I have a lot I want to write about, but the timing’s been off. I forget details of appointments if I don’t write them up within a few hours of the call, but I’m rarely home in time or energetic enough to squeeze into that window. Now it’s the end of the semester. I have a lot going on. With all the minors and certificate programs and crap that I decided to add to my degree to make my graduate school applications look pretty, I’m a bit swamped with final projects, research papers, and upcoming exams. Regardless, He Who Cracks the Whip wants new material. So here you go, my pet.

As for work, it’s not something I’ve been doing much of. I’ve had little patience for the neediness, and a bizarre availability. The availability will change in the next month, after I return from China. The lack of patience, not so much.

The few appointments I have done lately have been relatively enjoyable, though. One kid, a Bronx Italian who wore a crucifix the entire time, came shortly after I stripped naked and touched his cock. We spent most of his allotted time talking about his childhood, and the last few minutes before he left were spent fucking on the edge of the bed in front of the mirror ala Patrick Bateman. He never said a word during the sex, and every time I looked at him, his eyes were either unfocused or focused on his reflection. It was amusing and oddly refreshing to have a client that paid little attention to me or the details of my private life. Another man that I saw last week was older and sounded to be Russian. He was stark naked when I got to the hotel and immediately hopped into bed. He kissed me quite a bit and asked continuously if I was okay. I nodded and smiled every time except when his weight rested on my hair. Eventually he told me he wanted to make love to me. I only hear that from older clients and The Boy. I only enjoy hearing it from The Boy. Hearing it from others makes my skin crawl. It’s a symptom of my self-sabotage, carrying over into my professional life. In the midst of “making love” at the most awkward angles possible, our room service arrived. We’d discussed favorite desserts earlier. One of mine is cheesecake, so The Russian ordered a slice of cheesecake for me from the midnight menu. My cheesecake with strawberry syrup and berry compote was bigger, more attractive, and infinitely more enjoyable than my romp with the client, though I certainly appreciated the gesture.

Last Tuesday, we had an agency-wide, hooker-only meeting near our incall. Our booker lectured us on the usual: be on time for appointments, dress appropriately, clean up afterwards… I tuned it all out. These gatherings are embarrassing for me. I used to work for the restaurant we hold our meetings at. Despite having worked at a different location, I still know the majority of the staff. I’d prefer that they not hear my coworkers discussing fuck-me panties and dildos at normal volume. M’s last point of business was an upcoming meet-and-greet hosted by TER.

TER, or The Erotic Review, is a website devoted to reviews for escorts and massage girls according to region. A good review can boost business; a bad one can break your career in this industry, if the industry hasn’t already broken you. The meet-and-greet was intended for all the agencies in the area and the men who frequent them. Due to the questionable nature of this field, the location was being kept secret until the day of the event. I thought this was ridiculous, but as no one cared what my opinion was, I stayed silent and kept drinking. M kept going. We were to assemble at our incall on Monday, dressed in something form fitting and preferably a bit skanky, 45 minutes before the event’s start time. And then I found an out: one of my final exams was on the same day, and it was scheduled to begin half an hour before the hookers ‘n’ johns cocktail party. No dice. I was expected to finish my final quickly and haul my skankified ass to wherever the party was at. I drank my way through the rest of the meeting and headed home to sleep as soon as it ended.

Monday came, and there was still no word on where this event was to be held. M finally called right before two, only to tell me that she had quit the agency that morning. She claimed the owners hadn’t paid her in over a month, so she had walked out, penniless. She asked if I would be interested in joining an agency with her. I hesitated. I wasn’t happy with how she had been running the show, and I wasn’t eager to continue under her direct control. I’d rather go independent. I told her I had some ideas and I would call her later to talk, then went about the rest of my day. I [think I] failed my final spectacularly, along with the rest of my class. Despite having finally received event details from the temporary booker at the agency, I decided to forego it in favor of seeing one of my private clients, an easy-going Jewish lawyer. He’d spent a month in Nigeria on business, and we were long overdue for some quality time. Since the lawyer is actually fun to talk to and only requires a handjob to go with his foot fetish, I’m all too happy to see him. After scheduling another visit for later in the week and heading for home, I called a coworker to see how the night had gone. She dropped the bomb: M had been fired for not reporting all the appointments she booked and pocketing the fees from the unreported calls.

Another agency’s owner is now running the phones until our owners find a replacement for M. Katie’s quite pleasant. Strangely, I’ve done more calls in the last few days than I have in the last couple weeks, with the same availability I’ve had since midterm. M hasn’t called me since Monday; I assume she’s figured out that her transgressions have made the rounds. Beyond that, there’s little else going on. Finals end next week; I’m off to China the following weekend. I’d say I’ll post something before then, but even the best intentions fall by the wayside. If I do, it’ll be a pleasant surprise.