Update: I’m home safe. Highlights from two days and three nights in San Francisco:
Cuckolding fantasy client did not allocate his time well, and we had to reschedule the session because his flight was late coming in to SFO. I know he’s good for it because he paid a deposit for the session and also bought me that dress. So, I’ll see him next week.
One of my clients LEFT HIS WRISTWATCH ON THE DESK. I didn’t notice, but he called me frantically about an hour after he walked out the door. Sure enough, there it was. I looked at it; it had an inscription on the back. I bet his wife bought it for him. I locked it in the hotel room safe so that he would be safe for him, and he picked it up the next morning on his way to work.
I was ripped off by a shady motherfucker. I should have known he was up to something, because he seemed nervous–but clients often seem nervous before a session! I thought he was just a weird young guy without social skills with women. The session was gross, it was a lot of body worship, and you know I really don’t like body worship, but I put up with it–since I’m only doing this two days a week, I’m trying to take every session that I can as long as the client passes screening and doesn’t ask for anything outside my boundaries, it’s not like in NYC where I would encourage body-worship clients to see another mistress at the Studio! So anyway, this guy….he gave me the money in an envelope, and when he was in the bathroom, I put it into the safe. I opened it and peeked inside, and it was a substantial stack of money. But I didn’t take it out and count it! I was stupid and violated the first rule of sex work: always get the money up front!
And you KNOW what happened next!
When he left, I immediately took a shower to wash his slobber off my skin (and watching him jerk off for an hour was fucking hideous and the images are burned into my brain. Therapy, yes, I need it!). Then I took the money out of the envelope to put it with the rest of my cash.
That motherfucker. In the envelope were two $20 bills on top of a stack on $1s.
I flipped. I blew his phone up. He didn’t answer and it started going straight to voicemail. He’s BLACKLISTED on every blacklist I have access to, and he’s lucky I don’t post his information right here! If you’re a sex worker in the Bay area and you’re reading this, contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I will tell you who this person is! He’s an ugly fatassed disreseptful Indian guy with an ugly useless penis! So gross! He tried to kiss me on the mouth, too! Your penis really is gross, dude. I have seen a lot of wangs in my life, and that one was totally in the bottom 10%.
I stayed two nights at the Hilton. Hiltons are boring-as-hell business hotels, but they are totally anonymous and huge, so they’re good places to work out of. They charged me $20 for a pay-per-view movie (Intersteller! It was good!) and the internet was really expensive, too. Expensive internet is bullshit! I hate it! Why is internet free at Starbucks and Motel 6, but $24.99 at the Hilton?
10 AM client was interesting. He looked like he’d been in a car wreck or some kind of accident (I didn’t ask, because that would be rude), because his face was scarred, and he had scars on his shoulders, too. His body was muscular and very dense, very masculine. The interesting thing was that even though he looked rough, his movements and mannarisms were very graceful. Delicate, even. I found the juxtaposition between his ugliness and grace intriguing. He was very sensitive and considerate: he brought me hot chocolate from Starbucks in the morning. He was a very impressive sub. Good client, I liked him.
After hotel costs and travel expenses, gasoline, and money for the parking garages, I still cleared over $1600. YAAAYYYYYYYY!
The only hard thing is that I’m doing this all by myself. It’s really isolating to work all alone in the hotel rooms. At the Studio, I had domme friends, and it was great for support and camaraderie (not to mention all the drama and hijinks!). Now it’s just me in the hotel, IMing my internet friends. At least there’s sex worker Twitter!
I’m getting my own apartment the first of June. I’m apartment-hunting now. And I’m also going to get A PARROT!!!! I can’t get another Senegal, because it will hurt my heart too much to see a bird that looks like Parrot (Parrot RIP). But, I will get a Jardine’s or a Meyer’s, if I can find one at a bird rescue (I don’t think it’s right to buy parrots from breeders. I got Parrot off of Craigslist when her old owner wanted to re-home her).
* * *
I’m about to leave for San Francisco again. I have a 2-hour session booked for tomorrow morning at 10 AM, and I need to get there early to prepare for it, so I’m going to my hotel tonight. I wish I had access to a dungeon–I’m emailing a few local Dommes to see if I can rent their private facilities, but they have no idea who I am or who my clients are, so I don’t blame them for being leery. What I did do this time was spend the extra cash and reserve a full hotel suite instead of just a room, so that I have more space to work and furniture to work with.
I’m only working two days this time, instead of three, and I’m capping my hours of sessioning at four. I’ll make an exception if one of the foot-fetish clients from last week wants to see me again, or if I get a last-minute request for a session that’s super fun and easy, like straight spanking or a domestic discipline scenario (I remembered to pack the good leather belt, the wooden hairbrush, and the new bar of Ivory soap this time. And my satin robe. Cause you know angry Mommy has to put you in your place wearing her satin robe, it’s like a national law or something, lol). I am only doing domination, no switching and no submission.
I have a session Friday afternoon that sounds kinda interesting: an elaborate cuckolding humiliation roleplay. It’s all talking–I don’t touch the guy or do anything to him besides carry the fantasy through discussion. Which means it could be great, or it could be a total grind depending on whether the back-and-forth is easy. He has very specific dress preferences: I need to be wearing a certain type of black cocktail dress and black leather high heels. I told him I’d get the dress, but he’d have to pay for it, so he sent me the extra money via GiftRocket and I picked up the dress at Marshall’s this afternoon.
I’m bringing my laptop, so I might be blogging (and, oh yeah, if this run is as lucrative as last week’s, I am going to throw out that heavy, wheezing, dying Wal-Mart Acer and buy a new machine!).
I come back on Saturday afternoon. On Sunday, I have my addiction-recovery therapy group, and then later that afternoon I am going to see this guy I met a few days ago, an old Jungian psychologist. I could not find a practicing Freudian in this town, so I decided to check out the dark side, as it were. This guy’s website cracked me up. All the other therapist websites I visited had hokey photos of people crossing bridges, fall leaves floating on water, baby plants bursting through soil, shit like that. This guy had a graphic of the moon during an eclipse. I started laughing. RAD!!!
I am very leery about having a male shrink. I’ve never had one before. I mean, the last thing I need is a sleazy male authority figure in my life (Heinrich asked, sarcastically, “What could go wrong, ja?”). I’ve viewed them with skepticism ever since my father’s psychiatrist asked me out on a date. When he was at work in the hospital. In his fucking office. While my father was institutionalized. No shit, the scumbag DOCTOR asked me out to dinner and to go skiing (and if you only knew what he’d just diagnosed my father as having!)! I should have reported him to hospital management and also his professional organization, but I didn’t. I was very young, only 22 or 23, and I didn’t know what to do. I was also kinda stunned about the situation my father was in.
Okay, I have to leave now. It’s time.
I took one of my leftover Antabuse, even though the doctor told me not to take them anymore, because I know that I am putting myself into a situation where I could be tested. I know the neuropathy is bad, but I would rather have numb shins than relapse.
I also brought the owl PJs Heinrich bought for me, so that I can wear them in my hotel rooms at night. Even though he is unhappy with me.