Posts Tagged ‘school’

As I mentioned in my last post, during my trip to China, my parents became extremely aware of my income source of the past several months. I omitted almost all the details but I’m giving them to you now. This is the most foolproof way to lose everything in a matter of minutes, assuming your family is similar to mine (mostly WASPS with a few Eastern European Catholics thrown in).

Step 1: Make your living through a morally repugnant field.

This step is the most easily modified. You don’t have to make a living off of it. The money could be for a higher standard of living, college tuition, booze, strippers, or the massive amounts of Taco Bell you insist on picking up on your way home, only to sit in front of your computer for hours and jack off to images on the Internet. Whatever. Secondly, the field doesn’t have to be morally repugnant, it can simply be illegal or below your perceived social status. However, violating morals and values is a surefire way to alienate the hyper-religious folk (NOTE: I’m not denigrating religion. Laugh all you want, but I believe in God. I’m condemning organized religion. Difference).

I am more than qualified to comment on this. I’ll assume that if you’ve read this far, you know what I did for my money. I worked hard for it. In a field that’s sometimes considered the lowest of the low, especially by the religious right wing, feminists (but not liberal feminists), and my parents, I rose through the hooker hierarchy pretty quickly. I was making bank. I bought a car. I bought clothes. I paid off debts. I paid for everything. But who cares about fiscal security and responsibility if what you’re doing to achieve it isn’t all pretty and clean from the outside? Exactly. So go on, get out there and reeeally concentrate on offending people’s morals.

Step 2: Hide said living through an ever-growing web of excuses, cover-ups, and lies.

Keep plans vague. Always have an alibi. Have every electronic communication device in your control on passcode/password lockdown. Don’t make it obvious shit, either. For example, if you have an iPhone, don’t make your birthdate or the last four digits of your SSN your passcode. Make it the numerical equivalent of “cunt” or some other four-letter word. This is simple stuff, stuff we all learned back in grade school when we were sneaking out to drink Smirnoff Ice in some kid’s basement. But I’m warning y’all, it is so easy to slip up. You can get comfortable in your web and forget that you have something major to hide. And that’s when it all begins to crumble.

This step was my failure point. While I hid the hooking well, I made a huge booboo in the end. I [supposedly] left my home laptop running and logged into my email when I left for China. My theory is that my dad installed a key-logger on my laptop when I wasn’t looking, as my most recent virus scan pinged a bit of key-logging spyware. Regardless, as I said earlier, my dad hopped on here and found a whole slew of parental nightmares. Not only did he and my mother find my emailed reports from SubtleDig identifying me as the occasional writer for BH, they went ahead and checked out the blog itself. And then they took it a step further and read all of the logged chat conversations between myself and The Boy, including the more recent ones covering my covert vacation with him and my theorized foray into porn. Did I mention they found it on Mother’s Day, hours after I boarded a plane for Beijing? Coming home was less than pleasant.

3. When confronted, adamantly defend your decisions and assert your status as a free adult. 

The third step is the most important if you want your entire family ripped away from you. Whatever behavior you’ve engaged in will appear even worse when you defend yourself. There will be yelling and tears and threats. Top it all off by reminding your family that you are an adult, at least from a legal standpoint. This will really seal the deal, and all you have to do to get kicked out and be written out of everyone’s will is count to ten. And there you have it.

Here’s where the story ends for me. A full twenty-four hours after I had arrived back on U.S. soil, my parents dropped the bomb. They knew everything, or at least thought they did. They knew enough. I explained why I chose escorting. I’m twenty-one. I haven’t finished college yet. Tuition just went up another thousand dollars a semester, and my college fund will run out long before I graduate. Bills need to be paid. When my last car broke down in four different ways at once, my only saving grace was the money I had stockpiled for a new car. 

Above all else, I didn’t and still don’t want to feel indebted to my parents. I cannot stand asking them for gas money, beer money, spending money, any kind of money. Despite telling me they’ll gladly help me out and then some, their actions always prove otherwise. My mother whines like a five-year-old when I tell her my boobs or my butt have surpassed my current wardrobe and I need new clothes. She huffs and puffs when my tuition needs to be paid, even though for the time being, the money for that has already been set aside. Not even by her, but by my grandfather. My dad gets cranky when I point out that my tires are bald or the house is nearly out of groceries. Every cent they give me feels as though there are enough strings attached to negate the money’s value.

In any event, I was given a choice. I could abandon my [admittedly stressful] way of life and stay at home, with mom and dad supposedly paying for everything, or I could do what I wanted to do and get the fuck out. Not just out of the house, but out of my family. Forever. My parents and grandparents were poised to write me out of their wills. My mother planned to cut off all contact between my sister and me. She even went so far as to say they would arrange a time when they were home to allow me to collect my things. It would be an eviction from my entire life.

I chose my family. I am still hurt and angry, but I’m able to face my parents now without wanting to scream most of the time. No one else in my family has mentioned the situation, and I’m grateful to them. As for the future of the blog, I don’t know where it will go. I’ll continue writing here and there until they get rid of me. I assume it’s difficult to find escorts willing and able to write about their exploits. Perhaps I’m wrong.

I’m almost certain one or both of my parents now monitor this blog, so I’ll go ahead and ask what’s been on my mind for days: Was it worth it? Was all the pain and anger and confusion worth satisfying your curiosity about my life outside the family? 

Are you happier knowing?

Billed Hourly doesn’t write enough. Her blog is devoid. Blah blah blah.

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.