Monday, November 19, 2012

Feeling the Burn

I’m think I’m getting burned out. I know I say I love erotic massage, but there are some days that I think I just can’t do it any longer. Like when I get a call from a less than desirable client.

Today was such a day and I am still staring at my phone trying to determine if I should return his call or permanently block his number. On Google Voice, blocking is easy and permanent with one click. The caller merely receives a message, “This number is no longer in service.” It’s the perfect solution for non-confrontational types such as myself. I feel badly when I hit the “block caller” tab, but often it’s a relief. For most people I block, it’s an easy decision: no shows (officially known in the hooker world as NC/NS—no call, no show), guys who can’t keep fingers out of my underpants, or other oddities. I also block people who sound drunk when they call or ask what size my breasts are over the phone.

And then there are the guys who I’m very hesitant to block. They show up, they are nice, but there is something that makes me cringe when they call. In today’s case, it was the guy who likes a finger shoved up his ass. Way up there. Even with a glove, this is a disconcerting maneuver, and also appetite-suppressing. From the minute he walks in the door until he comes, he wants his butt plugged, by my gloved finger, actually his preference is ungloved and the more fingers the better. As I’ve mentioned, his wife wants nothing to do with satisfying this quirk. Perhaps it makes her feel a little uneasy that her husband clearly wants a very large penis in his ass. I do feel for him though and have continued to see him.

On the plus side, Dale is a very pleasant, outgoing, and good-looking. But a couple things bother me: he’s a non-tipper and has made repeated offers to serve as a “married boyfriend.”

This might seem odd, but it feels disrespectful to me, on both accounts. Many erotic masseuses charge more for any butt play and I think most patrons are aware of this. Dale has mentioned other experiences so I know I’m not his first. He never brought up the insertion issue until I had already begun his massage and his wallet was in a heap of clothes on the floor. I obliged, thinking that he’d tip. Nothing. And if a guy doesn’t tip the first time, he’ll definitely never tip again.

And then the second time he booked, he made his “married-boyfriend” offer, which sounds like something a very stupid girl would do, giving up her pay for what? He made it seem as though it would be so fun. I wouldn’t have to worry about it “getting too serious.” My response was simply a smile, and yet he now brings it up at least once at every session: an offer to play with his ass for free. Now that I write this, I just made my decision. I’ll have to let a few clients go to keep my sanity, even if it is the week of Thanksgiving and I need to make up for lost work.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Pre-Holiday Special

Thanksgiving Break is almost here and Analise will be out of school for six solid days. I I’d love to take a vacation and actually go somewhere, but as I look at the balance in my checkbook, I realize it’s not in this year’s budget. I’m hoping to take her to San Diego by Spring Break. Despite the fact that I live in California, I haven’t seen much of it, and now it’s more important to me that at least Analise is more well-traveled than me.

As a source of motivation, I have a couple photos of places I’d like to take my daughter: of course San Diego is one and the other is the Dominican Republic. I keep them in my studio so that I can look at them while my mind is wandering while massaging my client. I look at them now, and feel my mood lift.

Even though I can’t afford to go to a tropical location, I’m looking forward to taking a break from work and spending time with Cole. And Analise is beyond excited about going to Cole’s parents’ house. And I will vow to take my mind off Jared and my legal problems.

Despite the fact that most people would rather die than do what I do, I still feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I’m managed to stay current and even a little ahead of bills, which is a far cry from where my mom is. She’s always having her cable turned off or cell phone disconnected. She claims it’s “not fair” for one reason or another. Growing up, she found some sort of loophole where utilities couldn’t be turned off for non-payment if children were in the home. It seemed foolish to in she’d have to pay at some point, but in her mind it was the logical thing to do.

I try to work extra before the holidays to make up for the lost income. I generally offer specials to boost business. Sometimes a $20 discount helps, but often I find that offering fully nude for an additional $10 is what really pulls them in. I hate doing fully nude rubs. It’s where’s I have the majority of my problems and I only offer it as a last resort. I have a client who comes to see me occasionally, but as soon as I advertise the nude option, he books in an instant.
And so that's my plan for Monday and Tuesday of next week. I'll let you know how it goes.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Cash Money

Last week, I made $660 in one day from four clients. In cash. I might never stop doing this. In the morning I was fretting about money and by 7 p.m., I was able to pay the remainder of my beginning-of-the-month bills.

I charge $140/hour, which is basically the going rate in my town, just a smidge more than the non-English speaking trafficked girls. I have dropped my price before, but never noticed much of a difference in business so $140 is the perfect price point. About half of guys tip, usually $20. But Joe was different. He laid down a $100 tip at the end of the session.

Joe was from out of town on business—a common source of clientele and needed an evening appointment. Analise was having a playdate so I was able to work until they brought her home at 7:30 and Joe booked for 6.

Joe was on the young side for a client, mid-thirties at most and had a slight wide-eyed expression when I greeted him. I wasn’t sure if this was because I wasn’t what he expected (too small? too brunette? too unsexy?) or simply just his way of being. Whenever I have a new client I always worry that the person might be an undercover cop. I’m more anxious than ever now that Jared and I are fighting for custody. Being charged with prostitution would certainly not bode well in custodial proceedings. And apparently hand jobs fall under the prostitution laws, or so I’ve been told.

I try to feel a guy out, so to speak, when they are new, and therefore potentially vice. The thing that makes me most nervous is when the guy doesn’t talk much. It’s probably just nerves, but it’s contagious, and my runaway thoughts make me question if he’ll let me put my clothes back on before he handcuffs me. Will I have to stay the night on one of those bedbug-ridden cots? Who will I call to bail me out? Probably Robert since he doesn’t have a wife.

All this thinking was going on while Joe was facedown and I was straddling his legs, rubbing his back while allowing my body to glide against his. The more turned on a guy audibly appears, the less I think I might be arrested. It’s likely an erroneous assumption, but I figure a cop can’t enjoy a sting. Joe was a non-talker, non-muttering though, as least when he was facedown.

Once he flipped over, he seemed more relaxed, yet still internal. I don’t expect clients to talk to me. It’s their hour.

I slid my body against his lean and toned front finally forcing a murmur from him. I finished him and he put his clothes on quickly, not lingering on the massage table like most do.

“How much do I owe you?”


He smiled and left, leaving his huge tip. Definitely not a cop. And I need not to be so paranoid. And I hope to see him again.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Thanksgiving with ?

My mother has decided that she’s not going to celebrate Thanksgiving. She claims she’s been doing the cooking and cleaning for years and she’s taking a break. Period. End of Discussion.

My mother and I have very different memories of Thanksgiving. I recall my grandmother doing the bulk of the cooking, particularly because we lived with Nana until I was thirteen. Nana passed away from breast cancer when I was twenty-one, when my daughter was only three, too young to have any memories of such a wonderful woman.

I’d offer to have Thanksgiving at my apartment, but the thought is claustrophobic. I only have four chairs, which is not a big deal, but I don’t have room for anything more than five. And this is how Cole came to my rescue once again.

He invited me to his parents house for the holiday.

I adore Cole’s parents, Ted and Sandy. They’ve been married thirty years. I don’t see Ted as the kind of husband that would want to—or rather need to—come see a girl like me. From what I’ve observed, Ted and Sandy have a tangible attraction, as well as friendship and perhaps more importantly the unified front of raising two happy and productive children to adulthood.

Cole also informed me that his Hillary, his sister, will be there.

Hillary is a stunning blonde who moved to Los Angeles to be a photographer. She has an agent and everything, and lives with other young, model-actor types. Although she could easily be intimidating because of her looks, successful job and non-traditional ways, she always brings a sisterly love to our interactions and invigorates any family get-together.

“Well I definitely want to go then.”

“Good, because she says she’s not flying all that way if she doesn’t get to see Analise.”

Cole has the kind of family I wish I could provide for my daughter and seeing her with them makes me both happy and ashamed. Analise is a natural extrovert and she basks in the attention from Cole’s family. Part of me feels that is makes it more apparent how my situation falls short and I also worry that a falling-out between Cole and I would take this, yet another disappointment, away from her. But I realize we really have nowhere else to go and what’s Thanksgiving if it’s just the same meal at our apartment.

Cole seems relieved I agreed to go and mentions how excited his parents, particularly his mother will be. Every time we go to his parents’ house, Sandy buys a little something for Analise, as if she’s her own granddaughter. I also realize how much more Cole has to offer a future spouse than I can.

“How are things at your apartment?” Cole asks.

“Fine, why.”

He shrugs as we walk towards a section of couches.

“You aren’t going to renew your lease, are you?”

“I might have to. At least another year.”

Cole worries about where I live. I can tell he doesn’t want to insult me by indicating I’m living in a dump, but he has concerns over the goings on in the complex. And he doesn’t need to even hint that it’s not the best place for a child.

Cole is currently living at his parents place while he saves up to buy a house. He doesn’t actually live in the same house as his parents; he lives in the guesthouse, which is a little rustic, somewhat of a sophisticated barn with plumbing.

“Why don’t you consider moving into the guesthouse?”

“With you?” I ask.

He raises one eyebrow and laughs. “If you want, yes, but I was thinking after I buy a house. My parents don’t even use it.” He pauses to see my reaction and then continues with what seems rehearsed. “I know the place isn’t much, but if you want to live there, I can remodel the bathroom and do a few other things. It would be free.”

I really didn’t see this coming.

“This is really generous. I don’t know,” I say, looking into my lap and twisting my napkin until tiny pieces tear.

“You haven’t been there in a while, but it already looks much better.”

“No longer a fancy barn?” I ask.


How did I ever get so lucky as to deserve a guy like Cole?