!). I got through acting as a substitute shrink. I got through pretending to be a happy puppy, which was actually the easiest part—arf! arf! Bark bark! I got through the invasive questions, deferring them as politely as possible. I got my money and got out of there and collapsed in a cab. I charged him $600 and I earned every red cent and I will never do it again.
I am a good actress and I am a professional. It is important to me to do a good job at my work, whatever that is. And I did the best I could with Mr. Crush the entire time. I swear I did. But the fact that he could not tell that I was emotionally shut down or gritting my teeth inside astonishes me. I know clients delude themselves…but really? Really?
And then the EMAILS. I knew they would come. They came after our first session together, and then came again last time. The first one was composed mere minutes after I walked out of his sad depressed dad apartment. The second came a few hours later. They clutter my inbox as I type this. Mr. Crush wants to know, How’d I do?
Am I effectively describing how and why this was so difficult for me? It’s hard to explain when he did nothing that was overtly terrible or abusive.
I didn’t formally fire Mr. Crush, though it might come to that. I ceased communication, hoping that he would get the point. I will never see him again. The money isn’t worth it.
Well, last night, out of nowhere, he sends me a text message (YES I was stupid enough to give him my phone number. It was before I knew he was trouble. I have given my number to four clients in my entire career) out of the blue.
I’m going on a trip and will be out of NYC until August. Do you need money? the text read.
What? Huh? What are you talking about, Mr. Crush? I had no idea what he was getting at. The only thing I could possibly think of was that he was trying to be very discreet–because who knows who might be looking at my phone, right?–and was asking, in coded language, if he could schedule a session with me.
I wrote back: I’m afraid I don’t understand. What do you mean, need money?
He said that he sent me an email.
I said that I’d check it when I got home.
Okay! Cool! he texts. Please confirm receipt to let me know you’ve read it! Thanks!
Can you believe it? What are you, my boss? The Dean of my school?
needy needy needy
With a heavy heart, I opened my email, sorely longing for fortifications of vodka and scotch. I can’t even share this at an AA meeting. I can only share it with you. This blog.
Mr. Crush writes: I want you to be able to consider me as a means of support. Would you like some money before I go on my trip?
What? Huh? What the hell are you talking about, Mr. Crush?
I wrote back: I don’t understand why you are offering me money. Are you trying to set up a session?
He responds: No, the session will have to wait till I get back. My kids are here now. I just want you to be comfortable until I see you again. Do you need cash?
Who does that? I have never had a client just offer me cash. I mean, maybe if it was some financial blackmail fantasy we were acting out…but I was still working, and he was paying for my work. Who just offers someone cash? Mr. Crush doesn’t even KNOW me. We have spent maybe 5 hours together.
Why is he doing this? What is going on in this man’s mind? Can anyone tell me?
Is it a bribe? Some kind of bribe?
Okay, think: when is the last time a man just gave me something?
Fortinbras gave me books. But that is not the same thing.
The Mathematician gave me a Sonicare toothbrush after we started having sex and I stopped taking his money. Thanks for the toothbrush, you lying cockatoo-borrowing cheating bastard. My dentist approves of this purchase. I HATE YOU.
The Surgeon would kick down some bucks as a gift when he was feeling generous. He would hide it in my handbag or my coat pocket or jewelry box when I was in the bathroom (after he rifled through them, I’m sure. The Surgeon constantly went through my things. I thought it was funny rather than disturbing or insulting, because I was not imprinted correctly).
What do these instances have in common? Answer: I was in romantic relationships, to a greater or lesser extent, with both men. I was dating the Mathematician, and the Surgeon was my #1. He said that he owned me.
The last men who just gave me stuff were BOYFRIENDS.
Is Mr. Crush trying to be my BOYFRIEND? Does Mr. Crush consider himself to be my boyfriend?
Unfortunately, all signs point to yes.
Head, meet desk.
Sorry, Mr. Crush. Never in a million years. You have worn out my last nerve. In the span of five hours, you have utterly exhausted me. Something is very wrong with you, Mr. Crush. I am attracted to controlling psychos, but you are not my brand of controlling psycho.
It really says something that I could use your financial and professional resources to make my life more comfortable and possibly further my writing ambitions, as you have a great career in publishing and are practically begging to help me out.
But I. Can’t. Stand it. Never in a million years, and not for a million dollars. I could handle letting you into my pants eventually, but you don’t get into my life, and you sure as hell don’t get let into my head. I have expended enough anxiety, frustration, and unpublished blog posts on you as it is!
These are your official walking papers, Mr. Crush. I’ll give them to you as gracefully as possible, and I hope that you take them quietly and with dignity.
If you make me have to tell you twice…you are not going to enjoy hearing what I will have to say.
You want me to teach you about sadism? You can learn from watching my example. Have a seat, young man. Class is in session.
I’m fed up. FED UP!
Readers, do you have any insights into Mr. Crush? It’s not just me, is it? He’s offering me money in order to be manipulative, right?
Arrrrghhh! Must go to AA! SERENITY NOW!
If he starts crashing my AA meetings, I’m going to shoot him.