Don’t Make This Awkward

The Geneticist and I agreed to meet for dinner last night on about two hours’ notice. I managed a quick shower and doing something with my wild hair. Still, it was good to see him. It’s work, even if I can’t be in the club right now, and of all the men that could have called me for dinner companionship, I’d most prefer it be him. He lives in another state and travels the country, and suddenly, he’s in my city more often. Or at least, making an effort to be here more often, because he rarely actually works here.

Idle chit chat here and there through dinner, his commenting on my birthday coming up and asking what my plans were and whether we could make plans for the night. I dodged the question and told him I’d need to talk to my family to see if they had plans for us, first. He mentioned he would be in a city a few hours away for Valentine’s Day, and asked whether I’d like to go. I agreed.

In his hotel room, he threw on pajamas and chatted with a coworker over their instant messaging system, finger-picking the keys. He found a hotel at a casino for Valentine’s Day, and booked it. It, as in, one room. There were two available on the site.

The agreement has always been that I always have my own room, paid for, and receive all copies of the keys to the room — plus meals and activities, and compensated for my time. I could have said, right then, that we needed two rooms, but he can be reimbursed by his company for hotels, and I wasn’t sure if he was going to book another under a different card or transaction. He never did while I sat there, watching him skip from site to site for work and pleasure. Hotel rooms are scarce for Valentine’s at the casino, presumably because every seventy-something couple wants a mini-retreat in a hick town to blow some cash at the shiny, loud slots.

The last time the Geneticist, another escort, and I went to a casino for his birthday, I was very, very under-compensated. I feel like he would never try to push the expectations, but it feels exactly like what he’s doing. I was standing next to him. Was he waiting for me to say something about the number of rooms we needed to book?

It’s not about safety. I trust him, and more, he poses no physical threat to me and has never given me the impression that he’s up to no good — in more than two years. It’s about having time off the clock, sleeping in my own space, and demanding fair accommodation out of town. I’ll have to wait and see, and if he’s really intending to book only one room, I’m going to have to cut the out-of-town trips off and drive home that night.

Damnit, Geneticist, don’t make me do that. I don’t want shit to get awkward.

He asked about my birthday, and I agreed to talk to my family. I don’t need to ask Mommy and Daddy about birthday plans, because I’m the one that always makes them for us, but I did need time to think about whether I wanted to spend most of my birthday with a client. A client who’s been somewhat unpredictable lately, as far as the amount of compensation goes. A client who bought me the most amazing bed and mattress set for my birthday last year. A client who treats me extremely well and respectfully. Still, a client.

If I don’t take the offer, I’ll likely spend my birthday just the same as the rest of the toe-healing days: on the couch, watching television, snacking on dried and fresh fruits, internetting my way around boredom. I could eat with my parents, who will argue over petty shit like having or not having enough napkins at the table. If I do take the Geneticist’s offer, I’ll be working on my birthday, entertaining someone else, hoping he provides fair compensation, eating at whatever restaurant he chooses and hoping I don’t get gluten-sick for my birthday. I could really use the money, being off work. I only turn twenty-five once, and it’s the one day a year that I can really spoil myself and reflect on the year behind and the year ahead. Do I take the money, hope it goes smoothly, try to dip out early, and chalk it up to being like every other grown-up who has to work on her birthday? Or do I refuse the money I need simply because I don’t want to spend my birthday entertaining someone else?

I told him I’d have to let him know about Monday birthday companionship by tomorrow. I’m still clueless.

Navigating the world of being a paid companion isn’t easy, and I’ve mostly made it up as I’ve gone along. I get paid well, the club can’t get their hands on any of the cash, and I spend time eating and drinking instead of hustling and bruising my knees on stage. Once in a great while, though, it turns into a huge pain in the ass.

On the upside: he’s not losing interest in me any time soon.


~ by The Stiletto-Shod One on February 8, 2013.

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