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.

Monday, December 27, 2004

"Who's Zoomin' Who?"


He: I had an amazing time.
Me: Me too.
He: Did you really?
Me: You couldn’t tell?
He: I thought so, but I wasn’t sure.
Me: Oh, I did.
He: For a moment there, I thought you had an ecstatic time.
Me: (giggling) You, sir, were correct in that assumption.
He: That’s what I thought.
Me: Um hmm. (Wrapping my arms around his neck.) Thank you for giving me such a lovely afternoon.
He: So then, you know what I think?
Me: Let’s see…you think, maybe you might come see me again?
He: Well, I don’t do this often.
Me: Oh.
He: What I was thinking was, since you had such a great time, you should be paying me.
Me: Ah hah.
He: Ah hah? No I really think so.


I laugh.
He doesn’t.


Me: I think we are now teetering on a tenderly thin blue line.
He: In what sense?
Me: Give me a kiss. Say ‘good-bye’. (I kiss his mouth.) I hope we get to learn one another’s bodies even more in the New Year.
He: So you’re not going to pay me?


A Pause.


Me: Hah! You are a very silly man.


He stares at me. I think he means it.


Me: Would you rather I’d have been miserable? Or full of pretense?


A Pause.


Me: Are you serious?
He: Half.
Me: Half? Really? Huh.
He: Don’t you think.
Me: (laughing and kissing his neck) Oh my love. No. No. And no.
He: Well no. I don’t want you to be miserable. But you really seemed to have fun.
Me: I did.
He: So we shouldn’t call it even?
Me: What kind of chivalry is that?


A Pause. We are both smiling with a strange, un-smiling, un-spoken, undertone. He is, actually, serious.


Me: I tell you what.
He: What?
Me: I will call you. Book an appointment at a time that is convenient for me—whether it is eight in the morning or midnight. You provide a location with candles, music and wine. You dress the way I prefer. You spend the entire time taking extraordinary care of my body, my mind, my senses, my heart, my needs with only a peripheral thought to your own. You love me with all your heart, soul and body whether you are in the mood to or not. Then know that I may never call you again. You are not allowed in my ‘real’ life. And then, and only then, I will be more than happy to compensate you.


He: Ow.
Me: You brought it up.
He: Sounds painful.


Me: It’s not. Because I know what I do. Because I love what I do. Sweetheart, I totally and completely enjoyed ‘us’. I wanted to. It’s my time too. My life too. My life doesn’t begin after you leave. My live is happening here, now, too. You wanted me to love what we did as well—if you admitted it to yourself, no? I could have brought you in, took the money, got it over with, so to speak. But I didn’t. I opened myself to you and what you brought in the door. And as a result, because you came in so open and warm, we connected and had a complete time together. (Pouting dramatically)--Now I’m mad at you because you are sinking our time together, to a lower level.


He: I didn’t mean to.
Me: I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for a diatribe to explode from my mouth.
He: But come on. You probably make a ton of money.
Me: (*UGH!) Am I so…(crass, gauche)…to ask you how much you make? Trust me, you make at least three times more than I do. I might charge more per hour but I can’t work 24 hours a day you know?
He: Still.
Me: Still? And I can’t work until I’m sixty-five. You would deprive me simply because you suppose I make a good living?
He: That’s not what---
Me: It is. It is what you’re saying. I am a woman. I work in a physical, hour-by-hour, time-dated job. I can’t work ‘til I’m sixty. I have a 'beat-the-clock' kinda profession, and I have nothing of it’s equal to transfer to. Anything I make now has to grow into retirement and pay for my family. Let me ask you a question.
He: Okay.
Me: Work takes up a lot of your time. A lot of your day. Much of your life?
He: Yes.
Me: Do you have clients or co-workers that you deal with that make your daily life a pleasure?
He: Some.
Me: Okay then. So before this conversation, I totally and completely enjoyed my ‘day-at-work’ with you. You gave me a fun, wonderful, exciting, loving afternoon. And I had hoped we would have more. But I am still at work. I just so happened to put my heart into my work and you should feel grateful for that instead of trying to chip me off the top for it. Isn’t that what they say they want on those Review Boards? The ‘GFE’ experience?

(Girl Friend Experience.) Lingo I learned from studying those Boards. Hurray for me for cracking at least some of 'The Code.'

‘Cause what you would be saying, in essence is that, if one has a good time at work, one should not be paid. Right?
He: (after a pause, starring at me, holding my waist,) Geisha. Geisha. You are too smart for your own business. For your own good.
Me: What do you mean?
He: I mean, I am a man.
Me: (teasing) Oh I know! And I prize man at that!
He: And men have egos.
Me: And that I know too. And the eye of the hurricane usually rests here. (I tug on his cock through his trousers.)
He: Now how can I see you again?
Me: (hurt) What do you mean?
He: I feel foolish.
Me: Please don’t. (sigh) Here it is: You came here not knowing what to expect, but ‘hoping’. Do you know how difficult it is to stay open to anyone that walks in the door? It’s easy to close up. Shut down. To act. To pretend. I try to stay open and flow with what or whoever sits beside me on this couch. I try to allow myself to stay genuine. To be ‘a reed that flows with your river’—not to get too sappy. Okay, a little sappy. But then when you chide me for being so, I feel the need to correct you. You pay me for my time. For my convenience. And hopefully, for the attention and love I shower upon you. And I think, secretly, you hope I enjoy myself too. Isn’t that what you said? You said, ‘the greatest pleasure for a man in bed is when he pleases a woman.’ So I was trying to be open enough, in the time limit we had, to let you pleasure me too. And then, when I do, you want me to pay you for it. ‘Half seriously’, as you said, of course. But for me, it’s a difficult comment to let pass.
He: Good bye Geisha. (He kisses me on the forehead.)
Me: Will I ever see you again?
He: Of course. I’ll call you.


He won’t.


(I watch him walk out the door and down the steps, shutting and clicking the latch of the lock behind him.)


As Jackie Gleason said, "Me and my BIG MOUTH!!"


5 Comments:

At 11:07 PM, Blogger Anonymous Poet said...

Huh??

 
At 12:46 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Tell me what confused you and I will endeavor to explain.
Persephone
It helps me because sometimes I am just writing off the cuff and what I remember, so it's good for you to let me know so I can get clearer, I thank you for that.

 
At 10:09 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I guess it's lucky I hate my job or I'd starve, by his reasoning. I assume you'll be NOT seeing him again. For example: It's much more pleasent to me if my hairdresser is kind, friendly and open , But I would not expect to pay her less just because she enjoys my company! I'd like to question you about another type of customer, if I may.
Maybe you could address this in a post. What happens (to you) when you have a customer, who has a great time, pays you, but literally falls in love, and thinks it's the real thing (for him anyway) I can imagine a conversation similar to the above, but for a radically different reason. Actually come to think of it they're kinda the same. Men who are unwilling (in your case) or unable (in my example) to take the experience for what it is. How do you handle?, keeping in mind the amount of damage either type could do to you professionally. BTW: I think paranoia is a perfectly acceptable defense posture to assume in your job.
Did he finally pay or did he "stiff" you (no pun intended) Either way he's an s.o.b.

 
At 12:32 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Of course you're right. But it's an awkward thing to explain when affection and sex are involved for some reason. That's part of the tip of the iceberg as to why we,as a culture, find my business so distasteful. And part of the reason it is illegal rather than de-criminalized and regulated. But that's a whole other subject! I think it's a terrible shame that anyone has to lead a life 'of quiet desperation', much less so many of us that it becomes the norm, and joy on the job becomes odd. Don't you?
On your other point--wow! what a great question! I will write a peice about it in the future, but for now, I owuld just say, that because of who I am within what I do, Love with my clients is possible. That is never a problem. The only issue becomes, how far we care to take it and the problems we may encounter, me doing what I do for a living. But I have a funny few stories on the subject I will try to look at again and write. Thanks for the inspiration.
Persephone

 
At 3:35 PM, Blogger Mellow Blue said...

But Geisha, be fair to your devotees, did he pay?

 

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