More of the Danny Chronicles

Before I dive into this most recent Danny Story, I wanted to note that my partner and I have started couples’ therapy. We’ve spent a lot of time confronting hard truths and crying together. Relationships are so complicated and there are definitely times that I hate him, but I also love him and would truly be sad to lose something so precious to me. Of course, I’m not a believer in marriage or romantic love forever, but at this moment I’m enjoying my life with him.

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I let my partner know I was going to see a client, which was hard for me. I like my privacy and freedom, but I’ve been making an effort to be more open. I expected him to be disappointed, but instead he told me to be safe, that I didn’t have to explain. We’d just gone out with my biological father for a birthday dinner at our favorite Korean dive bar. Meanwhile, Danny touched down in LA around 9:30 and began pestering me to see when I could meet him. I told him at midnight.

Him: sexy pic?

I was at the restaurant in my civvie attire which included a pair of black cotton menstrual panties that were perhaps the least flattering thing I could have chosen. I was on the tag end of my period and was internally strategizing ways to avoid bleeding on Danny’s inevitably white hotel sheets. I wasn’t about to take a picture in the bar bathroom under dim light wearing menstrual panties, so instead I sent a picture of a house that looked like a vagina.

After dinner, I dropped my dad and my partner at our duplex and grabbed a shitty lingerie set from my closet. I still smelled like barbecue, but I knew I could shower in Danny’s hotel room, and if necessary, I could make it into some kind of sexy performance.

After a thirty minute commute, I pulled into another one of those luxury hotels on Sunset Boulevard, this time one designed to feel airy and contemporary, yet simultaneously earthy and oddly comfortable. The lobby felt more like a private lounge with a little bar, than the entry to a hotel that costs over $500 per night. Danny was chatting with a trendy gay white man from Australia. I thought the man was doing some kind of work for Danny, but it turned out they had only met moments before my arrival.

Danny: Katy Perry was just here, but she went back up to her room.

They smiled at each other.

Danny: I walked in and he and Katy Perry were playing a game, and they asked me to throw popcorn into their mouths.

I had to clarify, because I never know with Danny. He consults for various major music venues and has had some important role at MTV, so I’ve come to believe anything is possible.

Me: Not the real Katy Perry?

Danny: No, but she reminded me of her.

Other Guy: I’m trying to figure it out. How do you two know each other?

Danny: We’re old friends.

Me: Yeah. It’s been over a year now, hasn’t it?

Danny: She’s just the best isn’t she?

We dodged the question and the guy seemed to accept our non response.

Danny: We’re gonna go. It was nice to meet you. Text me if you wanna get together or something later.

They exchanged numbers just as “Katy Perry” ran over. She was an unremarkable white woman with brown hair and large breast implants tucked into a little white floral dress.

“Katy Perry”: You must be Selena! Danny told us about you!

I don’t remember if we hugged. I didn’t want to waste any energy talking to “Katy Perry” or the Aussie. My white people energy was reserved tonight exclusively for Danny. Danny and I excused ourselves and got into the elevator.

Danny has a thing with elevators: as soon as the doors close he wants to makeout in some madly passionate cinematic fashion, but I’m always conscious of the hidden cameras. I like to be discreet. He eyes me like my pitbull, Niloo, when she’s about to pounce on a bacon treat. I give him a warning glare and he restrains himself, leaning back against the wall.

Him: Did you miss me?

Me: Always.

Lately I’ve been anxious that one day Danny will leave me for some girl who will actually suck his dick. I’m expensive company, considering I won’t fuck him, but he continues chosing me. He hires other escorts to finish the job when I leave. When he’s at other clubs, full-service gals track him like bloodhounds, hot on his paper trail. Yet here I am, a year and a half into our relationship and now it’s essentially a given that when Danny flies this way, I’ll be one of the first people he calls.

A lot of the fears one has in non-financial relationships transfer into sugar relationships. Actually, I don’t even know if I could call it sugar dating. It’s something between fetish work and escorting. We talk only when we’re meeting soon, and Danny doesn’t expect to be part of my daily life in any way. He doesn’t want me as his girlfriend because he already has a perfectly fabulous girlfriend. He doesn’t typically expect me to be his arm candy at public events. I’m his sexy friend, and that’s all I want. Friendship is intimate, but without the baggage of expectations that comes with romantic partnership.

We got up to the room and I hopped into the shower. This was the first time Danny had gotten a chance to actually go up to his room. He’d flown from Manhattan to Los Angeles, worked a full day, wined and dined his colleagues, and then spent the past half-hour flirting with “Katy Perry” and the Aussie at the bar. I’d also spent the entire day out and about shooting a scene for an independent project, then I’d gone straight to the bar, and now I was out in escort mode. We were both in need of a rinse. I was surprised he didn’t try to hop in with me, but I appreciated the opportunity to wipe my butthole in peace. I threw on some lingerie and stole a robe from the closet.

I’d brought a joint and hoped he had a balcony like he usually does, but sadly he didn’t. I popped a bottle of wine instead, to calm down a little. I wasn’t anxious, just unsure of how I could run out the time on our session and avoid doing more than was necessary. I decided it was storytime. I laid beside him and played with my vulva while he touched himself.

Me: What if Katy Perry had a dick?

Him: Ooooo.

Me: What if we took her upstairs and made her strip down and she secretly had a penis? And then we both took turns sucking her penis, and then sucked it together?

Him: That’s hot.

Me: Would she have a big dick or a small one?

Him: Definitely a big dick.

Me: Oh yeaaah. She has a really big dick.

Him: Then while you’re sucking her, I get behind her and start licking her asshole while I play with your pussy.

I was grateful that Danny is amazing at the “yes, and” rule of improvisation. Between the two of us, we had Katy Perry and I pissing on Danny’s face, then piss swapping and cum swapping. There was oral, there was anal, there was that regular degular penis in vagina sex. Danny came on the sheets and demanded I bring him a towel. I could see all of his life force sapped, pooled on the bedding. His eyelids drooped as he wrapped his shrunken penis in the white towel I had placed beside him. Usually I disappear at this point, but he’d finished so quickly, I decided to stay a bit longer. I sat beside him and he laid his head in my lap while I stroked his hair.

I think this is the part that concerns wives and girlfriends, more than the sexual nonexclusivity. Intimacy is complicated. Me touching his penis is a lot more straightforward than me staying after an orgasm to cuddle. I’m soft and I care about my clients, especially the ones who don’t piss me off by saying condescending shit. Danny’s a jovial romantic. I enjoy our time together, even if I wish it was less sexual, but of course, I’m getting paid for the sexy time.

He began to doze off, which was my cue to start getting dressed. I made sure all my things were properly packed up and gave him a peck on the cheek on my way out.

Him: Be safe.

Me: I will.