To Ploweth Mine Field

I welcomed a new possible regular into my vulva this week. It’s like birth, but the opposite. A new life has slid up into mine cheeks. Incredibly, he was one of the people I’d met via What’s Your Price. I’d expected that site to be a crapshoot after the number of dead end conversations I’d had with men who couldn’t afford my rates, or who imagined the site might be a valid means of actually meeting a human *woman* looking for a date. Admittedly, there are plenty of people who are using the site for less expensive scamming. Some *women* go on dates for $150, $200, and that’s that. Getting a couple hundred bucks for dinner is enough for some people, and that’s valid. We are all wage slaves trying to survive the decline of late stage capitalism. But it has been frustrating, and at this point I don’t plan to pursue any more connections on the site.

All that said, I did meet Mr. Wednesday Night via WYP, and we’d had a lengthy correspondence that was surprisingly chill. If you had told me in February 2020 that we would enter into a global pandemic that would kill millions of people, and that in spite of irrefutable proof, people would still somehow believe the entire crisis to be a scam created by the deep state, I would… maybe believe you? I’d be horrified, but I’m from Oklahoma. I know how low people can go. I remember when Obama won, some kid in my class looked outside and saw that it was gray, and asserted that Obama had somehow caused the overcast day. God was angry Obama was president, so God made it rain, but just in the Oklahoma City area. But anyway, somehow discussing our pandemic is controversial. I’ve been hesitant to bring it up with clients I don’t know. I’ve gotten an array of responses when I bring up Covid safety precautions, from “you’re fine if you just build up your immunity,” to “it’s going to disappear after the election, just wait,” which is terrifying. So now I test the waters.

Me: What do you think about the pandemic?

Corey: I think that it is frightening, and I’m mostly not leaving my house.

Me: Whew! That’s good to hear.

Corey: What have you been hearing?

Me: A lot of pandemic deniers.

Corey: That’s… Unsettling.

Me: Definitely.

I was grateful I wouldn’t have to deal with irrationality at least. The conversation went on and we talked about the election, which at the time had yet to happen. He said that he was disappointed Bernie wasn’t the candidate, but would settle for Biden. Another gold star for not being a trash human. Eventually I felt safe enough that I could come out as a leftist. It’s funny how leftism feels like a dirty little secret. “Will he still like me if he knows I want to redistribute the wealth of billionaires and enforce a salary cap?” But Corey was on the level. I didn’t know if our conversation would go anywhere--if he was the kind of person who wanted nothing more than to talk with a sex worker. He didn’t seem like a time waster, but it’s hard to tell.

A month passed between our correspondences. I figured he was another one who had slipped through my fingers, but eventually he texted to inquire if I still wanted to meet. I replied that I was still very interested. We scheduled a call.

I never know what to expect other than that I’ll be talking to another human. I’ve been surprised by heavy accents and aggressive tones, or a voice that seems incongruent to a profile picture. Corey has an NPR voice. I say this as a person who also has an NPR voice. It’s a bookish cadence with a clear, nondescript USA accent. Hearing his voice assured me that we would likely get on. As a bookish nerd, I could tell we were cut from the same cloth.

I laid out my prices, a little worried he would balk and back out at the last second.

Corey: $750, hmm. I had an arrangement once with another girl, and I paid her $600… But I don’t like haggling, especially over a couple hundred dollars.

Me: I appreciate it. I’m glad you’re not trying to haggle me.

We set our date for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. He wanted me to wear vaguely kink-informed lingerie and high boots, but as I hurried out, I realized I hadn’t packed my tall boots after all. I had to run down to Inglewood to guest on an episode of Killah Priest’s podcast. If you’re unfamiliar, Killah Priest is one of the members of WuTang Clan. He started a podcast with Adrian, the DJ from my club who also edits my podcast. Back in March, mere days before the city shut down, he and I met at Adrian’s birthday party and struck up a conversation. For context, we were at a Dave & Busters, which for additional context is a place I’d never gone before. It was me, plus a number of my coworkers at the club. It was the first time I’d been *out* partying with dancers and managers. I remember not being sure how to navigate the event. I knew that everybody was chill with me, management included, but I didn’t know if I should use my legal name or continue going by Selena. I was even hesitant to wear my hair natural, since nobody had seen me without extensions. But in the end I’d come as my civvie self, looking quite normal. My fellow dancers tend to look like strippers 24/7, which is impressive to me. I don’t have the patience to look hot all the time. Plus rocking an androgenous look is more my speed.

Anyway, cut to Wednesday evening. I arrived at Adrian’s house on time. Priest was running half an hour late. If I didn’t have my outcall scheduled for immediately after we wrapped, it would not have been a problem. But I hate being late for a first meeting. It sets a bad precedent. If I want clients to arrive on time, I believe I should extend the same courtesy their way. On the other hand, I wanted to do Adrian a favor since he has done me such a solid editing my episodes for pennies on the dollar. Plus, I hoped it might serve to cross pollinate my podcast. Of course, cross pollination doesn’t always work. I’ve tried to extend my clout to help friends, but it seldom pans out the way I hope it will. As I interacted with his audience, I realized that they might not swing my way. A handful were anti-vaxxers, there were flat earthers, and a number of people who were personally affronted when I said that I was an atheist. These were not my people. Priest was a sweetie, but his audience expected me to come out and give everybody lap dances, since I was billing myself as “Selena the Stripper”. It’s easy to forget that I live in a little bubble of people who know I’m a stripper and still respect me. It wasn’t entirely a bust, but it was a challenging experience.

During a pause, I texted Corey to see if we could push the date from 8p to 8:30p.

Corey: Even better. Gives me time to prepare.

I was glad we were both running late. I hurried from the podcast to the hotel where Corey was staying. It was out in Glendale, which, if you don’t know about LA geography, is a fucking far drive. Inglewood to Glendale is about fifty kilometers or thirty one miles. I wasn’t thrilled by the commute, but driving is meditative for me. Sometimes I need a long drive to get into the right mindset to be intimate with a stranger for money. I was anxious. I didn’t know what to expect. While it’s harder to murder someone in a hotel room that’s under your name, it isn’t impossible. Besides homicide, I was worried he might smell bad or have a baby arm dick that punches my cervix.

Plus I was running on steam. The week had worn me ragged. The previous night, after working an eight hour day of meetings, editing, writing, posting, and errands, I’d stayed up late with Lily, catching up on her latest escapades. I have to do a proper story on her soon, but for those of y’all who remember her, she is my phone sex client. She’s been doing remarkably well, even managed to get back into the world of dating. I’d prepared an erotica excerpt and meditation for the session, but in the end she just wanted to talk without judgments about her new relationship and consult me as her Lex lingo translator.

Lily: What does “asterisk dead asterisk” mean?

Me: It means that what you said was so funny, that she died laughing.

Lily: Oh!

Near the end of my Lily convo, I started vaping to push through the fatigue of being present for so many people.

I was still physically and emotionally exhausted when I arrived to see Corey, but I was determined to push through. He emerged from the elevator slightly after I texted him. He was shorter than I expected, which was almost a relief. If I had to fight him, I stood a chance. But he gave off a friendly air, one that quite intentionally seemed to convey that he meant me no harm. I always joke with my clients before meeting them for the first time

Me: Please don’t murder me.

Lol, jk, but really.

The problem with most hotel rooms is that they tend to not have guest seating unless you’re paying for an upgraded suite. It’s just a bed or two, and a bathroom. In my awkwardness, I didn’t know whether to sit beside him or across from him on the second queen bed. I decided to sit across from him. I needed a minute to ease from civvie to sex worker.

Simultaneously, I was very horny. It had nothing to do with Corey, I was just the apex of my ovulation period. I wanted to get fucked, and Corey was the person who was going to fuck me. I wanted Evan, Hassan, or at least someone I vaguely had a crush on, like my hot yoga teacher, to do the job, but nobody was available. Plus I had to work, which isn’t terrible. My body is kinda a giant shrug when it comes to whomst ploweth mine field when I’m ovulating, so long as the damn field gets plowed. Otherwise, that horniness takes a devastating turn toward depression. So, I was grateful Corey was around.

He wanted to be “dominant” with me, which is never a request I quite know how to navigate. I’ve been in a kinky polycule where dominance was a 24/7 way of being for the head of the household. When I think about dominance, I think of real kink. But for most men, it means being slightly more aggressive and a bit of lite humiliation dirty talk. We had negotiated prior that I was not down for hair pulling. We could do lite choking; spankings so long as he wasn’t out for blood; but anal was a hard “no”. To his credit, he followed all of my rules diligently and never made me feel like I was in danger. I would have even accepted slightly rougher sex, but I was also relieved I didn’t have to reinforce any of my boundaries during our first session. I used the clit licker toy I literally always carry around in my bag to get off a few times. It wasn’t for his benefit, in fact he didn’t notice it happening. He thought I was putting on a show, but there was no show about it. As much as my periods are all hell, my body is a little miraculous when I’m ovulating. I feel like that terrible John Mayer song (“which one,” you might ask?)

Eventually he came on my tits. It was a bit more of his dominant posturing stuff, which I’m down for. I mean, if you’re paying me and you wanna come on my tits, go for it. Whatever moves the nut along faster.

I stayed for a bit afterwards to chat, and make sure he didn’t feel abandoned. It’s important to make sure people don’t feel like I’m skating out on them. Men have a lot of feelings. They want to feel cared about and listened to. They want to post coital converse, ideally with a side of cuddles. I wanted Corey to want to continue seeing me, so I put in an additional half hour of gabbing. And then I peaced out.

I felt significantly more settled after coming. I could finally rest and not run through my proverbial whiteboard of strategies on how to get laid. It is terribly ironic that I have trouble getting laid. I have two partners and fuck for a living, but somehow it’s not that simple. Somehow there’s rarely anybody when it matters most, whether it be due to logistics or life happenings. But I make due, and sometimes, my work scratches that itch. For that, I am thankful.