Part 3: Learning Together

Danny scrolls through his phone and pulls up a picture of he and his twin. In the photo, Danny is smiling while his twin looks at the photographer with a stern frown.

Me: So you’re the cheerful one and he’s the serious twin?

Him: Yes.

Me: Is that why you’re so—

I searched for the word. How could I describe Danny without coming off as judgmental? Impulsive? Wild? One with no regard for his own life or health?

Me: Spontaneous?

Him: I think so. I think when you have a twin, you spend your life trying to be different from them because you look alike.

Me: Have you ever had a near death experience?

Him: I have, a few times actually. Let’s go upstairs and I can tell you about it?

We went back up to his room, still carrying our drinks. We’d hardly touched them. I’m nervous. It’s always a little frightening, being alone in a hotel room with a stranger, even if I’ve seen Danny for a year now on and off. I don’t know what he expects. I want to give him enough he doesn’t feel disappointment but also toe the line of not crossing any of my personal boundaries.

Him: That’s better. Okay! I’ll tell you, but you have to take off your pants.

I expect this and I don’t mind. I brought two lingerie sets with me: one lime green and one black. I decide to use the black set because I’m already wearing most of it and I’m on the precipice of the first day of my menstrual cycle. I’m in thigh high black socks, black garters, and black cotton boy shorts.

Him: I love those! Where did you get them?

He’s pointing to my garters. Danny’s love for lingerie accessories is always inspiring, so every session I look for new ways to strategically cover up.

Me: I got it from the bathroom attendant, in the woman’s room. She sells all kinds of lingerie and accessories to us dancers.

Him: I love how something so small can do so much. Where was I?

Me: Tell me about when you almost died.

Him: Right. It was right after uni. My friends and I were living on the beach in Greece, literally. We had a tent out there. I had dreads and we would sell massages to female tourists on holiday.

Me: Oh god. I need to see those pictures.

Him: Anyway, one night me and my friends got smashed and drove home from the bar. I wasn’t driving, but my friend who was driving was sloshed. We were idiots, I know. Anyway, we took a turn down a narrow country road and my friend driving wasn’t looking. A car was coming at us at full speed and hit the passenger side. I don’t remember any of this. I just know I woke up and I was in a ditch. The car had rolled and apparently I went flying out of the window. I wasn’t sure if I was dead or alive, but then a female police officer arrived and I thought, “oh she’s cute,” and I realized at that point I was alive. They took us to the hospital. I walked away from the accident that night.

Me: Wow, I can’t believe you survived.

Him: Not just survived, I walked away. I went flying through a window, and all the other guys were in the ICU for a few days afterwards, but I walked away. All I got were a few scrapes. I’m not spiritual or anything, but in that moment I knew I was chosen for something because I should have died, but I didn’t. That’s kinda why I do what I do. You only get to live once, so for me that means I try everything, if it comes up. That’s why I tried the pee thing. I hadn’t been that interested in pee before, but then I met that girl and she was into it, so I decided to try it. There’s something so arousing about watching squirt coming out of a woman, like you get to see she’s enjoying herself. And you know that feeling of relief when you’re peeing and you just let it all go. You know what I mean?

Me: I get it. Vaginal arousal is an internal experience. We don’t squirt when we orgasm. It’s not so evident with internal genitalia.

Him: That’s what I like about you: you never judge. I’ve tried pretty much everything, except for shit, but I feel that’s different than pee.

Me: Scat play and water sports are different.

Him: One girl wanted me to— on her, but I couldn’t. I just wasn’t interested. I couldn’t get past the gross factor.

Me: I couldn’t do it either.

Him: But anything else, I’m open to.

Me: Have you ever sucked a dick?

Him: Nope. Never.

Me: Never?? Not even one dick?

I looked at him with great incredulity. And I watched as he genuinely considered it.

Him: It’s funny, I’ve never really thought that much about it before. If anyone could ever get me to suck a dick, it would be you.

I love it when straight men genuinely consider why they’ve never sucked one dick. Because how have they not tried one? Do you question nothing in your world? Why have so few men ever “experimented” as we say with women who tend to kiss at least one other woman as part of our strange quasi hetero rites of passage? How can you know yourself or what you might like if you haven’t explored? #onedickforallmen Danny went there with me, and it was touching.

Him: We’d have to start with a Tranny though.

I died a little inside and Danny noticed my soul leaving my body

Him: What? How should I say it? Transv—

Me: Just “trans”!

It rushed from my mouth in an attempt to quiet him down.

Me: You can say “transgender,” “trans man,” “trans woman,” “trans person,” or just “man” or “woman”. Ideally “man” or “woman”.

Him: Okay. I’ll try it. It would have to be with a “trans woman”—

He made eye contact with me for emphasis.

Him: —the first time.

Me: Of course. Baby steps.

Him: Let’s watch some tranny— I mean trans woman— porn.

Me: Let’s do it.

Danny strips down. He wants me to watch him pee. I lean against the doorway with my arms crossed. He has coke dick, a.k.a. peen invisibility. His dick is fully asleep and sunken into his pelvis. He has to pull it out to aim properly and when he wipes, bits of toilet paper get stuck in his foreskin. I don’t say anything because I don’t plan to touch it. He can handle himself all by himself. We lie side by side in the bed and start scrolling through Pornhub.

I show him my strange Czech hole in the wall fetish porn. I don’t know why this appeals to me. Perhaps because it toes the line of humiliation, perhaps because I like the idea of becoming an anonymous body used for sex. The videos take place in a type of dungeon. There are holes cut out of the walls and you can see women from the hip down. Some women are bent over; some have their legs shackled in an open V; there are glory holes where men can get head; and there’s one cut-out up high so that the men are eye level with a pussy they can choose to eat or fuck with their fingers. The patrons are all men and the objects are all women. Sometimes you hear the men say things like, “now it’s your turn to give her a good time,” as he turns to another man standing by with an eager erection. There are cameras on the women in their boxes. I like that they don’t fake what they’re experiencing. Some look bored; some appear to be bracing themselves; others crack jokes and make demands.

Him: I like seeing what other people like, because it gives you insight into the kind of person they are.

We search trans porn. We pick a video of a Russian couple sitting in an ornate hot tub in a wallpapered room. There’s a blonde woman with a dick and a man sucking her dick and looking really stoked about it. The blonde woman has fresh string bikini tan lines around her balls. The man is red from the sun and wears a goatee. The hot tub gurgles in the background. For most of the video, they take turns blowing each other. After a while, a second woman enters the scene. She starts masturbating watching them. It’s hypnotic.

I glance at the clock. It’s almost 1:30.

Me: I have to go at 2. I have an appointment in the morning.

Him: If I send you another $500 will you stay until 3?

I decide to stay even though I’m exhausted. I realize my body has remained tense the whole time, alert in case I needed to prepare for fight or flight. Danny hasn’t posed any threat to me, but I’m keenly attuned to the fact that any man could suddenly become dangerous. I tried to relax a little. Danny searched the bed for the bag of white powder, lost in the camouflage of white bedding. When he finds it, he finishes the remaining pinch as rubbing his nose.

Him: Pick some trans girl escorts for me.

He opens Eros and taps the search tab.

Him: I don’t think I can be politically correct for this one.

He mutters as searches “tranny,” except that nothing comes up. He tries “shemale” and still, no success. He handed the phone to me and I opens the drop down menu, and voila, at the top “trans.” Even escort sites are getting woke. We scroll through pages of profiles, reading the stats of the various women. There are so many pretty escorts. We send our first message to a petite Indian woman in fitted lingerie.

Him: You write it!

Me: I hope you’re planning to tip these women for wasting their time.

He brushes me off.

Him: Of course I will.

Me: You send the message.

He starts sending essentially the message over and over:

“hi there dear, are you busy?”

“hi sweety, can I see you?”

I have gotten those messages so many times.

Me: Dear god, you sound like a scam.

Him: What would you say?

I write. “Hello Livy, are you working tonight, and are you in the WeHo area?”

I sound formal and maybe like a cop, but so much of this job is logistics.

Him: What if she thinks “tonight” is later today? Since it’s morning now.

Me: Maybe I should have specified “tonight” as in right now.

We laugh. It’s nearly 3 a.m.

Me: Are you still with your lady?

Him: I am.

Me: That’s so sweet. I’m glad.

Him: She knows about you. If she thought we were fucking it would be fine. What’s worse is that we’re talking. We may never even fuck. It would almost be better that way. Imagine.

Danny started receiving messages. None of the women he wrote had names to refer back to. Danny went back to the escort site trying to find the numbers and the names connected to them.

Me: That’s why I used their names.

Also because names are so personal to sex workers. We choose them. Most people never get to choose their own names, but we all get this choice. Some names are direct, but others have surprising meanings. The first name I chose came from a character whose humor and resilience I knew I would need as I entered the terrifying world of dancing.

The clock struck 3 a.m. and I turned into a pumpkin. Danny noticed too, his face registering that we would not be having sex tonight.

Me: I’m leaving.

Him: Okay.

He watches me get dressed for a moment with a half smile. It’s awkward and comfortable at the same time. I mutter to myself mostly, “Keys? Yep. Phone? Yep. Wallet? Yep. Valet ticket? Yes.” I go over to Danny, slumped over his phone, texting escorts and embrace him with a quick peck on the cheek.

Me: Have a safe trip.

Him: I’ll miss you.

I leave and drive down the sloping hills back to my little house in the barrio. He texts me to ask if I have any friends working tonight. Text him I don’t.

Every time I wonder, will he ever call me again? It surprises me we’ve made it this long and I’ve never physically gotten him off. My mother used to say, “men only want one thing,” but I wonder sometimes what that one thing is, if it isn’t sex exactly? If men only want one thing, and if I had to guess, I would say it’s intimacy. Actually, I don’t want to pretend I can put a button on any of this. Nothing is so simple or nice. Maybe it isn’t apparent from how I describe him, but I like Danny. He can be a handful, utterly incapable of discretion, but he’s a good one. One of the few.