Just one more service. . .
Some of you may know about my favorite client, May. She has the honor of being a one of a kind in my world. First, she’s the only woman who has ever hired me. And my first appointment with her and her man was so enjoyable that I completely lost track of time and stayed most of the night. And she’s the only client that I have ever told that I would no longer accept her money. I just felt such an immediate kinship with her, and just adored playing with her so much, that it would cheapen our connection in some way to turn it into a business arrangement.
But I will say, that when I told her she would never pay me again, I did not include her man in that offer. She matters to me. And I don’t like the way he treats her. So he will pay for every minute of my personal time that he gets. But May just has so much love to give, and is such a beautiful soul, who never fails to make me feel beautiful. Even when she’s snapping pictures of me and says “Honey, that sucks, you look fat. Change positions.” Still, I feel like a beautiful work of art in her prescence.
Today, I was at an event with a friend of mine when May contacted me. We don’t play much, because her relationship isn’t stable enough to accept outside interaction. She only craves sharing a woman with her man, not solo girl attention. So, we get together for drinks and we are truly friends, but we don’t get to play. Today, May says “I want you to come over so we can have our way with you. I have a personal fantasy in mind and you are the girl to fulfill it. And I insist on paying for this one. “
This is a bit of a shock for me. But I’m thrilled that they must still be doing ok if she’s willing to not only let me join, but to pay me as well. Wow. So I make my excuses and find a ride home to pretty myself up to fulfill May’s fantasy. And we are texting back and forth.
May: I want to hold your lovely body open for his invasion. . .I want to have your head between my legs while he fucks you from behind, and I want to call you a dirty slut and make you admit how much you like it.”
And in the midst of all this flirting, I am also having an IM chat with my man, and I’m just fairly buzzing thinking about playing with May and helping to make her dreams come true. And thinking about the wonderful story I’ll have to tell next time my guy and I get randy.
And things go downhill. She is excited and ready and thrilled with the anticipation. And suddenly I get a text that says they are fighting. She hires girls for them to share, she offers him his every thrill, and he is sneaking nasty conversations and liasons with other women. And the sad thing is that she wouldn’t care if he were honest and allowed her the same freedom. But the honesty and the freedom are his sole domain. He can demand them, but he won’t give them in return. So, she says the whole night is ruined for her. She had been watching porn all day and had some hot ideas. And now she’s once again reminded that he doesn’t appreciate all that he offers.
She asks if I would be willing to just take her out for a drink. She needs to talk, and she needs someone who understands that self-destructive kind of love that she’s submerged in. You know it is unhealthy. And you know you could do better. And you spend a large part of your time crying and trying to figure out what is going on. And yet that person still manages to tug you in and keep you dancing on the end of their string. We are intelligent women. We know intellectually that these relationships are toxic. But that doesn’t stop us from getting into them, and sometimes the only way we can get out is to decide to cut it out. And until we do that, no one can tell us we’re being stupid. We know we are being stupid. But we just have to be stupid right now. I’ve been there. Crazy-in-love. The stuff that you can read about in a hundred romance novels. And they make it sound so romantic and life-altering. . .we’re trained to want it. . .but the reality of that kind of love is that it can’t survive because there is a severe imbalance of power.
So I rush out to go pick her up and have some girl time. When I get to his house, she meets me outside and says we’ll be going to get some alcohol and coming back to the house. I start to ask her what is going on, and she motions for me to not speak or ask questions.
”I’m just gonna run in and grab my purse and we’ll go get some whiskey and wine and come back here. “ she says, as she’s motioning that we will talk once we are away from the house.
When she returns and we leave on our errand, we wait until we are at the end of the block to talk. And the first words out of my mouth are “What the hell is going on?”
When we decided to change our fantasy fulfillment into a girl’s night, she asked her man if he minded if we went for a drink. He said it would be fine with him. But before I could finish getting dressed and drive over, he has decided that if she leaves to go out for drinks, she should take her stuff with her, because he would lock her out while she was gone. Ugh. So we are going to go back to his house and hang out.
So, my job description changed. I was no longer hired to provide assistance in a pleasurable situation. Now, I am a buffer and a referee. She has enough people in her life who are all too ready to tell her what she is doing wrong and how she should rectify her situation. She needs someone who will just stand beside her as she goes through this. And bolster her when she falters. I can hold her hand through this.
May pays me when we arrive at the liquor store. She says that she doesn’t know if she’ll be emotionally able to accept my services tonight, but she wants to leave the possibility open. And because I know this matters a lot to her, I let her give me what she feels she needs to.
When we get back to the house, things seemed ok at the outset. He seems genial. She’s simmering, but ok for the time being. But I can see her mood declining. And I fill the awkward silences and cover the increasingly snide comments from her by telling stories. In the moments we sneak when he’s refilling drinks or otherwise absent, she confides that her mood is getting darker by the moment. She looks at me with tears in her eyes and admits that he makes her feel like the ugliest woman on Earth. And in reaching to hug her and give her my shoulder to dry her tears, my hand brushes her breast. And I hear the sharp intake of breath. When my eyes raise to lock with hers, I see that faint spark of passion. Holding her gaze, I allow my hand to more fully connect and I stroke, cup and gently squeeze her wonderful breasts. And she’s so sad in her yearning. No one touches her. Oh, it makes my heart ache! I lean my head down to nuzzle her breasts and place a few delicate and loving licks and kisses to her cleavage. And I tell her how beautiful she is, how she deserves someone who will recognize the rare gifts that she offers. And though her tears still fall, they stream down to bracket her smile that says she believes me.
The night goes on and she fights with him while I huddle in the garage trying not to smoke the lit cigarette that is my excuse for not being present for their argument. She opens the garage door to tell me that it’s time for me to go. She doesn’t even look at me. And she is seething. And hurt. And crying again. She’s not even in sight by the time I put out the now superfluous cigarette and swiftly gather my things to go. I linger at the door waiting for an opportunity to say my goodbyes. And her man apologizes to me and says his sad goodbye to me. And I swiftly swoop into the bedroom to kiss her on the forehead and assure her that I’m only a phone call away. I have no fear that there will be violence. And I’ve offered my arms, my ears, and my heart. And the only option I’m left with is to let her deal with this in the best way she can and be there for her when she needs me to be.
My guy and I were talking about the amazing secrets and confidences that people share with me. And it is true that confession and absolution are just two more of the services I offer. I get to share some amazingly intimate moments with my clients. And the thing that seperates a courtesan from a hooker is the feeling of love that comes with it. Ever had a best friend with benefits? A courtesan is that and more. I hear the horrifying things that my clients can’t share with anyone else in the world. And I hold them while they cry and I cry with them, and I’m there to let them know that no matter what has happened in their lives, they are still worthy of love and acceptance. Spider Robinson equates time with a sexual artist to time spent with a priest. He even goes so far as to say that courtesans are a confessional for people who are more comfortable bareing their souls when they are bareing their bodies.
And so, tonight, I provided the service for which I am best known. To witness pain and elation and drama and tears and giddiness and a hundred other emotions. To be the support and validation for someone who is going through a horrible situation. And it tears my heart to have to see her hurting so badly. But I will stand beside her and bear witness. And I will help her put herself back together when she’s ready to move to a healthier place.
Thanks for listening
~Lola
