……annnnnddddd we have a new one!
It was so fucked up that I had to take a week off, and that’s why I haven’t been blogging.
Okay: exactly what am I to make of this?
Guy books a session, passes screening, and arrives at my hotel room. He is well-dressed, well-groomed. He is wearing a pinstripe suit and leather gloves.
I just met him, for the first time. I offered him a refreshment from the minibar, which he accepted…
…after which, he physically charged up to me, majorly violating my personal space, and ripped his glove off in a very dramatic fashion…
….and his hand was malformed. He had, well, I don’t want to compromise his privacy, but he had only a few digits, and not cuz they’d been amputated by some catastrophic injury. I mean his hand was fundamentally malformed. A rare, but not exceedingly rare malformation–everyone has seen this, yes…? I am pretty sure he was born with this.
“Is this okay with you? Is this okay with you?” he asked, waving his hands in my face.
I am a mature, polite individual, and I do not judge clients by how they look (I only ask that they be clean). I do not even judge potential BOYFRIENDS by how they look–I have fucked “ugly” guys. And I am a compassionate human who is not going to look askance at a person because his hands are deformed.
But the way that he did this, showing me his hands all at once, waving them literally inches from my face, was shocking.
He could have told me in the booking emails: hey, my hands are malformed because of this genetic disorder. (that’s all, he wouldn’t need to explain it or apologize for it in any way, just let me know)
He could have sat down on the bed or the computer chair when I offered him a refreshment and said: Hey you see these gloves…? Well, my hands are not like what they look like in these gloves. I just want to let you know.
He was confrontational and he did it to “shock” me and, I expect, to elicit revulsion/rejection. Or to test my cowardice, or to “test” something else.
I have plenty of my own psychological “issues.” But I wonder what it must be like to go through life with this level of rage, alienation, and hostility.
This man was sick….and it had nothing to do with his hands.
I remained totally calm…and I reached up, and touched his hand, grabbing his finger, and lowering it.
This emotionally moved him. He gasped and drew back.
“Your hands are fine with me. Is it on your feet, too?” I asked, because I know that it usually affects the digits of the feet, as well.
“Yes,” he gasped.
“Okay, no problem. Would you like to start the session?”
I could see the thoughts and emotions, going round and round inside his head. It was confusion and pain, mostly, but there was also a gratitude, or, at least, an awkward acknowledgement.
This job is high-stress and difficult and I do not believe it is sustainable (for me personally). But it has awarded me with incredible experiences and insight to the human condition.
Why did I have compassion for this man, who came in with such rage, determined to scare me…?
It was my compassion, and the fact that I was willing to touch his hand, that changed him.