Whenever I tell people what I do for a living, the most common question is how I got into this line of work. Because of this, I’m going to preemptively address my new beginnings here.

I worked in food service for five years, my last stint being a year and a half waitressing at a wing chain. After calling in sick one weekend and getting fired for it, I decided I was done waiting tables for what came down to about ten bucks an hour. I spent the rest of the semester concentrating on school, and wound up on the dean’s list for my troubles. Mommy and Daddy footed most of my bills for those couple of months, and it seemed nice. Sadly, I hate relying on my parents for money, so I spent some time trolling around on Craigslist and backpage.com to get a feel for what jobs were available outside food service. I needed a certain amount of flexibility to fit around my school schedule, and I wanted to make a decent amount of money in the meantime. Without a college degree or a strong sense of entrepreneurship, my only option seemed to be in adult services. I found an ad for escorting, spent some time researching the agencies in my area, and calculated my earnings over an extended period. Mama’s gotta get a new set of wheels, y’know. I held off on applying for two months so that I could finish out my semester and get a feel for how my friends and peers would view my job choice. As it turns out, I’m one lucky gal. All of my friends at least accept my choice; most support me to varying degrees.

So, with a day of finals left, I bit the bullet and applied to a few agencies. All of them replied the next day. I thought I would put off replying to them until my finals were done, but one manager was persistent, calling me every few hours over the course of my day. When I finally answered that night, M and I chatted and went over the details.

M: So just so you know, our two requirements are that you kiss clients and give BBBJ. Are you okay with that?
BH: What’s BBBJ? [I’m not naïve, just a bit dense sometimes]
M: Bareback blowjobs. Can you do that?
BH: Oh. Wow. Umm. Sure. Yeah. I mean, I’m not in a relationship right now, so I guess it won’t offend anyone.
M: Great. Okay. So the rates are $200 per half hour, $275 per hour incall. $300 for an outcall. The agency gets $100 per hour per call, and you keep the remainder including tips. Just check in with me every morning by nine and let me know what your schedule is for the day. Now, we’re updating the website and doing a photo shoot in ******* tomorrow afternoon. Can you make it?

Oh geez. Two finals, and she wanted me to make a three hour round trip in between. Great.

BH: Yeah. Sure. I think so.
M: Okay, just pull into the Shell station right off the exit and call me to come pick you up. Make sure you have all your makeup and at least three outfits, and don’t look trashy. See you tomorrow, sweetie.

It sounded a little fishy to me. Actually, it sounded a lot fishy. I was beginning to think this was a sting of some sort. I made my old roommate detail and secret keeper. Just in case I went to jail or was abducted. I don’t like jail. I don’t imagine I’d like abduction much more. At this point, I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell my problem is. Why would I go against my gut instinct? Answer: because I was desperate. Because I was [and still am] greedy. Because there’s so much I want to do and want to have, and I can’t have it all if I’m dead broke.

So I packed my bag with all the lingerie and stripper heels I had, and headed out the next day. As it turns out, I had to wait at the gas station because the photo shoot was in an out-of-the-way residential area, and it was much easier to follow M than to try driving there on my own. A Porsche was parked in the driveway. I go inside, and there’s half naked girls and underwear everywhere. Shot glasses lined the counter. There was a round couch in front of a mirrored wall in the living room, and a stripper pole in front of a mirrored wall of its own in the master bedroom. I felt like I’d walked into a rap video. All of the girls were very sweet and very encouraging, and most of them were so, so fake. That’s what this industry is all about, after all. Give people what you think they want, but chances are, you don’t mean it for a minute.

I went through my outfits and had my pictures taken. The photographer kept telling me to look sexier, sultrier. But I can’t. I’m not that. I’m goofy [in a cute way, of course]. I joke a lot. I don’t smolder and glare. I tried my best, though. He seemed happy with the outcome. I wasn’t. I look angry in my pictures. Whatever brings business my way, though. Once we finished with the pictures and I’d downed a disgusting shot of tequila, I dressed and went on to finish my finals. And the rest, as always, is history. Or, in my case, my day-to-day life.

Hi, I’m the new Billed Hourly, and I’m a high priced call girl.

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