Part 2: Decompressing with Danny

Danny ubered me to the Empire Hotel and I met him in the bar downstairs. I was a little frazzled, still slightly buzzed from the single glass of wine I’d downed at Rick’s. I didn’t particularly want to drink, but I did feel obliged to as I twiddled my thumbs waiting for Danny to make his way down from the room. It was the first time we were meeting on his turf. I’m an indulgence he reserves for his LA trips. When he’s in NYC he belongs to his primary partner. I’ve always appreciated the degree of transparency Danny has with his girlfriend. They’ve been together for about as long as Hassan and I have been together, and apparently she knows about me to some degree. She doesn’t know that Danny and I haven’t had penis-in-vagina sex even as we approach our two year “anniversary” of sorts. He jokes that she would be much more concerned if she knew that it wasn’t simply sex.

I’d been mulling over infidelity lately. During my NYC visit I’d had the time to finally finish reading “State of Affairs” by Esther Perel, a book about infidelity that considers the topic in a pragmatic way. I hadn’t started the book because I was having an affair, I just loved Esther Perel’s take on relationship dynamics and why we do what we do. A lot of men I entertain don’t consider what we do to be cheating because they’re purchasing commercial sex. They pay to avoid intimacy and believe that money is a sufficient buffer to avoid confronting real feelings, even if feelings are often an unavoidable side effect of intimate contact.

Here’s a quote from the book I think encapsulates what I mean:

“...Can we really call it “just sex” when the entire enterprise is set up to avoid certain emotional pitfalls and fulfill a host of unspoken emotional needs? When a man feels lonely or unloved; when he’s stressed, or disabled; when he’s caged by intimacy or unable to connect, is it sex be buys or is it kindness, warmth, friendship, escape, control, and validation all delivered in a sexual transaction?”

Not every interaction is especially deep or considered. Plenty of times it’s quick and anonymous, but my specialty is long term client relationships that involve a great deal of real intimacy.

Danny seems to have everything he wants: a loving partner; a healthy relationship with his children; amiable communication with his ex wife; financial abundance; and general happiness in his day to day life. It’s kinda incredible to me, since people have this expectation that all rich people suffer from some intrinsic dissatisfaction, but Danny seems to prove that that isn’t always the case.

He wobbled in shortly after I got my drink. I offered him a sip to try and he wrinkled his nose. He wanted a martini, extra dry.

Danny: You know I would have given you a happy ending massage and I would only have charged you $20.

I punched him in the arm.

Me: Wow, what a great discount, just $20.

Danny: But seriously.

Me: I know, I know you “used to do it for the Greek girls on the beach.” But, I know you too well. You’d start off fine and then get distracted and then it wouldn’t be about me anymore.

Danny: That’s true. You’re right.

It was comforting to be with him after my happy ending fiasco. Even though ours is at its core a financial relationship, over the years it’s also become an intimate friendship. We know each other in intimate spaces and have an established physical repore that allows both of us to open up about sex apart from each other and our internal fantasy lives. He’s the only person who I’ve shown my super kinky porn to, and he was supportive, even though it wasn’t his taste, much in the same way his porn selections aren't mine. If there was anybody I could talk openly about my experience to, it was Danny.

Danny: Look at us. Can you believe it?

Me: I know, right? Our first time in NYC together.

Danny: It’s kinda surreal having you here. What are you up here for anyway?

Me: Just visiting friends and podcasting. Most of my connections live here. What about you? Busy day? Do you have your kids tonight?

Danny: What are you saying? That I’m a bad father?

Me: Ha, no. You seem like a fun dad.

Danny: Well, you’re kinda right. I did have them tonight but then I had an old friend call me up to say that she was in town and missed me so much that she needed to see me.

I winked at him. It was funny seeing him worry about how I perceived his parenting skills. It’s not my job to judge, and I couldn’t imagine why I would decide to start then.

Danny: But it worked out anyway, my eldest has a competition in the morning, and my ex lives closer to their school.

I hadn’t called Danny intending to make money. It was our second platonic hangout, after the night I had him take Quiara out for her birthday.

Danny: Free unless later on I wanna play. Deal?

Me: Deal.

We grabbed dinner next door at a shitty little restaurant where all the tables were covered in red and white picnic tablecloths. I was famished and yet nothing on the menu looked appealing. I finally settled upon “chicken marinated overnight,” brussel sprouts, and tater tots. Danny ran to the bathroom and returned with one nostril dripping. Our waiter was a light skin brown man with curly hair shaved into a mohawk. He had a warm smile, and Danny took to him instantly.

Danny: I love your hair!

Waiter: Thank you!

Danny: And I love your energy!

Waiter: I appreciate it, man.

Danny: What do you wanna be when you grow up?

Our waiter didn’t hear, fortunately, and he walked off briskly to fetch our waters.

Me: Danny! You can’t ask adults that questions!

Danny: What? I don’t see the problem. I ask it all the time.

Me: It’s condescending!

The man returned, waters in hand.

Danny (to the waiter): She thinks it’s rude for me to ask you that question, but I’m only asking because I used to be a waiter once upon a time and I knew I was working to be something.

Waiter: I’m sorry, I didn’t hear it. What did you say?

Danny: I asked you what you wanted to be when you grow up?

Waiter: Oh! It’s actually okay, I’m glad you asked.

The waiter took a seat across from us. It’s not my job to manage Danny or how he behaves around other people, but when he’s around me, I can’t help myself. Of course, whoever he decides to focus upon gets the final call on whether or not they’ll entertain Danny’s whimsy.

Danny: What’s your name?

Waiter: I’m Chris.

Danny: I like you, Chris.

Chris: I like you too. I’m glad you asked me what I want to be, because I’ve been thinking about it all day for some reason. I want to be a motivational speaker. Of course, I’m not in a position to do that right now since I don’t have my own life in order yet. I moved here from Nashville six months ago. I always felt like I was meant to speak to people. At first, I wanted to be a preacher. My father was a preacher.

Danny: I could see you doing it. You wanna know why?

Chris: Why?

Danny: Because I believe you. You know, Joel Ol-- Olen--?

Chris: Olstein?

Danny: Exactly! I don’t believe him, but I believe in you. Give me your hands.

Chris obliged and they held hands.

Danny: I’m sending my energy to you. Take her hand too.

Chris looked apologetically at me. I raised an eyebrow at Danny, but went along with it because Chris seemed like a sweetie to me. If this was what he needed today, I didn’t mind participating.

Danny: We’re sending you all of our energy and strength to accomplish your dreams. Look at the tablecloth. Years from now, when you are the person you want to be I want you to remember this moment and think of the tablecloth and us holding hands right here, right now.

Danny has a strange cult-like magnetism about him that I’m always skeptical of. I mean, I love the man, but he’ll get people dancing in a circle in a matter of minutes. Chris had his eyes shut, absorbing the moment. I didn’t know what to say. I’m a skeptic without an ounce of spirituality about me. Whenever Danny ropes me into his energy swaps, I roll my eyes.

Danny: Don’t roll your eyes at me, girlie.

Me: Okayyy.

I roll my eyes again as I promise not to roll my eyes.

Danny: We all have to believe for it to work.

I shut my eyes to avoid the eye roll police.

Danny: And now we all hug.

I could entirely believe I was in this situation as much as I could not believe I was. If our waiter hadn’t been black, I would not have let things get this far, but I have a racial bias and Chris seemed to be enjoying this moment as much as Danny was in orchestrating it. We all stood and hugged each other. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant. I knew one thing: I was going to make sure Danny properly compensated Chris for his time. After Chris went off to fetch our bill, Danny leaned over to proposition me.

Danny: Wanna go upstairs after this? I’ll pay you, of course.

Me: Sure, let’s do it.

Danny signed the bill and went to the bathroom for one last downstairs bump. Meanwhile I checked to see what he’d written in case I needed to scratch it out and tip bigger, but thankfully Danny was feeling generous. He tipped our waiter about as much as our total bill. I was proud of him, and grateful I didn’t need to intervene. The food had been terrible. The “chicken marinated overnight” had no definable flavor; the tater tots somehow managed to be grainy; and the brussel sprouts were soggy and inedible. I didn’t understand how they could get everything so wrong and still manage to keep such prime real estate. Go figure.

Danny and I went upstairs to his hotel room. It was less posh than usual: no swag tray with a sex kit or fancy snacks for people with dietary restrictions. There wasn’t even a bottle of wine to pop. After hassling Danny into paying my full rate (which lately has become an issue because I made an exception one time against my better judgment), we began the session as usual, with him directing the way he wanted to see me take off my clothes. Since I hadn’t planned for an outcall, I wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. I like to have some kind of fancy lingerie set for Danny, but in my civvie life, I never wear bras. He was lucky I didn’t have dingy cotton menstrual panties on. I sprawled on the bed while he sat across from me leering in between snorting coke.

Me: Busy week?

Danny: Always. Just got back from a conference in Vegas a few days ago.

Me: That tech conference?

Danny: Yeah.

Me: Did you have fun?

Danny: You know me. I always have fun.

My mind wandered here and there, thinking about how I’d write about the massage and how I felt. I was thinking about my partner and lovers in LA and NYC. It occurred to me that Danny probably has girls like me sprinkled around all of his regular business trip locations. It was a little surprising I’d never considered it before.

Me: Do you have a girl like me out in Vegas?

Danny: No, I’m not usually looking for that kind of thing when I’m out there.

Me: What about other cities?

Danny: Why do you wanna know?

Me: Just curious.

Danny: You know I’m picky. You may not believe it, but I’m not as wild as I used to be. I don’t have that many girls, just you and I have a girl I like here.

He looked down with pensive expression crossing his normally relaxed face.

Me: That’s hot. Can I see a picture?

He opened his phone to photo of her. It was a professional shot of her from behind. I wanted to see her face, but her body was gorgeous.

Danny: I only go for girls I think are truly perfect, and I think you’re absolutely perfect for me, and my other girl is absolutely fuckin’ gorgeous.

He paused for a moment, considering something.

Danny: I love my girlfriend more than anything, but she doesn’t wanna have sex with me unless she’s high. Don’t get me wrong, she’s fucking stunning, smart, and wonderful, but can you imagine the person you love the most not being interested in you when they’re sober?

Me: That’s hard.

Danny: She doesn’t know I see the other chick out here. I’m probably wrong for keeping it from her.

Me: What’s the NYC girl like?

Danny: Oh, you know what I like. She takes care of me and we have fun like you and I do, with all the fantasies and playing around.

Me: One day I’d like to meet her.

Danny: She’s texting me right now. I’ll tell her to come by and bring us some weed.

My energy was waning, but my curiosity sustained my investment in the situation.

We started our usual fantasy of me finally buying a strap-on and fucking him. In between pretending to peg Danny, I’d remind him to check his phone to make sure his NYC escort was on her way. He was blissfully distracted by the fantasy. I had his legs up over his head while massaging his asshole and taint through his cotton boxers with the blunt end of a tiny hotel lotion bottle I was pretending was my dildo dick. I felt powerful, and in harmony with what he was feeling. Being a female sex worker is wonderful and lucrative. I’m grateful to have a pussy, but sometimes I feel like I should have been born with a dick.

When we were both worn out, Danny called the other girl. I listened from the bathroom as I washed my hands.

Danny: Where are you? … Yeah I got it, you know I got you, baby… My Venmo isn’t working, can I CashApp you? … I told you, my Venmo isn’t--

Even from the bathroom, I could hear her yelling at him.

Her: Don’t you act fucking brand new with me, Danny! You know how the fuck this works. I’m not going anywhere until you send me the money.

Danny: Okay, okay! Calm down. Sweetie-- Baby--

Her: Don’t you “baby” me! You heard me!

The line went silent, so I reemerged. Danny was busy texting, trying to salvage the situation.

Danny: She wants Venmo, but I told her my Venmo isn’t working.

Me: Why don’t you just send me the money and I can transfer it to her?

Danny: Perfect! That’s perfect. I’m calling her again.

She picked up immediately. I love how we all have to play hardball with Danny. He’s a jolly, generous man, but first you have to wrestle him down.

Danny: Hey! I have my other girl sending it to you. Send me your Venmo... Okay... Don’t forget weed! ...Hurry, hurry! ...Okay, buh-bye.

I sent her the money and she texted Danny to say she was en route. At this point I was exhausted. I’d been conducting podcast interviews since noon, gotten my shitty happy ending, and fulfilled another Danny Fantasy. The worst part was that I planned to get up early and do it all again the next day. While I wanted to double top Danny, but I could hardly keep my eyes open. I put on Tokyo Decadence and laid beside him while he stroked my leg, and together we waited.

Shayla arrived shortly after and greeted us sweet like honey. It starkly contrasted her shakedown earlier, and I liked her even more after seeing both sides of the hustle. She was truly stunning, with dimpled cheeks, full lips, happy eyes, and a pointed little nose. Shayla had come to us directly from the club and wanted nothing more than to shower, but first things first: she needed to roll us a joint. I watched her run her tongue over the paper to seal it and thought it was a shame she was a straight. She spoke with a preppy Valley Girl accent, the kind one associates with sex workers-- a working voice.

Shayla: Here you go baby! You look so handsome. You two are adorable together!

Danny: Isn’t she beautiful?

Shayla: Sooo beautiful.

Danny: And look at her!

Me: So gorgeous!

Shayla: Awww thanks.

Danny: Can you two take off your pants for me?

Me + Shayla: Of course.

We knew what he wanted. I didn’t ask how long they’d been together, but I figured for around as long as he and I had known each other. Their intimacy was different than our intimacy, but Danny is resolutely himself with his love of panties and unwrapping women like presents. He had the two of us beside him and beamed at us like he was the happiest man in Manhattan. Even I felt a bit swept up in how idyllic the situation was, looking from my exposed legs to Shayla’s. But I was fading, and Danny hadn’t offered me another grand for the extra time, so after sharing the joint, I decided to make my exit.

Danny: Let me know when you get home, okay Sweetie?

Me: I will.

I dressed in an awkward, silent rush. I desperately needed to sleep, and every second I took counted against what I’d be able to get before my next round of interviews the following day.

I kissed Danny goodbye and ran out to the über, hoping I didn’t look as conspicuously like a sex worker as I felt.