Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: I’m calling to get an appointment for tonight.

Um, no, actually, you’re not, darlin’. You’re calling to get politely brushed off. It’s a young-sounding guy, talking in a kinda rushed, distracted-sounding voice, like he’s driving too fast on his way to a meeting and just wanted to get this little appointment booked and out of the way. I don’t care for it.

When I get these gimme-an-appointment kinds of calls, I’m aware of a one-two reaction in my head. Just for an instant, I feel myself rear up in offended hauteur: how dare you call me up, expecting to get time with me just like that? Dirty boy, you think you can just snap your fingers and I’ll make myself available? Pah, do you know who I am?

And then my sense of humor and my firm grip on reality kicks in and I say to myself, yes, Matisse, he knows who you are. You’re a chick with an ad in the back of The Stranger, with a picture of you wearing a PVC bathing suit. So cut the offended-diva act, okay? Because I can’t really blame the guy. What he's doing is exactly how many sex workers conduct business with clients, and he has no earthly way of knowing that it’s not how I operate.

But those of you who know me are rolling about laughing at the very idea of a stranger getting a same-day appointment. It’s been years since I’ve done those as a matter of course. If you’re a friend, and you catch me when I’ve had a cancellation, then that’s a whole different matter. I don’t mind guys I know calling me up and saying, “By any chance…?” But it’s quite rare for all the stars to align properly for that.

Even if I’d had nothing to do, I wouldn’t book time with this gentleman. I’ve gotten extremely picky about new guys. Sometimes they just strike me wrong, like this guy, and sometimes it’s because they ask for scenes that don’t turn me on. I feel sort of mean sometimes, because I know I’ve disappointed some people who were probably very nice, but there it is. I blame it all on my regular boys, who spoil me so badly, and who keep me both busy and happy.

I almost feel like I should take my ads out of the paper. But I hesitate. For one thing, I know not everyone keeps my number stored on their cell phone, and guys I have met before may rely on seeing those ads to remind them of how to reach me. Too, the guys who only see me two or three times a year may assume I’ve retired if my ad vanishes.

I’m trying to think of some wording for an ad that suggests: “You can call me, but I’m not meeting very many new people.” Right now it says, “Selectively accepting new clients”. My intention was that selectively would be the key word there, but I think most guys just jump right to the accepting new clients part. It’s not like I won’t meet anyone new - but not terribly many.

And this caller has begun badly. I like people to at least say Hello, my name is X, before demanding an appointment.

Me: I’m sorry, I’m not available. Have we met? (Even though I know we haven’t.)
Caller: Not available?
Me: That’s correct.
Caller: Not even late?
Me: (Sigh) No. I make appointments from 2pm to 8pm, and I’m usually booked several days in advance. Right now I’m booked until the 19th.
Caller: The 19th?

Is there an echo in here? He’s repeating this back to me in this stunned voice, like the idea that I’m too busy to see him has set his universe on it’s ear.

Me: (slowly) Yes, the 19th.

Caller: Oh, well, I’m a very impulsive person. It’s hard for me to book things more than two days in advance.

That explains why he sounds so rushed. I’d be rushed too if I never booked anything more than two days ahead of time. What it doesn’t explain is why he’s telling me this in a tone of voice that suggests it’s a problem I should solve.

Me: Then the odds of you getting to see me are quite slim, because I am always booked out. You’re welcome to try some other time, but….
Caller: There’s nothing you can do for me?

I detest that phrase. I am not a used-car dealer. Believe me, my dear, if I could reach through the phone and give you a smart slap on the ass, I would. Or perhaps on top of your head. Since I can’t, no, there’s nothing I can do for you.

Me: No, sorry.
Caller: I can come late, like twelve or one.

Oh yeah, because I want to book a midnight session with a stranger who calls himself “very impulsive”. Not. Let’s run down the possible outcomes of that.

A) He won’t show up at all – far and away the most likely outcome.

B) He’ll show up drunk and/or coked to the gills.

C) Unlikely but always possible scenario: The young Mr. Poor-Impulse-Control will show up and be a capitol-P problem. (Especially if he’s drunk or high.) It’s not like ladies don’t ever get hassled or assaulted in the afternoon. But there’s something in the phrase “nothing good happens after midnight” when it comes to one-on-one sex work. The later at night an appointment with a stranger begins, the higher the chances of it going severely sideways. Thus, I do not book such appointments.

Me: No, sorry.

Click. He hangs up. Some days I am so glad I’m a diva.

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