Thursday, March 08, 2007


busy couple of years. mostly retired, but until now i left all the old diaries and journals and email addresses alone but still alive.

left BF, left boy2, had a year long love affair with The Good Life with the sugardaddy and a boytoy (what can i say, i guess i just love men who don't love me...), it was orange blossoms and Krug Rose, it was New York at Christmas and Valentines Day in Paris, it was fashion week and spring vacations in South Beach, it was cocaine and moscow mules.....it was empty.

It was 10 friends dead in 2 years.
it was suicides and car wrecks and plane crashes and stupid accidents and one brutal night of a party gone wrong ending in ambulances and news crews.
it was loneliness.
it was losing my best friend.

it wasn't me anymore.

This fille de joie, the temple whore, this mover&shaker in the regions of the demimonde, little misstress manners, this girl who wasn't looking for love, who just wanted things to be beautiful and didn't worry about much else...

....she found what she had been running toward, and it wasn't what she really wanted.

and then, somehow, everything she really wanted found HER and it wasn't what she thought it was.

I send my love and utmost respect to my friends, who are still in the game.
I send my fond rememberences to the men who paid my bills and some of whom cared more than I ever realized.
I send my final and remoreseless goodbye to the game.

I found something that I can't play at and keep, and I want this. More than anything. Ever.

Who knew? The hooker with a heart of gold fell in love in the end. Hollywood would have a field day.

Sex Without Love
by Sharon Olds 1984

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health-just factors, like the partner
in the bed, not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

Monday, July 12, 2004

What does one do when ones clients drag out the dreaded "L" word?

I am used to the flirtatious little commentary that they love to give "If I were only 20 years younger..." "If I had met you some other way..." "If only I wasn't married..." and that's fine. That's part of the fantasy, part of the seduction. They want to believe that if there wasn't a 45 year age gap between us that I would be in their arms forever, that if they didn't have a wife that I would be running into their homes and their beds for some strange happily ever after. I just reply with a wistful sigh and say "well, maybe in the next life, darling" as I caress, nibble, touch, or gently hustle out the door.

What I DON'T know what to do with is when they sigh/gasp/say in all seriousness "Demi, I love you". It's probably happened a half dozen times in my professional life, a couple of times during sex, once or twice while chatting before/after, and a few times via email. Email is easiest, I've found. I can dash off a quick reply (without the discomfort of face-to-face) stating my flattery and how reciprocally fond I am of them, but that love is a complication that I cannot afford. They seem to understand that, they can put that into their little image of the Call Girl without challenging anything. The sex-admissions are nominally harder, it's easy to write them off as just "heat of the moment". It's the ones that come just while we're talking that are hard. They stall conversation. Everything comes to a halt while I try to gentle us through the conversational impasse that has been suddenly presented.

On one hand, I'm flattered. It says to me that my illusion is good, that they do feel comfortable, comforted, warmed, loved, adored... Likewise I am appalled. This is what happens when you feed that adoration to someone who does not understand that they're paying for the fantasy.

What do you say to a 68 year old man who was, just bare moments before, drooling sloppy open mouthed kisses all over your face and has just confessed his undying love? All I could think was about those kisses and how I'd never date a man who kissed like that.


MOre later, I'm tired and confused.


Thursday, June 24, 2004

Dear diary,

Sometimes I think I'm in the wrong line of work.

I mean, between the bullshit of being the clandestine whore of babylon and the loving and supportive girlfriend I've got no time left for me. I worry about what my boyfriend of three years would say if he ever found out. I worry about what my close friends would say if they ever took the time to think about why I always have large amounts of cash, have a stockings budget that rivals the NGP, and never have my name on my voicemail message. I worry what would happen if I ever run into an acquaintance or someone who "knows someone" on a call. What my MOTHER would do. I don't even like her and I worry...

The constant pressure of understanding the market and maintaining your pricepoint. The constant reminder that every day is a day I'm growing older, every day gravity is taking it's toll, every day is one closer to being a woman who has to charge $200 because she's just too old/saggy/unattractive to be a $350/hour vixen. Every day I see the 19 year old dancers and pornstars and every day they look younger and younger. Every day I see my friends with implants and nips and tucks and tanning beds and $800 month spa habits and I begin to see it a little more as a "long term investment" and not "silly cosmetic futzing".

Wait. When did I become a long-term sex worker?

When did boobjobs and microdermalabraision become "investments"?

When did I start planning for my future as a "call girl in her 30s"?

Do you have any idea how hard it is to take care of my taxes yearly? I do pay 'em, too. There are about 9,285,874,189,036 hoops I have to jump through, but I do give old Uncle Sam his due (and I do honestly believe that I owe it, I have no gripe with that) because I'm much more afraid of the IRS than Vice (though that may begin to change if Mr. GWBush stays in office much longer).

I'm tired.

I'm tired of being scintillatingly scruptuous for men who don't at all seem to understand how much work it is. I'm tired of all the time and work it takes to be absolutely lovely all the damn time. Being excellent is its own reward, sure, but it'd be nice if they noticed how much work it takes sometimes.


All this time bitching and moaning, and I just got a $250 Neiman Marcus Gift cert and a gift of some books I really wanted from a client. Hrm. I hate it when they manage to do that... It's like that boyfriend that always says the right thing when it comes down to breakup time. Heh.

Thursday, April 01, 2004


So, I'm waiting at my incall for this guy to show up. He's 15 minutes late already, I just broke up with my boyfriend, my mother needs to borrow $800, and I'm nearly ready to cry.

*deep breath*

I am sitting at the computer tucked away neatly and inconspicuously in the corner and looking out the lovely picture window at the water below. I am wearing a long black dress with a halter top that hugs my generous curves nicely and tall heels. I look good, I know I do. My hair is down, my makeup light but carefully applied, and now all I have to do is keep these persistant tears from dropping from my eyes and marking a wet trail through all this perfection.

I don't know why I did it. Maybe because I'm sick and tired of trying to be a nurse-log to everyone, I'm tired of bailing my mother out, I'm tired of picking up the tab, I'm tired of paying BoyB's bills. I love him, I really do. I spent 2 YEARS yearning after him before we finally got our chance and it has been so good... He knows about my work, he is understanding, loving, kind supportive and sweet. He is also irresponsible, flaky, jobless, largely clueless and totally unable to read me. I have, however, worked myself into the ground over the last month and for what? Nearly $2000 of my monthly income goes to supporting other people and the stress is killing me.

Fighting with him makes me heartsick, but suddenly I couldn't take it. I turned around, walked into the living room, and told him to get out. Get out, give me my things, to have everything at his apartment ready for me to pick up after this appointment, and to leave my life.

His tears nearly killed me, and his panicked, drawn, heartbroken face will stay with me in my dreams tonight.

What else can I do?


Nothing, and that's the problem.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

That wasn't the cab. That was the boy2. I just broke up with him and don't know what to do. Why did I do that? I wish I knew. I think I mean it though.


Well, time to go to work... More later.

Dear Diary,

I have been a naughty girl. I have been a fantastically not-good financial planner and am currently paying the price.

This month I:

Went to Beverly Hills for a week.
went to Disneyland
Bought an evening gown that was so delightfully scrumptious that I couldn't possibly leave it on the sales floor a moment longer
Bought 3 handbags, neither of which are practical but both of which are delightful. Kate Spade really is for girls, I know, but some of it is so unbearably adorable.
2. In black, though
Got shoes to go with the fabulous evening gown, which were actually kind of reasonable. In retrospect it was not as reasonable as I thought. Sure, they're perfect, sure they were on sale. However, they were still far over what I intended to spend, and the dress was so long I could have worn tennis shoes and not a soul would have been the wiser.
Spent a few days (5) taking time off in a cute little city not far from home. This seemed necessary at the time (I had a terrible week previously) but I could have done without the nice hotel and the dinners out, and actually, the actual leaving-town part. Hmm.
Spent nearly a thousand dollars on NOT fixing a problem with my car, this was necessary but is still not accomplished.
Went to a dozen bars a dozen times and fell prey to my usual habit of picking up the tab.
DIDN'T remember to pay my overdue dental bill (it's only a $30 balance, what is the big deal?)
DIDN'T remember J's birthday. I covered with a card and dinner, but I'd intended to take him to dinner already.
DIDN'T get Boy a birthday gift. It's ok, I still have time, but no money.
DIDN'T pay my rent. It is due today. I have an appointment that will net me the requisite cash tomorrow. Late fees ahoy!

I don't know what came over me this month. It's partially that I had a strange work month. Cancellations all the time, moodiness, relationship problems....

I don't want to go to my next appointment. I'm sitting around in slippers with my hair in a braid, pouting. I must go, however, and I WILL go. *cringe* Oops, that's the cab!

I'm out of here!

Wednesday, March 31, 2004

warning, work rant ahead

So. I go out of my way to accomodate some guy's appointment request. He spends the 2 months before we meet sending me emails about his anonymous ATF* and how she thinks he talks too much and how he's trying to be better, and how she is sometimes unkind to him... It should have been my first warning, really. He seemed needy and insecure, which is sometimes a pain, but hey, who isn't a little needy sometimes?

Finally, after 2 cancellations, he makes it out on Saturday. His first complaint is about my smoking at a mixer party party (which had happened the previous evening) which I thought strange as I make a point of making sure I never smell like smoke in a session and dont understand his ire at my choice to have a cigarette the night before. Oh well, fine.

I motion him to sit down next to me and talk and everything starts to go wonky. He sits there, nearly impossible to engage in conversation, one word responses, looking over my shoulder, and I am immediately uncomfortable but I figured maybe he need to warm to me and soldiered on.

I really take my cue, in my appointments, from the person I'm with. I'm not going to just jump them unless it seems like they want me to, if someone turns their head I will not kiss them until they kiss me, I am generally only as high energy or laid back as the person I'm with. Partially for my comfort (I feel like a doofus going nuts when the other person is low-key) and for theirs (have you ever had someone stick their tongue down your throat when you went in for a mild kiss? I have, I hate it, I wait for cues or at least take it gradually). This guy was givin' me NOTHING.

I try to kiss him, his lips stay shut and tight, totally impossible. I hug him and he loosens up just enough to hug me back. I felt like some sort of molester undressing him (well, trying to anyhow) because he wasn't helping, it was like undressing a doll or someone who just was not interested in having their clothes off. I'll spare the details, but the entire appointment was like that.

We chatter a bit, after, mostly because I can't find anything else to do and he seems to perk up. Tells me his life story but constantly shuts up, stops mid sentence and then begins to talk to himself. I say "what?" and he replies "oh nothing. she told me to stop talking about myself so much so I wont' talk about that." errrrr, ok. I was beginning to squick a little bit, so I try to kiss him to end the talking. I go in for a kiss and he puts his hands on my throat. Not my neck, my throat. Ok, no more kissing. That made me very squicky, I am not comfortable with ANYONE holding my neck or head and moving it for me but grabbing my THROAT is a big old no-no. To be honest, I don't think it was meant at all offensively but I am sensitive about people I don't know having thier hands near my throat, especially when those people are bigger, probably stronger, and currently being difficult.

Soooo, I sit there for a moment, petting him, trying to think of something to do and he mumbles something again. I look up, try to smile brightly, and ask "hmm?" "Nothing. Thinking out loud."

Ok, fine. I sneak a look at the clock, thinking that we're about time, and it's been an hour and a half (on what was supposed to be an hour appointment, mind you). I kiss his cheek and stand up, ostensibly to get a glass of water. "Oh goodness! Look at the time! I hope you didn't have any other plans today!" I say, hoping to clue him in without sounding like I'm pushing him out the door, but hoping he'll take the hint. He sits on the bed, looks at the clock and uncomprehendingly looks at me.

I proceed, finally beginning to just get annoyed, to the faucet and get water, offer him a glass. He finally gets the hint and gets his clothes. He sits down and drinks it, gets dressed, leaves with a hug.

Fine. Bad sessions happen, and I dunno what the deal was with that one but if I can honestly call that my worst session ever I'm doing pretty well.

Well, then I get the email. Long, rambling, about how he thought we made "a real connection" and had a good time, links to some of the restaurants we'd discussed, a link to a book he thought I'd like, and just general chatter.

Then, the next communication: criticism of my hotel (ok, so I usually stay in very upscale hotels and this silly little $125/night room is slummin it for me, but I'm glad I did. I have had so many cancellations this trip that I'm not going to break even on the room, so thank goodness I didn't get my usual suite), criticism of my weight (what? eesh. thanks, you met me the night before at the party and if I'm too fat for you feel free to cancel. I promise I'll be less upset than going through with it and then getting post-coital body criticism), and then mentioning that he thought I was supposed to be a good kisser. Oh. My. God. The guy would barely look at me, what was I supposed to do, jump him and ram my tongue down his throat?

Ugh. I dunno, I guess you can't please everyone but it's very rare that I come away feeling like I worked my stupid tail off and got nothin' for it.


*ATF = All Time Favorite

Monday, March 15, 2004

Gentle Reader,

I had a few emails I had neglected to respond to, and in the preceding Month of Fury I did not log into that account a single time. It was deactivated and has just been re-opened. I apologize if you emailed me during my period of laxity, please feel free to email me again.

Email Demi!


Sunday, March 14, 2004

oh my stars and garters.

It's been a while. A looooong while. The last month or so has been nonstop running, working and stressing.

The interesting bits:

The party:

I went, with a client, to an event intended specifically for a private group of call girls and clients. The atmosphere was lovely, the girls were all very friendly (it's a good place to disappear onto a porch to smoke and trade a little quick gossip), the boys were as nice as ever, the networking opportunities were perfect, but my date was a nightmare. I've seen this guy a million times, we've spent hours, DAYS together before. I had never, however, spent an entire weekend out with this man in a group. Usually it's a weekend getaway here or there, intimiate walks, dinners for two, just us. The sweet, mild, slightly bumbling gentleman I have known for years suddenly became a pushy, arrogant, *posessive* clod in the presence of other penii.

How, oh how, did I let this happen to me?! I was stuck, for 3 days, far from home and civilization with a man who was making me insane. By the end of the first night when he ended up sloppy drunk and pawing me relentlessly in public I wanted to put an icepick in my eye. By 6 the next morning, lacking sleep and patience due to a dozen middle-of-the-night fumbles by a horny drunk man (god, if I wanted to deal with that I'd troll the bars, thanks) I finally pretended sleep even after he started trying to paw me again. The next morning, when I got up, he actually had the gall to make some little joke about "I would have LIKED a little more, but Miss. Demi wasn't having it" to one of the guys. All I could think was "more? For the love of god, man, we've gone through a half dozen condoms and we've only been here 12 hours!". Next surpise out of the bag, I find out that the girl he used to see contantly (and who cut him off when he professed undying love) was about to arrive with HER date. Oh Joy. I actually adore T, she's this tiny little blonde thing with a thousand watt smile and not a mean bone in her itty-bitty body. I do NOT enjoy being stuck with a date who is pining for another woman and ignoring me and groping me in turns.

T arrived, everything went exactly as I assumed. He stared, constantly called her by her real first name (to her annoyance) for no reason that I could see other than to display to all gathered that he knew it, occasionally would come over and get all needy with me (which I was rapidly losing patience with) and annoying everyone else. People began quietly apologizing to me for having to be stuck with him, girls and guys alike. As evening wore on the ladies changed out of our formal dinner wear and into our evening clothes (suggestive and not too revealing PJs, teddies, night time ensembles, more for display than for slumber) and a couple of the more adventurous girls decided to pull out The Sybian and give a little demo. The show was rather enticing, to be honest, a lovely large-busted blonde and an Armenian beauty playing tease-and-satisfy on the world's most elaborate vibrator. Interest was running high and we all continued with our flirting and teasing. I did my best to play to the whims of my date, but he was more needy than I could really expect to satisfy. I did something I've never done before, I took ecstacy before seeing a client. I couldn't deal with him, he was too hands-on, too grabby, too territorial and I was afraid I was going to tell him off. It had the unexpected (but plenty predictable) effect of making me un-tired, which was perfect. I led him to our room by the hand (as he was tired from bothering me all night the night before) and took care of him, gave him a backrub, headed upstairs the moment he was snoring, and joined everyone else with a lighter heart.

It turned out one of the other guys had also brought a stash and shared with a few of the girls, so at 5am there were 5 girls and a guy lounging on the large couches in front of the fireplace chatting away quietly. I will say this, the high point of my weekend was getting the chance to chat it up with a few of those girls. They were all agency girls, which means I don't ever have any contact with them. Nice girls, all of them, if a little light on the common sense...

Morning came, despite my hardest wishes to the contrary...

Morning came and Client-zilla rose with the sun...

While T convinced her date to take her out for a lark, Mr. Client was running the shower. He interrupted a conversation I was having ("this will only take a moment", he said) and pulled me into the shower with him. Only a moment. Ugh. 25 minutes later, my hair destroyed, my makeup in rivulets down my face, I toweled off and shoo-ed him winsomely from the bathroom. "Go upstairs, lovebug, I'll be up in a moment!" I quickly wiped all my makeup off and began reapplying like a madwoman.

I emerged, pristine, with my hair in a towel and wearing a silk robe and fluffy slippers-- he had the gall to suggest that perhaps I'd like some help with my hair as "obviously it's defeating you today". I set my teeth into my lip and bit back my furious response about people who pull my head into the shower and then muss my hair. Then he tried to convince me to do a little exhibitionist girl-on-girl action for the group (hell no, that wasn't part of the agreement! I love the femmes but I'm not interested in doing a free show for a slavering jerk who has been testing the limits of my goodwill for 72 hours...) 4 hours later we were on the road home. Thank any diety that may exist, we were going home.

Even better? He emailed me the next day to say that he thought that type of gathering wasn't my thing and that although he adores me he doesn't think he'll be inviting me there again....

It gets better than THAT, too. The coordinator of the event called me to apologize for the boorish behavior of my date and to say that if I cared to join again he would make sure that Client-zilla was not invited ever again. Thank goodness...

the mistaken identity:

So. I get an email from a client who wanted to see me. I recognized the email address, the name, everything, so I schedule and confirm, no big deal. He walks in the door, we start chatting. A side note, I take great pride in remembering the personal details in the lives of my clients. It's one of the many reasons I don't see a lot of people, I prefer to keep things very personal and intimate and for me that means also remembering their names, what they've been up to, their favorite wine, etc. I open my mouth and start chatting away about what we'd talked about last time, etc, etc. He gives me a strange look that somehow dries the words in my throat and I get a feeling of impending doom as he asks "what are you talking about?" For the first time EVER I managed to mix up one client with another. I knew who he was, I did. THe man who showed on my doorstep was EXACTLY the same person who I expected to show up, but somehow I managed to mix his life story up with someone elses. Oh. My. God. Mortification, utter embarrassment. He was adorable, very sweet about it, but I didn't recover from the perma-blush for 3 days.

Side notes:

Thats it, I'm signing out for another day, I'll be back tomorrow, promise.

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