The Paid Companion

Today shall be the day I confess what I consider to be my biggest fault, and how it almost turned me into a prostitute.

You would think a girl raised in a strict Baptist church and sent to a Baptist school would be appalled at the thought of prostitution. And you would be right. I was that girl, once upon a time. I would not say that my life has been filled with great adventure, but I WOULD say that it’s been filled with enough whatever to completely change the way I look at things.

Long before I married my husband, I promised myself that I would never have sex with someone until I was married. No, I wasn’t a virgin when I got married, in case you were wondering. Now I would tell you that I would never marry someone I HADN’T had sex with. According to the Bible, that’s a sin, but hey, nobody’s perfect. And as far as prostitution goes, my thinking has changed enough from that Baptist girl that I once was, that I in no way judge a person who will perform sexual acts for cash.ย  I’ve not quite decided on whether it should be legal or not, though I can see the many benefits of making it so. Anyhoo, I’m getting off-track.

I know, you’re all chomping at the bit to find out what my greatest fault is, since it’s so obvious that I have none, right? ๐Ÿ˜‰ Kidding. I believe that any cell phone that takes pictures is the invention of Satan himself. Because, really, who can resist sending nudey pics to horny boys everywhere? I certainly cannot. Yes, you all now know that I am a cell-phone exhibitionist. Perhaps it’s my histrionic personality disorder, or the secret desire I have to pose for Playboy, but ever since I’ve had a picture phone, I have made it a habit of sending nudeys to anyone who requests one. Surprisingly, for not being very photogenic, I’ve taken quite a few nice pics with my phone- maybe because the screen is so small one can’t notice the size of my ass. This in itself is perhaps not a great fault, but the fact that I do this sometimes when I’m in a relationship is. I’m not proud of that fact,ย  but I have promised to tell the truth in this blog. It may be a surprise to you to find out that this little habit has gotten me in some strange situations.ย  Moving on.

Once upon a time, I received a text from a random unknown phone number, asking who I was. Being the friendly person I am, I started a text conversation with this person. It turned out this person was a massive, body-building black man who had spent 13 years in prison for shooting a man when he was 17. Yes, I know. I should have been done right then. For the purposes of this blog, we shall call him Darkness, because that’s what I called him. (Taken from a simple-minded series of books by Laurell K. Hamilton I had been reading at the time.) Anyway, the man seemed highly intelligent (from his texts) and I found out it was because he spent his 13 years in prison reading. We sent occassional texts back and forth, and from what he could tell (from my texts) I was a classy lady who knew her shit. To make a long story short, I ended up sending one of my lovely nudey pics to him, which turned his attentions from intelligent conversation to trying to get me to do him.

One thing I must point out here. I have no shame in sharing unclad pictures of myself, but that in no way means I want to screw every guy I send them too. I just like to be appreciated….

After many weeks of dealing with texts from Darkness telling me what he wanted to do to me, (which I ignored) he asked me if I wanted to make some money. This intrigued me, since I was broke at the time (what am I saying, I’m still broke) Darkness informed me that he was the owner of an “escort” business, and thought I could rake in the cash because of my tremendous talent to converse on any subject, as well as my other…assets. I asked him how much his clients paid, just because I was curious, and he said $500 per time and his cut was $350. I pooh-poohed his offer, saying that I would never let a pimp (because that’s really what he was) take that much of my earnings, and anyway, I would charge 3 times that for my services. He said ok, nevermind.

A few days later, he texted me and told me he had a potential client that had been shown one of my pics, and was willing to pay my exhorbitant prices. He said he could set it up for the next day if I was willing, and to let him know.

The idea of making $1500 an hour appealed to me greatly, but the reality that I was in a relationship stopped me. Perhaps it is because I have known so many people that fuck so many people that they’ve just met in bars, or go home with people on a first date, but screwing a stranger for money makes more sense to me than doing it for free. Wouldn’t you say? Anyhoo, I never did become an escort, and I no longer hear from Darkness, but I will always wonder, “Am I really worth $1500?” Because that makes me feel kinda good.

P.S. My cousin says prostitutes have no souls. I think he has no soul for saying so.


Filed under Beauty, God, Humor, Life, Love, Money, Uncategorized, Work

13 responses to “The Paid Companion

  1. You really need to read One for the Money. You remind me a little bit of Lula.

  2. Oh, and on that note, you and H. Ellis’ exchange up there isn’t doing a lot about preventing things in my head.

  3. I’ve never understood the concept of guilt over things that happen inside your head, and don’t like to assign guilt to those things that get enacted – so long as the person doing either considers the outcomes in advance or at least says, “fuck it, I’ll man/woman up to consequences when/if they come.”

    Great and honest story. You should have charged waay more, but I think me and your other peeps find you to be priceless. ๐Ÿ™‚

    • Aww, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind if ever I actually DO become a paid companion. But I don’t know any people around here who could even afford what I would’ve charged…
      And as far as manning up, I’ve had to do it, but I always ALWAYS blame someone else first. ๐Ÿ˜‰

  4. pharphelonus

    Wow. Really honest and kinda raw. I like it. And good for you.

  5. I think if you’re honest with yourself you should feel free to do whatever you want. As for me I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to send a pic of myself anywhere, much less entertain the idea of prostitution.

    For what it’s worth, I teach “stripper-cise” classes to chubby housewives and ladies with no “discernible” employment. I wonder what that makes me?

    • Why am I not surprised that you teach “stripper-cise” ? ๐Ÿ˜‰ Hey! that rhymed! That just means you know how to dance. And it’s not like I WANT to be a ho, but I think it wouldn’t bother me much if I was one.

      • I’m a VERY good dancer. It makes up for the fact that I’m a very bad singer. I’m thinking that if I teach stripper’s how to strip, shouldn’t I be considered an investor of sorts? I know I’d like to see a return. Maybe I could stand off to the side and crack a whip when the chick does something wrong. I could also charge extra for that.

        The whole prostitution thing doesn’t bother me so much, it’s the control issue I have a problem with. I don’t like the idea of being “bought.” However, if I were the one doing the buying I might feel differently.

  6. Scarlett DuBois

    Love this!
    I’ve always had some respect for prostitutes. They run a lot of risk doing what they do out there, if they’re doing it for the right reasons.

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