not all jobs are sunshine lollipops and rainbows. sometimes you even get hired by other escorts. that can be shaky territory.
are they just seeing how you operate?
are they trying to score some tips?
are they checking out the best in town? well, fuck, of course…
some will be up front and tell you they’re an escort form the beginning (and sometimes want to ‘exchange’ services). some will wait until the end. some probably won’t say it at all
“i get hired by other masseurs,” my friend said yesterday as we sat sitting in the sun by the pool. two manwhores kicking back by the local pool on a wednesday lunchtime while all the other suckers are in their 9 to 5 jobs. “sometimes they want to exchange massages. they give me a massage first, then i give them back an equal or a really crap massage. crap by my standards. i’m not giving away my secrets!”
i was hired by another escort in Sydney. i tell him i only accept cash and that i will see him in 2 hours. i was skeptical, not because he was an escort, but because in all his emails and texts his spelling was fucking atrocious. missing letters. missing words. sentences making no sense at all. this all equals one thing - crackhead
still it was a daytime job not far from where i was staying. i get to the hotel. 2 minutes before i get to the elevators he send a text. “i wasn’t able to get the cash yet. can we cancel or postpone for later.”
“no. i am already at the hotel. i can’t alter my plans.”
i have his room number, but unfortunately i need a card for the lift or get reception to buzz me up by calling the room.
“give me your bank details and will transfer the money into your account.”
sure. i am going to text my bank details to someone, then trust them to be true to their word and pay up? not fucking likely. there’s a tedious exchange of more messages - angry texts from me demanding he answer his phone - indecipherable texts from him
so what do you do when you get fucked over? although prostitution isn’t illegal in Australia, it’s not like i can call the cops and demand he cough up money. it’s not like i have any right to get him to pay on the basis of a verbal agreement. so what do you do? do you suck it up, avoid a confrontation and just dismiss the inconvenience? do make a confrontation, teach the cunt a lesson and hope he’ll never do it again, or worse, make trouble for you in the future?
i choose confrontation for $250, thanks Mr Trebek
i decide to be own hired goon. i straightened my shirt, tear up a smile and chat up some old ladies in the lift area, ”oh, after you madame… mademoiselle “ they blush and swipe their cards and from memory any card can get you to any floor of this hotel
i knock on the door of room 432. i hear shuffling inside and it abruptly stops. i knock again and he shuts the music off
“i can hear you. open the fucking door.”
he shuffles a little bit more then opens the door and pretends there is nothing wrong and invites me in.
“okay. so what are your bank details. i can transfer the cash for you later.” he sits down at his desk and looks up at me with expectant but wild chem-crazy eyes.
he is very different from his profile claiming to be an ‘aussie bloke’ with all the pics of him in footy shorts. with none of the musculature of his pictures and none of the masculinity he claims to posses he skulks around the hotel room like and effeminate and emaciated version of the singer from the Pet Shop Boys. he’s fucking rotten and abides by the look of an early 90s gay. no doubt from the meth, he’s so thin and sickly looking you question if he’s barely two T-cells to rub together
“no. you will give me cash. you had hours of warning and you leave it too late to cancel.”
“i have a new credit card. i don’t have the PIN yet. so i couldn’t use the car at an ATM. i had get to a branch to activate it-“
“there’s one around the corner on the next block”
“that’s too far! i’m not going that far! i’m too wired! i’ll call the front desk and see if they’ll give me a cash advance on my card.” he calls them. unsurprisingly they decline. “i have the money. i’ll transfer it into your account later.”
with each response i would lean in. considerable taller and meatier and heavier. i was slowly pushing the intimidation. “i’m not giving you bank details and no one is foolish enough to believe a cracked out hooker is going to stick to his word and transfer money.” i leaned over the desk
“why don’t you believe me? money is no problem for me. i have the money. you can see i’m in a $400 a night hotel. i’m a very successful escort, thank you! i made thousands on a job last night alone.”
“you’re a very successful hooker and yet you have no cash on you. no cash at all.” i slowly moved around the desk to tower over him. “i don’t want the full fee for the hour. all i want is $20 for the cab fare. you don’t have $20”
remember my tips from months ago - say nothing. depending on the situation people will either assume the best or the worst. in this case, looking up between my newly acquired set of meaty hairy disco-tits, he feared the worst. if only gynocomastia had settled in i could have roughed him up with a little man-boob motor-boating as well
“i’ll get dressed and you can come with me to the bank and get you your money.” he sprung up and got dressed, bitching and rambling about trust. he was trying to bait me now. he was trying to start an argument.
i stood back and folded my arms. “damn, nigger! you’re arms look big in this t-shirt! all the better to intimidate this crackhead, my dear…” i thought as he blabbered on. he baited. baited and baited. he was now completely dressed and grabbed his wallet. then stood there. i raised one eyebrow “well,” it said, “come on. let’s go.”
“you know, i don’t like your attitude! forget it! i’m not giving you any money at all!”
seems to me like we got a good ol’ fashioned whore-off happening. WHORE OFF!!!
that’s when i tore in and stomped towards him “no shit motherfucker! you’re so fucking cracked out of your mind you think your bullshit is convincing. no one is that fucking dumb! your scrawny boney little ass was NEVER were going to cough up any money at all!”
he sat back down at the desk to emphasise he was not going to go anywhere. “how long have you been an escort for?”
“17 years. since i was a teenager” i think he was expecting me to say a month or two. “you?”
“i’ve been doing it for 5 years now. i think you really need to learn how to trust and treat people with respect”
“respect? you’re going to lecture me an courtesy and respect?”
“i’m calling security!” he dashed over and picked up the phone receiver “yeah his i need security to my room. i have trouble with someone who won’t leave my room.” he put the phone down. his boney little fingers twitching a little with the pressure of the situation. when i didn’t move, this time he raised his gay plucked eyebrows expecting my to leave
i charged in to lean overt the table to call his bluff. “you didn’t call anyone! you didn’t press the fucking button to speak to reception! you dump fuck!” he said nothing. i looked at the time. it was now ten minutes past the hour. i backed down. lowered my voice and smiled a little “right. that’s 10 minutes. it took me 10 minutes to get to this hotel and i’ve now inconvenienced you for 10 minutes. that’s all i wanted.” i smiled and turned to walk out “oh,” i reached into the mini bar and grabbed a hand full of the cute little bottles of belvedere vodka
“i don’t care take them all! money is no problem for me!” he shouted
<iframe src=”http://player.vimeo.com/video/11570435?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0” width=”400” height=”300” frameborder=”0” webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe><p><a href=”http://vimeo.com/11570435”>SP - Whore Off</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/user3767335”>unforgiven</a> on <a href=”http://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a>.</p>
2 weeks later toward the end of my stay in Sydney i got an email from that same escort. “hey mate. keen hire you for an hour or two?”