Saturday, May 21, 2016

The Liquid Release

"People pay for what they do, and they pay for it simply-by the lives they lead."
-James Baldwin

"It must be quite something to know you in real life."
-Hannibal Lector to Clarice Starling, "The Silence of the Lambs"




This is the story of how I lost my best phone sex customer.

He first called me only a couple of weeks after I started my job. He said his name was Drew, that he was 35, and worked in New York City as the creative director of an advertising agency.

He had a voice like a radio announcer from a bygone era. I don't know if that accurately describes it, but, basically, I was always wondering when he was gonna tell me that Pearl Harbour had just been attacked.

Drew described himself as having long, jet black hair that went down to his shoulders that he wore in a ponytail. He got his hair cut by a woman he had a major hard on for named Melissa.

See, not only was he attracted to his hair stylist, or, "lady barber", as he referred to her, but he also, it turns out, had a massive hair fetish, or trichophilia

Drew described the experience of having his hair cut by Melissa as deeply erotic for him. He loved the tactile experience of it, the strange intimacy of being touched by this woman he wanted so badly.

Our first phone called revolved around a role play where I was Melissa, and I cut off his ponytail and transformed him into a new man. Then we fucked in the barber chair, surrounded by the salon's mirrors.

Within about a week, Melissa had dissolved away, and "Denise" my phone sex alter ego took her place, and Drew became my new girlfriend experience guy.

"The girlfriend experience" is not just a shitty movie by Steven Soderburgh. It's a real life thing that happens in the sex work industry, mostly in the domains of escorting, phone sex and webcam. It is exactly as the name suggests, the simulation of a relationship with a client. It manifests in all kinds of ways, depending on the client.

In Drew's case, it entailed him calling me at least twice a day, including right before he went to bed, and messaging me through the day as well.

Drew worked constantly, so he called me often from his office, where he jerked off several times a day. On the weekends he had more of a tendency to disappear.  Which was alright, because it gave me a break from him.

Girlfriend Experience guys, or GFE's as they say in the parlance of the whoring business, are a lucrative, but tricky lot. Drew, for example, was possessive, and jealous. He clearly did not like me mentioning any other clients, and when I wasn't around for him, or on another call, he could get demanding, or even panicky.

I also had to create a fake back story for Denise, since Drew and I were on the phone a lot, and he asked a lot of questions. It was hard keeping up with all the details.

All that being said, I did like Drew. I enjoyed having conversations with him. He was quite guarded , and didn't share too much about himself, but over time, he opened himself up more.

He had a real thing for retro TV shows, some even I hadn't heard of. He had shitty taste in music (jam bands, bleh), and had previously been addicted to cocaine, which he was deeply ashamed of.

He had a really dry sense of humour, and was smart, but extremely materialistic. He was a complicated cat.

We fell into a routine of talking regularly. He was a kinky guy who liked to be dominant, and had a thing for contraptions.

I'm not entirely sure when it happened, but, things started to take a weird turn.

He became utterly obsessed with one fantasy in particular, where, I, as his girlfriend, would get my head shaved by him, down to the scalp. He would do this every single day, so the hair never had a chance to grow back. He'd supply me with an array of wigs, and tell me which one to wear before I went out.

 He also told me that he wanted to control my look in every way possible, from my nails to what I wore.

I found this very creepy. He basically wanted me to be a living sex doll. The hair thing was too much like something out of a goddamned horror movie. But, I played along.

It sounds strange to say, but, over time, it was though I could feel his physical desire pushing against me, through the phone, from so many miles away. It was almost oppressive.

Despite this, or maybe even because of it, one evening, I opened up to him in a way I really didn't expect.

He said he knew that the pictures on my profile weren't really of me, but that it didn't matter, because he thought I had a great personality.

"You're right, " I said, "it isn't me. I'm not 21 either, I'm 30."

"That makes sense, " he said, "you seem older."

Then he said, "If you're 30, what did you do before this job? I know you've only been on the lines a couple of months".

"Well..." I started, "I didn't work for a while. I was...sick."

"Sick?" he asked.

"Well...yeah, I mean, I had like, an accident."

"An accident?"

"Well...no, it was more like....an assault."

I'm gonna be cryptic here about what exactly I told Drew. It wasn't detailed, I just explained that something traumatic happened to me a while ago and it sent me down a downward spiral. I'll write more about this specific experience in the future.

"So," he said, when I was done talking, " you hit rock bottom, and now you're on the mend."

"I suppose so, " I replied.

"It happens" he said.

"It sure does".


I think I opened up to him because I just felt like telling the truth. I just needed to say it, I think.

It wasn't a great idea, because, shortly after, Drew gave me his home phone number....and wanted mine.

He also started talking about me coming to visit him. At first I thought he was joking, but, it became clear that he kinda wasn't. He also started making references to marrying me, and writing these long, effusive messages , calling me an "angel". This was uncomfortable because, after all, I didn't even know what the guy looked like, and he was paying me to talk to him.

Then, one evening, Drew slipped up.

He was telling me about a TV show he watched and how there was a scene set in Max's Kansas City, a legendary nightclub in NYC.

Drew mentioned he had been to Max's Kansas City.

I pointed out that the place closed in the 80's.

"How old are you, exactly?" I asked

He laughed.

"Okay, you got me", Drew said.

Turns out Drew was 57.

"If you're 57....you ever been married?"

Turns out Drew was, in fact, still married. And had two teen aged sons. And lived in the New Jersey suburbs.

It also turned out that he no longer had long hair. That ponytail had been shorn off years ago, and he had been fantasizing about it ever since.

I asked about his wife. He didn't say much, but he spoke about her through gritted teeth. They slept in separate bedrooms. I asked why he didn't divorce her. He said for the sake of his kids because he didn't want them to get fucked up.  He clearly gives his kids no credit, because kids can tell when their parents hate one another.

So, it turns out Drew lived an active fantasy life on the phone sex line. One where he was always 35, the age he was when he was single and kid free, and a hotshot ad exec with a ponytail and plenty of pussy. The age before his life became something he couldn't recognize and didn't like, and had convinced himself he couldn't do  anything to change.

Drew told me he wished he had met me back then. He told me he had been waiting for me his whole life, that he wished he could marry me. These are words any woman would be delighted to hear...so long as it wasn't coming from a man that they felt nothing for.

Soon after that, I told Drew I didn't want to speak to him anymore. Right before I told him this, we exchanged pictures of our real selves. Once again, not a great idea, but, I wanted to know who this guy was, and I knew I could only do it if I gave him my picture.

He was just a guy. A normal, typical looking aging white  business guy who you wouldn't remember a second after you saw him.

He didn't take my request to not speak to him well. He was clearly hurt and angry, but he couldn't sway me. I had revealed too much about myself, and he wanted more than I could ever give him.

Even though he was mad, he told me he'd miss me.

It was so jarring when he said it, and it echoed in my head for a while. Later on, I cried.

I didn't cry because I'd miss Drew, I cried because I realized it had been a long time since anyone had said that they'd miss me.

I like to pretend I'm tough and that I don't need people. After all, if you never let anyone in, you never have to watch them leave. That's really dumb, but, I do it anyways.

I have a hard time letting anyone in, so, I'm not close to many people. That's my own fault, and, I'm working on fixing that. But I'm in a place now where people wanting to know me and be around me still freaks me out, even though I like it, and I want it, and, truth be told, I need it.

Sadness, like desire, can build inside you like a brick wall. Eventually, the pressure mounts, and that wall comes down, and all that it held back flows forth, and moves though you and out of you, in that liquid release, in that spasm that hurts and contorts , and brings relief like a baptism from the inside out.

So, I cried, and allowed myself that liquid release. It was furious and private, and then it was over, and then the numbness came and I was grateful, and then I put my armour back on, and went back to pretending to be tough.  
 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmWZOsVtqR0