Two Minutes of Hate

UPDATE: Oh yeah!  One more thing, Mr. Kissy-Face!  You’re in for a shock when you go pay for your hotel bill this morning!  I’ve never done this before, but I was so mad at you that I pulled a total white trash hooker move and took everything in your dry bar when you were in the bathroom!  I would have taken the booze for the girls at the Studio, but I was worried you’d hear the sound of the bottles as I threw them into my gear bag!

I don’t eat most of the candy and crap, but the others will.

My Parrot says thanks for the $17 mixed nuts!  She’s been snacking on them all morning!  Put that in your TER review!

   It was totally inappropriate of you to complain about your wife to me, too, but no less than I would expect from a classy gent like yourself.  

                           *                       *                     *

  Get out the popcorn!  Time for a rant!  Two Minutes’ Hatred for a client who slobbered in my mouth!

      Gross, right?  You have no idea! 

      I have a client.  Or had a client–he just got the axe.  A male dom, naturally…no sub who was not suicidal would try to pull a stunt like this.  Male tops, man.  It sucks that I need one so much in my personal life, because a lot of them are dickheads.  I’m not sure why, but it just seems to go with the territory.  

     I’ve always been wary about this guy, because even prior to our first meeting, he sent up a big red flag by asking me if I allowed kissing.

     Say what?  What the hell are you talking about, Mr. Domly Dom?  Do you have some problems with your reading comprehension? Does my ad say “Miss Margo, Upscale GFE Companion?”  No, it says “Experienced and Enthusiastic Masochist for Hire: Fetish, Fantasy and Roleplay Only” and it is in the BDSM SECTION.  In my entire career, I have met exactly 1 fetish provider who will make out with a client, you retard.  

     I wrote back: No kissing, sorry.  Have you seen a pro-switch before?

     He says, “Yes, but usually I see escorts.”

     Big red flag.  Cross-over clients (that’s my term for them…men who frequently see different types of sex workers) are usually bad news.  There are exceptions, but usually, they are bad news.  I’m not saying that men who see escorts are bad people.  Not at all.  But a lot of them, when they come to see fetish workers, they expect sex. 

       Well, he had references, so I went ahead.  I should have known better.

         The sessions were tedious and I had to safe out once when he got his wang too close to my face (he claimed it was an accident.  Yeah, right!), but we got through it all right.  

        Then, last time, he tried to French-kiss me.  He didn’t try, actually, he did it, and his tongue was in my mouth before I could pull away.  

        He is lucky that I didn’t barf all over his futon.  

        I brushed my teeth three times, but all the Cool Mint Listerine in the drug store can’t get that taste out of my mouth.  

        Escort ladies should get awarded Purple Hearts for enduring that shit at work.  PURPLE HEARTS.  I don’t know how they do it.  I guess $500/hour is a hell of a persuader if you’re high-end, but there is no doubt in my mind that there is a poor $100 Backpage escort who is expected to make out with her dipshit clients because HE wants it. 

        Let me ask you something: what sort of person wants to kiss a girl, while knowing, in his heart of hearts, that she really doesn’t want to do it?  Really.  Who would want to put another person through that, just because he happens to enjoy the physical sensation of kissing, or the illusion of intimacy it provides? (“intimacy”! Ha!  Ha!)

        Answer: a sadistic, selfish fucktard.  

        There is no other explanation.  

         How could you push yourself on another human being like that?  You know I have feelings, right?  Yeah, I know I agreed to be here, but don’t you care one whit for my emotional well-being and comfort?  I mean, I care about yours.  I am here to cater to your needs, it’s true, and I acknowledge that you are paying me to be selfish, and I am not your girlfriend…but still, I am a human being…

         What’s that?  NO?  You don’t give a flying fuck about how I feel, or how your behavior in a session might affect me?  

         What sort of human being are you?

           Oh!  That’s right!  A sadistic, selfish fucktard!  

            You know you’re buying my service, and not actually my body, right?  You know I’m not actually a slave, right?  

           No?  You don’t agree with that?  You think you paid me, so now you own me and can do whatever you want?

           What kind of person are you?

            Oh!  That’s right!  A sadistic, selfish fucktard!


   
              I know that this is going to sound weird, coming from a person whose job, and sexuality, is predicated on the eroticization of control, power, and pain.  We aren’t having conventional sex, but we are engaging in a sort of sexual activity.  And, you know, I think that sex should be approached in a spirit of benevolence and compassion, even if it involves beating the shit out of someone. 

           But that’s just me.  I am not, alas, a sadistic, selfish fucktard.  I would never try to make out with someone who did not want to make out with me.

           I do like your $350.  At least I got something out of it.  That is going to buy a lot of Listerine.


2 thoughts on “Two Minutes of Hate”

  1. Hi John!

    Yeah, the kissing this was totally gross, and he went at it, too. I felt like he was trying to eat me head, and I was laying down, so I couldn’t back up. I also had my eyes closed (I was NOT going to let this man blindfold me, as he was a Chester Molester, but I was willing to obey eyeline restrictions), so I didn’t see it coming. BARF!

    Normally I would never help myself to even a soda from the minibar without asking, but I was so angry that it gave me courage. I gave most of the junk food away, but the $12 little jar of gummi bears was quite tasty indeed. HA! A beggar on the street got the expensive Pringles chips.

    I wanted to order a bunch of pay-per-view porn (GAY PORN!) on his TV set, but there was no time.

    This is only the second time I have ripped off a client. The first time I was only taking what he owed me, because he cheated me out of the fee that he owed me and that we agreed upon first. I trusted him–he was rich–and didn’t get the money up front. He tried to pay me with a leftover prepaid gift card from Xmas and his wife’s used Le Pearla lingerie. Can you fucking believe it? A doctor in a luxury condo on the upper east side (NO NOT THE SURGEON!).

    “That’s le pearle! It’s expensive!” he said, as if I was an Indian from a stone-age tribe in Brazil. Look at the shiny baubeles, little girl! Pretty things!

    That guy was such a jerk! Do you think my landlord takes American Express, jerk? ARGH!

    Eventually, I got what he owed me. I never wrote about it, because I was still embarrassed to admit that I stole…but he stole from me, so was it really theft?

    It’s a good story. Maybe I should write it down. It made Mistress C. very proud of me. 🙂

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