GFE Group Hug

Lately I feel like I have to shake out the cobwebs before I can even fathom writing. I’ve been pressing on through mental burnout. There’s no rest for the wicked, and I’m a succubus, so I suppose that includes me. It feels like Danny was here a month ago, but it’s only been a week since our final Wednesday together. In between that time and now I’ve done two more outcalls and my weekly session with Lily. I needed to take a break from drinking, as much as I enjoy the social lubrication sharing a glass of wine can enable, but as I’ve mentioned before, my body doesn’t process alcohol. And worst of all, I lose sleep. I followed up four nights of drinking with one night of ketamine, and then stumbled into Monday, emotionally frayed. So now I begin the process of dusting off the blurred memories from last week to bring you: Another Danny Story.

Tuesday, I wasn’t sure if Danny would be up for another late night. He hadn’t sounded sure earlier in the day when he texted to say that the weed we’d smoked had kept his wheels spinning all night. I figured that, even with his best intentions, he would probably arrive in his hotel room after a long day working and conk out the instant he allowed himself to be still. Even so, I prepared a little. I shaved and brought my makeup bag with me to the studio in case I needed to prepare on the fly. I was in my neon skulls t-shirt. I’m not everyone’s favorite flavor, but when someone likes me, they tend to really like me in my purest form.

I was setting up to take selfies in my studio when he texted me.

Danny: What u doing?

Me: Hanging around my studio. What are you doing?

Danny: Considering giving you an orgasm.

That language is always funny to me. I’ve allowed Danny to help get me off. I’ve permitted him to be in my presence and witness my orgasms. But has he ever been a particularly deciding factor? Not at all.

Me: How are you feeling? Are you *awake* awake or kinda teetering on the precipice of sleep?

I didn’t want to drive all the way out to WeHo only to encounter some communication lag where Danny loses track of his phone and misses my calls. I would be so pissed. He doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to responding to my messages at important junctures; however I will say, through the years he’s gotten better about it. I’ve chewed him out enough that it finally got through to him.

Danny: Come down.

Me: Fine, but I’m using your room to take selfies.

Danny: Can I take pictures?

I half put out the selfies caveat for myself, the other part of me knew Danny would enjoy the challenge. It would be a memento we could share, and I could use for social media.

Me: Sure. I’ll see you in 30.

Danny was dining at Wally’s of Beverly Hills. I’d never heard of the restaurant, but as I drove into the area, it was apparent this was a place one goes to be seen: a hangout for the glitterati. A handful of women with large, noticeably fake asses in stilettos congregated out front. Oily men in expensive suits waited beside the valet station for their cars to arrive. Danny sat at a table on the patio. Nothing about the scene looked inviting. The women had the look of hostile IG baddies, and the men appeared to be snooty tech bros. Plus, Wally’s is a New American restaurant, which is rarely appealing to me. I was feeling too punk, with my neon skulls t-shirt over a white skirt and thigh high shiny black gogo boots, for this sort of scene. Could I have walked over and sat with them? Of course, but I didn’t want that. I was content texting my sister and finishing my Duolingo lesson.

Danny called me.

Danny: Come sit with us, just for a second! Just to say “hi.” It’s just my partner and his girlie, who you know.

Me: I want to say “hi,” but I also really don’t want to go over there.

Danny: Fine. Just give me a minute and I’ll come to you.

As we hung up, the cluster of hostile IG baddies began hobbling over toward my car. They piled into a Mercedes SUV parked behind me and started the car. They began flashing their lights at me. I looked back, because I didn’t know what they wanted, but decided to ignore them. I didn’t care and I didn’t like them. They began honking at me, gesturing for me to pull forward. I pulled forward enough that a person with normal driving abilities could have pulled out without an issue, then returned to my Duolingo lesson. They continued honking and flashing their lights, more urgently than before. At this point, I realized I probably should start recording the incident, but I didn’t want to. I was already tired, and emotionally drained from being in this bougie west side place that was conspicuously affluent, while driving my very regular car with a chipped windshield and bird poop on the top. I truly just wanted to disappear, but I was simultaneously annoyed that these women had decided to aggressively harass me to move rather than using their words and asking politely. Suddenly I heard one woman slapping the back right side of my car, and saw another angry woman with high eyebrows and sun damaged breasts bent over beside my window, angrily trying to get me to lower my window. I didn’t want to lower my window for this woman. It was clear they were cursing me out from within the Mercedes SUV, even if I couldn’t hear them. The driver was flipping me off. A few of the other women leaned out of the car to offer additional middle fingers to the cause. Maybe engaging with the angry woman at my window could have been a moment where I could have deescalated the situation by responding, but I felt a little out of body. Before I could make a proper decision, she turned and smacked my window, then walked away. At that moment, Danny arrived at my car. Maybe it was his arrival that led them to tramp back to the SUV.

Danny: What’s going on?

Me: They want me to move.

I pulled my car forward slightly more, enough that there was no doubt that they could pull out. They sped away, yelling “fuck you bitch,” a bouquet of long acrylic nails flipping me off in collective malice. I was rattled, but I’m particularly adept at not letting on when I’m on the verge of a meltdown. I can thank my borderline mother for my poker face. My my my poker face.

Danny got into the passenger seat beside me. He’s so tall that most cars are a bit of a squeeze for him.

Danny: They were pretty crazy. Some women, you can’t tell if they’re hookers. I was talking to Ralph about them. They were being really rowdy in the restaurant. Nobody liked them.

Normally, I would not have indulged a comment like this. I’m a hooker. But at that moment, it was cathartic to hear the derogatory language I wanted to use, but couldn’t because of my own mores.

Me: I know what you mean. Some women are clearly paid for by someone. They had that look.

But I was the one literally getting paid, not them, to my knowledge. And that wasn’t the issue. The issue was their attitude of entitlement and mob mentality bullying. But I have an inner bully too. There are two wolves inside me: one wolf that wants to use all of the hegemonic language used to oppress women and sex workers against them, and the higher minded wolf who refuses to engage in that sort of rhetoric. But sometimes I gotta feed that shitty wolf. Internally I was like, “these fucking plastic-surgery-experiment bimbos with their lumpy ass implants, fake boobs, lip fillers and botox and acrylic claws limping around in stilettos trying to keep their slutty skirts from hiking an inch higher are such fucking BITCHES,” but none of those descriptors are reasons to hate a person. I love plenty of bimbos with fake tits, ass implants, lip fillers, botox, long acrylics, and short skirts. Bimbos are my people. Except for these ones. These people were simply assholes. All of this spun around in my head as I drove Danny back to The London.

Danny: That was crazy. You seem alright though.

Me: Heh. Sure.

I was on the verge of tears. I don’t handle conflict well. Danny kept looking over at me, as if willing his words to be true. I could hardly handle him being in my personal space while I was processing the shock of that moment. I needed a drink.

We valeted my car and hurried up to the room. Danny cracked open a beer while I frantically searched the mini fridge for a new bottle of wine or champagne. Because of covid, room service hadn’t come through to restock anything, so there was no fresh bottle to replace the ones we’d gone through the night before. I looked desperately at the Heineken. I don’t like beer. I only drink beer when there are no other viable options.

Danny: Why don’t you call the front desk?

I rang downstairs, but they informed me that both the bar and room service had already left for the night.

Danny: Well, what about the wine machine?

He was sitting outside on the balcony smoking a cigarette with the slide door open. I had to fight back the urge to chew him out for letting cigarette smoke into the room. I knew it was just residual adrenaline sharpening the impact of every miniscule trespass. I took a breath. What the fuck was he talking about?

Me: The what?

Danny: The wine machine. You know, the big box thingy.

For a man who makes his living communicating his ideas in ways that are compelling enough to win millions, I truly have no idea what he’s talking about a solid 50% of the time. I was increasingly frustrated, and I knew Danny wouldn’t be helpful. I opened every cabinet, and even searched the bathroom. Finally I tried a machine that I’d mistaken for a water dispenser. The screen lit up and offered me the most beautiful thing in the whole wide world: two wines to choose from. I tapped for one cup of the red wine, and downed it with tears prickling in my eyes. I blinked them away and finally exhaled. Fuck. I almost immediately felt a headache coming on, but it was better than I’d felt for the past hour. I went to sit next to Danny on the balcony and melted into his side. He gave me a once over and finally settled his eyes upon my boots.

Danny: How’d you decide upon your little outfit?

Me: Damn, clowning me already.

Danny: No, I mean I like it. It’s very you. Got that little rock and roll thing going on at the top and...

Me: Sexy go-go/dominatrix vibes on the bottom?

Danny: Exactly. Just like you.

His phone began buzzing. He was getting a FaceTime call from Ralph. I’ve met Ralph once before. He’s a smarmy elder bro, early fifties, with a potatoey face and similar stature to Danny. I didn’t like him when we met. There was no particular reason. Maybe it was just the circumstances in which we encountered each other. He was sloshed, tipped into the lap of his mistress who was matching him drink for drink. He bellowed out, demanding service from waiters while simultaneously managing to be undecipherable. He exuded an air of entitlement and the waiters politely obliged him. Of course he tipped well. He the kind of man who loves to display his wealth, and the prize that is his twenty-three year old Russian mistress.

Ralph: I woke up this to this one, standing naked by the window looking out, telling me to get out of bed and see how pretty the sunrise is. Calm down sweetie, it’s just the sun. It’s here every day.

His mistress, Katrina is very demure. I could see that his story was embarrassing her, even through the haze of alcohol. She narrowed her eyes and shoved him disapprovingly.

Ralph: What?! What’s got her panties in a bunch?

Katrina is tall, probably 5’8,” and thin, but with gentle curves. She wears her honey blonde hair down over a conservative, white long-sleeve top. Both occasions we’ve encountered each other, she’s been entirely covered up. No visible cleavage or legs.

Danny: Ralph wants to come by. Is that okay?

Me: Sure.

I didn’t mind. I was curious about Katrina. And of all the people Danny has dragged me out to meet, his partner and his partner’s sugar baby mistress are maybe the least onerous. When I’m sex working, I only want to hang with other sex workers and their clients. Shortly before, Danny had talked me out of my skirt between cigarettes. I was wearing boots, lingerie, and a t-shirt for warmth. I’d tried to take off the boots, but Danny had objected.

Danny: Let me enjoy them first.

I appreciate Danny’s attention to details. The outfit had come about accidentally. It was a combination of things I had lying around my studio. Earlier, I had been wearing a casual outfit that included a pair of biker shorts and flip flops that I knew Danny would look at me sideways for wearing anywhere but the beach. I had the thigh high black boots around for pole dancing, not for a proper night out. The white mini skirt had been on my mend/tailor shelf to take in around the waist, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I put the two together on a whim, hoping I’d look intentional enough for a Danny visit.

I ducked out of the FaceTime frame while Danny continued chatting with Ralph and grabbed my skirt, then went to the bathroom to check myself. I was still a little rattled from the incident earlier, but at least I looked fine enough. My makeup was working. My hair wasn’t a mess. My outfit was unorthodox, but came off as purposeful rather than accidental. I heard Ralph and Katrina chatting as they entered, and I left the bathroom to grab another cup of wine.

It was clear they were fighting. Danny and I didn’t know why, but there was some tension between them.

Ralph: The bar wasn’t even open! I can’t believe it.

It was 11:30 p.m., which, in a normal world, would have been a busy hour at The London’s bar, but as I’d learned earlier, everything shut down before we arrived.

Katrina: What are we going to drink?

Katrina asked, dismayed.

Danny: I know! All we’ve got is the minibar over there. Help yourselves.

Danny pulled me close and wrapped an arm around my back. I set my legs on his and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. We were quite cozy. In a way it was a flex. We were the superior paid service couple. Katrina began searching the cabinets for something worth drinking. She settled upon a bottle of Patron, and began looking for cups.

Katrina: Do you have things to drink with it? Do you have juice?

Danny: You can check the fridge.

Katrina pulled out a bottle of orange juice and got to work. She accidentally poured too much tequila into Ralph’s cup. It sloshed onto the table. Danny began kissing my cheek.

Katrina: Oops! That was too much.

Ralph: I don’t need another drink. I just need water. You have it.

Katrina: But it was for you!

Ralph: Fine, I’ll drink it as long as you come and sit on me.

Ralph patted his leg. Katrina looked at it disapprovingly. She did not want to sit on his leg.

Katrina: No! There is not enough space. You should come here.

Ralph had chosen a seat on a chair away from the L-shaped sectional. Katrina was sitting on the couch across from Danny and me. It made more sense for Ralph to sit beside Katrina. There was space on the couch for multiple people. There was only space for one person on his chair.

Ralph: C’mon sweetie. See? There’s enough right here.

He gestured to his lap and adjusted so that his legs weren’t flopping forward.

Katrina: Why are you like this?

Ralph: Aw, don’t get like that! She’s been in a mood since you left. Don’t know what happened.

Ralph was referring to Katrina in the third person while she lived and breathed in his presence. Danny reached his hand up the thigh of my skirt, trying to find my panties. I stopped him as I kept my gaze on Ralph and Katrina.

Me: You should just go sit beside her. It looks like there’s more room there.

Danny: C’mon man, it’s not that big a deal.

I cannot stand men performing little power flexes like this. Danny managed to smooth things out and Ralph finally sat beside Katrina. We were all together: a couple of GFE couples. Ralph pulled Katrina close, trying to mimic a bit of the handsyness Danny was performing with me. Danny pulled me in for a kiss.

Danny: Two years, it’s been! Two years together.

Me: That’s right.

Ralph: Wow!

Katrina: That’s a long time.

Danny: Do you remember, you’ve met her before?

Danny gestured at me. So it was going to be that way. Katrina and I would be their pawns, referred to within this dynamic in the third person.

Ralph: Oh I remember! Were we in Anaheim?

Danny: No! Funny enough, that was her sister. Actually, you’ve actually both met her and her sister now.

Katrina: In Anaheim?

Danny: Yeah! It was you two and us two.

Katrina: I wasn’t in Anaheim. Who was that, then?

Katrina turned to Ralph.

Ralph: Baby! I don’t even know who he’s talking about.

Katrina: How many girlfriends do you have, Ralph?!

Ralph: Just one! Just you!

Katrina: Just me and your wife.

Katrina sulked. I was surprised she was jealous, but I realized I didn’t know what kind of relationship they had. I’m not jealous with my regulars. I know they see other people. In fact, I’m often glad they do. But maybe she loved him in a way that made her possessive. Danny was doing his darndest to needle his way as far into my clothes as possible, in spite of their lovers’ spat. Maybe even because of it. His own flex on his partner. He was winning.

Ralph: Come over here, baby. Don’t get all sensitive. Let’s have a good time.

Katrina reluctantly allowed Ralph to pull her in. She took a pull from her vape and sipped more of her tequila and orange juice. Ralph pulled her in for a kiss as well and reached around to knead her breast over her shirt. Katrina and I dutifully swatted the men away, because we’re private people. I know this may sound paradoxical, considering that what I write is so intimate, but when writing your own narrative, you get to frame and curate what story you tell.

I don’t know if Danny and Ralph have fucked sex works in the same room together. I don’t think it’s happened, because I’m pretty sure Danny would have told me. He loves sharing his sexcapades and knows I’m genuinely interested. But I could sense the possibility in the air, as two men happy to make a spectacle of their private lives.

I felt a kinship with Katrina, even though I didn’t know if she was explicitly working the way I was. Normally I would have been very self-conscious getting felt up by Danny with other people around, but with them it felt normal. I knew she wouldn’t judge me and I certainly wasn’t judging her. It was kinda hot. Maybe it’s the voyeur in me. Maybe it’s because I watch pornos that have essentially this setup. It’s definitely hard (for me) to tell.

Danny: I’m gonna smoke. Come with me?

Danny wanted to slip away for a moment and I didn’t want to be left alone with Ralph and Katrina. Things were still tense between them, and while the exchange was entertaining for me to watch, I also don’t have a dog in the fight when it comes to white people bickering. Plus the clock was running and as much as I love Danny, I wasn’t going to stick around all night. We sat on the balcony again, enjoying the break.

Me: How long have they been together?

Danny: Oh, about a year, I think. Things were already weird. We had lunch with Ralph’s wife, her sister, and her sister’s husband, and I could tell they were quizzing us, asking how the “late night at work” had gone. I invited the husband to tag along with us, but the sister got up in my face about it. He said he couldn’t go, and I asked why not, and she said, “Because he doesn’t want to cheat!” And Ralph’s wife kept giving me eyes all night. She’s a fine woman and all, but I’m not that kind of guy, and she’s not exactly my type.

Me: So much drama.

Danny: And you know me, I’m not about the drama. I’m just doing my own thing.

Danny isn’t particularly dramatic. He’s adventurous. He likes a bit of risk and riding the waves of fate, but he’s out to his partner about me for the most part. They have an open arrangement for his business trips, and when he’s in New York, he follows her rules.

When we returned, Katrina and Ralph were standing, clearly on their way out.

Ralph: I think we’re gonna turn in for the night. Glad we could get together. Nice seeing you again.

Me: Great seeing you too.

It wasn’t, but it was amusing at least.

Danny: Everybody come in. Group hug!

Danny loves a group hug. As a person who doesn’t like most people, this is particularly unpalatable to me most of the time, but per usual, Danny roped me into it. And honestly it wasn’t too bad. Maybe it’s because covid has made most close physical interactions a no-go, but I felt relieved embracing them. We huddled together in a hug for a few seconds. It was surreal. Sex work has brought me into contact with so many people I would never voluntarily interact with.

Still, I didn’t know what Danny saw in Ralph. After they left, I told him just that.

Danny: Some people, deep deep down inside aren’t so bad. They may not seem that way if you don’t know ‘em. But... You know. And, sometimes you just do it for the money.

Danny can get along with anyone. It’s a skill and a luxury. If I could like most people, I would, but I’ve been wronged by too much structural violence and I can’t tolerate people who actively enjoy the benefits of the system that oppresses people like me. The worst Danny has experienced is some mild xenophobia traveling the Deep South. He likes to argue that Irish oppression in the UK is real and palpable. I don’t deny that. The Irish have been colonized, and Ireland continues to be occupied. But here, in America, Danny is treated well.

Danny: I get treated better than a lot of Americans who were born here.

Me: I get treated like I’m not from here, even though my whole family is very much from here.

That night we took pictures. We were both tired, but I had a mission. Afterwards we laid down on the bed, chatting about this and that, and it came out that Danny has a fourth child, that he hadn’t told me about. This one was with his current partner, a black woman named Brianna. At my request, he unlocked his phone and showed me pictures of their child. The kid is three now, a mixed brown AMAB with a shock of curly blonde hair. One of my partners joked that he made an ethnically ambiguous Drake baby. I’m not big into gendering kids, I mean I’m not a fortune teller, I can’t predict the future. The child looked like an even split of Danny and Brianna-- an active toddler with a personality vibrant even in still photos. It made more sense why Danny and Brianna were still together, even as he expressed some frustration over the state of their sex life. They had a little one to raise.

It’s hard to imagine Danny as a father, even though he is a father of four. We’ve talked too much about pegging, cross dressing, and I’ve watched him snort too much blow to fully develop the image of him as a stable nurturer. But I know he also has that in him. I’m the release valve. I’m one of the mechanisms that allow him to be properly straight laced the rest of the time. But how will he handle raising a mixed child? It’s a question I’m still pondering. Blackness is changing. What will blackness mean as more and more mixed black children grow up with powerful white parents? This kid will grow up safe upon the shoulders of his father’s wealth and clout, connected to a slew of relevant people in the music and media industries. Lucky kid.

In a weird way, I felt a little closer to Danny. He would be raising a child kinda like me. Two years in, and still getting to know each other.