Horizontal Lives

True Tales of the Infamous Courtesan: Persephone N. Hades and her Horizontal Life underground. How she got there, her mis-adventures and her struggle to re-surface.

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

A Man Should Never Date A Woman Who Can't Make Him Miserable...


Nia and Kia. Sisters. Acquaintances of mine. Adorable. Look like they could do ads for Pillsbury or Home Depot. Neither are WG’s. Both RN’s. Filch prescription pads to get Percocet. Regulars at bars and clubs. Annoyed with me because I ‘work all the time’ thus can’t go out and party with them. Get a call at 5am. Answer it in case it’s an emergency.


Kia: Are you up?
Me: (very groggy) Kia?
Kia: Are you up?
Me: What’s wrong?
Kia: Are you up?
Me: I am now. What’s wrong?
Kia: I think I’m pregnant.
Me: (sitting up) How? By who? When?
Kia: I don’t know. Some guy. (breaks into sobs)
Me: What guy? Does Nia know?
Kia: I can’t tell her.
Me: Why not?
Kia: It might be a guy she slept with.
Me: (hard sigh) What do you mean ‘it might’?
Kia: (yelling at me) I don’t know who it is!
Me: Have you had a test?
Kia: I peed on three sticks tonight.
Me: Positive I guess?
Kia: Uh-huh.
(Long pause. Listen to her weep. Feel helpless.)
Me: Kia? I’m so sorry. Do you want to have it?
Kia: I don’t know.
Me: Do you have any idea whose it might be?
Kia: Well, we went out so much the past two months…
Me: Okay. So how many guys did you sleep with? One. Two. Three?
Kia: One every night.
Me: Okay. Just try to remember which one the condom broke with.
Kia: I didn’t use condoms.
Me: No protection?
Kia: It doesn’t feel the same.
Me: You’re in Health Care.
Kia: It breaks the mood. Any way, we were drunk.
Me: I’m not scolding you. I’m just puzzled as to how to help. (A pause.) I think you should tell Nia.
Kia: I can’t. What if it’s one of the guys she slept with?
Me: Well, first of all, it doesn’t sound like either of you had papers on any of these guys. And if you can’t keep track of whose was whose, it seems to me no one was anyone’s. Maybe she slept with one of yours. Possible?
Kia: Yeah.
(Another long pause)
Me: Love, I have to get up in a few hours. I have a fourteen-hour day ahead of me. Tell Nia and let me call you tomorrow night, okay? Get some sleep. There’s nothing that can be done right now anyway.
Kia: Okay.
Me: I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Kia: Okay.


That night, I have what I hope is a promising blind date. Meet him at 10p.m. For a drink. Arrive on time. He’s only ten minutes late. Nice looking. Day old whiskers. Forty-something. Entrepreneur. ATM machines. Easy chatter. Somehow, get on to the subject of dating.


He: I don’t mind dating. I figure it’s a numbers game.
Me: I suppose you’re right. But for me, it’s difficult with my schedule. I have to take a night off of work, plan in advance.
He: What do you do again?
Me: I’m a massage therapist.
He: So what do you look for in a guy?
Me: I don’t know. Chemistry I guess.
He: I mean, short, tall, handsome, rich? What?
Me: No. Just chemistry. What about you?
He: I prefer petite. Like you.
Me: So height is foremost?
He: High on the list.
Me: You have a checklist?
He: There’s only one type of women I would never date.
Me: What’s that?

He: Hookers.


Me: (outwardly smiling, inwardly sagging and bristling at the use of the word) Huh. Why not?
He: They could never be faithful.
Me: Oh really? (I’m smiling, goading him, but of course, quite serious.) How do you know? How many ‘hookers’ have you known?
He: None! I would never pay for it.
Me: Why not?
He: Why should I?
Me: Convenience.
He: No way. It’s disgusting.
Me: Disgusting? Why?
He: You never know what disease they might have.
Me: I would think they would be the safest group of women. Their livelihood depends on it, doesn’t it?
He: The way I figure it, why should I have to date a hooker when there are so many other women out there. Why date a hooker.
Me: Maybe she might be your soul mate.
He: Don’t believe in soul mates.
Me: (not able to let this subject drop—too close to the bone. I love to kick a dead dog, don’t I?) Why do you think they wouldn’t be faithful to you? I would think it would be the opposite.
He: How?
Me: Well, figure they’ve been with lots of men so if they find someone special, why would they ruin that. I would think, if they found someone really special, a) they would be the first to recognize it and b) they would do anything to hang on to it. Just my opinion.
He: Don’t tell me you’re a hooker or something.
Me: (I consider myself a Courtesan which in my mind, is something quite different so I answer without lying too much,) No. But you seem like such a smart man and they way you’re talking sounds like you’re just repeating what the media has put in your head.
He: I’m not. Why date a whore? There’re so many other woman out there.
Me: A plethora I’m sure. So what kind of women would you date specifically?
He: Someone in business. A massage therapist. (He winks at me.) Doctors, Lawyers, Nurses.
Me: Nurses, eh? And what makes you think they are any safer than escorts?
He: Come. On.
Me: No really.
He: Nurses are in Health Care. Probably the safest bunch out there.
Me: I wouldn’t be so sure.
He: Anyone is safer than a hooker. Why are we talking so much about hookers?
Me: I don’t know. You’re a smart man. I’m a modern woman and I guess I just don’t see anything wrong with prostitution if it’s consensual.
He: Well, I do.
Me: Okay. But you know what I think? I think a man should never marry a woman who can’t make him miserable because it means she can never make him truly happy.


We leave the bar. He walks me home. We make out heavy on the wall of the building next to mine. Giggling and kissing. He lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist. He lowers my body until I feel his hard-on pressing the crotch of my jeans. We say goodnight. I go to bed wet. He’s sexy. I’m definitely attracted.


Wake up the next day and know what I have to do. I cannot, cannot, cannot see him again. Too dangerous. To him, a hooker is a hooker. I would have to teach him from the beginning. I can’t teach anymore. I don’t want to. The thought of it, exhausts me. A man like that, if and when he found out, would crucify me, destroy whatever part of my life he could, try to expose me. No. I must stay away.


Over the next few days, he calls several times. I should be overjoyed. He’s the first date I’ve had in ages that has actually called me back the next day. But I’m not. I know I could do what men do, and just not return the call, eventually knowing he’ll get the hint. I hate when men do that to me. I can’t do that to him. I call and leave a message on his voicemail.


Message:


Hi Evan. It’s Persephone. I thought a lot about it the past few days and I really think that we just have very different views of the world. And although I’m hugely attracted to you and I’m sure the sex would be great, I just know that in a few months, the way we think would come into play, and we would have some enormous differences that couldn’t be overcome. You are so busy and I’m so busy and I’m pretty sure we don’t want to just ‘be friends’, and neither of us has time to waste on dates that aren’t really heading anywhere. So I just wanted to thank you for the lovely evening you treated me to and wish you all the best. Thank you so much. And take care.


I didn’t really expect a call back. Or, if I got one, I thought it would be somewhat kind, or charming, or coaxing in that I took the time to explain my reasons—a courtesy I rarely get when I’m on the other end.


His message to me:


Persephone. Evan. I think you’re completely out of your mind. Okay? If you don’t want to go out with me, don’t go out with me. It has nothing to do with being busy, my being busy. You know? The only thing I can think we didn’t agree on was the sophistication of hookers. And I think that was just something to talk about. I don’t understand. I’ve got friends on all levels, take my word for it. So, um, I mean, you’re big on chemistry, you meet someone you’re attracted to, so I can’t believe you’re bailing out in this way. I’m just surprised you’re taking this position. Maybe you’ll call. I don’t know. Maybe that’s why you’re still single. See ya around.


Ouch.

Not a dozen roses.

Makes it easier to be at peace with my decision.






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