UPDATE: Oh, I forgot to say…THERE WAS NO WEBCAM ON MY PC. MY SHITTY ACER LAPTOP DOES NOT HAVE A WEBCAM. AND THERE WERE NO OTHER CAMERAS IN THE ROOM.
I WAS BLUFFING THIS RAPIST! TOTALLY BLUFFING!
* * *
I was almost raped at work last week.
I debated with myself about whether to write about this story for two reasons: 1) would reliving it in detail in my mind be worth it? and 2) I hate to provide fodder to sex work abolitionists who use any bad experience to “prove” that all sex work is exploitative and awful and that men who hire sex workers are disgusting and deranged.
But…this is a blog about my life, including my experiences at work…the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’ve never censored my experiences in the Biz and I’m not going to start now.
This man books an appointment with me via email. He didn’t have any references from sex workers (ha! wonder why?!), but he did give me verifiable employment information, so I confirmed the appointment.
I asked him if he’d seen prodommes before and he was a little vague…yeah, a long time ago, in Miami…he said he had recently ended a relationship and wanted to try it again.
He said that he “liked feet” and wanted a “sexy experience.”
Well, okay. I was already slightly annoyed because this description didn’t give me much to run with, but I thought, okay, it’s a body worship session. In my next email, I outlined exactly what I allow and don’t allow. I was very clear. He said okay.
Soooo…it was 9 PM, my last session of the day (session #5, but they’d been staggered with hours-long breaks throughout the day, so I wasn’t too tired). He came into my room, and the first thing I noticed about him was that he was big. A big beefy man, 6’4″ at least, probably taller than that.
(Bet you anything this fucker played football or baseball in college.)
Middle-aged white guy with a red face, baseball cap, and reddish-brown goatee.
I was trying to start off with the getting-to-know-you small talk chit-chat that almost all new clients (AND ME!) like to have. After they’ve been established, I can start dominating them the minute they walk in the room, but when they meet me for the first time, most clients like to introduce themselves and talk for a few minutes in order to relax with me and discuss their session ideas, and to make sure they are attracted to me and ready to go forward with the session. I offer them a refreshment, see if they want to shower or use the toilet…we get comfortable with one another.
Well, this guy immediately sat down on my computer chair (I hate that) and started to undress. It was a little alarming, and it made me wonder, momentarily, if he was a cop. But then I thought to myself that a cop wouldn’t get nude because he’d be wearing a wire, and he’s also want to get me to say that I’d do some sort of sex act.
He just threw his clothes down on the floor. I offered to hang up his jacket and he ignored me. Then he barged over to me and started yanking on my dress (I’d told him that I was willing to strip down to my bra and underpants, but no more). I heard a seam rip!
“Don’t rip my clothes!” I protested, and pushed him away (more like, I stepped back. I was not going to be pushing this guy anywhere. He was too big).
I pointed at the floor in front of the plush armchair and told him to kneel down on the clean bath towel I’d laid on the carpet. I told him to stay on that bath towel unless I gave him permission to move.
He paused for a few seconds, and then (grudgingly, I felt) kneeled on the towel. I did not like his vibes. It seemed like he did not like to be told to kneel on the towel, which is not the vibe I would get from an earnestly submissive man.
Usually, I have a bit of an act at the start of a body-worship tease-and-denial session: make them kneel, put a collar on them, maybe handcuff their hands in front of them, flirt with them and ask them sensual questions about their fantasies, etc etc…
Well, this man had already ruined “the mood,” but it was worse than that: I felt, instinctively, that he had zero interest in any of those things and was going to complain or resist me if I started with them. I thought: Okay, he wants to get down to business, he wants to eat my feet and jerk off and LEAVE, and he’s one of those paradoxical clients who are whorephobic and actually resent the women they hire.
I lifted my dress over my head, folded it, and laid it on the bed. Usually, if the client isn’t an asshole, I do it in a gradual, teasing way while I talk to him, but, like I said, this man didn’t seem interested, and I wasn’t feeling very sexy.
I sat on the chair in front of him, and I was still TRYING to be sensual and nice. I put my feet on his chest.
Well, he grabbed my foot and put it into his mouth, and he was rough. He was biting my foot!
“Hey, hey, big fella! Watch the teeth!” I said.
Well, he switched, and then started biting my other foot! I reminded him to keep his mouth soft, and he would back off, but then start with the gnawing again. Then he started to go up my legs, and he was sucking and biting on my thighs!
“Hey! Just licking and kissing only. Please don’t suck like that. I can’t have marks,” I said.
He backed off, and was more gentle, and then started again!
I was just about out of patience. I pulled my legs away and grabbed him under the chin and pointed his face up to mine.
“Tell me: did you have a lot to drink at dinner tonight? If you have, I just want to know. You’re being rough and you’re not listening to me.”
He grunted and shook his head.
I dunno. He MIGHT have been drunk. I think that a man like him might have been drinking to get up the courage for what he intended to do to me, and his behavior was erratic. However, I didn’t smell any alcohol smell on him.
“Okay, fine,” I said (also wondering to myself: why isn’t this man TALKING?). “Now, you need to be more gentle. I can’t have bite marks, okay?”
He (grudgingly, I felt) returned to kissing my skin…and then he reached up his hand, to touch my hair.
Now, I have very fine, soft, silky hair. I don’t like it, because it’s so flat and thin, but I know that men like to touch it because it’s so soft. If the client is respectful and not a DOUCHEBAG, and I like him, I will often throw my hair over him…the men love it, they find it very erotic.
Well, this fuck did not touch or pet my hair.
He grabbed a handful of it and yanked on it! Hard!
I was done. Nothing about this man was submissive, he was being an asshole, all the alarm bells were going off, and I was pissed.
I immediately stood up and walked to the other side of the room, grabbing my dress.
“This session is over! You need to put your clothes on and get the fuck out of here. NOW.”
In retrospect, I am proud of how composed I was…I guess because I was angry, and not scared (the fear came later). My voice was loud, but low and firm.
He stood up, all red-faced, nostrils flaring, and he had a look of hatred on his face. His hands were opening and closing into fists, opening and closing.
And then, I saw it in his eyes: he was going to try to rape me. There was no doubt in my mind. And I understood that he came to the hotel with the intention of raping me.
Well, not “me,” not Miss Margo. He came with the intention of raping a sex worker, (“a whore,” as I’m sure he thinks of us in his disgusting mind). That is why he didn’t want to talk to me for even five minutes when he came in the room: talking to me would humanize me, maybe make him see me as a real person, and then he wouldn’t be able to do what he intended to do.
I thought fast, and suddenly, I had a burst of inspiration!
“Hey, guy! See my laptop there?” I pointed at my laptop on the desk. “My webcam has been on the entire time, it’s recorded everything and saved it in the cloud. Even if you break it, the video is still there, and I have another camera in the room, too. If you hurt me now, everyone will know about it! And the hotel cameras in the lobby filmed you coming in!”
He looked at my laptop, and then back at me. There was a 3-second beat, where I saw him doing the calculus in his mind.
“Get dressed and get the fuck out before I call the police,” I said. I was staring him down, direct, unblinking eye contact. I was doing this in my bra and panties, too. I am really proud of myself for keeping my composure. I wasn’t shaking or scared…not yet.
And this raping motherfucker…started to pick his clothes up off the floor and put them on. In a big hurry.
“I thought you liked it,” he said. “I thought you liked it, I thought you wanted it.”
“Why the hell would you think I liked it? The entire time you’ve been here, everything out of my mouth as been negative or telling you to stop!”
“I thought you liked it,” he repeated. He was getting dressed so fast that coins were falling out of his pants pockets.
“I didn’t like it and you know I didn’t like it!”
I thought you liked it, classic rapist’s excuse.
I pulled on my dress, thought for a few seconds, and then said: “I won’t charge you for the full hour. You can pay me for a half-hour session.”
You guys, I know I was really pushing it with that one, but I was still PISSED OFF, and I knew…I knew that if I didn’t at least TRY to make him pay, I’d hate myself afterward. He’d only been in the room for 10 minutes, but I earned something, he’d put his mouth on my body, I tolerated his bullshit, and I was going to remember him for many years to come, I earned something!
“That’s $200,” I said, standing by the door. “And you are blacklisted!”
(I know you’re not supposed to tell bad clients when they’re blacklisted, because it gives them the head’s-up to change their telephone numbers and aliases, but I was so angry that I wanted to tell him he was exposed.)
He ran to the door, huffing and puffing, red-faced, fumbling with his wallet.
Then, get this: he took out $200 and threw it down on the carpet at my feet. I guess he thought it would be degrading for me to have to pick up the money off the floor. Degrade the whore, yup, fits right in with his rapist mindset.
“Have a nice life!” he bellowed, and ran out the door. Yeah, scumbag, throw down the money and get the last word in. Really clever reportee there, really clever insult, wow I am so hurt….NOT.
I watched him run for the elevator. He was literally running away.
I closed the door and bolted it.
Then I took a long, long shower. I scrubbed and exfoliated and shaved my legs, every place he had touched me, and shampooed my hair.
When I picked up his money, I didn’t feel degraded at all. I felt like I won. Paying me was an admission on his part.
Worst client I’ve had in San Francisco, hands down. Nobody else even comes close.
…except that he’s not really a client, is he…? He’s just a rapist asshole who targeted me because he thought I was vulnerable and he could get away with it.
You know, I’ve been molested at this job probably a dozen times over the years. It’s always something like a quick grope where he knew it wasn’t allowed, or a guy suddenly pressing his penis on me or putting my hand on his genitals, or suddenly kissing me on the mouth or putting his tongue in my ear. Molestation, you know, a boundaries violation.
But I have never thought that I was about to be raped…(the molesters always backed off when I told them to stop). Yeah, of course I worry about being raped, especially when I was still doing sub sessions and I was more vulnerable, but I have never thought: This man is going to rape me.
Until now. This asshole intended to rape me, and I am lucky that he did not punch me in the face on his way out the door for revenge that I’d foiled his plot.
I really dodged a bullet with this one. Skin of my teeth.
But I got out okay…and I won.