Ask Me For Anything

It’s been lovely taking a tiny break from being buried in my iPhone, responding to group messages, DM’s, and emails for a few days to enjoy some time in nature, getting dirty without worrying about how I look, the amount of hair on my body, or whether or not I smell disgusting. I spent time in the Joshua Tree desert hiking around, searching for an indigenous tortoise that evaded me. I was delighted to encounter a big horned sheep during one hike. Hassan and I weren’t sure if it would charge us, but for whatever reasons, it didn’t. I imagine lots of the animals are quite accustomed to humans, I mean they can smell us from a mile away and manage to keep their distance most of the time, which is why it was particularly incredible to spot one in the wild, munching on juniper berries.

I returned to LA bleeding heavily, feeling incredibly dried out from the arid heat. I’d spent so much time in direct sunlight, something that previously would have been a concern for me. Tanning is bad for business as a black stripper, but my world has changed, and I can tan as much as I’d like. That’s been one of the remarkable things of shifting to escorting: I can be the color that I am and still have an interested clientele. Less than a week after Longshoreman declared he would need to take a financial break, he invited me over for dinner and a movie. He negotiated with me, saying that he wouldn’t expect to get frisky and would pay me $100 per hour of platonic hang time. Of course, best intentions aside, he soon realized he wanted to do more than just enjoy my fantastic company, and ended up spending more than he wanted to. I tried to dissuade him, because my goal is not to bankrupt my clients. I need them to be financially viable to sustain our relationships through Covid. I also didn’t want to be sexual with him, partially because I was enjoying his company remaining in the platonic sphere; partially because he is hell bent on me having an equally erotic experience to the one that he is having, which creates unrealistic expectations I cannot meet; and finally because I didn’t want him in my face. A fae needs space. But he pushed a bit, and then we ended up making out and then cuddling while we discussed our relationship. He’s not stupid. He’s actually one of my more enlightened customers on a number of fronts. We talk about menstruation and he’s not afraid or turned off by blood. He knows about Hassan and Evan (and previously my gf, but we broke up a bit ago). He brought up that for a while he thought that I didn’t like him, and admittedly that wasn’t too far off from the truth. Matt has grown on me as a person, and while at times he annoys the shit out of me, he isn’t so bad to spend time around.

A lot of our recent bonding came from him nagging me into relearning guitar. I’ve been sheepish about diving back in, because it’s incredibly important to me. Music was my life for a while. I started playing guitar in my early teens and played up until midway through college when I realized I didn’t have time for anything but my studies. Previously I’d played in bands, wrote a lot of songs, and sang constantly. It was something I envisioned myself doing in a real way, but I put it aside to focus on other work. Then the more time went on, the more impossible the idea became of creating music again. I developed this mental block--a terror that I had failed by taking a very long break, and that I could never recover. The idea of only being as good as I was at twenty, or to have regressed, paralyzed me to the point that I completely ditched my guitar and resigned myself to having this as my one regret.

I’m generally not a person who holds onto regret. I pursue my desires as they come. If I must risk looking silly or losing connections in the process, so be it. But music was becoming a throbbing regret until Matt, in his nagging way, chided me into practicing on his guitar. I was definitely rusty, but the chords were all there, tucked away and accessible after minor refreshers. We started playing through the songs I’d written years ago, and I began shaking out the mental cobwebs. Eventually he bought me a half-size guitar, with nylon strings the way I wanted. The challenges I’d faced playing a normal sized guitar began to evaporate. ***As an aside, the way that 99% of guitars are built for AMAB bodies is truly so fucked.*** Since then, Matt has taught me a number of tricks, and a bit of the music theory I’d always wanted to learn. It’s been a deeply meaningful exchange, and it’s brought us closer together in some ways. He also significantly toned down his baby talk, which has helped. And I’ve come to a peace with his repetitive questions about my work, because in the end it comes from a place of genuinely wanting to understand.

It’s easy for me to get dismissive with my clients, particularly during different points in my cycle. The week before my period, I fucking hate everyone. There is not a single safe soul. No man, woman, or child can escape my PMS ire. But I’m entering the post-period glow phase of my cycle where everyone has their positive attributes, and I’m DTF.

I’ve been very critical of GKM, and while my criticisms have been reasonable, he is also someone I care about and even enjoy seeing most of the time. I know that’s often not clear in the way that I write him. He’s usually caricatured into a bit of a device to explain white privilege and the degree of insulation the rich have when navigating our crumbling world. But during my camping trip, I realized that I like him. There was some scent in the air that vaguely reminded me of his cologne, and I realized that I missed seeing him. His house is kinda my second home at this point. Even his very cautious labradoodle has come to recognize me and cuddle with me from time to time. We are radically different people, but we’re connected. Oxytocin is a hell of a drug.

He recently bought the Mary Trump book, Too Much and Never Enough, which surprised me. He definitely voted for Trump the first round, but this time I’m not so sure. I’ve even convinced him to vote no on Prop 22 (a fucked up rule that would make it almost impossible for rideshare drivers to unionize). There is a tenderness to our relationship that I don’t often articulate and perhaps isn’t apparent, particularly because of how much I judge his life.

Charlie has been in the weeds these past few weeks, handling the testing for a few music award shows. His goal is to grab the Grammys, and there is a solid chance he will get his wish. He is making ridiculous money right now, and I’ve been prodding him to buy a share of stock in the company for his employees, so that as the business they are all building succeeds, they also get to enjoy a piece of the success. It’s my way of gently introducing a bit of Lite Marxism into his life. On a selfish side, I also want a piece of his success. I want my own share in the enterprise. Charlie is deeply independent and resourceful, but I provide a level of nurturance and emotional guidance in his personal matters that he regularly utilizes, and this is completely outside of his access to my *sexual healing* services. But these conversations are difficult to have because I have to convince him that my labor deserves to be valued in this new way. Not that I think he’d be against it, but even after years of working to become a hardened veteran scammer, discussing money still makes me squeamish.

After intercourse the other night, he asked me to give him a massage. Earlier in our relationship he had been hesitant to ask. Like me, he’s also accustomed to being the giver and provider, rather than a receiver. I had to force him into accepting one, and only managed to convince him because he was high on K and a little bit helpless, but since then it’s become one of his favorite things. As I kneaded his glutes, he turned his head to ask me

Charlie: What do you want? Your massages are so good, you could literally ask me for anything.

He was half joking, but also not. I am not a very demanding person, largely because of years of being conditioned to believe that my life is a burden via my very dysfunctional mother. I’m not good at being a greedy sugar baby, and that’s kinda an important skill to have. It’s another reason why I’m not a great brand ambassador--because the last thing I want is more stuff. More clutter, more clothes, brands I don’t care about or that I believe to be unethically produced. As much as the little hoarder instinct in me always wants new shit, I also feel terrible for the amount I’ve accumulated and for following trends even though I know that following trends facilitates climate change.

Now in particular, my clients are asking me what I want for my birthday. This is the golden period to ask for anything. Charlie is getting me an iPad; Danny messaged to ask me what I want; Marcus inquired to see if I wanted to go on a shopping trip to Agent Provocateur; Matt offered to buy an overnight at a spa, but I turned him down because I truly don’t want that. I am materialistic, but all I want right now is money that I can save and invest in purchasing land where I can build a home and hopefully also allow my friends to build their homes. The deep commie in me wants to own a compound where people can install tiny houses and where we all share the costs and responsibilities of property ownership. Yeah, new lingerie is dope, but have you considered throwing that bread straight into a savings account like the little hoarder you are?

But there are a few useful things I want. The iPad will be useful for me to practice my amateurish graphic design with a bit more ease. Hassan bought me a MacBook Pro that will give me more processing power to produce my podcast and videos. Evan got me the very sexy vinyl suit, which fulfilled one of my dreams. If I really dive down into my consumer self, there are additional tools I’d like. One is a teleprompter to make better educational videos. I thought I had another thing, but truly I don’t. Just money and a teleprompter this cycle around the sun. What can I say, I’m a simple fae?

In other news, What’s Your Price has been an interesting exercise. Cryptodaddy ghosted after I wasn’t available to meet him. The black engineer wasn’t up for my rates, but we discussed it in a polite manner and parted on friendly terms. I have four additional prospects at this juncture.

The first is a surprisingly young man. He’s 26, a software engineer, and knows that I’m an escort. I hadn’t expected him to be able to afford my rates, or to be interested in engaging in some sort of financial relationship. He seemed to be genuinely looking for a relationship, and I wanted to make clear that I am a for-profit enterprise providing an experience, not real love. He revealed that he’s purchased time with escorts before, and asked me about my rates and what to expect. We had a refreshing conversation about STIs, Covid testing, and my client vetting process. It’s remarkable how few clients ask about my safety precautions with other people, as if it’s insulting to have a clear conversation about safety. In the end, he asked me to send some of my favorite songs his way, and in turn he would send his. It was a wildly wholesome exchange. I don’t know what will come of it, but it was one of the more fruitful exchanges I’ve had so far.

The second is a middle aged creative director at an ad agency. I hadn’t expected anything from his pictures, but we randomly began texting late last night and got into a discussion about climate grief, that dove into not-so-subtle leftist undertones. I expected him to be a capitalist cuck, but he seems to be on a similar wavelength. Again, no idea how this will go, but I like where his mind is.

The third person is a middle aged music producer who explicitly wrote that he is interested in a PPM (price per month) sugar baby arrangement. He placed a decent bid on my time that I accepted. We haven’t spoken yet, but I like the idea that he’s already hip to what’s going on.

And finally, we have a strangely gorgeous young man who works for Apple and is down for a “generous relationship,” which I truly don’t understand. He’s handsome and seems to be well off enough that this app seems redundant for a person like him, and yet, he asked me to request a bid from him. I don’t know if it’s a power thing? A tool of convenience? Or what exactly leads a man like him to a site like WYP, but I’m not upset about it.

Overall, I have a lot of questions as to how other people are using the site. Evan hopped on to see what the fuss is about, and according to him, from the client side, it’s been a mixture of escorts like me and *women* who seem to just go on dates for a couple hundred dollars a few times per week for a little extra cash on the side. A few people are using it as a real dating site, looking for long term relationships. To be fair, if there’s one thing I know well from personal experience, it is that financial relationships can be long term. I’m beginning to see that, but people like Sita and Antonia have been in relationships with clients for decades.

In a way it’s not different from the way straight relationships have been historically under the patriarchy. We kinda accept that men pay for *women’s* attention, whether it be via paying for expensive dates, outings, luxury products, or brand name gifts. And Los Angeles is particularly status heavy. We accept and encourage conspicuous consumption. There’s not a lot of stigma around demanding beautiful *women*. In fact, there is a level of status to being able to provide for that kind of *woman*. Maybe WYP is just saying explicitly what we have agreed to culturally in a roundabout way?

It’s been a good week, and as my birthday approaches, I feel optimistic. I appreciate those I have around me, and I’m excited to see if any of my current prospects become a regular. Maybe y’all will see a new nickname emerge over the coming weeks. It is my Saturn return, and I’ve been warned: things are looking good.