"I can't believe we finished having sex in the first 30 minutes of our two-hour appointment. Now I have to listen to him for the rest of the session."
by Aaron Lawrence
Whiners are a bit like black holes. They sit around absorbing attention from everyone around them without giving anything in return. No matter how much attention they receive, it is never enough.
Today's client is one such person. I am growing to hate him, mostly because his troubles are nowhere near as great as mine. Thomas, of course, has no idea of this. He is thoroughly enjoying having me as his captive audience.
"You feel very hurt by his actions," I reflect aloud. "How do you plan to resolve the issues in your relationship with Eric?" Inwardly I wonder why he is bothering to talk about this. His boyfriend is an alcoholic bum, but for some indecipherable reason, Thomas won't throw him out.
I wish he could look at things from my perspective. If he is going to keep the boyfriend around, couldn't he at least have the decency to stop talking about him? I can't solve their problems. Judging from the number of years they have been together, no one else can either.
Nestled in the comfort of my naked body, Thomas is feeling loved, safe, and warm. Having my captured ear is too good of an opportunity for him to pass up. "If I can just show him how much I love him," he continues unendingly, "he will have to change his ways. He really does love me, I can tell." Thomas looks at me almost pleadingly. He wants me to reassure him.
Silencing my inner thoughts, I force myself to smile. "Of course he loves you. He just sometimes forgets that fact." I would tell what I really think, but I have already tried that. Thomas simply disagreed with me and continued his complaining. Now I understand that he has no interest in my opinion. He only wants to dump his troubles on me.
My thoughts grow angrier as he continues the conversation. His troubles are nothing compared to mine. I can't find a job with any of the smallest, most insignificant colleges in the country. I have over a hundred rejection letters. I could turn them into wallpaper and decorate my room. Wouldn't that be trendy? It would be a motif based on failure.
Unfortunately, there is more to my depression and anger than my career difficulties. Last night I tore Jeff's heart out when I told him I have become an escort. After several hours on the phone, he even began to cry.
"So what do you think?" Thomas asks.
I think I want to strangle him. "What I think isn't important," I reply in a neutral tone. "It's what you think that matters."
Thomas nods his head in agreement and begins babbling again. I promptly tune him out. I can't believe we finished having sex in the first 30 minutes of our two-hour appointment. Now I have to listen to him for the rest of the session.
I normally do not mind listening to my clients. They often share their most intimate secrets with me. However, I dislike listening to clients who fail to use even a slight amount of common sense to solve their problems.
Meanwhile I am upset about my own problems. I want hot sex to take my mind off my troubles, not Thomas's incessant whining. I mentally sigh to myself. At least I am being paid for this.
The thought makes me curious. I start doing the math in my head: $175 for two hours is about $1.50 per minute. That's about two and a half cents per second. Somehow it doesn't seem nearly enough. Although time passes quickly, every minute seems like an hour when I listen to Thomas.
I know ignoring him is not the proper attitude for a successful callboy, but I am also aware perceptions are more important than reality. As long as Thomas doesn't realize I am ignoring him, he will think I am captivated by his every word. For all my irritation, I am too skilled to let him catch me ignoring him.
Snuggling back into the soft bed, I consider how I reached this point. For months during the summer, my parents watched me lose interest in my job search. They assumed my loss of motivation was from all the rejection letters I received. What they did not take into consideration was my overwhelming success in my newfound job as an escort.
The new pictures I had acquired were a great boost to my business. I was now routinely earning my goal of $1,000 per week. In one week, I made almost $1,500. I was losing interest in college administration because I no longer wanted to leave escorting and take a 50% pay cut.
Knowing none of this, my parents believed only that I was no longer seriously searching for a job. They fretted over the situation until two weeks ago. In a surprise move, they invited Jeff to move in with us. They hoped Jeff's arrival would bring me out of what they thought was my depression. After talking it over, Jeff and I decided he would move in after his sister's wedding in mid-September.
Jeff's impending move put me in a crisis. I wanted to live with him again, but I didn't want to give up escorting. I enjoyed my work far more than anything I had ever done before. At the same time, I knew Jeff would never approve of my new career. Telling him what I had done would make him feel hurt, betrayed, and disappointed in me. He would undoubtedly force me to choose between him and my new career. Life without Jeff was unimaginable. Unfortunately, the idea of returning to a "normal" job was becoming increasingly unappealing. Assuming I could even find one. My job search was still in ruins.
For weeks after my parents' offer, I clung to the hope that a small college would come to my rescue. Although the idea of working as a hall director no longer appealed to me, I was growing desperate. I might be able to give up escorting for a residence hall job, but Jeff or no Jeff, I would never give escorting up to wait tables or work behind a cash register.
My hopes grew dimmer with each passing day as rejection letters continued to arrive. Two days ago I finally accepted that my job search had failed. There would be no job offer, no small college, and no happy ending to my summer in New Jersey. It was time to be honest about what I had been doing and wanted to do in the future.
So last night I spent three hours on the phone with Jeff. I came out to him as an escort. At least that was how I wanted to view it. In fact, the conversation was more like a confession. I admitted I had cheated on him and prostituted myself while we were living apart. Furthermore, I had lied to him numerous times to cover it up.
He was devastated. Although he had suspected I might be doing something along those lines, he had chosen to accept my word as the truth rather than question my integrity. It tore my heart to know I had irreparably damaged his trust in me. Yet I had made the decision to escort, so there was no one to blame for my lies except myself.
Jeff cried several times during the talk. He still loved me and wanted to be with me, but not at the expense of having a boyfriend that moonlighted as a callboy. In the end he gave me the expected ultimatum: the relationship or the career.
I chose the relationship. I promised I would not see any more clients, although I knew it was a promise I had no intention of keeping. I felt awful inside to know I was going to damage his trust in me yet again, but I saw no other way to keep both my career and my love life. I ended the phone call wondering if this is how the living damned feel.
Returning my thoughts to the present, I realize Thomas is looking at me. He must have asked me a question. "Sorry, Thomas, what did you just say?" I recover smoothly. "I was thinking about what you said a minute ago."
"I asked if you'd ever been in a relationship with someone as confused as Eric," he repeats, oblivious to my lack of interest.
"No, I can't say that I have." I decide to give Thomas a piece of my mind. "I've never dated someone like that because I would never allow someone to treat me that badly."
Thomas raises his voice as he half-heartedly denies my accusation. "He doesn't treat me badly. He just doesn't take my needs into account sometimes."
"Oh, don't give me that. It's a lot more than that and we both know it. He ignores you constantly because he wants to go out drinking. He only calls you when he needs money to pay his bills. At least I'm up front about having sex with you for money. He is prostituting himself to you but neither of you will admit it." My eyes blaze with anger and irritation.
Thomas is silent. I realize I have struck a nerve. Maybe now he will do something about Eric.
He recovers his composure and looks at me. "He doesn't prostitute himself to me. He just needs some help with his finances, and I can afford to help him out. It's my choice to do so."
I shrug my shoulders. "Okay, if you choose to stay with him, then you have to live with the consequences. There isn't anything I can do."
I realize my irritation with Thomas's whining is causing me to be unprofessional. It's not my place to tell him how to run his life. I have been hired to be nonjudgmental; to sit here, suck dick, and to stay out of his personal business. "Except be here for you if you need me to listen," I force myself to add. Irritating or not, his money is as good as anyone else's. I have a personal stake in keeping him happy. I fervently hope he will never need me to listen to his problems again. I can only take so much whining.
"Oh, you're so sweet," Thomas replies. "I appreciate knowing I can count on you when I need someone to talk to."
I smile as I begin ignoring him again. Predictably, he continues droning on. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at the clock. 4:17. Forty-three minutes to go.
Shifting my thoughts back to Jeff, I wonder if I can ever reconcile him with my escorting career. Even if I can, what price will he pay? Is it fair for me to put Jeff through such pain? Early in our relationship, I had several brief affairs. After telling Jeff about them, I said he would be better off with someone who could be sexually monogamous. The roads I need to travel in life may be painful for him. Yet he chose to stay. Does that give me the right to hurt him now?
In the back of my mind, I realize I have already made my decision. I will escort for the remaining three weeks and then stop when Jeff moves in. Perhaps I can convince him to let me escort again. If not, I may sneak behind his back to do it. My work as an escort is too financially rewarding for me to give up easily.
I glance up at the clock. 4:22. Thirty-eight minutes left in the session. Then I begin the real countdown. Three weeks until the end of it all. I close my eyes and try to drown out Thomas's never-ending dialogue of dependency.
Three weeks to go. God only knows what will become of me then.
Aaron Lawrence has worked as an escort since May 1995. When not entertaining clients, he is pursuing a career as a porn star as well as producing his own line of amateur tapes. A long-time exhibitionist, Aaron can be seen on a number of adult Web sites and in the Sept. '98 issue of Freshmen. He is the webmaster of www.aaronlawrence.com, the most popular escort home page on the Internet. Aaron lives with his lover in suburban New Jersey.
This story is taken from Suburban Hustler: Stories of a Hi-Tech Callboy, available in May.
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