Savato, Avgusto 16, 2008

Woke up to thunder and lightning and the sort of torrential downpour that makes me pull the covers back up over my head and hibernate until spring. But now that I am no longer self-employed I had to wake up and make my way through the storm to deposit the funds that I owe to my agent. It was cold and wet and blinding and I am so glad to be warm and comfortable and prepared for work in my hotel room. Though I think once I have more expendable funding I will purchase a small studio apartment in some nice part of town and use that as a work space instead. More affordable to pay by the month than by the night. Five days a week from ten in the morning through seven in the evening. It almost makes things feel banal but not quite. Hopefully the rain will not keep away the clients and I will be able to make a little bit of scratch this afternoon. Though if it does keep things slow then at least I will have some the free time and solitude I need to work on my writing.

My first client of the day was both a real chore and a real delight. His name was Warner and he was a shorter man - shorter than I am in any case - with a very kind looking face. Though kind may not be the actual word I am looking for, as he seemed not so much kind as he seemed the sort of person whom one would want on her side. He was also there with a definite purpose and wasted no time in disrobing and getting down to business of things. Giving him head was quite fun in part because he neither tasted nor smelled all that awful, unlike many of the men I see who always seem possessed of some vicious scent that smells less like human musk (which is a scent I fall over myself for) and more like stale cream cheese. There was some ass play involved as well, though I had to draw the line at rimming him as he requested. Instead there was gentle massaging of the perineum with my tongue and that seemed to be close enough as to make him believe that his request had been fulfilled. This was also one of my more wet sessions and it seems as though the theme for the entire day has been fluids from above, what with the rain and the man cream on my face and tits and all that. So much fluid, so much. Afterward we chatted for awhile and I found out that he is a criminal defense lawyer who is moving to the city where my fictional real life is set, and that he wanted to see me again once he was living there. Damn. It is a strange thing to be a visitor in my own home and makes for perplexing conversations at times. In any case he asked me how much he owed me and I told him the price. Had I noticed the denominations of the huge wad of hundred dollar bills in his hand I would have raised the price, but instead I assumed it was just a stack of twenties and sent him home.

Maybe next time.

Most of the day has pretty much been slow as slow could be and, again, it feels as though I am well within my rights to blame the store on this one. There was a brief period of several minutes when the sun was shining and it looked like the day could turn beautiful but the vacation from all that wetness only lasted long enough to ensure that my quick run to the neighboring convenience store for extra rubbers was a dry trip rather than a waterlogged fiasco. So the greater part of the day has been spent in bed, listening to the pouring rain and crashing thunder, while reading The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl and almost passing out from a lack of any real sleep. There was a second gentleman who was supposed to show up at four-o-clock but he never materialized. I let my handler (Elizabeth) know that he had not shown up and she sent me back a reassuring text message to let me know that the phones were ringing and that business would in fact be happening, after which the following exchange happened:

Me: No sign of him.
Elizabeth: No, but the phone is going so hang in there.
Me: I blame the storm. Todays theme, fluid from above. Ehhem.
Elizabeth: Oh no, lots are calling for Monday.
Me: Thank god for Mondays, then.
Elizabeth: No doubt!

Since beginning with the agency there have been lots of little exchanges like with this with Elizabeth and I have been finding myself growing more fond of the semi-anonymous being on the other end of the phone line. But then I know very little about her beyond which city she works in and the name she works with. I wonder if she has worked as a prostitute before although I am not about to assume anything. It would be a safe assumption though, as the agency is staffed almost entirely by women and those who are not workig as hookers all seem to be former porn actresses and phone sex operators at the very least if not former whores themselves. Even the lead agent was some kind of famous porn actress star type person back in the nineties and eighties. But still I do not know Elizabeth in any proper way so it would be unfair to assume anything about who she is or what she has done, instead just trading the occasional filth-ridden joke or two via text message. Of course in my more creative moments I can always fantasize about the voice at the other end of the line, and believe me when I say that I do and that I do it often. But with only two hours left on the clock and a long night of rest ahead of me I find myself much more interested in my pillows than imagined escapades with disembodied voices. I hope business picks up before then. I really should have asked Warner for more bills.