Chester Teaches Margo II

       So there I was, dressed in my civvies, bag packed, sitting in a chair in the foyer, waiting to collect my fee and my coat and leave.

      Chester came over and thanked me for the session.  Glad you had a good time, Chester.  Here at Miss Margo S&M Productions, we aim to please.  

      Then he said: “Look, I’m sorry about this, but my cleaning service came today and I gave them all my cash.  Why don’t I just pay you with these?  You can use them wherever you need to!”

       He passed me two pre-paid American Express gift cards, each values at $200.

        You. Have. Got. To be kidding me.

         The cards both had ribbons on them.  It was just after Christmas; the tree was still up.  Clearly, these were leftover holiday gifts.  

         Today, if some client pulled a stunt like that (unless I thought he was dangerous), I would have stated, calmly but firmly: “I’ll wait here while you go to an ATM.  My safety-call friend is sending the police if she doesn’t speak to me soon, but I can text her to let her know you need an extra 15 minutes to run to the ATM on the corner.”  

         But I didn’t say that, because I was stunned at being put in that position.  I was also tired.  

         I said: “My understanding was that we explicitly agreed upon $600.” 

        “You can keep the outfit you wore.  It’s Le Perle!  It’s expensive!  That bustier looked wonderful on you,” he said, as if I was a visitor from Mars who had never seen lingerie before (note: he’d given me an outfit of bustier, stockings, and garter skirt to dress up in for the session).  His tone of voice was that of a man bestowing a huge favor.

        It’s true that the lingerie cost hundreds of dollars if he purchased it at the store (it didn’t have tags, but looked new or almost-new), but so what…?  Without tags or a receipt, I couldn’t exchange it or return it for cash.  What did he think I was going to do with it?  Fucking wear it to bed and remember the Awesome FunSexyTime we shared together?  BARF!

       “I would really prefer cash,” I said.  

        “I didn’t expect to have to pay the cleaning company today.  There’s a limit on how much I can take out at the ATM every day,” he said.  “I bought that Le Perle here in Manhattan last week.  It is very expensive.” 

       Look at the pretty shiny baubles, you lucky little redneck!   You can replace your Victoria’s Secret with CLASSY STUFF!

       ARRGH that arrogant fucktard, I am having a rage-stroke just remembering this!  What did I ever do to him, besides give him a discount because I was trying to be honest and fair, and also a great performance in a very demanding session that was NOT what he said it would be?  

        But at the time…I was surprised and inexperienced with Indy work and I didn’t know how to deal.  I was also tired and I wanted to leave.

       “How do I know these gift credit cards are any good?” I asked.

       “I would never do that to you,” said Dr. Chester Lying Sex Addict Molester. 

        (Get real, you asshole.  Do you think I don’t know that those were leftover gifts you meant to give to your staff or building maintenance workers for the Holidays, and you had them just laying around the house?  Not to mention that your wife would never see the withdrawal from an ATM?  I bet she watches your online banking like a hawk because you are a compulsive sex maniac and you’re in trouble YOU JERK!  And I did everything to protect you to staff in your building and didn’t call you on your lies, you disrespectful JERK!  Do you think my landlord takes American Express, you fucktard?)

        I should have insisted that he get the money…but guys, I was stunned and tired, and I didn’t stand up for myself.  I thought to myself that I could probably sell the Lingerie on E-Bay for $200, and then it would equal my fee.  

        So I folded.  I took the cards and the lingerie and left.  I used one card to pay for the taxi ride home, to see if it was good..if the charges went through.

      The cards were good.  Thank God.  

      Oh yes, one last thing…when he brought me my coat, he said, “I left something in the pocket for you.”

       I wondered: what could it be?  Does he feel guilty about ripping me off, so he left a nice present?  Like a little jewelry, or a Starbucks card, or tickets to a show?

       Care to know what he left me…?  What I cautiously dragged out of my pocket in the taxicab…?  

         Get this: his wife’s used lingerie.  Stockings and a camisole.  They smelled like her perfume.  The scent was Angel.  I don’t wear it myself, but I recognized it.  

          What a guy.  AMIRITE?

          I didn’t feel much of anything on the ride home.  I just took a shower, fed my animals, and collapsed into my bed.  

           The next day, I started to feel other things.  Bad things.  

          I reviewed my entire relationship with Chester in my mind.  I reviewed our email communication.  I considered how he’d treated me–how could I not…?  

           I took photos of the nice lingerie and posted an ad for it on e-bay, cause I sure as hell was never going to wear it again, even if it was beautiful.  I paid my cell phone bill with one of the gift cards.

           I looked at his wife’s used lingerie, making my bedroom smell like Angel.  That chocolate, sweet, almost cotton-candy smell. 

             I went to bat for that man, and did everything that I said I would do.

          And that weird porn on the projector, and him in his spooky gimp outfit, and all the lies to me, and the WATER.

           Would you let your patients pay you in pre-paid American Express gift cards, DOCTOR CHESTER?  And why should I have to go through the hassle of selling these clothes on e-bay just so that I could make up the money that he owed me?  It’s going to take hours of my time! 

           ….I started to feel disgust.  And then contempt at myself, that I’d let him take advantage of me.  And then outrage, that he’d treated me that way.

           And then, a few days later: hatred. 

            Chester was e-mailing me right away, requesting another session.  

             I knew what I had to do. 

            TO BE CONTINUED

       


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