Fun is about as good a habit as there is. – Jimmy Buffett
I doubt there is a reputable whore alive who would disagree that the best of all clients are the regulars. There’s just something very nice about picking up the phone to hear a familiar voice and name asking for a date; one knows who he is, what he looks like, what he’s about, what he expects and enjoys and what his quirks and drawbacks are. One can have real two-way conversations with them, and they often care enough to ask about how things are going (and to actually listen to the answer). There are rarely any surprises with regulars; they’re like comfortable old shoes that can be depended on to do what they’re supposed to do without causing problems. I would like to write about a few of my regulars, not just to share this very pleasant aspect of whoring with you but also so that, on the off-chance one of my old regulars should read this column and recognize both me and himself, he’ll know that I still remember him fondly.
My quintessential regular was the Fisherman. He was the owner of a sporting-goods store and a rather large fishing boat which I used to find his house in the dark since it lacked house numbers and otherwise looked almost exactly like the neighboring ones. He lived only a few minutes away, and I had seen him so many times I was willing to take checks from him (which is usually a no-no in our business for reasons which should be obvious). He always called early in the evening, and the calls went something like this:
“Maggie, are you busy?”
“Oh, hey! No, not right now.” (He had a knack for calling when I wasn’t).
“How soon can you get here?”
“About fifteen minutes?”
“OK, see ya.”
When I walked in he always had his check waiting, always for the full amount. He’d ask how I was doing while I was putting the check in my purse and calling in, then we would adjourn to the bedroom; it never took long, and he always leapt up afterward and got in the shower immediately. After sex this otherwise-taciturn man grew quite talkative; I would come into the bathroom and clean up while he was showering, and he would tell me where he was going that evening, what was happening in his life, etc. When I first started seeing him in the spring of 2000 he was recently divorced, and often asked me for advice on what sorts of things he might do with his small daughter when he had her for visitation; he would’ve known what to do with a son, but felt at a loss with a toddler girl. As she grew older he could of course ask her instead, and every time I came over he would proudly show me new pictures of her or brag about her various accomplishments. Then after I got dressed and was about to leave (perhaps 20 or 30 minutes after arriving) he would ask, “Hey, Maggie, can you hold that check until Friday?”
“Sure, no problem.” And it never was. He inevitably asked me to hold it a few days, but never more than a week except one time when he saw me twice in a single week and asked me to hold the second one ‘til the second Friday. We knew we could trust each other; I never deposited his checks early, and he never bounced one on me. It went like that about twice a month for six years, except for a short break around 2003 when he had a girlfriend for a while. Our interaction was friendly, mutually rewarding and based on mutual respect and trust; who could ask for more out of a business relationship?
There was another regular with whom I had a similar relationship in the post-Katrina period; he actually only saw me for about six months, but it was at least once a week for that period and sometimes more. He was an engineer for one of the companies involved in the cleanup, and was living in one of those extended-stay type hotels which are essentially furnished apartments with a kitchen and everything. His job was both highly stressful and extremely exhausting, and he needed a full back massage each time before proceeding to sex. By the time we were done he was absolutely drained and generally fell deeply asleep, but he knew he could trust me so our interaction soon evolved into a pattern which required as little effort as possible on his part. He would call my agency and ask Gilda to have me come over; he didn’t want a callback at all, and was content to wait even if I was busy on another call. After getting the message I would proceed to his hotel, where I was admitted by the night clerk (who soon knew me well) and went up to his suite. He would leave the safety latch turned to as to prop the door ajar, and when I entered he was nearly always asleep so I would undress and gently wake him; he would then ask me to take my fee from his wallet and after calling in I would give him his massage, provide whatever sexual favors he wanted, clean him up and then tuck him in. By the time I was dressed he was loudly snoring and I would collect his dirty clothes from the floor, toss them into his laundry basket, turn off the lights and gently tiptoe out, closing the door as quietly as possible and ensuring that it was locked before calling out from the stairwell so as not to wake him.
The Psychologist was also in a very stressful position, though obviously of a different kind; for two years near the beginning of my career he saw me once a month for two hours at a time, and like the Engineer needed a massage to unwind. Because his stress was psychological rather than physical he required the full treatment; incense, music, and a long period of gentle touching after the massage and before the sex, then conversation afterward. He always used every minute of his two hours, but I didn’t mind; he was very sweet, incredibly appreciative and made me feel like a very special and important person, plus it made me feel good to help a person whose job was to help troubled adolescents.
Another of my favorite early-career regulars was the Salesman; he was the district manager for a large food company and called me every time he came to town, and since he always stayed in the large hotel directly across the street from the apartment complex in which I lived at that time I never bothered to check in or out with him; I just went over when he called and came home when I was done. Like the Psychologist he always made me feel special, and he was always willing to wait if I was busy; because of this (and his incredibly talented fingers) he was one of the few customers with whom I consistently enjoyed the sex. He was promoted sometime in 2001 to a position which didn’t require travel, and though I was happy for his success I was sorry to lose him as a client because I really liked him very much.
Then there was the Electric Man; he was an executive for a large utility company who came to town about once a month, rarely staying in the same hotel twice because the company travel agent booked it for him. He differed from most regulars in that he did not always want the same thing; in fact, he asked for something different nearly every time and I was happy to oblige because he was so damned nice and so very appreciative. I think his fascination for me dated to our very first meeting on Halloween of 2000; I usually dressed attractively but demurely, but since many people were out in costume that night I tarted myself up like a sort of Gothic streetwalker in a black miniskirt, black lace top, fishnets, black lipstick and eye shadow and a black veil. He simply loved it, and often asked for me to bring some special clothes or to try some unusual activity. Once he even asked if I could indulge his fantasy of being one of two guys making love to me at the same time, and a close male friend was happy to assist me!
Though I really liked all of these regulars, there was one who was head and shoulders above the rest; though it’s not unusual for clients to fall in love with whores they see often, the opposite is rare because of the emotional barriers we keep up to prevent just such an eventuality. But the love of one of my clients was clearly so true and sincere that it commanded my attention and eventually wore down my barriers; I grew from liking him to loving him, and when he proposed it was completely different from the score of other proposals I had received in the six years since Jack had left me. I could not resist his offer of a lifetime contract, and a few years later retired entirely from seeing other clients to concentrate on that one most favored client I am now proud to call my husband.