First, I am feeling much better. I’ve been weaning off the librium (in the hospital, they were giving me two or three pills per day) and today will be my last dose (yay!). I take it before bed because it makes me sleepy and slightly uncoordinated, and I have a lot of chores and driving to do today.
(One thing I can say in my favor is that after I was arrested for drunk driving–Minor in Possession, actually–at age 20, I never got in the car after more than one drink again. One drink was my cutoff limit, and I waited an hour before driving.)
My esophagus is much better, but I’m still on meds for that. I don’t need the lidocaine anymore, but I take this other stuff that coats the esophagus and stomach and prevents any acidic stomach bile from coming up and burning the hell out of it again. Eating more than a few bites of solid food is still uncomfortable and I don’t have much appetite, so I’m still living primarily on chocolate meal-replacement shakes I make in the blender with soy or almond milk (being Whitey McWhitebread Northern European, I have no trouble digesting dairy, but the doctors said almond milk would be more gentle on my terrorized stomach).
On the upside, not to sound moonbat crazy (though I am), this has been GREAT for my figure! I can fit into my 32-band bras again and I have to superglue the bands of my stay-ups a little tighter so that they don’t slide down my legs! I think I lost a little muscle definition, though, because I laid in bed (or sat by the bed throwing up) for two straight weeks. There is no way in hell I am going to be able to go to the gym or lift weights for at least two weeks. Doing laundry and one chore at a time is all I can manage. Then I have to sit down and rest for half an hour before I can get up and do another project.
My tour to San Francisco when very well–much better than I expected in my weakened, newly-sober condition, and the fact that most of my clients were brand new ones, and, well, with brand new clients, you never know what you’re going to get. They were all really nice, though, and I only had one bad experience, and I had it because I broke the cardinal #1 rule of sex work: always get the money up front. I have also been ripped off in this industry because I didn’t hide the money in a good enough spot while he was in the bathroom or his back was turned (keeping it in the safe is a good idea, but it means you’ve got to turn your back to him, and if he has a weapon, he’s gonna take all your cash. IMO, the best place to hide it is a box of tampons. No dude is going to look in a box of tampons.) and he STOLE IT BACK when I was in the bathroom after session. How can a man have any masculine honor to steal back money from a woman who just gave you a great experience? Answer: he can’t. And he doesn’t see you as actually providing a legitimate service.
The other times I’ve been ripped off–and it’s happened about five times now, I’ve very, very embarrassed to say–is because I didn’t ask for the money up front. I wrote about one of those incidences in the Chester series (there are three parts to the Chester series. At least I got some money from him by robbing him in that restaurant). And I should know by now, from bitter experience, and unless the guy is a clueless newbie who doesn’t know what he’s doing, if he doesn’t leave cash or an envelope immediately in the bathroom or the dresser without saying a word, he is up to something shady.
I hate asking for money because if the guy is a cop and you ask for money, you’re busted. They’ve got it on a wire or some recording device. Even if you’re a prodomme and what you’re doing is legal. The cops don’t give a fuck. They have an “arrest-em-all-and-let-the-judge-sort-them-out” mentality. Most cops doesn’t even know or understand what dommes DO, we’re all lumped in with escorts in their minds. The dungeon provided a small layer of protection, because management handled the money and the domme never had to talk about it. If he pays you after the session, well, then it’s just a “gift.”
He was a young-ish man, about my age. He wanted a bondage tease-and-denial session with a lot of talking, with really ISN’T my thing (at least he was friendly and not too vulgar) at 10 PM at night, which ALSO isn’t my thing bc I hate working past 7 or 8 pm, but I did it because I was still weak from being in the hospital and had to stagger my sessions all day with hours in between so that I could rest and take naps.
Well, get this: we do the session, he takes a shower, goes to pay me, and finds out that he “can’t find his wallet.”
Shoot me now. Just shoot me now. Better yet, shoot HIM now. I had fantasies about putting an arrow in this guy’s chest. If I was still in NYC, the NY Post would LOVE that one: “Disgruntled Hooker Kills Cheap John With Bow and Arrow in Swanky Hotel!” with a picture of his dead body with an arrow sticking out of it and a picture of me in a sexy dress and handcuffs, doing the perp walk.
Well, we tore the room apart for 30 minutes and couldn’t find it. Went through his coat pockets, looked behind the curtains, everything. No wallet. I was pissed.
“If you do not compensate me, I will blacklist you and never session with you again or give you a reference,” I said. I didn’t scream (I never raise my voice), I was just cold and matter-of-fact. I’d also changed into my street clothes right away. No more free show for you, buddy.
He went home and sent me and email apologizing profusely and saying that he found his wallet in “his other pants.” I suppose this is remotely possible, especially if he was in a hurry trying to get dressed in better clothes to come see me…and we all make mistakes. One time, for example, I had a session with my shrink and I totally forgot to stop at the ATM to get cash to pay her. Another time, I really did forget my wallet on my desk. But she’d known me by 2 years at this time, and she knew I was honest and reliable, and she wasn’t mad at me, and, sure enough, I paid her immediately up front the following week and apologized (again).
He wants to book with me again this Wednesday and promises he will bring me the money he owes me. “I have every intention of fulfilling my obligation in this transaction,” he writes.
I’ll put the odds of this actually happening at…20%, and that’s being generous. Too much time will have elapsed; and even if he’s telling the truth about leaving his wallet in “his other pants,” the guilt will have faded and he’ll just want to move on.
Personally, I think he probably left his wallet in the glove department of his car in the parking garage.
I had another session story to tell, a FUNNY story, which I have already dubbed The Story of the Spanko and the “Session Jar,” but I’ve written long enough and I’m starting to get tired. So, I’ll save that one for next time.
It’s a fun one. And we all know this place could use some cheering up.
P.S. My mom saw a Momma duck at the river with about 11 baby ducklings (don’t you just LOVE ducklings?) who were tiny, maybe 2 weeks old, and a big crane came out of nowhere and snatched one of the ducklings. Momma duck attacked the crane, but there was nothing she could do, the crane was too big. Duckling was screaming and dying a horrible death. Mom was screaming and freaking out, which I have never seen her do in my entire life, which is weird. Momma duck had to give up to protect her other 10 babies and rounded them up and swam away as fast as she could. My mom ran away because she couldn’t look at it anymore. She told me this over the telephone.
Why would the crane do that? I thought they just ate fish, minnows and the like. Do they eat birds too? They’re not raptors. Surely it would not attack the duckling if it didn’t want to eat it for food…? Does anyone know?