Many years ago, I was living in Fairfax in a fairly nice upper middle class neighborhood. I had just gotten through a particularly bad stint with a guy who shall be referred to as ‘the redhead’. It was a bad scene (yay, still making bad choices in men at this point!), and I was in a rough emotional place needing a little physical comfort. I had two options.
Find somebody on the street that I could club on the head, take back to my place and manhandle sexually – or go to a hooker.
I figured that the random passerby would likely know less about sex and pleasing a woman than a ‘trained professional’, so I picked up a copy of the local D.C. scene rag at the time and looked in the back – the ‘escort’ section. What a bevy of choices there were! I could call up a troupe of hot, horny lesbians that would be more than happy to be my ‘beck and callgirls’, rent a swedish poolboy for several hours, or I could go for the bondage route.
I was DJ’ing for a local bondage event on the weekends in downtown D.C. at the time, and was still a neophyte – so this seemed to be the most solid option. A ‘pay as you learn’ experience, if you will. I gave them a call, and this nonplussed sounding male answered. I wasn’t really sure how to go about asking for services to be rendered, and it was many years ago so I can’t recall exactly how the conversation went, but soon enough we were talking specifics and dollar amounts.
For some strange reason, I chose an older woman – like late 30’s. I was bi-curious at the time, and figured that since I wanted the intimacy along with something sexual this would be the best way to get it. The stated price was $250, and I’d have to pay it *before* I met my ‘date’. Now, in the states $250 really isn’t a lot of money for a good hooker, if one goes by Moonlight Bunny Ranch prices. Overseas, $250 goes a VERY long way, but in the US – really not so much.
I figured what the hell and went out to Dupont circle to this large brownstone. I don’t remember exactly where the house was, but I remember that once I’d gotten inside there was a little living room in which two very gay men were watching some sports program. I gave them the money, and they said that my escort would be arriving shortly. I think they also provided me a glass of soda while I waited.
The minute she saw me, her eyes grew huge and she trilled, “Ohhhh! You’re so YOUNG!” The little cheerleading skirt type outfit she had on was just terrifying.
She seemed nice enough, but also seemed a little ditzy. As I look back on the meeting, I find myself wondering what particular substance she was on that night.
At this point, I could’ve just taken the entire experience as a cruel joke and just left, but I was curious. Not curious to be sexual with her, but now curious to talk to her about her experiences as a prostitute. We went upstairs into a fairly nonthreatening bedroom with an enormous bed. There was a fireplace at the foot of the bed, and there were little festive baskets of condoms at several points throughout the room. Taking a tentative sniff, I was VERY happy that the room didn’t smell like sex. The bed looked clean, and there was no smell of anything amiss at all, which was reassuring.
She took my hand and led me to the bed where we both sat down. She looked over at me expectantly, and asked what I wanted to do. I replied that I just wanted to talk. She looked disappointed, but hey – she was getting paid. She sat up a little straighter on the bed, her demeanor changing somewhat as she got into ‘talking’ mode. Over the next hour or so, we chattered like old school friends. Not much about the conversation really sticks out, unfortunately. I know I asked about the basics, “How old were you when you got into this line of work?” “How long have you been doing this?” etc. I don’t remember her answers, and most of this was due to a particularly alarming, although hilarious, story she told me about one of her more bizarre clients, only one of which I can clearly remember.
She was with one of her johns when Flo had ‘come to town’, and he looked over at her excitedly as he asked her if she was currently menstruating. She replied that she was, and apparently his eyes lit up. He asked if she was wearing a tampon or a pad, and she stated that she was using a tampon. The guy became very excited and asked if he could have it. She said that she paused for a moment before stating that she’d give it to him for $500. He quickly tossed the money on the bed, so she got up, slowly slid her hand between her legs and pulled the tampon out, letting it dangle between her fingers.
He looked like a puppy that was about to get a particularly rare treat, and as she threw it at him, it hit him smack in the nose. He then proceeded to grab it and sniff it as his eyes rolled back into his head.
She also apparently did dominatrix work on the side, and made a fair amount of money at it. She said that she had several affluent clients that came into town from time to time. I stated that I’d thought briefly about becoming a professional dominatrix for a time, and she brightly added that if I wanted to come watch her with one of her clients – or if I wanted to help her out sometime, that she’d give me some of the cut. I said that I’d be interested, and that I’d get in touch with her.
I never called her back.
Now, I consider myself a somewhat adventurous person, but the idea of putting myself into a possible sexual situation with somebody that I don’t know well enough to trust was just not something I wanted to mess with.
But still – all these years later, I wonder what it would’ve been like if I had helped her out.