Of Working Girls, Working Together & Weekends Away

Before I went away for the weekend, I sent a note to my clients telling them that if they couldn't possibly wait for my return they should call Ms. Angela (of Zen Fetish). I do this sort of a thing because I know many clients are impulsive and when the itch arises, they need to scratch -- and at that time they are not often thinking so clearly. (It was difficult enough for them to find me; to find another gem is like searching for a rare golden needle in the NiteFlirt haystack. As I cater to my clients, I like to help them find quality; and knowing Ms. Angela as I do, I know they will be pleased.)

So I posted my little note for them all and went away for the weekend.

My weekend away was, by the way, a bit of culture shock for me. Not just living away from the computer and the Internet, which was strange enough, but talking with people face to face... Closer in proximity than I am with my callers, but oh what a distance between us.

I spend hours a day talking to strangers about the most intimate parts of their lives -- not just sex, but their relationships, their childhoods, what they do for a living and how they feel about that, what makes them tick, and issues of ego & self-esteem. Rather personal stuff, yes?

But this weekend I spent time talking with strangers (and a few people I'd met before) and we were talking about anything but personal things.

We talked about the weather (how cliché), the housing market (in purely theoretical terms, no personal stories), baseball (yawn), and car mileage (which made the baseball talk seem exciting). It was empty, meaningless chatter. We might as well have been extras in a movie, talking to just look natural in the background.

I thought to myself just how dull it was, annoying too; but in the end just really sad. If there was no reason for us to talk, if we didn't know each other well enough to have meaningful conversations -- nor the desire to get to know each other well enough to do so, well, what the hell were we doing there?

No wonder people feel so isolated & alone in a crowd.

No wonder they call PSOs.

Bored (and trying not to become depressed by the insipid way I was spending my time), I naturally looked around the bar.

We were sitting at a table and just off to my right was the bar, where I spotted a man surreptitiously checking out women... It was quite clear to me that he was looking for panty lines and sneaking peeks at cleavage (likely looking for lace as much as breast). I watched, hoping he'd stand up away from his bar stool and remove his jacket so that I could look for signs that he was wearing panties. I just knew if he gave me the chance, I'd see panty lines beneath his Dockers. But he didn't give me the chance.

My husband noticed that I kept my eye on this man. He knew I was suffering from my "occupational hazard" and now we couldn't look at one another for fear we'd share a laugh -- a laugh that would be very out of place in the discussion of prime mortgage lending. So we had to remain mum until we could find a moment alone to discuss panty wearing -- and my obsession with my work. Short as it was, it was the best conversation of the night. (It likely also saved us from one of those traditional post-social gathering fights, where I whine about how boring it is and he complains that I don't support his work enough.)

When I returned home from my "weekend away from it all", I discovered that one caller had been very naughty.

Drunk, he sent a message confessing his need for me, his sorrow for not having called before I left, his confusion regarding whether or not he should call Ms. Angela -- and his humiliation at having such an outpouring in a message.

My reaction? I sentenced him to serve his penance via Not Your Angel (aka Trailer Trash Angel).

He was to look at her "mock tease of a cock tease", all 6 of the photo series, without touching himself. While being humiliated by her too, of course.

Once he'd completed his task, she & I conversed about his compliance... Eventually I deemed him worthy of calling me.

But the shame & humiliation didn't end there. Much to his delight *wink*

I love my work -- and enjoy working with my fellow sex workers. Our talk, our work, is so much more interesting than banal impersonal chatter.