Okay, I've decided I hate repeating myself, so if you want to know details about things, go read some previous chapters. About the only thing you are going to get from me is this: I'm an adult, grown woman who has a healthy interest in being sexually satisfied, and I am open to just about everything. The one condition has always been that I demand to be treated with respect and any man (or woman) who is more concerned with getting his rocks off instead of taking care of me either changes his tune quickly or leaves with blue balls,
While I was in college, living among some very friendly ladies who loved loving ladies (as did I), we were in a dorm, and one of the fixtures in any dorm is an RA – Residential Assistant. In this case, since it was an all-female dorm, our RA was Barb Canacello. For the meager privilege of having the college pick up her room and board, as well as provide her with some meager pay, she wound up being the adult among us. That meant she resolved room-mate issues, was a shoulder to cry on when breakups happened, stayed in the dorm over the holidays to keep the few without homes company, and basically became our surrogate mother.
As one of those women who stayed at school over the Thanksgiving weekend instead of heading home (Don't ask, okay? Our big family was going through tough times and I decided it was best that I stay away while they worked it out. They did. I was home on the Christmas break. Okay?), I discovered that Barb served another function – once you knew about it.
We got together the night before Thanksgiving – just the two of us in the dorm that night – and grabbed burgers at the one place still open. It was the first time we'd been face to face since I took up residence, although I'd seen her around. Barb was a cutie – one of those women for whom they invented the word cute. Cute haircut. Cute ears and earrings. Cute pixie face. Cute nose. You get the picture, right? Normally, I'd run screaming from the terminal cuteness she displayed – but we just had each other – and so I shut down the voice going "she's just too cute and can't be real and don't hang with her" and decided I was a bigger person than that.
After we'd ordered, we sat back, sipped our beers and traded personal information. I told her what was happening at home and why I was still at school. She let me know she didn't have any other place to be and it wasn't a problem. As she put it, she was at home where ever she was. That was my first big clue that what I had been thinking was 180 degrees off.
Barb was a grad student, going for her degree in Human Sexuality. She had one more semester and a big project and she'd have her Masters. I was impressed – and intrigued. She'd said the magic word – sex – and thinking back, it now looks clear that she knew it.
Food came and we started chowing down. It wasn't turkey but that was fine. As we ate, we talked. Or at least, I started by asking questions.
"How did you wind up studying Human Sexuality?" I asked.
"Well, I spent three years after high school as a sex worker. I figured I'd use my experience and put it to good use."
"A sex worker? What does that mean? What were you doing? If you don't mind me asking, of course."
"Honey, I don't mind. I wouldn't have brought it up if I did. I know a lot of different ways around that one. I thought you might be interested, given the word around the dorm."
I felt myself blushing. "What?"
"C'mon, Paula, you haven't exactly been a shy, retiring wall flower. The four of you in that room have occasionally gotten so loud I've had girls come to complain – although I never did anything because it was an opportunity to get them in touch with what was really bothering them."
"What was that?"
"The bottom line – they were really jealous. It took a few of them a little time to work through all the steps, but at the root of the complaint was a whole bunch of stuff around feeling left out, doubts of their own worth, and like that. All the girls who are now part of your "group"? Well, they were all initially complainers. But we turned that around."
"I'll say! I can't believe that they used to complain! That's hysterical! How did you deal with them?"
"Well, I have to keep some confidentiality agreements, so I can't say specifically, but that's where my experience comes into play. All that time in the field – so to speak – gave me insight into the workings of the mind."
"Wow, that sounds mystical or something."
"Not in the least. Look, I started out as a masseuse, and then found that I could dramatically increase my income if I went further. With both men AND women. The men were the easy ones – it was entirely physical for them. With the women, however, they had layers and layers of things to deal with before they could simply give it all up and let someone get them off. I learned a thing or two about how human beings work, and I got better and better at what I did."
"Were you afraid of getting into trouble?"
Barb laughed. "Paula, I was in trouble when I was 15 and left home. No, I had no issues to deal with. After about a year, one of the men who was a regular – and who had referred more than a few clients – asked me out for a cup of coffee. Turns out he had a business proposition for me. He was well connected and had a stable of women. He needed someone to manage his girls, and keep him happy from time to time. He had a big fat black cock, and he was the first customer I'd ever fucked because it was so magnificent and I had gotten so horny with him. I was hesitant – until he told me what he was willing to pay me. It was four times what I was making."
"What did you do?"
"I made him a deal. I'd be willing to try it for two weeks but he'd have to pay me upfront. That meant I would have unlimited access to the women he worked, could see his records, and so on. At the end of the two weeks he'd get a firm yes or no. If he could live with, I said, we can do this. He had no problems, so we agreed to it. I had some vacation time I had to get set up (I wanted to be free to come back if it didn't work out with him) and once I did, I would start." She resumed eating her burger.
"Well? Tell me more!"
"I started a few days later. He gave me an envelope filled with cash when I walked in the door. I spent all that first day listening to him on the phone – he booked appointments. He spoke to his girls to give them their schedules, and he treated them respectfully. None of that "alpha male do everything I say and worship me" bullshit that you see so often in movies. He was a genuinely nice man and he treated everyone around him with respect. I was impressed. Over the next few days I met all of his girls and grilled them about working for him. They weren't your typical hookers. None of them were druggies. 3 of them were working mothers. The one thing they had in common was that they loved sex. Pure and simple."
"They were making money doing something they loved. Even though it's illegal."
"Yes. We talked about that. He'd set up the system so no client ever paid the woman he be with. There was a pretty complex system but no direct handover of cash. Their risk was reduced – and he made sure the clients were tested and current – another way of reducing the risk. He really was taking care of the women in his employ, and as a result they were earning really good money, he was doing well and he really wanted me to befriend all his girls to make sure they were happy. It was so radically different from street pimps that it didn't take me two weeks. By the end of the first one I told the massage parlor I was done."
"How long did you stay with him?" I asked.
"Well, it depends on how you define that. I stopped full time work after two years when I had enough money stashed to pay for school and my expenses. But we are still in touch and from time to time we get together."
