Years ago I used to work for an escort service. I know a lot of people seem to think that a cute little, sexy thing like me must have loved it...sex all the time...different partners, keeps life interesting, right? I'll be honest, most of these guys, there's a reason they're paying someone. If they were all wonderful in bed or the kind of people I would have been even remotely interested in, perhaps I would have cared. Perhaps I would have even enjoyed it. While I must admit, some of my clients were quite fun to be around and really interesting on top of that, the majority of business was...well...let's just say lacking.
That being said, I do think some of the experiences as an escort were things I never would have been able to do without the service. For example, I'd never be able to say I saw the penthouse suite in the Ritz Carlton. That was an experience I never will forget, nor one I ever want to repeat again. Let's just say a fear of heights, an extremely tall building with a beautiful view of the city, and the constant wonder if it was me or if the building was really swaying in the wind were not a good combination.
On this particular night I just so happened to be well dressed for the occasion. This man specifically picked me and requested (last minute, mind you) that I be dressed for dinner. Thankfully, I was wearing a suitably appropriate black Chinese style gown that I'd worn to prom several years back, dressy, but definitely not overdone. I was very simplistic back in those days. I had these cute little kitten heels to go with it. My hair was in a pretty little bun with an elegant set of hair sticks tucked fashionably in and my make-up was the most flawless it had ever been. I suppose he chose a good night, though I always looked my best when working for the service. It's kind of part and parcel for the job.
As my driver brought me up to the entrance of the building to drop me off, I felt this sick nervous feeling in my stomach. Everything was gilded and beautiful. I was forewarned this was a man with money, so I'd be visiting one of the nicer rooms, and the Ritz is kind of a classy joint, so classy I'd never so much as thought about setting foot in it before. As I walked up to the desk I tried to put on my most professional, business-like look. I stated that I was here to see Mr. Johnson for our dinner engagement, but the look on her face said it all. Even though I didn't look like your average lady of the evening, she must have known. She gave me a disgusted look over and then told her assistant to take me to the elevator. As we stepped in I noticed the shocking amount of brass and gilding there as well. The assistant swiped her card, punched a few numbers into the box that I wouldn't have noticed was even there had it not been open before me, and stepped out. I was on my way.
I swear, that was the longest elevator ride of my life! In part it's because it was a long ride, but in part because I had all of this wonder in mind. I'd never had much care about the other clients. They wore dollar signs, so it didn't much matter about them, but this was a high end client, obviously, and I couldn't imagine what he would be like.
As I stepped out of the elevator, he greeted me, this man out of a movie, I swear. He was your classic Hollywood look from the '80s, not a look I was particularly attracted to, but I could understand how someone might find it attractive. He was dressed in no more than a short, white robe. As I entered his room he offered me a glass of wine, but I refused, stating I didn't drink. I only accepted sealed drinks from clients, my own personal choice, I guess. I told him I had to phone in and let them know I'd arrived and take his payment so we could start the clock.
After I'd gotten off the phone he explained how he saw it to me. "I don't pay you to come here," he said in a smooth, confident voice. He didn't have a dreamy voice or anything, just kind of plain and average, nothing to write home about. "I pay you to leave. I can have any woman I please, but the trouble is to get them to go home in the morning. I don't want to have any of that messy attachment, which is why you're here. I can promise you if we'd met in a bar, you'd gladly come home with me and we'd have our fun." At this he flashed a winning smile. "I just know you wouldn't want to leave in the morning, which is why I pay you. By paying for your services, I know you'll leave."
It was all I could do not to laugh at this. As much as he may have been some kind of Hollywood gorgeous, I wasn't attracted to him. The only reason I could see women following him helplessly to bed was his money. There are enough gold diggers out there, and that would explain why they keep coming back for more, that is, if they go for that type at all.
When all was said and done, I have to say, I wasn't impressed. Not only was he not someone I found attractive, but he didn't impress me at all either. He was slow and deliberate, much like an '80s porno, which worked well to suit his look, I suppose. He was far too vanilla for me. I kept thinking to myself, "Really? You really think you could lure me to your room and then have me banging down your door for this? You have no idea what a woman like me really wants, do you?" Scenes from American Psycho were flashing through my head, you know the ones, where he's watching himself in the mirror while getting it on...though...I think that character would have been a lot more interesting.
Now, I know clients come in all varieties. I've seen everything from kinky as the night is long to the plainest vanilla ever to be found. I suppose there's a woman out there for all those flavors, but I've found plain vanilla to be the most common by far. I'm wondering if it's just because they haven't been exposed or if the kinky population really is that much of a minority. Who knows, maybe they just have an easier time getting laid and therefore have less use for escorts...or maybe it's just the reputation for escorts? Who knows.
As I collected my things to leave he said to me, "Now do you see why I pay you to leave? Very few women want to let that walk away. I bet I'm the best you've ever had."
It was everything I could do to keep a straight face and tell him, in my well practiced manner, "Yes, I can see why the women always come back for more..."
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