Sex & Journalism

Uncle T is a nice man with a big smile and initials on his sleeves embroidered in a thread that matches his pale hair. We met through one of the arrangement websites when I had first moved into the 5th floor walk up sublet on the UWS. Physically, he wasn’t my type, but he had a heart of gold and big promises so I gave him a chance. We went out several times, but I never became his mistress. He reminded me too much of someone’s cheesy teddy bear uncle. I tried and tried to imagine myself in the relationship he wanted, and as much as I enjoyed spending time with him, I had difficulty seeing myself move forward with a physical relationship. Perhaps it was his overly enthusiastic and excessively delighted and eager attitude that put me off. That happens frequently with men like him. Just like my San Francisco guy, if they have grand plans about my future with them, I become alarmed and uncomfortable. But without the work the Emperors Club provided me with and with my new full time student schedule, times have gotten very tough. So, when planning my most recent trip to NY, I alerted Uncle T. He had magnificent plans for us, he said. We would have an expensive dinner at an enchanting restaurant, followed by a trip to Broadway to watch Jersey Boys. Then we would go to a room where we would drink wine and..well, do what Uncle T had been dreaming of doing for about 2 years now. It would be a good time with a nice man, and I would be rewarded. I have textbooks to pay for. Now was the time. We were going to see each other on Wednesday, the first day I would be spending in the city and the day before I would leave to Montana with Coconut. But leave it to Coconut to instinctively pull me away from any plans I may have with anybody whose name doesn’t begin with C and end with nut. He told me we were leaving on Wednesday, as opposed to Thursday, which led to my cancellation with Uncle T. Then, I was told that we were leaving on Thursday, which led to a brief argument with him regarding his irresponsibility with my schedule, which led to yet another reconciliation. I figured it was best. As nice as Uncle T is, if I was meant to have slept with him, it would have already happened. Coco and I would be going out to dinner on Wednesday instead and leaving at 8am the next morning to the middle of nowhere.

Montana was nice to see and I hardly thought about how much I must have disappointed Uncle T with my last minuet cancellation. While Coconut stressed out about his legal troubles, the millions that he makes and loses daily and all the other things Coco stresses out about, I tried to turn the attention to things more frivolous and far less important. My place with my brown skinned special friend (hence the "coco" before the "nut"), I’ve decided, is to be the relief. I tried to do that, but it was a challenge. He sometimes gets so focused on his troubles that he’s impenetrable. My efforts to be what he wasn’t (penetrable) were not as successful as I would have liked. Even the promise of the thing that only a woman can give didn’t relax him. This was because, despite my efforts to skip that time of the month by jumping pills in my birth control pack, I was not able to keep things entirely neat and tidy. He freaks about bodily fluids and neither of us had quite the fun that I was hoping for. We did watch some interesting adult movies though, and I learned that despite his preference for blonds, a brunette with a really nice ass could trump a blond without one. Sweet...  I roamed the city when he was away and along with some cute boutiques, I found a toy store one would not expect to find in a small town like Bozeman. It was nice, but I’m getting really frustrated at my inability to find just the right rabbit fur flogger.

He disappears on the weekends. He is always either with family or at one of his other homes, getting away from everyone. I used that time to try to hustle up some business, but the cute little Indian man who I had discussed meeting when I was in town didn’t seem to understand that I wasn’t interested in getting together for a date. I needed money if I was going to see him. I told him that from the beginning. He must have conveniently forgot. He protested that he wasn’t rich yet, but soon. Whatever… I had also planned on meeting with another new guy from the current arrangement site. He had written that he would like to meet for lunch, to see if we get along, but then he never followed through. That left me with two days to myself, in which I did more endless research on Universities, added more to my book, and surfed the net until my eyes couldn’t bear to look at the screen anymore. The weekend was mostly uneventful, except for a quick trip to a place in Brooklyn, (where Clinton had a gig) and a call from my (once again) drunk and suicidal dad. It always pains me to hear him like that, but I’ve learned there’s nothing I can do except listen. Clinton was there when I was on the phone, and says I stay composed for dealing with such a heavy situation.  I guess I’m much better at appearing composed than actually being it.

Coco and I met again at the Hudson where I had a room. We had some drinks and some dinner, then he offered a donation to take care of  my hotel rooms for the week as well as some school expenses (and maybe a little Botox therapy, although I couldn’t never confess that to him).  He said it was part reward for putting up with him.  He knows how impossible he can be. I’m happy to try to be his friend. Inside that nut there is a pleasant and wonderful man.

Fancy Pants is giving me a bit of cold shoulder still, a lot of cold shoulder, actually, and I am all worked up trying to figure out just how the hell our relationship changed so rapidly. He’s helping me pay the bills, and I think he wouldn’t be if he didn’t care. But at the same time, it’s difficult for me to believe that he cares when he refuses to talk to me anymore. It’s a painful feeling of confusion and abandon that I fear from essentially everyone I meet. People keep trying to tell me that I have to learn to trust, although I’m not sure why, when things ultimately end up like this.

My literary agent called today with more news, but I have to keep it on the low, of course. I'm on edge with the whole publishing process. Its difficult to wait for something that I want so badly. Patience is a virtue, though. Must ...practice ...patience.

I’ll be back in LA soon. I feel like being alone tonight. My mood is low. My stress level is high. I’ve started taking mood enhancers again, but that's not enough. I sense a good cry tonight.

Raquel~

When my friend sent me a link to this article, I couldn’t resist. My curiosity overwhelmed me once again. How exactly does one go green in the bedroom? While going green is not something that I occupy much time thinking about, I admit that when it was insinuated that I could be both environmentally friendly and sexy, I suddenly became interested. I read through the entire article and while most of the suggested items were not my style, I did decide that it was worth giving bamboo sheets a try. I needed new sheets anyway. Why not assist in creating a healthier planet while sleeping? The effort would be minimal, I would feel better about myself for doing it and it would give me something to write about.  So I took myself to the local Bed Bath and Beyond to do some green thumbing and investigative reporting. Being a frequent visitor to BB&B, I knew exactly what section to go to. There, in the second row I walked down, was a selection of 5 natural colors of the bamboo sheets I had read about. I picked the sand colored $90.00 queen set and set off to discover for myself the mysteries of bamboo bedding.

Despite one’s initial thoughts, sleeping on bamboo sheets is not the same as sleeping on bamboo sticks. In fact, the fabric has been described as very soft and silky. While I personally wouldn’t go as far as calling them soft (nothing is as soft and comfy as my preferred modal linens) or silky, they certainly aren’t rough. I’d say they are similar to high-end cotton and if your definition of high-end is synonymous with a high thread count, note that the count of these linens is 230, which places them somewhere between percale and prima. They’re nicer than average, but not the stuff luxury hotel bedding is made of. I’ve had them on my bed for about 4 days now, and so far, so good. I’ve had no allergic reaction, which is good considering they are after all, all natural, hypoallergenic and bacteria resistant. I haven’t slipped out of my bed due to their alleged silkiness, nor have they torn or frayed. The back of the package assures me that my beachy colored linens should hold up pretty well as long as I remember to treat them delicately and not add bleach in the wash. And since one of my favorite places to be is in bed, comfortable sheets that can hold up are an absolute must.

Check them out for yourself here:

Going Green In The Bedroom

In the meantime, I think I’m going to go take a nap. All this reporting and saving the world stuff is making me sleepy.

We had met at the last club I danced at in Manhattan, the place I went to when I lost my job at the Executive Club due to my contempt for the management and their demeaning way of barking orders. The Hustler Club wasn’t nearly as nice, but I had to make money somewhere. He was one of the few who actually put it in my pocket while I was there.  He had a big heart and small eyes. Married but physically neglected by the wife who was more interested in being a mom than a companion, he was seeking something more intimate. I danced for him in a room for an hour. He was a grinder. I hate that. He was nice enough though, and he had the money, so I offered him a private dance another time in another place, one where we wouldn’t be robbed by high club fees and pressured by hustling room hosts and waiters. The idea appealed to him and he accepted. Later, we met at the Hudson, where in his room, I slithered around on top of him until he wanted more. At a private dance rate ($500 and hour) I would not have sex with him. Instead, I suggested that he masturbate in front of me. I loved watching, I told him, and it would make me hot to watch him come in his own hands. My ploy to avoid sex worked, he was successful in fulfilling my request and turned on by having done something that he had never done before. We fell out of touch after that. I thought nothing of it. Clients come and go all the time.

Then, last week, he called me. He still had my number from when I gave it to him to arrange our private dance. I told him I was no longer in the city. I was in Beverly Hills. I wouldn’t be able to meet him. Then he asked if I would be interested in meeting him in San Francisco while he was in town for business. I’ve wanted to see the city again since the last time I was there and I did need to make some money. I agreed, and by the next day, I had a plane ticket and a room at the W to myself. I would be staying two floors below him. Convenient.

I had to tell him my real name so that he could purchase the airline tickets. This is where an agent would have come in handy. A protection of your privacy and “real life” is worth the 50%, but that is no longer an option for me. Fucking Spitzer…

Since I knew he was going to be in town on business, I wore slacks and a blouse. We met at the airport, where we then got in a yellow cab and checked in together at the stylishly playful 3rd St. hotel. After slipping an envelope filled with cash and a check into my oversized handbag, we started our time together with some lunch and some Austrian white wine. We then headed out, where on our way to Tiffany’s, we stopped at MaxMara to pick up two sweaters. I was ill prepared for the cold weather. The mid-summer chill was unexpected to me. The cashmere tops were a gift, along with the silver necklace he would buy me once we arrived on the second floor of Tiffany’s. He said he had seen it advertised in a magazine on the flight over, and thought it would be nice on me. The words “New York” were written repetitively in script in the small silver circle that hung from the chain. I offered to carry my bags, but he wouldn’t let me.

“You obviously haven’t had a man treat you right. You need to be spoiled.”

This was an amusing statement to me, one that couldn’t be more incorrect, but I wasn’t going to argue. Instead, I thanked him for being considerate and agreed that I do, in fact, need to be spoiled. If it made him feel good to do things for me, then so be it. The next two days were all about making him feel good anyway. As a companion, I know what my purpose is. It is not to challenge my company, or tell him about the men who have come before him. It is to make him feel special, and that often requires withholding certain truths.

After one more drink at the lounge in our hotel, we went to our rooms. He had to be off somewhere and I got to relax for a couple hours before having to be ready again to meet downstairs at 7.

I watched political babble on CNN and wondered what kind of trick I would attempt on him later in the evening. He had told me over lunch that he liked what we did last time and that he was up for trying new things. The thigh trick, I thought, is something that he’ll like. Besides, the week before my period is not a comfortable week for sex and I would really like to try to avoid it. It shouldn’t be too hard. He seems like the kind that is easy to please.

I had a last minute change of heart and opted for the low cut halter style black dress instead of the elegant blue and I went with the gold heels since my red shoes had been destroyed from our earlier pavement pounding. I apparently am the only one in San Francisco who dresses up to go out. Everyone else had a sweater and slacks on. It’s very corporate in the area we were staying.

We had a drink at the hotel bar first, where there were several attractive dark haired men that I had a difficult time keeping my eyes off of. I quickly drank my Ketel One martini with three olives (something I picked up from Coconut) while he told me about the old days and about his travels. We took off and I fought the cold wind, which was blowing my skirt every which way but down, until a cab came along to save me. Several people watched my battle. Some people laughed. I was happy I was wearing sexy panties, at least.

The cab dropped us off at the Waterbar, where we had a cup of coffee while we waited to be seated in the back. “The very best view” is what he said he had reserved. The table in the corner did have a nice view. We drank only water.  I ordered the tuna. He asked for the lobster, and he talked to me about his company and his desire to have a new relationship when his current was comes to an end, which should be in about a year. That’s when he gets his green card. He told me how he’d like to take care of me and he asked my views on relationships. I thought he understood that I was the entertainment, not the future wife, but he seemed to think that there could be something much more serious with us. I didn’t say much to argue with him. Again, I had to remind myself that my job is not to disappoint him, but allow him fantasy and escape. If your companion insists that you have a future together, then very well. He should be allowed the right to have those thoughts so long as they are temporary and frivolous. He’s paying for the dream, after all.

“What do you think of me?” he asked.

“ I know I enjoyed our time together last year, or I wouldn’t be here now. I know I’m having a good time right now. And I’m interested in relearning who you are. My memory is a little hazy since the last time we were together. Maybe it was all that alcohol we were drinking, or perhaps just the time that’s passed.”

I thought my response was a crafty and delicate way to avoid a direct answer to his uncomfortable question.

“ I really feel like we had a special connection. You aren’t just beautiful, but you’re down to earth. I can sit and talk to you like a real person…. What do you think of that?”

“ I think it’s time for a drink!” I attempted a playful way of avoiding the things I didn't want to address. I'd rather him think I'm a lush than a bitch.

He ordered vodka, I ordered Chardonnay and after my glass and a few yawns, he said we ought to go back to the hotel. There was no cab available. We walked. It was a long cold walk at night in heels and a light dress.

We went straight to his room and he wanted to kiss. He had reminded me several times throughout the day that “we kissed very well together”.  I was shocked that he said that. I couldn’t remember kissing him at all. I rarely kiss clients. So I just smiled and said,

“Oh? How do we kiss well together?”

“Well, at the club you told me that you were being very naughty by kissing me because you never do that with other customers.”

I tried not to laugh. It suddenly made sense to me. When I would tell a customer “We are being naughty” it is always followed by a pull back of my body out of their reach. “This is naughty” was always my polite way of telling a customer that he has to stop doing whatever he’s doing. Say, for instance, if a guy tried to slide his hand in a place it should not have been, I would giggle, purr in his ear that he was being a naughty bad boy, and then pull away so he couldn’t keep reaching out for whatever it was he was trying to touch.  Apparently, in this situation, my company thought it meant that I liked it.

He kissed me and I gave it two seconds to see how I felt about it. It was uncomfortable, so I distracted him.

“Are you ready to try something new?”

“Yeah”

“Great. Get naked.”

We both undressed quickly. His rush out of excitement, mine out of the desire to get back to my room as quickly as possible. This was not as natural a situation as I was hoping for.

I stripped down to my panties and he jumped into bed with his briefs still on.

“You call that naked?”

He quickly pulled the black cotton underwear off and his erection greeted me with a bouncing “hello”. Just as I expected, he was easy. No need to do anything that required any saliva or removal of panties. Nothing went in me or on me. He was happy to be at the mercy of my magic trick, one that happens to be good when you want to remain distant during physical moments, so I was pleased with the outcome…pardon the pun.

Basking in my sense of accomplishment and aroused by my own sexual prowess, I decided to take sexy photos of myself in the full-length mirror in my room. I’ve been doing that for years now. It’s an activity that I find highly stimulating, somewhat narcissistic, but hot nonetheless.   

I had all the next day to myself. I slept in late, walked around the neighborhood, went to the nicest hotel gym I think I’ve ever been in and went to the bar at my hotel to grab a healthy lunch and watch the businessmen on their lunch meetings. I had planned on visiting Alcatraz, until my literary agent sent me an upsetting response from a publisher he had recently submitted my book to, one in particular that I was hoping I’d get a good response from. It distracted me, and I ended up spending the rest of my time in my room, typing away to vent my frustrations. I needed to be ready at 7, he said. We would meet then for a casual drink and maybe grab some dinner. I would need a drink.

At his request, I wore jeans with a top too light for the weather, and of course, my new necklace. We drank creatively named martinis as I tried to become acclimated to his suddenly new mischievous manner. He said he had woken up with a hard on, and between that and a long day of work, he was ready to be naughty. His comments and his behavior were a bit abrasive for me. It was obvious he thought we had a much different connection that we actually did. His haste to get back to the room was not a turn on for me. I brushed off his comments as much as I could. I needed to eat before I could think of anything else, I told him. I don’t think he was hungry, but he agreed to take me to a nice Italian place within walking distance of the hotel. I ordered a very small vegetarian pasta dish and a lemoncello martini. He ordered a drink as well, with a large bowl of lamb pasta, which he barely ate from. He was hungry for something else. He kept asking about my thoughts on relationships, my past experiences with men, and if I would like to have a special relationship with him. He thought that my school schedule was actually ideal. By the time I graduate, he would have his green card and probably have his divorce finalized. That would open us up to unlimited possibilities.

"I'm not saying we have to get married...but I would be hurt if you said there isn't a connection."

He wanted to be in my life and he couldn’t understand why I was being so guarded and quiet. I was guarded because there was an obvious misunderstanding and I didn’t know how to handle it. With the Emperors Club, there was no room for misinterpretation. When clients of the club called in, it would be to request a temporary connection. This man wanted more than a temporary connection. He wanted something real and long lasting, and being that his heart and his wallet were set on achieving that, I didn’t have it in me to explain to him that I have no room for that in my life. I already have men around that I have a real connection with, but I couldn't tell him that at this point. If I told him my "real life" relationships, he would be hurt and very possibly upset that he just spent all that cash on me. I didn't want him to feel ripped off or lied to. But I thought he was a client. I thought he knew he was a client, being that he was paying for my presence. How did he not see this?

We went back to the hotel, and since I had to get up early to catch my flight, we would head straight up to the rooms. I told him to wait for me in his room. I had to brush the basil out of my teeth.

“I love basil breath” He was just in a hurry to get me in his bed.

“I don’t”, I responded.

Besides, I needed to have a moment to collect myself. He told me over dinner he wanted to please me. He wanted to taste me. He wanted to remember what it was like to be given oral and he asked if I would ever allow him to be inside of me. I explained to him that it was very difficult to please me, and that I was near my period and very self-conscious about my hormonal changes, so that probably wasn’t going to happen that evening. I have no problem giving oral, and sex is something I enjoy very much. But I also explained to him that if we have this future together, then we have plenty of time to work our way up to that. I said that I liked that he was open to trying new things, and I had planned on exploring some sexual alternatives before we progressed to something more personal. I had never used these excuses with a client before, but he was a special case. He seemed to be okay with my explanations, but I was afraid he was going to be insistent on more, and I desperately needed to collect myself for a moment I wasn’t ready to have.

“Let’s have cocktails! Pour me a drink and I’ll be right there!”

I had nearly broken my poor toothbrush in half before I gave up. I gave myself a pep talk and then walked out the 12th floor door with sass and stride.

“I’m a professional! I can handle this! I am Raquel (with very, very, very clean teeth)!!!” I thought.

All the lights were on in his room and there was no drink waiting for me.  I hate it when they don’t follow directions, so I took matters into my own hands. I turned off all the lights but one and made the both of us very strong drinks. Sometimes, you just have to. I placed myself in a position inviting to him. He sat below me, between my legs and I rubbed him. I learned, when I was working with the agency, that when you calm your client by rubbing him, sometimes he becomes so relaxed that he doesn’t want sex. I rubbed and caressed his head, his neck, and his chest. He closed his eyes and purred. It was exactly what I wanted. We carried the rubbing over to the bed, but he became excited. He was going to want me to do something soon, so to avoid the situation, I told him it was my turn. He gave me a return massage, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. It was time, so I broke out the playful “experimental” tricks. Do you like this? Let’s try that. It was all new to him, and ultimately, he gave in to the trick from the night before. I cleaned him up and he complimented me on my touch.

“You’re very nurturing,” he said.

At least I could be that to him. It made me sad that such a nice man was so delusioned with my presence in his life. I wish I had been more comfortable with him. I almost felt guilty for not giving him more. But it was what it was. Awkward. I just couldn’t. He seemed to be happy, anyway. Hopefully he wasn’t feeling what I was. I dressed and left him alone to sleep.

“I’ll come up to say goodbye before I take off.”

I didn’t sleep much. I rarely sleep well anymore.

I went to his room at about 8am. Dressed in his robe and a smile, he hugged me and we chatted for a minute before I told him that he seemed to be in a great mood for so early in the morning.

“Well, I have a great girl.”

Oh...

“I had a really good time” was what I said to mask the sound of my little hooker heart breaking.  If he hadn’t been so naive, this wouldn’t have been so hard.

I knew he’d be calling again, but that would be a dilemma I would deal with later.

I turned in my keys to the girl at the desk downstairs and hopped in a cab driven by a man who was excited that I needed to go all the way to the airport.

 My United flight to Burbank was delayed, which gave me plenty of time to partake in the airport food which would make me sick immediately upon boarding. Or was it the food? Regardless I had never been so happy to see an airplane lavatory.

I got a call from him today. He wanted to thank me again for a nice time. I haven’t called him back. I have yet to figure out how to approach this delicate situation. I don’t think that I could ever successfully be an independent escort. I haven’t the stomach for it, for clients who want to be too close and men who are looking for love in the wrong places. I rather like the middleman. It keeps things at a safe and comfortable distance. Distance is good. It keeps the vulnerable from getting hurt and the tough from getting soft.

Raquel

Not for another three weeks, anyway.  And really, who uses pencils? Anyhow, the time off will give me some time to go  through all of the articles that in my "to read" pile. I'm sure something in that collection will be good inspiration for a new post and I'm excited. Oh yes, and I'm going to have to write another post for my third inductee to the hall of anonymous ignominy. My date last weekend did not go so well. In fact, it went so unwell, that I've decided I'm going to dedicate and entire post to him and all his indiscretions.

Despite my continuous dreams about death, war, and tragedy, my mood is up today. My biggest dilemma right now is figuring out if I want to be aggressive and fill up my schedule with as many classes as possible for the fall semester, or be nice and actually allow myself to take it easy with the classes. Do I want to take class on Friday? And is it possible for me to be in class Mon -Thurs by 7am? Either way, I've decided to pick French back up even thought it is not required. This is  perhaps prompted by my wistful surmise that if I pick it back up and take Fridays off, someone will invite me to Paris for the weekend. It could happen, right? Anyway, I have the until Monday to figure it all out. Not a terrible dilemma to have.

I've got some work lined up, as well as another trip to NY before having to face the classroom again. I'm looking forward to it as the work is actually kind of fun and a trip back to NY is much needed. I get so restless if I stay in one place for too long. Six weeks in one city is like an eternity!

Raquel